Chapter 1

So, not much has changed about the house after all this time, Frances thought as she waved goodbye to her friends in the carriage and looked up at her uncle's modest townhome. She looked around briefly to see if anyone was coming out to collect her trunk and her bag, but there was no sign that anyone even knew she'd arrived.

With a resigned exhale, Frances stopped down and picked up one handle of the trunk from where the driver had deposited it outside the closed gate. She dragged it closer and rang the bell, then waited for someone to come to the front. At long last, a man in a leather apron came around from the back of the house, carrying a pail and some shears.

"May I help ya, miss?" he asked curiously.

"I do hope so," Frances replied with a smile. "I live here with my aunt and uncle?"

The man squinted at her for a few seconds before a bright grin lit up his face.

"Is it really you, Miss Turner? Look-a here, how're ya all grown up after all this time?" he asked, stepping back to admire her.

"It's been a number of years. But you're looking well, Mr. Jeffers," she told the gardener. "And Mrs. Jeffers? Is she well?"

The old man's smile faltered and he looked away briefly. He coughed and shook his head before turning his attention back to Frances.

"I'm afraid Mrs. Jeffers is no longer with us. Caught a terrible cough last winter that settled in her chest. Never did get better, and it weren't long before—"

"Oh, Mr. Jeffers. How clumsy of me! I'm so very sorry to hear it," Frances said in earnest, seething at the notion that no one had written to tell her. How could they not have informed her of the passing of someone who'd been with the family for such a long time? Did they truly think she had no need of hearing about it?

"Well, it's all behind us now," the gardener said, brightening once more. "Here, let me put these things down and I'll get that trunk for ya."

"Oh no, it's no trouble. I can manage it! Well, perhaps if you could get one handle, I'll take the other side."

Together, Frances and Mr. Jeffers hoisted all of her worldly belongings to the front door. Instead of pushing it open, he lowered his end of her trunk to the ground and stepped back, hanging his head slightly.

"Her Ladyship is rather particular about who comes and goes through the front, ya know," he said sheepishly, going back down the steps. "Mr. Robbins will help ya from here."

Before Frances could even thank him, the gardener returned to his tools and disappeared to the far side of the property.

That's right. Who could forget Her Ladyship's "rules" for the house?Frances thought with irritation.

Frances blew out a breath in frustration, causing the wisps of dark mahogany curls that framed her pale face to dance briefly. She looked at the door for several moments, unsure of what to do. Should she simply go in? After all, this had been her home ever since the terrible accident when she was but ten. But she had lived at school for nearly as long as she had lived here. So, shouldn't she knock and wait to be admitted?

Fortunately, she was spared having to decide. The door opened of its own volition, or at least thanks to the help of another welcoming resident.

"Miss Turner, how wonderful to see you back at home," Mr. Robbins said, bowing formally.

"Thank you, Robbins. It's good to be home," Frances answered, hoping it didn't sound like too much of a lie.

The butler turned and waved to a footman to come fetch the trunk, and a maid darted forward to collect Frances' bag.

"Am I still in my same room?" Frances asked quietly, and the butler shook his head.

"No, my lady. Lady Hutchings has put you in the south gable," he answered, barely concealing his disappointment and disdain.

So, that's how it's to be. The unwanted relation squirreled away beneath the eaves, sure to be miserably uncomfortable so she makes quick work of finding a husband and getting out of the way, Frances thought with a smirk.

"Now Robbins, we've discussed this," she said, shaking off the unpleasant news. "I'm no lady. I'm merely Frances Turner."

"Begging your pardon, my lady, but your father was the Earl of Quilby. That makes you the daughter of an earl, and a lady, as an earl is of a higher rank than… oh, say, a viscount? Never forget that," the butler reminded her quietly. He looked around before leaning closer and adding, "And never let anyone else forget it, either."

"I shall do my best," she replied with a sly grin.

"Welcome home, Miss Turner," he said once again. "I will inform the family that you have arrived."

