Louise M Gouge

by A Suitable Wife

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Oh, no, my dear.” Mrs. Parton bustled into Beatrice’s bedchamber. “Not the brown bonnet. You must wear the blue.”

  Seated in front of her dressing-table mirror, Beatrice considered the change. “But my gown is green.”

  “Green?” Mrs. Parton blinked as if seeing the elegant walking dress for the first time. “Oh, my goodness, no. You must wear the blue.”

  Beatrice started to protest that she always wore either blue or pink and would welcome a different color. But only three nights ago she had vowed to accept Mrs. Parton’s guidance, and she would certainly not argue about such a small thing as her choice of clothing.

  “As you wish, madam.” She hurried to make the change with help from Poole, Mrs. Parton’s lady’s maid.

  “Hmm.” Her employer watched their every move with a critical expression.

  “Are you displeased, madam?” Poole’s gray eyebrows dipped into a worried frown.

  “No, no, everything is fine.” Mrs. Parton paced back and forth across the carpet. “This is simply taking too long. Bea, we must find a lady’s maid for you.”

  Beatrice’s heart skipped. “That would be splendid.” Until this moment she had forgotten Lucy’s request to learn the duties of that position. But no doubt the girl was busy with the little sweeps. Perhaps Sally at the orphanage would do.

  Poole set the blue silk bonnet on Beatrice’s head, then fluffed the curls around her face and stepped back for Mrs. Parton to inspect her work.

  “There.” Mrs. Parton gripped Beatrice’s chin and studied her appearance from every angle. “Perfect. Blue is your best color. Brightens your eyes.” Her approving smile stirred sweet memories of Mama.

  “What will we be doing today?” With all this attention to her appearance, perhaps they were going to meet some august person.

  “Why, visiting Lady Greystone, of course.” Mrs. Parton peered in the dressing-table mirror and adjusted the pink peacock feather in her purple paisley turban. “It is her day to be at home.”

  All of Beatrice’s eagerness evaporated. “Oh.”

  “Now, now, my dear, she is not an ogre.” Mrs. Parton shooed Poole out with a wave of her hand. Once the woman left, she looped an arm around Beatrice’s and led her out of the room. “Do not forget what I told you about her unhappy marriage and having to rear her three sons alone. Be generous in your opinion of Lady Greystone. After all, those boys have turned out quite well, so she cannot be such a tyrant.”

  “Yes, madam.” One “boy” in particular came to mind, but Beatrice did not expect to see him. He would be in Parliament this afternoon.

  As the two ladies swept out the front door and down the street to the next town house, Beatrice endeavored to settle her emotions. Whatever insult Lady Greystone hurled her way, she was determined not to respond in kind or in a way that would embarrass Mrs. Parton. But to Beatrice’s surprise the viscountess received them graciously…somewhat.

  “My dear Julia.” She kissed Mrs. Parton’s cheek. “You have been neglecting me.” She received Beatrice’s curtsey with a regal nod. “Lady Beatrice.”

  As they made their way to the drawing room, the two older ladies chatted like the schoolgirls they used to be. Here was a side of the viscountess Beatrice had not seen. Her pleasant manner toward her friend of a lower social standing was enough to erase any personal offense Beatrice might take. In fact, after observing their conversation for several moments, she wished once again for a friend of her own. How grand it would be if the viscountess’s daughter-in-law visited today while Beatrice was here. She had not seen Mrs. Grenville in five days, and despite their brief acquaintance, she longed to spend more time with her.

  “Good afternoon, Mother. I see we have guests.” Lord Greystone strode into the room. His dark, windswept curls formed an appealing frame around his handsome face, and his blue eyes sparkled in the late-afternoon sunlight streaming in through the window.

  Beatrice’s heart did a dozen somersaults before she could grip her emotions. What an unexpected—she could think of no other word—delight.

  “Mrs. Parton.” The viscount bowed over the lady’s hand and regarded her with a warm look before stepping over to take Beatrice’s hand. “Lady Beatrice.” His now guarded gaze did not quite meet hers.

