by Abbi Glines
“I want jam all day,” she stated rather fiercely.
Grinning, I tried to hide my amusement behind my cup.
“Miss Emma, are you complaining over your breakfast again? I’ve told you countless times it is rude to complain about the meal placed before you. You are to be grateful for what you are given.” Alice was just entering the room as she spoke, but it was clear she had overheard the conversation.
Emma shrugged her shoulders as if Alice’s words meant little. “When I am a lady, I will eat jam and biscuits all day,” she announced primly.
“Then you will find much difficulty fitting into your gowns,” Alice replied without pause.
“There were no princesses at the ball, Alice,” Emma then stated, changing the subject once again.
“I explained to you last night there were to be no princesses in attendance,” Alice said with a nod.
Emma huffed in what I assumed was annoyance at Alice being correct and took another drink of her hot chocolate. “I bet princesses eat jam and biscuits when they want to,” she told no one in particular but scowled at the food on her plate.
“I will see if we can arrange for jam and biscuits for your breakfast tomorrow,” I finally said before Alice began to scold her again.
Alice then scowled at me in disapproval. “Miss Emma needs to learn she cannot demand things,” she said tightly.
I shrugged. “It is just jam and biscuits, Alice.”
“I understand that, my lord, however it starts with small things. Soon she will be demanding new gowns and jewels.”
“I will not! I don’t want more gowns or silly jewels. I am but four, Alice,” Emma stated with a pinched frown. “I would like more hot chocolate.”
I covered my mouth with my napkin and masked my laughter with a cough for fear Alice may strike me if I encouraged Emma’s way with words.
Alice let out a sigh of irritation and left the dining room with a whoosh of her skirts. Emma knew exactly how to set her governess off and at such a tender age, I found that to be a strong quality for the future. There would never be a man or woman that would break Emma’s spirit. It was something I was grateful for, considering the life she lived before she was brought to my doorstep.
“Is Alice fetching me more hot chocolate?” Emma asked with an angelic smile on her face that Alice referred to as deceptive.
“I find that very unlikely, my dear,” I replied.
Emma sighed and looked back down at her food. “Hot chocolate would make my eggs easier to eat.”
“When did you decide you didn’t like eggs?” I asked her, knowing full well she had been eating them every morning for months.
She lifted her tiny chin and straightened her shoulders as she met my gaze. “When Alice allowed me to have jam and biscuits with my tea. I do love jam and biscuits.”
Mrs. Barton, the housekeeper, emerged from the door that led directly to the kitchen. She was carrying a small tray in her hands and there was an obvious glint in her eyes. I did not need to see the tray to know what would be upon it. Emma had won over my housekeeper almost immediately. She was no doubt the reason Emma had been given the jam and biscuits with her tea.
“Good morning, my lord,” she said with a small tilt of her head then walked over to stand beside Emma. I gave her a slight nod of approval as she waited for me to allow her to proceed. I doubted she’d care if I didn’t approve the treat for Emma. She took this job only after making sure I understood she would expect Emma to behave as if she were in fact the legitimate daughter of an Earl. It was clear Alice wanted Emma to have a life fitting my rank and when the time came be accepted into society. I understood this and respected it. However, it made for an odd relationship between the two of us.
“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Barton!” Emma squealed with delight as the hot chocolate was placed before her and the eggs and ham replaced with jam and biscuits.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Emma. No need to worry about your figure just yet is there.” She gave Emma a wink then stepped back with the unwanted food and left the room.
Emma smiled brightly over at me. “Mrs. Barton is my favorite in the world.”
“I can accept that,” I replied. “She is indeed a wonderful housekeeper.”
“She is my friend,” Emma corrected me.
“Yes, indeed. I believe she is the truest of friends,” I agreed.
We had found a balance within these walls. Emma had brought light and energy to the everyday schedule. Finding the right countess that would fit effortlessly into the household was important. Lydia Ramsbury had appeared to be all I had believed last night. However, she was a touch too quiet, too agreeable and I feared that Emma may be too much of a personality for Miss Ramsbury.
