ANNE ASHLEY - Miss In A Man's World

‘Very good, my lord.’ She rose from the chair and went over to the door. ‘I shall begin by seeing if I cannot persuade Mrs Willard to allow him in the kitchen from time to time. She usually shuts him away in the scullery during the day, I believe.’

‘Is that so?’ Lord Fincham responded absently, reaching for a sheet of paper while gazing across at the door. ‘And who might Mrs Willard be, may I ask?’

He received a look of mock reproach. ‘For an educated man you are sadly ignorant about many things, my lord. She’s your cook, of course!’

‘A word of warning, Master Green,’ the Viscount said, oh, so softly. ‘I am not above taking a birch rod to impertinent young cubs.’

Clearly the threat left her unmoved. He received a further gurgle of infectious laughter in response before he was left alone in the room. Although he shook his head, wondering at himself, he couldn’t resist smiling again. ‘I must be mad to tolerate such an impudent minx under my roof,’ he muttered. ‘Either that, or I’m entering upon my dotage!’

It was four days later before his lordship gave orders for his page to accompany him out. At nine o’clock precisely he descended the staircase to find his most recently acquired servant pacing the chequered hall, awaiting his arrival. Dressed in severest black livery, trimmed only with a fine silver braid, and with a cascade of white lace foaming below the pointed little chin, she appeared every inch the aristocratic gentleman’s pampered page. Only when she heard his footfall and glanced up, those magnificent eyes shining, and those perfectly lovely lips parting in a spontaneous smile, was he reminded of her true sex.

She won no answering smile from him this time, only a brief look of mild concern. ‘Yes, you look very well. You may follow me out to the carriage.’

‘Am I to sit upon the box with the groom, sir?’

‘No, you are not. You are to sit inside with me, for there are certain matters I must discuss with you.’

For the briefest of moments he almost forgot himself and assisted her into the carriage first. His concern quadrupled in an instant. If he was ever to forget himself, and show the least consideration for her true sex, the world he inhabited would be outraged. He didn’t care so much for himself. He was Fincham—a matrimonial prize. Shallow society would soon forgive and forget his slight peccadilloes. But the girl …?

No, she would be ruined in the eyes of the world, he reminded himself. And she didn’t deserve that, even though she would lend herself to such a disgraceful venture as posing as a page. Furthermore, although she might never be granted entrée into the highest echelons of society, she had been gently reared, that much was crystal clear, and she should not be denied the chance to take her place in the genteel world. Perhaps when he had first embarked on this madcap venture he hadn’t considered fully what a responsibility he was taking upon himself. But he realised it now, for he no longer doubted her respectability. Consequently, because he had possibly unwittingly encouraged her, he now felt an obligation to stand if not in place of a guardian, then certainly a protector, until such time as she confided fully her reasons for the charade. Then, once he had discovered why she was so willing to risk her reputation … perhaps even forfeit her rightful place in the world.

Well, he would consider that more fully when the time came, he decided finally. For now, he would do the honourable thing … at least up to a point.

‘Now, child, as this is your first venture into polite society,’ he began, then paused as that little head came round and those oh, so revealing eyes, unable to meet his for more than a second or two, lowered. The reluctance to meet his gaze told him much: it wouldn’t be her first venture into society; she had socialised with members of the ton before she had ever met him. How interesting, he mused. And, of course, dangerous. It made his task all the more problematic.

For a moment he toyed with the idea of returning to the house and ending the charade there and then by confronting her, but decided against it. She was not dull-witted. Evidently she didn’t believe she would be recognised. This time he would trust her judgement, he finally decided.

‘As I was saying, as this is perhaps your—er—first venture into society, I wish you to take very great care. Do not speak to anyone unless spoken to first. And in the unlikely event that you are addressed, then you are to say only that you are Fincham’s page. Most important of all, do not draw attention to yourself by staring at your betters, otherwise I might feel obliged to send you to await me below stairs.’

She regarded him in silence for a moment, a touch of concern easily discernible in her expression. ‘But I may speak with you, sir, if I am … troubled … about something?’

He regarded her intently for a moment. ‘You may always approach me, child, no matter where, no matter when, if there is something of importance you wish to discuss with me.’

This seemed to reassure her, for she smiled brightly, almost trustingly across at him. ‘You have yet to inform me where we are bound, my lord,’ she reminded him, as though she had every right to know.

Retribution would undoubtedly have been swift had his punctilious major-domo overheard an underling commit such a solecism. Or perhaps not where this page was concerned, he corrected silently. Evidently Brindle had obeyed his orders to the letter, with the result that the most recent addition to the staff had yet to learn her place in the Fincham household. Far from annoyed, it rather amused his lordship to have his girl-page so far forget herself on occasions as to treat him as an equal.

‘How very remiss of me, Georgie!’ he declared, with only the faintest betraying twitch at one corner of his mouth. ‘We are bound for the home of the Duke and Duchess of Merton. It is a monstrous pile, so stay close. You might so easily get lost.’

When at last they had arrived at the impressive mansion, his lordship was pleased to note that his advice had been heeded. With the exception of handing their outer garments to a waiting flunkey, she remained dutifully at his heels throughout the time they queued on the impressive staircase, waiting in line to be greeted by the host and hostess. Evidently his major-domo had succeeded during recent days in instilling at least the rudimentary conduct of a page into her. Even so, she did not escape the attention of the eagle-eyed duchess.

‘What new affectation is this, Fincham? Never before have I known you to have a page in tow.’

‘A whim, your Grace. Merely a whim. I succumbed to the most wicked desire to ruffle Sir Willoughby’s feathers. You know how he so hates to be outdone by anyone.’

‘Wicked boy!’ She tapped him flirtatiously on the chest with her fan. ‘I do not doubt you will succeed. A most engaging child you have there. I should be interested to know where you found him. You, however, shall find Sir Willoughby in the card room.’

Instructing his page to follow with a flick of one finger, Lord Fincham entered the opulently decorated ballroom. Huge vases of flowers, supported on marble pedestals, were positioned at frequent intervals down the full length of the long room. Swathes of silk in peach and cream were artistically draped across the walls, and gracefully arching potted palms decorated each and every alcove. It was a sight to take any inexperienced girl’s breath away, and his newly acquired obligation proved no exception. Although she refrained from gaping outright, there was a look of wonder in those magnificent eyes of hers that could so easily betray her true sex to any discerning soul. He decided to veer on the side of caution.