Queen of my Hart - Emily Royal Page 0,23

in Blackwood Heath, and without her husband’s protection, she’d been convinced she wouldn’t survive the journey.

He must have given strict instructions to his servants, who almost continually checked on her and didn’t let her out of their sight. She even suspected they’d stood guard outside her room at each inn while she slept. The younger of the two had, that morning, looked like he was going to fall asleep.

She climbed out of the carriage. At least this time, she didn’t stumble. The memory of her arrival in London still stung. Only by virtue of her husband’s swift reaction, she’d avoided falling flat on her face on the pavement. As it was, she’d let slip a curse, incurring a hard stare from the butler and a disappointed sigh from her husband.

At least here, she wouldn’t be subject to his disappointment.

She drew in a breath of air and looked up at the building before her. A monstrosity of dark gray stone, it stretched almost as far as she could see. She’d never seen a structure so large.

And it was her new home.

Even to her untrained eye, she could tell the place had not been maintained. Ivy grew on the walls, thick tendrils surrounding the windows to choke the soul out of the building. The garden was overgrown—shaggy, unkempt bushes lining the perimeter—and weeds sprouted from the gravel drive.

It was as if the home had never known love.

The footman led her toward the main doors where a small group of servants stood in line. A young man stood at the end. With soft brown hair and a clear gaze, he gave her a bright smile. Beside him stood a young woman in a maid’s uniform. She cast him a look of devotion, then gave Meggie a nervous smile.

A plump woman stood at the far end, next to a tall, stiff-looking man dressed in black, who must be the butler. At a sharp word from the woman, the rest of the servants bowed and curtsied in unison.

“Welcome, ma’am,” she said. “I trust you had a good journey.”

Meggie dipped into a curtsey, and the woman’s eyes widened.

“Forgive me,” Meggie said. “I’m Mrs. Hart. I-I don’t know how to…”

“I understand, my dear,” the woman said. “I’m Mrs. Wells. Is the master with you?”

Meggie shook her head. “He’s still in London.” She gestured toward the building. “I didn’t expect it to be so large!”

Mrs. Wells smiled. “Of course not, my dear,” she said. “Neither did I.”

“You’ve not been here before?”

“The house was unoccupied until a fortnight ago,” Mrs. Wells said, “when the master took up the tenancy.”

“Oh!” Meggie exclaimed. “So that explains why…” she trailed off, embarrassed.

“Why the place is in a state of disrepair?” Mrs. Wells smiled. “The interior is in need of attention, and we don’t have a full complement of staff. Now that you’re here to direct me, we can make progress in time for when the master joins you.”

This woman, kind though she may be, clearly expected Meggie to act as lady of the manor, but Meggie knew nothing about such things. Would the servants soon show the same disappointment at her inadequacies as her husband did?

Mrs. Wells took Meggie’s hand. The butler cleared his throat, and she shot him a warning look.

“We’ll work it out together, shall we, my dear? I’m at your disposal. To take your instruction, but also to give guidance should you need it.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “There’s nothing to fear from managing a large house. It’s the same as any home, only with a few extra rooms.”

Meggie looked into the woman’s eyes and saw nothing but kindness.

“Thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me,” Mrs. Wells said. “Now, my dear, I suspect you’re exhausted after your journey, particularly if you’re unused to traveling. Perhaps some sweet tea? Mrs. Brown has a fruitcake freshly baked this morning. A slice would restore you, I’m sure. I’ll have it brought to your chamber.”

She led Meggie inside.

If the exterior emitted an air of gloom, the interior was no better. The hallway was all marble and polished metal—the epitome of elegance, and something Alderley and Elizabeth would relish. But to Meggie, there was no soul in the harsh, stern lines.

“Mama, mama!” Excited voices echoed, and two children appeared at the end of the hallway.

“Jack! Betsy!” Mrs. Wells cried. “Didn’t I tell you not to disturb me today? The mistress doesn’t want to see you abovestairs!”

“No, please,” Meggie said. “Let them.”

“It’s not done,” Mrs. Wells said.

“Did you not say I was