Page 2 of Holly & Folly

Wesley cleared his throat. “Thank you, my lady.” He turned to Nell, who was having difficulty controlling her amusement. “This is my sister, Miss Elinor Prescott.”

Lady Dalmeer’s gaze moved to Nell.

Heart thumping, Nell executed her best curtsy.

“Miss Prescott,” Lady Dalmeer said in a higher voice, “what a…pleasant surprise to meet you, as well.”

Nell’s heart dropped into her half-boots. Surprise? She glanced at Wesley, who looked just as puzzled.

“You must be exhausted from your journey,” Lady Dalmeer said. “No doubt you wish for repose. I will show you to your bedchamber, Mr. Prescott, as I have a matter to attend to in the east wing.” She made a gesture over her shoulder, and one of the maids stepped forward. The countess leaned in to speak with her in an under-voice.

The maid’s gaze flicked to Nell, then she nodded and curtsied. “Of course, my lady.” She stepped toward Nell. “Would you follow me, Miss Prescott?”

Nell glanced at Wesley, feeling a hint of panic at the thought of being separated from her one true advocate in this grand house.

He smiled at her reassuringly as she followed the maid from the entry hall. She glanced over her shoulder just in time to see Lady Dalmeer lead Wesley up the stairs.

The maid led her around a corner and into a corridor, long, echoing, and paved with the same black and white geometric marble as the entry hall.

Compared to the warm but weathered wood and rugs of Nell’s own home, Bellthorne was grand and cool, reminding her that these walls demanded a measure of decorum and demureness that did not come naturally to her.

One corridor turned into another, the second lined with arched windows and marble busts on one side and even more busts on the other, each one looking down on her—both literally and metaphorically, she imagined—questioning her presumption in daring to walk such hallowed halls.

She straightened her shoulders as they entered yet another corridor, this one narrower and considerably less imposing. She had every intention of proving she could be a proper guest.

“Just here, Miss Prescott,” the maid said, stopping abruptly in front of a door on the right.

Nell blinked. She had been waiting to be led to a staircase.

The maid opened the door. “I will tell the footmen where to bring your trunk and your maid.” She stood aside for Nell to enter.

Recovering from her surprise, Nell thanked her and stepped into the room.

“Her ladyship wishes her guests to know that dinner shall begin at five. Everyone will assemble in the drawing room just prior.”

“Thank you.”

The maid gave a small curtsy and left, closing the door behind her.

Nell turned and looked around her bedchamber. It was…small. A modest bed with faded hangings took up the bulk of space. The door in one corner made her suspect that this had been a dressing room at some point in its history.

If the countess had not expected Nell, perhaps this was the only room available. No doubt the short conversation between her and the maid had been to determine where to put her.

Her cheeks warmed. It had been difficult enough to agree to come to Bellthorne when she believed she had been invited; arriving to realize the case was otherwise was humbling indeed.

She gave a little shiver, hoping the chill was due to the lack of fire in the small grate. She would not be surprised to find that the chimney smoked. It did not look as though it had been cleaned recently, nor had the room been dusted.

She walked over to the window, hoping the views it afforded would make up for the spare furnishings and coolness of her room. Pushing the curtains aside, she looked through the sole, small window toward…a crumbling outbuilding.

A laugh escaped her, half amusement, half humiliation.

Perhaps she should be grateful she had not been housed with the servants in the attic.

There was a knock on the door, and the next few minutes were taken up with her trunk and portmanteaus being brought in. Her lady’s maid, Shaw, arrived after the footmen and raised her brows at the sight of the room.

She was highly unimpressed—offended, even, on her mistress’s behalf. “Scores of bedchambers, and they offer you this one!”

Nell brushed off her maid’s indignation. Embarrassing as it was, she could not blame Lady Dalmeer too much. With the reputation she had made for herself, it was no wonder she wished to keep Nell away from more welcome guests.