Rowena (Regency Belles Series Book 1) by Caroline Ashton

Lord Conniston be seated beside Aunt Tiverton and not me.
    Her aunt lifted her tea and took a minute sip. ‘As you’re to be brother and sister-in-law as soon as may be I’ve told Garton to seat you together.’ She lowered the tea dish. ‘You can take the time to become better acquainted.’ A frown. ‘Rowena? You are positively slouching.’
    Rowena blinked and sat up straighter. ‘I beg your pardon, aunt.’
    The figure at the end of the sofa stirred. ‘Perhaps Miss Harcourt-Spence is fatigued from her journey, ma’am.’
    Another Tiverton frown. ‘Really?’ A pair of small eyes raked Rowena’s face. ‘Girls have no stamina these days. I’m sure we were never allowed to slouch on sofas no matter how fatigued we were.’ A sniff. ‘You had better take yourself off for a rest, miss.’ She wafted a hand in the general direction of the door. ‘Be sure you are not late for dinner. I’ll send Minchin to make certain you are awake in time to dress before she attends me.’
    Rowena stood up. She placed the half-empty tea dish on the tray. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’ She curtsied. ‘Miss Wexley. My lord.’
    Conniston regarded her with amused eyes. ‘I hope you soon find yourself recovered, Miss Harcourt-Spence. I look forward to our conversation this evening.’
    Words failed Rowena. The Earl bowed, his eyes shining.

Chapter Ten
    E llie folded the second of Rowena’s shifts into the clothes press. All that remained to do was to lay the one evening gown her mistress had brought with her onto the bed. Her fingers moved reverently over the pale turquoise silk, smoothing out the creases. With a sigh she left it and picked up Rowena’s boots still muddied from the excursion across the Grantham churchyard. They would take some cleaning. With another sigh, she opened the bedroom door and looked up and down the corridor. Her next sigh was one of relief; no-one was in sight. She crept out. If Miss Rowena had gone to the right, she decided, then the servants’ stair must be to the left where the red-headed maid had disappeared.
    Half way along the corridor, her worst horror materialized. The very last door opened. Encased in black bombazine, the fearsome shape of the housekeeper emerged. Ellie froze. Icicle chills turned her spine rigid. Her fingers petrified on the boots.
    Never one noted for her charm of expression on her thin face, Mrs Emmett stared at her. ‘You, girl. What are you doing here? Not looking for the footmen’s quarters again, are you.’
    Ellie gulped. She curtsied. ‘No, ma’am,’ she whispered, not daring to raise her eyes above the hem of Mrs Emmett’s dress. ‘Please, ma’am, I’ve been tending Miss Rowena’s clothes.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘And I’ve finished.’
    Dark brows rose. ‘That is no reason for you to be out here. You should use the back stair.’
    Ellie’s confusion deepened. She looked up. ‘But I thought it were over there.’ She waved a boot in the direction of the corridor’s end.
    The black bombazine rose and fell over a deep breath drawn loudly in through flaring nostrils. The white frilled chemisette filling the neckline fairly bristled under the housekeeper’s narrow chin. ‘Not from the bedrooms it isn’t.’ The bunch of keys in her hand rattled. ‘Follow me.’
    She stalked past Ellie who cowered against the wall, clutching the boots to her chest. A smudge of mud smeared the bodice of her cotton gown. Eyes round and mouth dry, she scurried after the housekeeper.
    Quick, rustling strides took Mrs Emmett to Rowena’s room. She flung open the door and marched to the far corner of the patterned walls. Her thin fingers grasped an unobtrusive handle let into the painted dado rail. She twisted it. A door, all but indistinguishable in the pattern, swung open.
    Ellie stared.
    ‘Hurry along girl.’ Ellie stepped forward. ‘No.’ Ellie stopped dead still. Mrs Emmett pointed. ‘Shut that door first. We do not leave doors hanging open in this house.’
    Tucking the