a servant attend her, the daughter of servants, but she’d been accustomed to the assistance of a Charlotte’s maid. As Charlotte’s companion, she’d received nearly the same services as Charlotte herself, to show the timid girl that there was nothing to fear. That had been her main task—showing Charlotte there was nothing to fear.
Eppy helped Anna into her dress.
‘Are the children really sleeping?’ Anna asked. It was nearing eight in the evening according to the clock in the room.
‘Last I checked,’ Eppy replied good-naturedly. At least the maid was cheerful, unlike Mr and Mrs Tippen.
‘Have the children truly not been told I was coming?’ Anna straightened the front of her dress.
The maid tied her laces. ‘That was Mr Parker’s idea. Goodness knows what he was thinkin’.’
Indeed. The children should have been told. Charlotte always adjusted better when warned of something new.
Anna herself would have preferred to be warned in advance that the future she’d expected for herself would be snatched away from her.
After Charlotte married, she’d thought she’d return to Lawton House and eventually also would encounter someone who wanted to marry her. A scholarly man, perhaps, a man who would value an educated wife. They’d have children, she’d hoped, to whom she could pass on all that she’d learned.
Now she did not dare to look into her future. She did not dare dream. She knew now that nothing could ever be certain.
She sat down at the dressing table and pulled pins from her hair. ‘Can you tell me about the children?’ she asked the maid. ‘I know nothing. Not even their names, actually.’ Lord Brentmore had never mentioned their names.
‘Well—’ Eppy continued to unpack her trunk ‘—the boy is Cal—Earl of Calmount, if you want to get fancy. Given name is John, in case you need it. He is the older at seven years and a quiet little thing. Next is little Dory—Lady Dorothea, that is. Not quiet at all.’
‘And she is five years old?’ Anna remembered.
‘That she is, miss.’ Eppy placed some folded articles of clothing in a bureau drawer.
Anna repinned her hair. ‘It must have been difficult for them to lose their governess.’
The maid shrugged. ‘Mrs Sykes was sickly for a while. You’ll be a nice change for the little ones.’
She hoped so.
She stood and smoothed out the skirt of her dress. ‘I am supposed to dine with Mr Parker. Will there be someone downstairs to show me the way?’
Eppy closed the drawer. ‘One of the footmen will be attending the hall. I expect you’ll eat in the dining room. That is where Mr Parker is served.’
The maid accompanied her out in the hall. She pointed down the long hallway of the wing. ‘I have been sleeping in the room at the very end of the hall. The children are two doors down from you here. Come knock on my door if you need help before you retire.’
Anna walked down the stairs to the entrance hall. As Eppy had said, a footman was there to escort her to the dining room.
Mr Parker stood when she walked in the room. ‘Ah, there you are. I hope everything was to your liking.’
As if she were free to complain. ‘It was.’
Two places were set at the end of a long table, across from each other, leaving the head of the table, with its larger chair, empty. Lord Brentmore’s seat, obviously.
Mr Parker helped her into her seat and signalled to another waiting footman. ‘We shall be served in a moment. May I pour you some wine?’
‘Certainly.’ She glanced about the room, as wainscoted as the rest of the house she’d seen. Were there any rooms with plastered walls and colourful wall coverings? The only attempt at brightness in this room was a huge tapestry that covered the wall behind the table’s head. Its faded colours told the story of a hunt that must have taken place at least two centuries ago. The sideboard held gleaming silver serving dishes, which, she suspected, would not be used to serve a man of business and a governess.
Mr Parker raised his glass. ‘Here is to Brentmore, your new home.’
It was hard to imagine this place, both grand and dismal, ever feeling like home. Home was Lawton House. And the small cottage she sometimes shared with her parents.
‘To Brentmore,’ she murmured.
A footman brought in a tureen of soup and served them.
Mr Parker tasted the soup and nodded his approval. Anna ought to be starving after her day of travel with only quick meals at posting inns, but sipping the soup was more formality than famish.
‘Tomorrow before I leave I will make certain Mrs Tippen knows you need a tour of the house and grounds.’ He took another spoonful.
She looked up at him. ‘Before you leave? You are leaving tomorrow?’
He nodded. ‘Lord Brentmore wishes me to return to town as soon as possible.’
Did Lord Brentmore not feel the children needed some transition? Even if Mr Parker did not involve himself in their care, he must be a familiar figure to them.
She pursed her lips. ‘I suppose the marquess’s needs are greater than the children’s.’
His spoon stopped in mid-air. ‘The children? The children do not need me here. Oh, no, no, no. All I’ve done is see to the former governess’s burial. She had no family to speak of, so it was entirely up to me. The nurse takes care of the children.’ He cocked his head. ‘You met her, I hope. She was to have presented herself to you.’
‘She did.’ She frowned. ‘Have you had nothing to do with the children at all? Did you not speak with them and tell them that you were attending to the burial?’
His brows rose. ‘Their nurse took care of that. I thought it best not to disrupt their routine.’
Disrupt their routine? Their governess died, for goodness’ sake. That was a disruption. She’d better say no more about that, lest she really lose her temper.
The footman brought turbot for the next course.
‘What can you tell me about the children?’ Anna asked.
‘Not a great deal.’ Mr Parker dug his fork into the fish. ‘I understand they are easy to manage.’
She needed to learn something about them. ‘Their mother died, did she not?’
He glanced down at his plate. ‘Yes. A little over a year ago. It happened here. A riding accident.’
‘Here?’ She swallowed. ‘The children must have been very affected.’
He took a bite. ‘I suppose they were.’
Anna expelled an exasperated breath. This man knew nothing of the children. ‘Tell me about their mother.
