Dear Reader,
Upstairs and downstairs in the Regency household mirrored each other in numerous ways â although, of the two, downstairs was possibly the more rigid and stratified. And while the domestic staff had to think about their employers and their guests every minute of their working day, the privileged inhabitants of the upstairs world could go about their lives blissfully unconcerned about what the staff thought of them.
Lucas and Rowan think they know what is best for their friends and intend to set their love lives straight by plunging into the looking-glass world below stairs. I hope you enjoy their Christmas masquerade as they battle with the mysteries of the brushing room and the boot cupboard, the etiquette of Pugâs Parlour, the formalities of the Servants Ball and the mortifying insight into the servantsâ-eye view of their mastersâ lives.
Their love affair seems doomed by circumstance, but this is Christmas after all, and under the mistletoe wishes can come true.
Louise
December 12th 1816
âYOUR stepmother expects you to marry a murderer?â Lady Rowan Chilcourt stared at her white-faced friend. âI go away for two years and when I come back I find you meekly allowing yourself to be led to the slaughter like some lamb?â
âSlaughter? Oh, do not say such things, Rowan! And how can I prevent it?â Miss Maylin turned even paler, although how that was physically possible it was hard to see. âWe do not know he is a murdererâsurely he is notâbut the stories are alarming, and Lord DanescroftâOh, Rowan, if you could only see him for yourselfâhe is bleak, unsmiling, utterly sinister.â
âYou must say no,â Rowan retorted as she paced, the skirts of her Parisian carriage dress swaying. This was so typical of Penny: she was the sweetest, most loyal friend anyone could hope for, but she was painfully shy and utterly incapable of saying boo to a goose, let alone to a formidable creature like Lady Maylin. And what Pennyâs stepmother lacked in breeding she more than made up for in sheer bullying determination.
âI cannot decline, for he has not yet proposed. I have not even met himânot face to face. I have only seen him from a distance at receptions during the Season. Not that he stayed very long when he did come. And he never talks to people. Or dances,â she added plaintively. âOr smiles.â
âI read about his wifeâs death at the time.â Rowan frowned, trying to recall the stories she had perused. Acting as hostess to her father Lord Chilcourt, in the midst of the glamour of the Congress of Vienna, had been an engrossing whirl of activity far removed from the sedate and regulated pleasures a single lady of twenty-four might enjoy in London. The English news had seemed far away and alien.
Even so, Lady Danescroftâs death had been a sensational and scandalous mystery, and as well as lingering on the horrid details of how she had been found by the butler at the foot of the servantsâ stair, with her neck broken, the reports had been full of veiled hints and coded phrases. Lady Danescroft had been âlivelyâ, âwell-known amidst the younger setâ, and famed for her âwide circle of friends of both sexesâ.
The Earl of Danescroft had apparently shown no emotion at either the inquest or the funeral, had declined to speculate upon why his wife should have been on the servantsâ stair at all in the middle of the night, and had simply become chillier and more abrupt on the subject as time went on.
âAre they really saying he killed her?â Rowan demanded. âThe papers were full of innuendo, but nothing about an outright accusation, let alone a trial.â
âNot exactly.â Penny frowned. âThey say that it is very strange he does nothing to rebut the rumours. He did not go into mourning for her. Andââ she blushed ââthey say he dismissed his valet the very next day, and the valet was very good-looking.â
âHe did not murder the valet as well, then?â Rowan asked, half joking.
âNo! Oh, Rowan, do be serious for a moment.â Penelope dragged a curtain closed to hide the swirling snow outside. âI am sureâwell, almost sureâhe is not a murderer. Heâs an earl, for goodnessâ sake. But he looks haunted by dark thoughts, seems plunged in gloom, and they say his small daughter is kept locked up all the time. Poor little mite.â She sat down, dragging a shawl around the shoulders of her gown. Rowan noticed it was at least one Season out of fashion, and not the work of a leading