  Disappointment replaced delight. How could he be so cool toward her after their pleasant afternoon in the park, their lovely supper with Mrs. Parton? Containing her giddy emotions was no longer difficult. When he raised his eyes to hers, she was fully able to return a cool but polite nod, much like the one his mother had given her.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Greystone.” She would say no more. Truly she would not. “Has Parliament adjourned for the day?” Why, oh, why did her mouth betray her?

  “Not at all.” He settled into a chair adjacent to his mother and accepted a cup of tea. Beatrice made note of the single lump of sugar and dash of cream the lady put in for him, although she would never need that information. “The ramblings of the opposition went on a bit too long for my taste, so I decided to come home.” He shook his head in disgust. “If they could just see reason—”

  “No politics, Greystone.” The viscountess stirred her own tea and spoke as one would to a child.

  A frown darted across his face, but his smile was all acquiescence. “Of course. Forgive me.”

  “Oh, Frances,” Mrs. Parton said, “do let me ask him about today’s debate.” Without waiting for a reply, she addressed the viscount. “You must tell us about the pension for the wounded soldiers. Has it been utterly defeated?”

  “I fear so, dear lady. The hearts of many peers are like granite.”

  “More’s the pity.” Mrs. Parton’s eyes reddened. “Well, we shall simply have to do what we can ourselves.” She sniffed and dabbed her nose with a handkerchief. “Now, what about our little chimney sweeps?”

  The viscount’s expression brightened, while his mother’s clouded. Beatrice had difficulty not laughing at the contrast. Then she sobered, remembering Mrs. Parton’s appeal for a more generous opinion of Lady Greystone. Beatrice knew she must forgive the lady for her lack of warmth toward her, due of course to Melly’s reputation. Yet one would think that after rearing three sons, she would have an abundance of patience and understanding toward little boys, whatever their station in life.

  “They were fit and fine before I left this morning.” He chuckled. “Although Lucy already looked a bit harried.”

  Mrs. Parton laughed. “But perhaps the girl is not strong enough to tend them.”

  “Humph.” Lady Greystone scowled at her friend. “All the more reason to send them to Shrewsbury.”

  “Mother.” The viscount spoke softly, but there was a hint of command in his tone.

  The lady turned her scowl on him. “Humph.”

  Beatrice watched with interest. In the short time she had known these two people, she had observed a constant power struggle. Perhaps the viscount was slowly shifting into the place of true leadership in his own home. Beatrice could feel only admiration for his diplomatic dealings with his difficult mother. With such tact the gentleman would make an excellent husband one day. Though she could not imagine why she should think of him in those terms. That matter had been settled once and for all, for he clearly found no pleasure in her company. Yet after her disappointment over Melly, she felt encouraged to know at least one trustworthy gentleman.

  “Now, Greystone, about Lucy.” Mrs. Parton took a biscuit from the tea tray and waved it over her teacup, as if trying to decide whether or not to dunk it. “When the boys are napping or perhaps under the care of a footman, do you suppose the girl could come over and work with my Mrs. Poole? With the right training I believe she would make an excellent lady’s maid.”

  A thread of excitement wound through Beatrice and lifted her spirits. Mrs. Parton’s kindnesses never ceased.

  “Now, Julia, do you not think that is a question for me?” Lady Greystone’s eyes blazed, and her smile seemed
forced.

  “Oh.” Mrs. Parton looked from one to the other. “Why, I have no idea. Whom should I ask?”

  Beatrice ducked her head and involved herself with her nearly empty teacup. So she was not the only one to observe the struggle between mother and son.

  “I shall speak to Crawford,” the viscount said as if he had not heard the question. Or perhaps, had heard it and was simply showing Mrs. Parton the answer instead of telling her. “Lucy is, after all, his granddaughter. As such, perhaps she is more suited to be an upper servant rather than a housemaid.”

  Lady Greystone’s countenance seemed carved of the same granite that formed the hearts of the uncharitable peers. “As you wish.”

  Silence settled over the large, elegant drawing room. Beatrice tried without success to think of an appropriate subject to introduce. But, after all, it was not her place. Mrs. Parton consumed her biscuit as if it were a feast. Lady Greystone stared toward the windows as if inspecting them for smudges. Lord Greystone gave his mother a gentle, sympathetic smile, but the lady did not look his way. Nonetheless Beatrice was pleased to see his kindness. Should she have a son someday, she would wish him to be as good as Lord Greystone. But again, she should not think of the viscount and having a family of her own in the same moment.

