Before I Was Yours, My Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hanna Hamilton

  He refused Evelyn’s help as he began to unpack the basket. He had even not allowed Evelyn to assist with supplying it this time, saying that it was his turn.

  There was the usual bread and cheese, and broken meats which he had no longer any compunction about using, since it would have been part of their normal meal. But he carefully pulled out a lovely pie from which there arose the aroma of fresh baked pears. He held it before her, as if it were a set of crown jewels.

  “Oh, my,” Evelyn said. “I was not so very hungry, but now I am.”

  “You must eat your main course first, Mrs. Swinton,” Mayson chided her, teasingly.

  “Yes, Mr. Rudge,” she said, in just as light a tone, “I will eat my bread and cheese before I have pie, but I promise you I shall not be filling up on it.”

  For several minutes they ate and drank in convivial silence.

  “I almost wish,” Evelyn said, “that we were contemplating shipping out to the colonies.”

  “Do you desire living rough?” Mayson asked. “I can certainly do it, if that is what you wish.”

  “Not precisely that,” she said. “More that I would very much like to have something of my own, to be able to make plans and changes and contrive.”

  “I have noticed you contrive a great deal,” Mayson said, cutting and dishing up a generous slice of pie for her. “Much to the Duchess’ benefit.”

  She took the pie, their fingers brushing lightly against each other as the plate exchanged hands. She nibbled thoughtfully at a flaky bit of pie crust, thinking hard before replying. “Yes, but that is not the same as contriving something of your own.”

  “I understand,” Mayson said sympathetically. “I frequently felt that way when I was living in my father’s house.”

  “If you could live anywhere,” Evelyn asked, “Where would you like to live?”

  “That is a very good question. In many ways I would be delighted to ship out to the colonies with you. I have often wondered, however, if we’re doing the people who already live there any favors.”

  “An interesting consideration,” Evelyn replied thoughtfully, “and I’m sure I do not know the answer.”

  “How fortunate it is,” Mayson smiled at her as he spoke, “that we do not have to solve the problems of the world today.”

  “No, indeed,” Evelyn said. “We have only to enjoy this luscious pie you have made and the warm sunshine. I cannot believe you have managed to keep the cider chilled.”

  “It is easy enough,” Mayson said. “There is a spring house next to the kitchen. A towel soaked in the cold water and wrapped around the jug will keep it chilled for some time. It is one reason I am able to make such lovely dishes for the Duchess. It keeps the cream, milk, and cheese well chilled. That is why we can have whipping cream and special icings.”

  “I had wondered,” Evelyn commented. “We had such a hard time when we were living in London to keep things cool in the summer. London does get so very awfully hot.”

  “And smells bad besides,” Mayson added. “Such a ferment of animal droppings and other things out in the streets.”

  “That is, I believe,” Evelyn said, “why the peerage all take to the countryside during the summer. It is said to be much healthier.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” Mayson said, “but I can assure you that it certainly smells better. I had a very difficult time getting used to that part of living at the prestigious school I attended.”

  “It was in London?”

  “Oh, yes. You do not think that my uncle wanted me anywhere near the estate, do you? Out of sight, out of mind, or at least that was what he hoped.”

  “Do you think anyone still working at the estate would recognize you?”

  “Probably not. It has been a good many years since I disappeared, and even more since the staff that my father hired was there.”

  Evelyn frowned a moment, then looked up at him. “Is it difficult being so near and not visiting?”

  “Very much so,” Mayson said, “but if I go back and I am recognized then I must claim Hillsworth, whether I am ready or not.”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Evelyn said. She did not say what was in her heart. If Mayson went back to Hillsworth, she would have to give him up. He would need a wife who would add to his status, not a poor shopkeeper’s daughter. Still, they had this day, with the sun on the water, and the old willow giving them shade. She did not want to give that up.

  For a few minutes Evelyn looked out across the water, watching its slow glide between its banks. What did she want? John had been a wonderful husband but he was gone now. She liked Mayson very much but could not see a future for them. While it was a wonderful fantasy that they should run away to the colonies or to New South Wales, realistically the best thing for Hillsworth and for Mayson, was for him to go home and take up his inheritance now that he was well past being of age.

  “You are very quiet,” Mayson said. “Are you thinking deep thoughts?”

  “No,” Evelyn lied. “I am thinking that you are the best cook this estate has ever had and your absence will be felt.”

  “It is good to know that I will be missed, but I am not gone yet.” Mayson watched her closely, a slight frown on his brow. He reached over, and gently took one of her hands in his.

  “Quite so,” Evelyn said, tightening her fingers around his. “Is it not a beautiful afternoon?”

  “It is,” Mayson agreed. Neither of them spoke of the trepidation that was in their hearts. Nor did they notice the listener who slipped away from behind the veiling fronds of weeping willow, the rustling masked by the sound of the water.

  Chapter 20

  Miss Notley, Lady Carletane, and the Duchess were pouring over pattern sketches. Evelyn was kept busy fetching pattern books, sketching paper, and measurement charts.

