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Authors: Nicola Cornick
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Violent passion was in the past.
Alice had brightened again. “At any rate, that was not what I came to talk about. Are you going to offer me a cup of tea?”
“I shall go and make it myself,” Laura said, moving toward the servants’ stair.
“Is Mrs. Carrington having another of her bad days?” Alice asked sympathetically, trotting along beside her as they went down the stair and into the kitchen.
“I fear so,” Laura said. “She was in so much pain that she could not lift the pans at breakfast, so I sent her back to bed with a hot brick.”
“You should get some more servants,” Alice said, “competent ones. You cannot be forever making the tea yourself.”
“I have Molly and Rachel, and they are perfect,” Laura pointed out. Molly was Rachel’s sister and acted as both maid of all work and Laura’s personal maid on the rare occasions she required it. Both girls were capable, good-humored and an asset to the household. “And then there is Bart to do the garden.”
“Bart is so old and lame he can scarcely bend,” Alice pointed out. “You do the garden yourself, Laura. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. With the exception of Rachel and Molly you run a home for incapable servants here.”
“Well, there is no reason why I shouldn’t make the tea myself,” Laura pointed out, a little defensively. She lifted the copper kettle and placed it on the hob. “There is no great mystery about making tea—or about cooking or dressing oneself, or growing vegetables, for that matter.”
“But you are a duchess, ” Alice said, in horrified tones. “It is not right.” Laura laughed. “I am a penniless dowager. And that is the marvelous thing. As a dowager duchess I can do as I wish. My relatives cannot interfere and tell me what to do—
though they try—and I have no social obligations now that Henry and the dreaded Faye are Duke and Duchess of Cole. And after all, Queen Marie Antoinette played at being a milkmaid, did she not?”
“And look what happened to her,” Alice said gloomily.
“I have no intention of losing my head,” Laura said firmly, “either metaphorically or practically.”
“I almost forgot—I have shocking news.” Alice leaned her chin on her hand and fixed Laura with her bright brown gaze. “There is uproar in the town. We are in the most tremendous fix and it is entirely my fault. You will remember that I refused Sir Montague Fortune’s offer of marriage in July?”
“Of course,” Laura said, reaching for the tea caddy.
“Apparently in revenge he has dug up some ancient law that entitles him to take half our fortunes,” Alice said. “Oh, Laura, all unmarried women in Fortune’s Folly have either to marry or give Sir Montague their money!”
Laura put the caddy down slowly. “Surely you jest? That cannot possibly be legal.
It’s iniquitous!”
“Apparently it is legal.” Alice looked tragic. “Even if we all sold our property and left the village we could not escape because it applies to all single women living here now.
So I am wondering whether I should marry him in order to save all the other ladies of Fortune’s Folly.”
“I wouldn’t advise it,” Laura said, stifling a smile as she measured tea into the pot.
“You refused Sir Montague for a reason, did you not?”
“Yes. I don’t like him.”
“Quite so. You would like him even less if you felt blackmailed into marrying him.” Laura took the singing kettle from the hob and added the boiling water to the pot. “Besides, I suspect that now Sir Montague has realized he can take half of the fortune of every woman in the village without matrimony, he will not settle for just one woman in wedded bliss.”
“I suppose not.” Alice raised her eyes to Laura’s face. “What is to be done?” Laura reached the biscuit tin down from the shelf and pushed it toward her guest.
“Try these—oaten biscuits from Mr. Blount.” She sighed. “Well, for my own part, Sir Monty will make very
Alice had brightened again. “At any rate, that was not what I came to talk about. Are you going to offer me a cup of tea?”
“I shall go and make it myself,” Laura said, moving toward the servants’ stair.
“Is Mrs. Carrington having another of her bad days?” Alice asked sympathetically, trotting along beside her as they went down the stair and into the kitchen.
“I fear so,” Laura said. “She was in so much pain that she could not lift the pans at breakfast, so I sent her back to bed with a hot brick.”
“You should get some more servants,” Alice said, “competent ones. You cannot be forever making the tea yourself.”
“I have Molly and Rachel, and they are perfect,” Laura pointed out. Molly was Rachel’s sister and acted as both maid of all work and Laura’s personal maid on the rare occasions she required it. Both girls were capable, good-humored and an asset to the household. “And then there is Bart to do the garden.”
“Bart is so old and lame he can scarcely bend,” Alice pointed out. “You do the garden yourself, Laura. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. With the exception of Rachel and Molly you run a home for incapable servants here.”
“Well, there is no reason why I shouldn’t make the tea myself,” Laura pointed out, a little defensively. She lifted the copper kettle and placed it on the hob. “There is no great mystery about making tea—or about cooking or dressing oneself, or growing vegetables, for that matter.”
“But you are a duchess, ” Alice said, in horrified tones. “It is not right.” Laura laughed. “I am a penniless dowager. And that is the marvelous thing. As a dowager duchess I can do as I wish. My relatives cannot interfere and tell me what to do—
though they try—and I have no social obligations now that Henry and the dreaded Faye are Duke and Duchess of Cole. And after all, Queen Marie Antoinette played at being a milkmaid, did she not?”
“And look what happened to her,” Alice said gloomily.
“I have no intention of losing my head,” Laura said firmly, “either metaphorically or practically.”
“I almost forgot—I have shocking news.” Alice leaned her chin on her hand and fixed Laura with her bright brown gaze. “There is uproar in the town. We are in the most tremendous fix and it is entirely my fault. You will remember that I refused Sir Montague Fortune’s offer of marriage in July?”
“Of course,” Laura said, reaching for the tea caddy.
“Apparently in revenge he has dug up some ancient law that entitles him to take half our fortunes,” Alice said. “Oh, Laura, all unmarried women in Fortune’s Folly have either to marry or give Sir Montague their money!”
Laura put the caddy down slowly. “Surely you jest? That cannot possibly be legal.
It’s iniquitous!”
“Apparently it is legal.” Alice looked tragic. “Even if we all sold our property and left the village we could not escape because it applies to all single women living here now.
So I am wondering whether I should marry him in order to save all the other ladies of Fortune’s Folly.”
“I wouldn’t advise it,” Laura said, stifling a smile as she measured tea into the pot.
“You refused Sir Montague for a reason, did you not?”
“Yes. I don’t like him.”
“Quite so. You would like him even less if you felt blackmailed into marrying him.” Laura took the singing kettle from the hob and added the boiling water to the pot. “Besides, I suspect that now Sir Montague has realized he can take half of the fortune of every woman in the village without matrimony, he will not settle for just one woman in wedded bliss.”
“I suppose not.” Alice raised her eyes to Laura’s face. “What is to be done?” Laura reached the biscuit tin down from the shelf and pushed it toward her guest.
“Try these—oaten biscuits from Mr. Blount.” She sighed. “Well, for my own part, Sir Monty will make very
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