Possibly, I was judging her unfairly, simply because my attention had been elsewhere. Miss Miriam Bathurst had been difficult to ignore. Even after she had made it clear she wasn’t interested in my title or my attention. Smiling into my cup, I imagined her meeting Emma. I had no doubt the two would be quite a pair.
I knew little of Miss Bathurst, but I was going to rectify that today. I could not settle on Lydia Ramsbury until I was sure she was the match I, no make that the match… Emma required.
Chapter Six
Miss Miriam Bathurst
Rising early had always been something I enjoyed. A good book, a cup of hot chocolate and a slice of warm toast was my ideal morning. Awakening to dress and prepare for callers was not my idea of an enjoyable morning, yet it was to be my life for a time, it would seem. The sooner I found a husband, the sooner this ended and along with it, my freedom.
With a deep sigh, I felt so clearly in my soul, I made my way to the drawing room. At home, I would often find my mother and sister in the drawing room when it neared noon. My mother would be with her needlework and Whitney would be at the pianoforte. However, here in my uncle’s home, it was much different for my aunt Harriet wanted nothing to do with needlework or music.
A plate of chocolates was by her side as she sat rather unladylike on the sofa with her slippers abandoned on the floor and her bare feet, not even covered by stockings, tucked beneath her. In her lap lay a correspondence it would seem. My aunt wasn’t one to enjoy literature; however, she did find entertainment in letters from her family in New Orleans and in the gossip papers of which my uncle didn’t approve. He often complained of the cost of such scandalous society papers, but he would then soften when Aunt Harriet would flash her smile at him.
Aunt Harriet lifted her head from the letter she had been reading and beamed brightly at me. “You are a vision. The gentlemen callers will be more enamored this morning than they were last night.” She dropped her bare feet to the floor and held the paper in her lap toward me. “You must read this. My cousin, Adelle, wrote to me about our most recent family scandal.”
“Most recent?” I asked as I reached out to take the letter from her.
“Oh yes. My family tends to find themselves in compromising positions quite often,” she replied with a touch of pride in her voice that was both scandalous and amusing. Much like her bare feet.
“Alfred said something about expecting gentlemen callers I believe within the next hour. I’m to chaperone and there is a time limit on what is proper for their visit?” It sounded more like a question than a statement.
“It will be awhile still yet. No man of his ilk would arrive at a lady’s home this early,” Uncle Alfred said as he entered the room. “Already in your chocolates I see, my love,” he asked his wife with a teasing tone.
Aunt Harriet popped one in her mouth and smiled as her cheeks puffed out.
“When I go broke, dear child, let it be known it was because of my wife’s addiction to chocolate and gossip papers. Both of which cost more than they are worth. Now, do tell me what it was you said to Ashington last night. It appears to have made the rounds rather swiftly.”
I felt my face heat up. How had my uncle already heard of this, if not from my aunt? Surely it wasn’t important eno
ugh for talk. It was simply a dance. Nothing more. I cleared my throat to stall when Aunt Harriet managed to finish the chocolate she had stuffed into her mouth.
“You could have asked me. I was there you know. Don’t embarrass her,” Aunt Harriet scolded him.
He looked taken aback. “I wasn’t trying to embarrass the child. I was impressed. Her first ball and she was already making the news circuit.”
Aunt Harriet rolled her eyes. “Good Lord, Alfred. Of all things.”
“Tis true! She turned down Ashington flat, they say. While all the other ladies were hot on his coattails, I assume. Not my niece,” he sounded proud as he said it and I was relieved.
“She was quite the bell of the ball. The gentlemen were all enamored but then she’s a beauty like no other,” Aunt Harriet bragged then ate another chocolate. This one she took a nibble from rather than place the entire piece in her mouth.
I did not agree that I was the bell of the ball. It was clear Lydia Ramsbury held that title and rightfully so. She was a true English beauty. I was doing my best not to appear an imposter.
“Tell me then exactly what you said to Ashington,” Uncle Alfred demanded then slapped his knee as he sat down across from me. He appeared ready to hear of a great tale.
“It was nothing really. I believe the gossips have turned it into something more than it truly was,” I said, wishing I didn’t have to rehash this.
