1 I

"I think you are wrong to want a heart. It makes most people unhappy. If you only knew it, you are in luck not to have a heart."

—L. Frank Baum; The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

I.

Ashwood, Hertfordshire, 1806

Twelve Years Later

"Thank you for coming all this way, Doctor Carlton," Grace Denham said again as she walked him to her family's front door.

Doctor Carlton's practice was in London, and a thirty-mile distance was no easy journey. However, the only doctor near the Hertfordshire village of Ashwood charged about a month's wages for a house call.

Doctor Carlton had a merciful reputation, and he thankfully had only charged Grace a small fee for her mother's care.

"I am only sorry I could not do more to help," replied Doctor Carlton regretfully. "Your mother must stay in bed and rest that leg. She is not to walk on it. Not for two months at least. I shall return then to check on her. Are you to care for her?"

Grace shook her head. "No. My younger sister, Claire, whom you met upstairs. She is to stay home and tend Mama. I would ordinarily be at my employer's this minute ... but alas ..."

Doctor Carlton held up his hand. "Not to worry. I am certain your sister is more than up to the task. You have my address in London. Please do not hesitate to write." Placing his hat atop his greying tight curls, the doctor bowed his head. "Good day, Miss Denham."

"Good day, Doctor," replied Grace with a small smile, and she closed the door. Exhaling, she leaned against the timber frame, and her eyes ran over the room before her.

The mending was piling up. The laundry had not been done. The breakfast dishes were still dirty. Bread had not been made. And those were only the downstairs chores. Upstairs were bedrooms full of dusting work and laundry that had not been attended to.

Grace's seventeen-year-old sister, Claire, usually tended to the house, and had done so on her own since their middle sister Kate had married a year earlier. But Claire's time had been greatly occupied by their mother, and the household chores had not been a priority.

Grace quickly returned to her mother's bedroom upstairs, where Claire was propping her broken leg up with a pillow.

Mrs Ellen Denham smiled at her eldest child as she entered the room and held her hand out for Grace. Grace sat down on the edge of the bed and put her hand in her mother's.

Mrs Denham was a lovely lady, with a rounded face and figure and a kind constitution. She had aged in her face, and her dark hair had greyed, in the last five years since Mr Denham had passed away.

When her father died, both Grace and Mrs Denham had found employment as housemaids with the wealthy Slickson family; a landed family in a neighbouring village. It was where they had remained employed until Mrs Denham had taken a fall down a flight of stairs and had snapped a bone in her lower leg.

Were it not for Doctor Carlton, her leg might have been removed.

But without their mother's income, Grace's would not be enough to live on. Her meagre wage would not feed her mother, and her three siblings still at home. Her fifteen-year-old brother, Peter, hardly made a wage as a blacksmith's apprentice, and were it not be for Jim Ellis being their brother-in-law, and Kate's husband, they would not have been able to afford him that.

Jem was the youngest, at twelve years old, and much like Grace at that age, he was much too concerned with being a child, and Grace did not have the heart to ask him to give that up.

Which meant that it was up to her, as the oldest, to support the family. She had resigned her position in the Slickson household and had taken her reference to a place that she had once swore that she would never go again.

"Doctor Carlton says you must rest for at least two months, Mama," Grace reiterated.

"Oh, dear," worried Mrs Denham. "Two months? How on earth will we manage? Jem will have to go to work. He won't be able to go back to school in a few weeks when the summer ends."

"Mama, please do not trouble yourself," Claire urged. "All will be well. Grace always manages to look after us." Claire looked up at her elder sister with her confident, blue eyes.

Grace, Kate, and Claire Denham were all very similar in appearance. The girls all had thick, dark hair, and blue eyes, though Grace's did have a strange shade of violet in the iris, making them appear more the colour of cornflowers. It had been said once to her, and Grace had never forgotten the comparison. They three were not remarkable in height, and all stood just over five feet tall, but they were remarkable in bond, especially after their poor father had died.

"In fact, Mama, I am inquiring about a new position this very day," Grace added, pasting a positive smile on her face.

Mrs Denham frowned. "A new position. Where?"

Grace gulped. "Ashwood House." Just thinking about that great house sent a shiver down Grace's spine. She had not crossed the threshold since she was a girl of eleven, and even then, she was only allowed to play in the kitchens.