Once again, Frances was at a loss. Was she to wait in the drawing room to be received? Should she follow the servants with her things up to her room, such as it was? How terrible to be a stranger and a burden in my own home! she thought bitterly, looking around and wondering what she should do.

If Aunt Bridget had bothered to write to her more than once or twice a year, she might have had a better mind of these things. As it was, Frances had been packed off to school from the moment there had been word of an opening for her. The few years she'd spent here before that day seemed so long ago, nearly a world away.

"Oh, there you are," Lady Hutchings said several minutes later, her nasally voice grating on Frances' already worn nerves. Her dry tone matched her indifferent expression.

"Yes, I've arrived. It's good to see you, Aunt Bridget," Frances said, curtseying slightly. This seemed to brighten the woman's mood a little.

"We had to move you to another room now that you're determined to stay here," she said, emphasizing the word a little too much.

"Understood. It's not as though I had anywhere else I could go, I'm afraid," Frances answered, trying to sound apologetic but failing.

"Well, let's hope you have a successful Season, and there will be no cause to linger. Why, with your beauty, I should think you won't even need to unpack your things!" Lady Hutchings said, laughing at her own joke.

"Of course! Then again, it's not as though I own very much. I'm sure it will only take a minute or two to have my things put to rights. Speaking of which, I was hoping that there was a little bit of money left from my father's estate to purchase a few things for the Season. After all, I would love nothing more than to marry a decent gentleman and stop being a burden to all of you."

Frances watched her aunt narrow her eyes, but she held firm in her pleasant stare. She knew the viscountess was waging war with her own thoughts at the moment—should she give Frances a few pounds to be properly appointed, or should she risk Frances not making a match this year and having to stay on with them? She would have laughed out loud at her aunt's conundrum if she dared.

"I see. Well, I shall have to speak to Lord Hutchings about that," the woman answered primly. "We've already purchased quite a few things for our Juliet, but perhaps there is a little money to spare."

"My father's money, you mean," Frances said, pretending to sound helpful.

"Of course, that's what I mean."

Frances startled at her aunt's abrupt retort.

"And I would never wish to mislead any gentlemen this Season and cause them to be put out with Uncle Josias," Frances continued, "so I should speak to him about my dowry as well. I wouldn't want any worthy men to be disappointed to discover too late just how meager it might be."

"Your dowry? My dear girl, there is nothing for a dowry," Lady Hutchings exclaimed with an incredulous laugh. "Your father didn't leave you much at all, and what little he did provide went for your care and keeping all these years. Why, we had to pay to educate you ourselves, and I do hope you are duly grateful for that."

"Of course," Frances answered, looking down and feeling the sting of her aunt's words. "Though I do wonder why my cousin didn't attend school with me."

"My Juliet? At some finishing school in the north country? Don't be ridiculous. She was educated properly at home with her governess. Speaking of which, the entire purpose of sending a girl to a quality school is so that she can seek her employment should marriage not be in the stars for her."

"Me? To become a governess? I hadn't thought of it, but the notion isn't entirely depressing."

"Good. Then you might wish to consider that as an option this Season as well. If you do not secure a suitable match, you can always seek a position… elsewhere."

"I understand," Frances said slowly, reading her aunt's meaning all too well.

"Good. See that you remember it, and that you keep in mind to be grateful to your uncle and me at all times," Lady Hutchings snapped before whirling towards the door in a flurry of rustling skirts, leaving Frances alone.

If that's how she wishes for things to be between us…Frances thought angrily, but she knew it would do her no good to get on her guardian's bad side. She took a deep breath and looked around the unfamiliar drawing room, then went in search of her new room.

It took several flights of the staircase and more than a few wrong turns before Frances arrived at her room. As she'd suspected, her door was situated directly beside the entrance to the attic, the place where she and her cousin used to play when they were hiding from Juliet's governess. Frances remembered the rickety stairs all too well, and as she feared, her new room was as drafty as that stairway had been.

She turned the knob and gave the door a tug, but nothing happened. She peered down and knew that it wasn't locked, but the door was wedged tightly in its frame.

