Page 61 of The Housekeeper's Secret

Jem hadn’t even noticed Eliza. It was Kate his eyes were fixed on as she wove her way through the crowd. Her eyes melted into his, making heat build in the pit of his stomach as she approached.

She was with Miss Addison’s maid, who fluttered nervily at her elbow, her head darting every which way. They were a few feet away when Thomas noticed them.

‘Watch it, there’s Mrs Furniss,’ he remarked, loudly. ‘And what’s ’er name—’

The band were playing a lively folk tune and the dancers’ feet thudded on the wooden boards, but even above the noise it was clear that they’d heard him. ‘Miss Dunn,’ Jem said, smoothing over Thomas’s oafishness as they reached them. ‘Mrs Furniss. Are you enjoying the evening?’

‘We’ve only just come out,’ Kate said. The dark green dress she was wearing was less formal, a little more bohemian than her housekeeper’s uniform, and her hair was loosely pinned, with soft curls framing her face. ‘It took longer than I thought, tidying up, though Miss Dunn very kindly offered to help.’

Her eyes telegraphed a message: exasperation and an appeal for assistance. Jem smothered a smile. ‘Could I perhaps get you both a drink?’

‘No, thank you,’ Miss Dunn said vehemently, pressing a hand to her chest where her temperance ribbon was pinned. ‘Lady Hyde assured me there would be a tent where tea would be served? Perhaps, Mrs Furniss, you and I might—’

Jem became aware of Eliza and Abigail approaching, drawn by Thomas’s clumsy waving. He could see the direction the evening was in danger of taking; him stuck in a four with the other servants, Kate condemned to hours of tea and polite conversation with Miss Dunn. As the tune ended and the dancing couples fell apart, hot and exhilarated, he seized his chance and extended his hand to Miss Dunn.

‘Plenty of time for tea later,’ he said. ‘For now, might I possibly have the pleasure?’

‘Oh no, I—’

‘Oh, you must!’ Kate had clearly read his mind and understood the exit route he was preparing. ‘Please, don’t feel you have to stay and keep me company. In fact, I might go and…’

Already backing away, she trailed off vaguely, but Jem caught the gleam of her eyes in the second before her lashes swept down. His stomach tightened with anticipation and want; just as well he’d changed out of his flat-fronted livery breeches, he thought, as Miss Dunn put a hand in the crook of his arm and reluctantly allowed him to lead her to the dance floor.

She assumed it was some sort of private joke; Coldwell’s handsome footman asking the new mistress’s plain maid to dance, the housekeeper insisting she accept. If not jest, then charity. They thought they were doing her a kindness, assuming she would be grateful, when really she would far rather be left alone.

There was plenty to be getting on with in the house, unpacking the trunks of garments Lady Hyde (it still felt strange to think of her as that) had gone mad ordering for her trousseau. Miss Dunn had only come out because she wanted to speak to Mrs Furniss. Needed to. Anguish made her stomach gripe as the footman steered her through the circling couples. She held herself stiffly, straining to see past the people gathered at the edge of the dance floor and beyond the strings of lights, trying to keep track of her.

But it was impossible. The dusk had deepened, blotting out anything outside the golden lamp glow, and the housekeeper’s slim figure was quickly swallowed up by the crowd. The strangers’ faces around the platform blurred as the steps of the dance spun her round, but she picked out the other Coldwell servants (the stillroom girl scowling as she followed their progress). Miss Dunn felt giddy, her head still thick and throbbing, and was almost glad of the footman’s light hand on her back, supporting her.

‘How was the wedding?’

If he was playing a joke on her, he didn’t seem to be finding it very amusing. His expression was grave, his tone as respectful as if he were addressing Lady Hyde herself.

Sarah Dunn bit her lip, not knowing how to answer. Her experience of nuptials was limited, but it had been a strained and cynical affair by anyone’s standards. Sir Randolph had been firm about keeping the celebrations small and private, depriving Miss Addison of the support of her Shropshire friends, yet it was amazing how many of his acquaintances just happened to be passing through the Savoy Grill that afternoon, all keen to partake of a celebratory drink with the bridegroom. No wonder he had insisted on holding the wedding in London rather than out here at Coldwell.

‘It went well enough,’ she said tersely. ‘That said, it would have been nice for my lady to have had more say in the arrangements and more of her own people present.’

‘She had you there. I’m sure that was enough.’

He meant to be kind, not twist the knife of her guilt—how could he know that she had abandoned her mistress and retired to bed halfway through the afternoon? She pressed her lips together and turned her head away, willing herself not to cry.

The need to find Mrs Furniss swelled on a tide of panicky shame. For the hundredth time she cursed herself for her earlier cowardice in not asking the housekeeper if they might talk. She had hoped that an opportunity might present itself naturally, but Mrs Furniss seemed distracted and not her usual professional self: she had ignored all Miss Dunn’s hints about the unfortunate events at the wedding. Blinking back tears, she peered past the twirling couples, through the milling crowd. The music went on and on, the scrape of the violin sawing on her raw nerves, until her gaze suddenly snagged on a figure standing in the mouth of the beer tent.

Frederick Henderson’s eyes met hers. Before she could look away, he smirked and raised his tankard to her in a sort of mocking salute.

Revulsion rose in her throat. Wrenching her hand from the footman’s she pulled away, cannoning into the couple behind them and almost causing a pileup.

‘Miss Dunn? Are you all right?’

‘I think I’ll go back to the house now.’

‘Of course.’

At the edge of the wooden platform, the blonde stillroom girl was slipping the shawl from her shoulders and handing it to the other maid, readying herself to take Miss Dunn’s place in the footman’s arms. Even so, he offered to walk her back to the house. She should say no and leave him free to enjoy the rest of his evening, but just knowing that man was nearby made her feel shaky and ill at ease. Swallowing her pride, she gave a quick nod.

‘That would be kind, if you don’t mind.’

‘Not at all.’

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