Mrs Denham looked as Grace felt. Claire, whom already knew of Grace's plans, offered her sister an expression of support. "Oh, no, Grace," insisted Mrs Denham. "Really, must you? After what he said –"

"Mama!" cried Grace, interrupting her. "Really, I do not want to dwell on the past. It was childish, and any thoughts surrounding it must be considered so as well. We are in need of a better wage, and the Beresfords' pay their housemaids more than the Slicksons' do." Grace huffed. "They are not even going to be there anyway," she murmured. They hadn't returned to Ashwood in years.

Mrs Denham closed her mouth and nodded. "Well, I am sorry for you, Grace," she said sincerely. "But I am grateful for you, also." She squeezed Grace's hand. "I am glad they are not here. I never liked that woman, duchess or not," she said determinedly. "Always walking about as though there was a dirty smell under her nose."

It seemed wrong, really, to be speaking of a great lady like the Duchess of Ashwood so, even if Grace found herself quietly agreeing with her mother. But if she hoped to work in the Duchess' household, she would need to keep such thoughts to herself.

"I must go, Mama. Mrs Hayes is expecting me at three o'clock," said Grace, eyeing the little clock on the mantle. It would take her a good half hour to make the walk to the great Beresford estate, and she would need to leave very soon.

"Ah, well there you have a decent woman," Mrs Denham said decidedly. "At least she will be kind to you. I have never heard an uncivil word leave her lips."

Grace did agree whole heartedly. While she was not a close acquaintance of Mrs Hayes; obviously as their ages were so different, Mrs Hayes was nothing but a kind and decent woman. She was the housekeeper at the Beresford estate, but when Grace had known her more intimately, she had been Miss Hayes, the nanny to the three Beresford children.

The family so valued her they kept her on long after the children were grown.

Grace kissed her mother's forehead, and Claire scurried around the bed to walk out with her sister.

"How are you feeling?" Claire asked worriedly.

Grace offered her sister a reassuring smile. "I am well," she promised her. "I am going to be a housemaid and that is all. I think you forget I am three and twenty years old, Claire. I'm not a child, and I have quite forgotten anything unpleasant from years past."

***

Twelve years might have passed since Grace had been in view of the grand Ashwood House, but she still felt every bit a girl of eleven as the nerves coursed through her veins.

The baroque style stately house towered over in comparison to anything else within a mile radius. It was impossibly large and ostentatious, and any passer-by would know just how rich the family who owned it had to be.

Well, the Beresfords were a well-known wealthy British family, even if they hadn't been in residence in well over a decade.

Grace did have happy memories here as well, despite the knots that were currently in her stomach. And perhaps these memories were a reason why she had also endeavoured to avoid travelling near Ashwood House.

If she listened closely enough, she was certain to hear the Duchess crying out at her for putting her dirty hands on the wallpaper. She could hear another voice, too. One that she liked to push out of her mind.

Grace forced herself to think of her poor mama, her sister, and her brothers. If she did not secure a higher paying position, they would starve. She was an adult now, and any troubles or woes were long behind her.

Grace did not walk in the main gate. It was not proper. Instead, she walked around to the side gate, another mile, what felt like, to the entrance that vendors and servants used. It was the entrance that she had always used as a child, as it led directly to the kitchens.

The kitchen was the only part of the house where she had been permitted. It was strange to think that she hadn't made this journey in so long, and yet it felt like second nature to find her way.

Grace walked through the secluded courtyard, often used by footmen who smoked tobacco. Or at least, it had been historically. Taking a deep breath, she walked confidently up to the kitchen door and knocked, hoping that she was not late.

The door was opened by a servant she did not recognise. She was young, perhaps nineteen or twenty, and dressed as a scullery maid. "Yes?" she prompted, frowning.

"Good afternoon," greeted Grace. "My name is Grace Denham. I believe Mrs Hayes is expecting me."

The door was opened wider for her, and Grace stepped into a virtually unchanged kitchen. It was exactly as she remembered, although perhaps a little smaller. Though, she had grown a little since she was a girl.

Large, wood stoves lined the far wall, suitable for preparing elaborate feasts for aristocracy. A wide timber work bench filled the middle of the kitchen, filled with bowls and tureens of fruits and vegetables. The smells of the dinner that was being prepared made Grace's mouth water.

There were servants everywhere. Of course, the Ashwood estate employed many. It took dozens of hands to keep such a house in perfect condition. Beside the kitchen was a dining room, with one long timber table positioned in the centre of the room.

There were a handful of servants seated at the table, some with cups of tea, others with piles of mending in front of them. Servants carried baskets filled with laundry. Footmen carried unused silver for polishing.

