* * *
Lizzie waited at the dower house only long enough to change her clothes. She strolled back to the lake with her companion, happy to have her company again.
The dogs ran into the home woods to frighten the squirrels and kept darting back out to make sure they had not been left behind.
Lizzie laughed at them.
Gladys waved them away. “They missed you, Lizzie. I can call you that now that we are alone. Every time I say Lady Felmont it reminds me of your mother.”
“I hate it. You must call me Lizzie all the time.”
Gladys was long past fifty and no stranger to the Felmont family, for she had been Lizzie’s mother’s personal maid until her death. She viewed all Felmonts and Tempests as if they had been put on earth for her amusement and spent many an hour in agreeable conversation with the servants about their foibles and histories.
Lizzie had never gossiped about Felmonts, though Gladys’s knowledge had been useful at times in dealing with her stepfather.
Gladys continued her rambling conversation, “As soon as I saw your carriage did not arrive when expected, I said the Felmonts had trapped you here. Either that or another wicked highwayman had got you at last. And there was me with all your jewels. Heaven preserve Miss Tempest, I said. Now I’d say it makes a mockery of marriage for I’d swear before Mr. Whittaker, the magistrate, that your uncles forced you both to wed.”
“How did Aunt Tempest persuade Lucy to leave my employ? Not that we need her, for you can dress me just as well.” Lizzie noted the righteous smile. The long rivalry between Gladys and Lizzie’s dresser had ended with Lucy taking a job with Aunt Tempest.
“Why? It was the thought of black mourning clothes, it quite depressed Lucy, it did. And you have no love of display, of the grand toilettes your mother adored.” Gladys nodded her head briskly. “Lucy’s head got turned by all those clothes in Bath. Look at that! was her constant cry. Mind you, she never would have gone to dress Mrs. Tempest if it hadn’t been for her daughter coming out next season. No expense to be spared. A young lady with as good a figure as your mother had, if she doesn’t have her beauty. A fortune in clothes. You can be sure they flattered Lucy and they needed her, for Mrs. Tempest has no idea of fashion.”
Strange noises greeted them when they entered the Folly, a strange rhythm of soft thuds and clashing steel, echoed moments later by the same refrain in reverse. The two footmen listened to every sound, not attending to their duties.
“Whatever is that, my lady?” Gladys led the way along the gallery. “It sounds as if there is dueling going on in the ballroom.”
Lizzie Tempest Ruins A Viscount (Felmont Brides Series Book 1) Page 16