  “This pattern is quite fetching,” the Duchess said. “You are so slim, Blanche, that we would scarcely need to lace you at all to achieve this shape.”

  “Indeed,” Lady Carletane said. “We would need to add some padding to make the train and the bust fit correctly.”

  “I think I would rather have something that required less adjustment,” Blanche protested.

  “It is lovely,” Evelyn put in, “but perhaps the ruffles would be a little overpowering for Miss Notley. Here is a gown with elegant and simple lines that could easily be converted to an evening gown after the wedding.”

  Blanche tittered nervously. “Trust the shopkeeper’s daughter to think of the economics of a wedding gown,” she said, almost a little nastily. “That would make it highly unlikely that the gown should be passed down to the next generation.”

  Lady Carletane took this to mean that she should have had an heirloom gown to pass down to her daughter. “I am so sorry dear,” she said, “But moths got in the attic, and the silk is so old that there is no help or no hope of refurbishing it.”

  “That is quite all right, Mother,” Blanche said, “for I do not believe that your wedding gown would have fit me anyway.”

  “I fear not,” her mother said. “You take after your Aunt Grace, who was thin as a rail from the day she was born, until the day she was laid in her coffin.”

  “Since she was only seven-and-ten when she passed away, this is hardly comforting, Mother,” Blanche remarked acidly.

  “Dear me,” Lady Carletane protested, “I am sure I was not referring to her longevity. Rather, I was referring to how small she was all of her life compared to the rest of us.”

  Blanche sighed. Evelyn looked at her with sympathy, for she guessed what might be going through the young lady’s mind. If her Aunt Grace, who had been extremely thin, had passed away at age seven-and-ten, then it was hardly a good prognosis for the length of Blanche’s life.

  “Your Grace,” Evelyn asked tentatively, “have you thought of asking your physician to look at Blanche? Since her current one does not seem to be doing her a great deal of good?”

  “What an exceptional idea,” the Duchess said
. “My dear Blanche, he is to call on me tomorrow. Why do you not visit me at the same time, and we can see what he might have to say?”

  “Would he not charge for having an extra person to attend?” Blanche asked.

  “Oh piffle,” the Duchess said. “If he does, I shall pay for it. It is my idea, after all, and it would please me. My dear, it distresses me to see how poorly you feel. You are always lovely, but you used to have a great deal more energy.”

  “I cannot argue with that last,” Blanche said. “Very well, I will indeed plan to visit you tomorrow, Your Grace. Although I do not enjoy being poked and prodded, perhaps he will have some insight.”

  “Are you quite sure, my dear?” asked Lady Carletane. “Your physician is quite renowned.”

  “Even renowned physicians now and then make a mistake,” the Duchess pontificated. “To err is human and to forgive is divine. Should he have made a mistake we shall forgive him, mostly.”

  “Mostly, Your Grace?” Evelyn asked lightly.

  “Mostly. Because the physician is responsible for the lives of others. When his treatment is not efficacious, he should take it upon himself to make changes. Yes, he should!” The Duchess now looked quite fierce.

  “I will own I cannot argue with that,” Lady Carletane said. “Therefore, my daughter and I will wait upon you tomorrow when your physician is in attendance.”

  “That will be lovely, my dears,” the Duchess said. “I can think of nothing better. I shall look forward to it. He will be here shortly before tea, so we can have a light repast afterwards to sustain us through whatever nuggets of wisdom he shall impart. I have always found that having a physician in attendance makes me extremely hungry.”

  “That would be desirable,” Blanche said, “for of late I have not felt hungry at all. Weak, miserable, and unhappy, but not hungry. It seems no matter how little I eat, I still have no appetite.”

  “With that out of the way,” the Duchess said, “I do believe that Evelyn’s suggestion of a gown with simple lines might just suit you.”

  Lady Carletane looked at the pattern indicated. “It is extremely plain,” she said.

  “Indeed, it is,” Evelyn replied. “Which means that if it were made up in a rich silk with just the barest hint of a color that would complement Miss Notley’s complexion, it would make her look lovely without overwhelming her slight figure. With a light veil, she would look ethereal, like an angel descended from on high.”

  “You could be right,” Lady Carletane said, looking again at the pattern. “It would give me genuine pleasure to see my daughter looking lovely.”

  “Shall we order the silk, then?” the Duchess asked.

  Lady Carletane considered it for a moment. “I have not quite the funds this quarter,” she said. “Perhaps by early August, my pin money allowance will cover it.”

  “Nonsense,” said the Duchess. “I shall order it and it will be an early wedding gift. I have a little put back for just such an occasion.”

  “Are you quite sure, Your Grace?” Lady Carletane fretted.

  “I am certain,” the Duchess reassured her. “We need to get these young people married and the bride cannot approach the altar in some old rag.”