"My apologies, miss!" a girl called out behind her. "I just came up and brought ya a washstand and pitcher, and I must ‘ave closed it a mite too ‘ard."

"Oh, it's no trouble," Frances said with a warm smile, but the girl cocked her head to the side and stared at her.

"Ya don't remember me, do ya?"

Frances looked horrified at having forgotten. "Is that you Sara? How can you possibly be all grown up and so beautiful? Was I truly gone as long as all that?"

The maid laughed with delight. "Aw, go on with ya. Yer only flatterin' me!"

"Not at all!"

Sara blushed at Frances' compliment, but quickly shook her head and stood up taller.

"I'm a housemaid now that my mum has quit service to care for my da. I'm hopin' one day to work up, ya know? I don' think I'll ever be good enough to be a cook or a housekeeper, but I could maybe be a lady's maid, ya know? Maybe some old woman's companion to keep her company when her man is passed away?"

"I think that's a fine intention. I know I'd be glad to have you as my lady's maid, especially as my aunt and uncle will surely not be appointing anyone to help me."

"Naw, I don' know enough about it yet. I'm only just learnin'. But wait! What if I was to learn by helpin' you?" she asked, her excitement contagious.

"Sara, that's a perfect idea! You could start now as my lady's maid, for you know I could never be cross with you. But I cannot ask that of you. It would be unfair to you as I cannot pay you any wages for the extra work."

"You wouldn't have to. As I said, I need the experience. You could maybe write me a letter recommending me when the time comes, though?"

"I would be honored to do it!" Frances exclaimed.

"Oh, what am I saying? Her Ladyship would never hear of it." Sara looked so dejected that Frances' ire rose all over again.

"Well then, we won't tell her. It will be our secret. Besides, as she has no intention of supplying anyone to help me, and I shall have a number of events to attend this Season, I'll need someone to help me anyway."

"Will she not be angry with me? I cannot lose my position in her house, no matter how I wish I could help you."

"She will never know, I assure you. And if she does, I will happily inform her that I forced you. But are you certain you don't mind that I cannot pay you? I will never take advantage of your help."

Frances felt horrible for having to admit it, but Sara only nodded happily.

"I understand. But ya don't have to pay me nothin' for it. We've known each other fer years. It'll still be a good bit o' experience for me!"

"And you have my word that once you are ready to find yourself a position, I will give you a letter to commend you and speak to your qualifications," Frances promised her, brightening considerably. She looked sheepish for a moment, cringing though she knew she must say something. "In return, I will also help you with something you'll most certainly need if you're to be a lady's maid or a lady's companion—your reading and diction."

"You would do that?" Sara asked softly, her eyes going wide.

"I most certainly will! And I'd be proud to help you, even if you weren't doing me a tremendous favor in return. As you said, we've known each other for years, and this will be a requirement for you to seek a better position."

Sara surprised her by throwing her arms around Frances' neck and squeezing her tightly. It was such an unexpected gesture, but suddenly, Frances realized how she longed to be cared about by someone.

"You cannot know how much this means to me, miss," Sara said, wiping at her eyes with the corner of her apron.

"Every evening after your work is done, we shall have our own lessons. Well, every evening that I'm at leisure to be home. I don't know what Lady Hutchings has already decided. But if I'm here, I will be glad to help you!"

"You will not be sorry, miss, I promise ya! I've already been learnin' all about how to launder a lady's gowns and garments, and how to style her hair. You'll see! I know you'll be pleased!"

"I'm certain I will. But Sara, remember… I'm not going to take advantage or get you in trouble with Lady Hutchings. I'll be glad of your help with my hair and dressing, but I shall launder my things alongside you. I'm sure my aunt expects it."

Sara nodded thoughtfully and thanked her once again before leaving Frances alone to inspect her room.

"Well," Frances muttered to herself, turning in a circle and frowning, "it shan't be difficult to keep cool this summer with the sun on the other side of the house. And with a room smaller than a larder, it shan't be hard to keep warm in the winter if it comes to that. I shall make do, just as I've always done!"