Uncle Alfred chuckled. “No doubt. They always do, dear girl, but I want to know the real story.”
It was becoming clear that I wasn’t getting out of this.
“Ashington came up to me claiming he was next on my dance card, when he wasn’t on it at all. The gentleman who was next spoke up and I sided with him.”
Uncle Alfred was grinning broadly. His jovial face was always so friendly. Nothing like my mother’s. It was hard to believe the two were siblings. “Arrogant ass. You set him straight.”
“Right? It was arrogant, wasn’t it? “I liked the confirmation from my uncle.
“Absolutely! Teach him to assume his title can get him anything he desires,” Uncle Alfred stood then and patted my shoulder. “Well done, girl, well done,” he replied.
I felt an odd sense of pride and acceptance. It was new and I wasn’t sure how to describe it. My mother nor my father had ever said words even remotely close to those to me. I felt tears sting my eyes and I fought them back. I would not get emotional over this. That was weak and silly. I was neither.
“A Mr. Fletcher is here to call on Miss Bathurst,” the butler announced from the doorway.
My first thought was, Aunt Harriet is still in her bare feet. My second thought was, at least the first gentleman to visit was a pleasant one. Even if I had no interest in him as far as a husband went. He was still kind, had a genuine smile, and didn’t require much conversation.
“That would be my cue to leave. Enjoy your morning, ladies,” Uncle Alfred said as he went to leave. “Fletcher,” he greeted as he passed him.
“Sir,” Fletcher replied nervously.
I wasn’t sure this situation could become anymore awkward unless, of course, Aunt Harriet decided to shove another entire piece of chocolate in her mouth. I glanced quickly at her, wondering if that was, in fact, her next move.
Aunt Harriet quickly put her slippers on and I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed. It would make for an interesting story if she’d kept them bare. The letter in my hand, I quickly folded, and handed back to my aunt just as Mr. Fletcher entered the drawing room. She didn’t reach for another chocolate but then this visit was not yet over.
“Good day,” he said as he smiled much too brightly. It seemed as if he was much too nervous for a simple visit. He clutched a handful of wild flowers that appeared freshly cut from a garden. “For you,” he said as they were thrust toward me awkwardly.
“Thank you, they’re lovely,” I replied.
Aunt Harriet was on her feet hurrying to my side. “I’ll have these placed in water. Please Mr. Fletcher have a seat. Should I ring for tea?” My aunt sounded as nervous as Mr. Fletcher. The situation was becoming somewhat amusing. This may be the only caller I received today and if so then it would be a relief and a disappointment. Not being forced into pointless conversation sounded nice, but then I did come here to find a husband. Mr. Fletcher was not what I was looking for as far as a husband went. Especially since he was an avid hunter.
“Tea would be—” Mr. Fletcher began, but alas did not get to complete his response.
“Lord Ashington to call upon Miss Bathurst,” the butler announced, causing my amusement to fade ever so abruptly.
My gaze passed Mr. Fletcher and the sudden pale pallor of his face made it clear he did not want to have another encounter with the Earl of Ashington. That I was sure we all could agree on. If one were to have asked me who I expected to call on me this morning, Lord Ashington would not have made the list. Our brief interaction at last night’s ball should have cemented his never coming near me again.
Striding into the drawing room as if he were royalty, very attractive royalty, the Earl of Ashington held an overtly large bouquet of hyacinth, the color of the most brilliant blue, in his right hand. They were stunning and so full yet delicate. Whitney would adore these. I made a mental note to describe them in detail to her later today in a letter.
“Lord Ashington,” Harriet addressed him with too much enthusiasm then she curtsied not once but twice. Perhaps hoping to get it right. I wasn’t sure. It was more than obvious she was pleased to see him and she was quite nervous. “Welcome to our home. Please come have a seat.” For once, I was not amused by my aunt’s inability to mask her facial expressions.
Mr. Fletcher, I noticed, seemed rather tense and uncomfortable. There wasn’t much I could do to remedy that. I had no real reason to dislike the Earl of Ashington. The assumption that I’d willingly give someone else’s place on my dance card to him wasn’t surprising. I was sure most debutantes did so with glee. However, I did stand firm on not appreciating his arrogance.