  To her surprise he turned his kind smile her way, and her traitorous heart skipped a beat. “Lady Beatrice, what will our Mrs. Parton have you doing next?” From the quick lift of one eyebrow, she could see he was teasing.

  Her first thought was to say, “Not a ride in her phaeton.” But she would not hurt her benefactress’s feelings. “I am certain it will be a grand adventure, which I await with bated breath.”

  Both he and Mrs. Parton laughed.

  “Of that, I have no doubt, madam.”

  *

  Greystone found Lady Beatrice’s wit and honesty to be nothing short of delightful. From the moment he had seen her across the card room at his birthday ball, he had admired her expressiveness, her inability to hide her feelings. Today her brilliant eyes reflected the color of her elegant blue walking dress and bonnet, enhancing her beauty and threatening to steal his breath away. Mild alarm had shot across her lovely face when he had asked his question. Was she remembering her wild ride in the phaeton? If so, she had refrained from criticizing Mrs. Parton. Such kindness deserved a reward, and he knew just what to give her.

  “Well, then, Mother, Mrs. Parton, if you ladies have no other plans in mind, may I suggest that we all go to the theatre this evening?” He heard Mother gasp softly beside him, but he would not be deterred. “I understand Elliston is performing Hamlet, and the Prince Regent is coming.”

  “That was the report last time,” Mrs. Parton huffed, “but he did not appear.”

  “Ah, but this time he cannot change his mind. The Russian czar and his sister, the Grand Duchess, will accompany him, and he must not disappoint them.” Greystone patted Mother’s hand to command her attention. “Will you go with us, madam? I should be pleased beyond words to have your company.” If she agreed, he would send an invitation straightaway to Uncle Grenville to join their party. He longed to foster their friendship, for Mother seemed a different, happier person in his uncle’s presence.

  “You know I do not care for the theatre.” Her hard look did not soften. “But by all means, go. I would not deprive you of Elliston’s Hamlet.”

  At her harsh tone, Greystone winced, but did not respond. Nothing he did these days pleased her. What did the poor dear want from him? From anyone?

  After several moments of silence, Mrs. Parton coughed softly. “Do you have a box?”

  He forced away the dark clouds trying to spoil his mood. “Indeed I do. Blakemore has offered his, and we should try to fill it.”

  “What a grand idea.” Mrs. Parton clapped her hands. “You must invite dear Edmond and Anna.”

  From the joyful look on Lady Beatrice’s beautiful countenance, he could see that scheme brought her great delight. And in that moment, pleasing her—if only for one evening—became his singular goal.

  *

  Beatrice tried to school her face into an indifferent expression, but she could not manage it. She could think of nothing more enjoyable than another evening at the theatre, especially in Lord Greystone’s company. Had she been wrong about his opinion of her? Before she could comment, however, the viscount’s butler announced more guests.

  “Lady Grandly, Miss Waddington and Miss Amelia Waddington.”

  “Oh, my.” Mrs. Parton set down her teacup. “We have overstayed our time. Frances, we must leave so the baroness and her daughters will have you all to themselves. Come along, Bea. We must prepare for our evening.”

  “Yes, madam.” Beatrice had noticed the mild alarm on Lord Greystone’s face when the newcomers were announced.

  While Mrs. Parton rose and brushed a kiss across Lady Greystone’s cheek, receiving no response, the viscount stood, as well.

  “Mrs. Parton, would you like to see how our little sweeps are faring?” The sudden tightness in his voice added to Beatrice’s guess that he did not wish to entertain the new guests.

  “Oh, that would be grand.” Mrs. Parton waved to Beatrice to follow.

  They encountered the newcomers at the drawing-room door. Lord Greystone made introductions, and greetings and pleasantries were exchanged all around. The younger ladies stared at him with open admiration and seemed particularly disappointed when he bowed away, explaining he had a matter to discuss with Mrs. Parton. Beatrice understood their dismay. Both girls were reasonably attractive and no doubt seeking husbands. Lord Greystone would make a fine catch for any lady. Somehow that thought caused a stirring of jealousy, which Beatrice quickly dismissed. After all, she had no claim on the gentleman.