  Evelyn ducked her head to hide a smile and busied herself with putting the pattern books away after marking the indicated pattern. The attitude she displayed was so typical of the Duchess, as was her kindness. But it would never do to let Her Grace see that she was amused.

  Evelyn was just standing up and turning around when Miss Notley made a sort of harsh little cry and crumpled up in a heap on the floor.

  “Good heavens,” gasped the Duchess. “I do not think we should wait until tomorrow. Mrs. Swinton, send for one of the footmen and have him go for Dr. Alton right away.”

  Evelyn was already tugging on the embroidered bellpull. “Certainly, Your Grace.”

  When the footman arrived, he was sent straightaway for the physician. In the meanwhile, Mrs. Swinton and two of the maids lifted Miss Notley and laid her on the daybed that stood near the Duchess’ comfortable chair.

  “We must undo her stays,” Lady Carletane said. “She thinks that she is too fat, and she always has her maid do them up tightly.”

  Evelyn carefully undid the lacings on the sides of Miss Notley’s gown. Then she loosened the laces on her corset. Sure enough, when the tight lacings were undone, Miss Notley took a deep breath.

  “Here is my hartshorn,” the Duchess said. “Wave it under her nose. It is warranted to be stout enough to rouse the dead.” Evelyn dutifully waved the small bottle, which reeked of ammonia, under Miss Notley’s nose.

  Miss Notley gasped and turned her face aside trying to escape the fumes. Evelyn pulled the bottle away and handed it back to the Duchess. “I believe she is coming round,” she said.

  When Dr. Alton arrived, he looked into Miss Notley’s eyes, then held a sort of curved horn to her breast and listened to the narrow end of it. He tut-tutted, then he made some notes in a leather-bound notebook, and finally sat down on one of the spindly occasional chairs that were in the room.

  “Tell me, Miss Notley,” he asked gravely, “where do you get your face powder?”

  “Why, I am not really sure,” she replied. “My maid gets it for me.”

  “And your lip and cheek paint?” he asked.

  “She gets that, too,” Miss Notley said.

  He pulled a long face. “Do you wear it often?”

  “Well, yes. Daily,” Miss Notley said. “If I am going out, a little kohl to outline my eyes.”

  “You had to loosen her stays, did you not?” he asked.

  “To be sure, we did,” said Lady Carletane. “She is a good girl and always keeps her corset tightly laced.”

  The physician looked as if he had eaten something sour. “Come here, Mrs. Swinton.” She approached him obediently. “Now turn around. No, keep turning,” he said, as she turned her back to him. “What do you see, ladies?”

  The Duchess was the first to speak. “Well, she is a trifle plump,” Her Grace commented.

  “Not at all,” said Dr. Alton. “She is a fine figure of a woman, neither too plump nor too lean. It is a grave mistake that many of our young ladies are making when they strive for a fourteen-inch waist, a fair complexion, rosy cheeks, and red lips. Fourteen inches is not at all natural.” He frowned at Miss Notley.

  “But I don’t have a fourteen-inch waist,” she protested. “It’s eighteen inches, nearly twenty if I do not lace tightly.” Distress showed plainly on her face.

  “I do not doubt it at all,” he said. “But, my dear, you are going to have to turn loose some vanities if you wish to have good health. First, let us wash away the paint that is on your face so I can see your real complexion.”

  “No, please no,” Miss Notley sounded dreadfully distressed.

  “Yes,” said the physician. “Please, yes. Do you wish to live or not?”

  “I do want to live,” Miss Notley said, “but I also wish to be beautiful.”

  “You can,” the grizzled physician said. “But not by caking your face with this powder, and smearing your lips with carnelian. Finishing schools should teach their young ladies the chemical content of their make-up, but not one will own up to its being slow death.”

  “How do you know that?” Miss Notley asked. “Without my paint, I shall be plain, ordinary.”

  “Perhaps,” said Dr. Alton, “but I believe you will feel better.”

  Shortly a maid brought in a basin of warm water and a face cloth. “If you will do the honors, please, Mrs. Swinton,” the physician asked.

  Evelyn started to sponge the powder and paint away from Miss Notley’s face, but the powder was thickly caked, and did not readily yield to the water. “Perhaps a little oil to loosen it?” Evelyn suggested.

  So it was that they sent down to the kitchen in a short while, and a small tub of new butter was sent up, along with a cup of buttermilk that Mayson suggested as a means to sooth Miss Notley’s skin. For so
me time, Evelyn alternated using the butter to remove the caked-on paint and using the warm water with a little soap to remove the butter residue, and a gentle rub with the buttermilk on irritated areas.

  After a time, Miss Notley's natural face was revealed.

  She looked younger without the powder and paint, and a little scared, as if she was not sure what this unveiling would do to her.

  “Why, you are quite lovely,” said the Duchess. “I had no idea that powder and paint could create so much trouble. I have no such problems because I gave up the bother some time ago, and Mrs. Swinton has never used any.”

  “Does this mean,” Lady Carletane asked, “that I should also give up my powder and rouge?”