Lord Ashington gave my aunt a smile that was sure to have her swooning out loud as he took half of the hyacinths from his hand, and I realized, at that moment, it was not one large bouquet but two bouquets. He’d brought my aunt one too. Something Mr. Fletcher hadn’t done. Poor Mr. Fletcher, I thought as I saw his cheeks turn a bright pink.
“For you, my lady,” Lord Ashington said as he handed my aunt the flowers meant for her. It was very thoughtful of him to think of her. Admittedly, a good deal of my dislike from our encounter last night faded but not entirely.
“Oh, these are stunning, Lord Ashington. Thank you for such a lovely gift.”
I watched as my aunt gushed over her flowers before turning my attention to the Earl of Ashington. “Hello again, Lord Ashington,” I said, smiling sincerely. He had just made my aunt quite giddy and that deserved a proper greeting.
“Miss Bathurst,” he replied with a tilt of his head in my direction. “I fear the flowers pale in comparison to your beauty this morning. I should have chosen a more exotic flower although I chose these for their color. They reminded me of your eyes.”
Very well said, Lord Ashington, I thought. He was indeed charming when he chose to be. It made last night’s encounter less… important.
“The flowers are stunning. I do not believe a more exotic flower could compare to their beauty.”
He closed the distance between us and held the remaining bouquet out for me to take. “I’m happy they please you,” he replied and held my gaze a moment longer than proper. “I was told this particular flower would be the most appealing.”
Unable not to smile at the flowers in my hand, I lifted my gaze back to his. “Your informant was very right. Tis a beautiful flower indeed.”
The genuine look of pleasure on his face intrigued me. He appeared almost proud of whoever suggested the flowers. I wanted very much to ask him who had been his informant, but I bit my tongue. It would appear rude and I feared many o
f my aunt’s American traits were beginning to rub off on me already. Being overtly inquisitive was one of them.
“Mr. Fletcher,” Lord Ashington said then, as he directed his gaze to the other guest in the room, who had remained silent since the arrival of Lord Ashington.
“Lord Ashington,” he replied with a nod then stood, twisting his hands rather nervously. “I must be on my way. It was as always lovely to see you, Miss Bathurst. I look forward to our next meeting. Perhaps at the Gallagher ball.” He spoke so quickly that his sentences ran together, but the slight tremble of nerves in his tone was still noticeable.
“Yes, I shall see you there. Thank you again for the lovely flowers and visit,” I said, feeling sorry for him but knowing he must not be so hasty to flee any small obstacle. It made him appear weak.
I watched him nod his head again at Lord Ashington before he scurried for the door. He mustn’t scurry either. It was not at all an attractive trait. Someone needed to take him under their wing and teach him how to be more assured or at least how to act as if he were. He was a nice man and could make a fine match if he would simply show more backbone.
The butler stepped into the door just before Mr. Fletcher could exit.
“A Mr. Nicholas Compton here to see Miss Bathurst,” he announced.
I could have sworn I heard Mr. Fletcher gasp then cough as if strangled before making his way past the butler with great haste. Apparently, Mr. Fletcher didn’t care for Mr. Compton any more than he did the Earl of Ashington.
“Oh my,” I heard Aunt Harriet whisper entirely too loudly to truly be a whisper and that was when I remembered the gossip she had shared with me at the ball just before I encountered Mr. Compton on the balcony.
Oh my, indeed…
Chapter Seven
Mr. Nicholas Compton
One could argue that I wasn’t expecting my brother to be at 18 Mayfair but that wasn’t entirely true. It had been a gamble of sorts and I was talented in that regard. Ashington should have been at Miss Ramsbury’s home at 7 Grosvenor; however, he was weak when it came to beauty and Miss Bathurst did make Miss Ramsbury appear rather pale in comparison. I asked myself who I would pay a visit to this morning if I were to truly be in search of a wife. The answer was easy enough and although we shared a hatred for one another, we oft thought alike. Perhaps our father shone through in me more than I cared to admit. My mother had believed it to be true as well; she had surely said so throughout my life.