  In the fourth-floor nursery the little sweeps were squirming in their chairs while Lucy worked on a sampler by the window. When the adults entered, the boys raced to Lord Greystone like eager puppies, coming just short of jumping on him.

  “’ello, gov’ner,” Kit chirped.

  “’ello, gov’ner,” Ben echoed.

  Both boys were remarkably clean, and in fact bore little resemblance to the children Beatrice had met just over two weeks ago. Those daily baths would soon remove the last bits of gray around their necks and fingernails. They had also begun to plump up a bit, which added to their healthy appearance.

  “Now see here, you little brats—” Lucy hurried after them, stopping just short of snatching them away from the viscount. “I’ve told you never to address Lord Greystone until he speaks to you. And it’s my lord, not governor.” The girl’s manners and speech also needed improving, but Beatrice felt certain she could help her.

  “There now, Lucy.” Lord Greystone knelt and gathered the boys into his arms, such a kind gesture from an important gentleman. The tender look in his eyes reminded Beatrice of the Bible story in which Jesus said, “‘Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me.’” The viscount was clearly demonstrating the faith he had spoken of several nights ago. The children were lapping up the affection, for they wrapped tiny arms around his neck.

  What a contrast to all that Beatrice had ever known. Her own father had never so much as held her hand or brushed a kiss across her cheek. Yet Lord Greystone heaped kindness and generosity upon these little orphans. Her admiration for him swelled within her, and she approached and set a hand on the older boy’s shoulder. “Hello, Kit. Do you remember me?”

  He blinked, then grinned. “Coo, miss, ’ow could I forget such a pretty lady?”

  “Why, thank you, sir.” Patting his cheek, she glanced over his head to see Lord Greystone’s approving smile. “Tell me what you have been doing.”

  Ben bit his lip, but Kit shrugged. “Not much, miss. That’n—” He aimed a thumb over his shoulder at Lucy, who had worn a scowl the whole time. “She don’t like us doin’ nothin’ but sittin’.”

  “Hmm.” Lord Greystone stood. “Hardly good for two energetic boys. Perhaps we shoul
d devise some activities to keep you busy.”

  Kit gave him a shaky grin. “We could clean the chimneys, gov. We want to earn our keep. That’n, Miss Lucy I mean, says we’re just the same as stealin’ ’cause we don’t earn our keep.”

  Beatrice’s eyes stung, and Lord Greystone cleared his throat. Did he share her belief that children this young should not be forced to work for a living?

  “Lucy means well, my lads, and she certainly does earn her keep.” He sent the girl a sympathetic glance, but she was looking toward the window with a scowl. “But right now you are my guests, so you do not have to do that. One day soon I shall take you to my school in Shrewsbury, where you can learn a trade to which you are well suited.”

  “Coo, gov’ner, that’s kindness itself,” Kit said.

  “Kindness itself,” echoed Ben.

  Lord Greystone found a chair and once again gathered the boys in his arms, asking what trade they might find interesting. As they talked, Mrs. Parton questioned Beatrice with one lifted eyebrow. Beatrice nodded. They had put this off far too long.

  “Now, Greystone, it is clear Lucy needs a rest from her duties,” Mrs. Parton said. “I should like to borrow her later this afternoon to begin her training with my Poole.”

  “Ah, yes.” Lord Greystone’s smooth forehead creased as he considered the matter. “But as I said, I should first ask Crawford what he thinks. He wanted to guide his granddaughter as she trains for service.”

  During this exchange Beatrice watched Lucy’s scowl turn into a bright, open smile. “Oh, milord, I should be ever so pleased to be a lady’s maid. Do say I may do it.”

  Beatrice could not fault the girl’s enthusiasm, despite her lack of decorum. She looked forward to taking her in hand. Like Lord Greystone with the boys, Beatrice had no doubt she could teach Lucy everything required for the position she desired.

  She would begin by teaching the girl a little respect for those whom she served.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Oh, miss,” Lucy chirped. “I’m ever so pleased to be your lady’s maid, even if it’s just now and then.”