This was certainly livelier than the Slickson household. Grace had only been one of four maids, one being her mother. Though well-off, the Slickson's wealth could not compare.

And then Grace saw a face she recognised. Mrs Hayes. She was perhaps five and forty years old, with a still youthful air about her, even if the lines in her skin betrayed her age. She was dressed in black, in direct contrast to the housemaids.

It was not usual that a nanny would be retained by a family when the children were grown. Ordinarily, Miss Hayes would have moved onto another family. What it must like to be so valued, Grace wondered.

But she was the housekeeper now, and so was called Mrs Hayes, and she greeted Grace with a kind, knowing smile. "Miss Denham," she said cheerfully. "Welcome. May I call you Grace? All of the housemaids are referred to thus."

"Of course," Grace nodded. Mrs Hayes could call her whatever she liked so long as Grace secured employment.

Mrs Hayes led Grace into the housekeeper's room off the kitchen. It was a small office with a window, a few comfortable chairs and a desk. On it, there was a half-drunk cup of tea beside some letters.

Grace was invited to sit down in the chair before the desk, and Mrs Hayes sat down in what would be her usual spot. Mrs Hayes shuffled through some of her papers on her desk before she pulled out the reference letter that Grace had mailed her.

Mrs Slickson's housekeeper had been very generous in her reference and had understood the predicament that the Denhams were in when Grace had resigned her position.

"Thank you for providing me with your reference, Grace," said Mrs Hayes sincerely. "I can see that you were very valued by the Slicksons. A hardworking and loyal employee." She smiled, before looking up. "I hear your mother was hurt recently. How does she fare?" Mrs Hayes inquired.

"Oh, I thank you for asking, Mrs Hayes," said Grace gratefully. "She has broken her leg. The doctor came to see her earlier, and she must rest for at least two months."

"Well, I wish her a speedy recovery," she offered thoughtfully.

"Thank you." Grace smiled.

"Can you tell me a little about your experience with Mrs Slickson?" prompted Mrs Hayes.

"Yes," nodded Grace. "In recent months, Mrs Slickson began to request personal attendance from me. I gained considerable experience in hair, the mending of valuable garments, dressing ..." Lord, if Grace could somehow manage to become a lady's maid someday, her family's situation would be just that little bit better.

"Excellent, that is a very valuable skill to have," commended Mrs Hayes, before her expression changed. "You are much changed from when I knew you last, Grace," observed Mrs Hayes. "Of course, you were but a child, though all I can see when I hear your name is you and Adam ... pardon me, Lord Adam running about and getting underfoot, giggling away as you got up to mischief."

It was the first time in a long time ... a very long time that Grace had heard his name spoken out loud. Her family never mentioned him. They had long stopped talking about him years ago. And Grace had long stopped crying over him.

But that didn't mean that the moment his name was spoken that she was not reminded of every wonderful thing that had happened between them up until he had gone away to school. Adam had been the most important person in her life once.

The moment Grace realised such fond thoughts were entering her mind, she pushed them aside, almost aggressively, with thoughts of sensibility as she reminded herself as to why she was there.

"I hope that any of my ... our ... childish antics, will not dissuade you from giving me a chance, Mrs Hayes," Grace said, her begging tone nearly evident.

Mrs Hayes chuckled. "Oh, no," she assured her. "You only made me think of him, of them all," she said, referring to the Beresford children, "when they were young."

She missed them, Grace surmised. Of course, she would. Mrs Hayes had raised them.

"But alas, the season of longing is nearly over," continued Mrs Hayes, though Grace was a little unsure of what she meant. "Forgive me, I am a little distracted today by some rather good news." She exhaled and placed her hands over one another on the desk. "I know you will be an excellent addition to the Ashwood household, Grace. I would like for you to begin tomorrow morning. Take this afternoon and tonight to pack your belongings. Can you be here by six o'clock sharp?"

The nerves that Grace felt were quickly replaced by an overwhelming sensation of relief. Just knowing that her family were going to be alright was enough to make her put up with just about anything.

"Yes, of course," confirmed Grace. "Thank you, Mrs Hayes. I do sincerely appreciate this opportunity." Grace felt like bowing out of gratefulness, but she managed to make it out of Mrs Hayes' sitting room and out into the courtyard with a little decorum.

She inhaled in a deep breath, sucking in the good smells and fresh air of the last days of summer. Everything would be alright. There was no reason to be nervous or ... anything other than happy at what had happened.

Ashwood House was different now. She was different.

Grace set off home, ready to tell her mother and Claire the good news.