“She was. But two new girls have arrived since then in a similar state, and I think she shall have all the company she can manage. Sister Bernadette was very sad to see me leave, however. She even cried. I never thought I would see the day.”
“Sister Bernadette,” Marianne said, stopping to look at her friend. “She cried? I did not think she could.”
“I know it. I stood there like a statue as she embraced me, and genuine tears rolled down her cheeks. I have never seen such a thing. I did not know how to react.”
“Goodness. Miracles do happen,” Marianne said.
The two entered the house through the grand front entrance, and it was not until they were in the hall that it occurred to Marianne that they should probably have gone around the back—the servants’ entrance. However, Juliet was more than a servant. She was her friend. She would not treat her as less than, because she did not think of her as less than. They were making their way up the front staircase when Juliet stopped.
“Am I not to use the servants’ stairs?”
Marianne paused. She had not been aware that Juliet would even know there was such a thing as servants’ stairs.
“I have lived at the convent for more than twenty years. I have met many fine ladies in unfortunate circumstances. I do listen when people speak,” Juliet told her reproachfully. “Also, Sister Bernadette told me all about etiquette. She and the Mother Superior knew quite a bit about it, and Sister Mary Agnes as well. I am well aware that as a lady’s maid I am supposed to be invisible—walking up and down the back staircase so that none shall see me.”
“It is not like that. Lucien will not mind.”
“But I do mind,” Juliet said firmly. “You brought me out of the convent to be a proper lady’s maid, with promises of seeing the continent and even the world. I shall be content with whatever staircase you wish to take me up and down, and please do not look so frightfully worried. I am well aware of my place.”
Marianne breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. I was concerned. I do not want you to feel as though you are beneath me in station.”
“Oh, but I am. I always was, even at the convent. Please, Marianne, I know my place. I am the bastard daughter of nobody. I am grateful for this position.”
The two continued up the stairs and then stopped in front of the servants’ quarters located below the attic.
“Sister Bernadette told me that the servants are usually below stairs.”
“They are,” she said. “In many of the grand country estates, they are. But the valet and ladies’ maids and housekeeper, as well as the butler, all have their quarters upstairs because...” She shrugged. “I do not know why. But it has always been that way. I do not know which one is yours,” she said and paused. “You see, I am a hopeless countess. I do not even know who stays in which chamber.”
“I can help you with that,” Mrs. Greaves said and walked down the stairs, the keys clinking on her chatelaine as she came down the hall. “You must be Juliet. What is your family name?”
Juliet paused. “I have not got one,” she said. “You see, I was born in a convent. I do not know who my father was, and my mother left long ago, so I never did receive one. But one of the nuns suggested I should choose ‘Summers,’ because I was born in summer.”
Mrs. Greaves blinked and looked from Juliet to Marianne and back again, apparently unaccustomed to such forthright speech.
“Miss Summers, then. Very well. Your chamber will be the second door on the right, my lady. I can show your maid to her chamber now. You need not concern yourself with it.”
Marianne blinked. She had envisioned spending the afternoon sitting on Juliet’s bed talking, but she realized that perhaps that was not to be.
“It is quite all right,” Juliet said. “I am rather fatigued. I would like to unpack my portmanteau, though—all five items contained within—and rest a little, if that is all right.”
“Of course,” she said. “I shall see you this evening. I can take you for a walk in the garden and show you the grounds.”
“I should like that,” Juliet said, giving her a small smile before going into the room designated as hers.
The housekeeper turned and smiled at Marianne. “You need not worry. I shall take very good care of your friend. I know she is your friend, but you do have to keep in mind that you are a countess now. If you are seen being quite as friendly with Miss Summers as you have been just now, people will talk.”
“I do not care if they talk,” Marianne said. “Besides, His Lordship was rather particular in his friendship with you as a housekeeper, and I am certain people talked about you sitting in the second row at our wedding.”
The woman gasped and curtsied. “I beg your pardon. I forgot my place.”
With that, she made her way into Juliet’s chamber, and Marianne walked back down the stairs. This was not her world. This attic space belonged to the servants. Juliet belonged to the servants. She belonged—nowhere really.
She felt so far removed from high society, from the lady she was meant to be. And yet that is what she was. She had been born an Earl’s daughter, and she was now an Earl’s wife. The next six months would be far more difficult than she ever thought possible.
By the time she had arrived on the ground floor again, the pitter-patter of feet running across the marble floor could be heard.
“Henry! Master Henry!” the governess called just as Henry came flying around the corner.
