“What did you do?”
“What did I do? Rather it was what he did that is more to the point,” Ann said while angrily twisting her handkerchief.
“Oh, Ann…”
“He requested reassignment to some post in India! And he wants me to go with him. Can you imagine? Land of the wily python. And if you think for one moment, I am going to follow him as some memsahib… The heat. The filth. The uncouth…” She let out a deep sigh.
“I see,” was Judith’s reply. Then she too let out a sigh. “I can certainly understand your reluctance. Good riddance is all I can say to that episode.”
“But that leaves me where?” Ann lamented. “There has not been a single other suitor in months.”
Judith held Isabell up and rubbed her nose against her pet’s, before putting her back in her lap. She gazed up at the ceiling and then had an idea.
“A ball. We need to have a ball. We shall scour the county for eligible young men, and with any luck, we can get all three of you engaged. But not just any ball. It shall be a gala ball. We shall spare no expense, and it shall become the event of the season. We shall have it early October before the snow falls. And it shall be cool enough in the ballroom that the guests shall not swelter and have their gowns clinging to their backs.” Judith fanned herself as she imagined the discomfort of a ballroom too close and too hot.
Ann brightened up. “A ball. What a splendid idea. I shall tell the others, and we shall outfit ourselves with totally new gowns—no expense spared.”
“Well, I do not know about that,” her mother cautioned. “There must be some restraint.”
“But Mother, we are talking about my entire future here. This may be my very last opportunity for happiness.”
Judith nodded. “You are most correct. No expense spared.” She gave a laugh and clapped loudly, startling Isabell and causing her to jump down from her mistress’s lap.
Ann stood—the first smile on her face in weeks. “Yes, it shall be the legend of balls. A ball by which all others shall be measured!”
Lucy had to walk a great deal farther these days to see her friend Isabell—now Isabell Harris—her beau, Carter, finally having gotten up the nerve to ask her to marry him. Their cottage was in the other direction from Isabell’s old home. Isabell had a three-year-old daughter, Chrissy, who resembled her father more than her mother, but who scampered around the house so much they had nicknamed her Monkey.
The Harris cottage was down a dirt road from the main thoroughfare, hidden by a grove of trees. The thatched cottage had been newly whitewashed and looked welcoming in the morning light as Lucy approached.
“Hello Lucy,” Isabell called from the front door, shading her eyes from the sun with her hand, Chrissy standing at her feet clasping her skirt.
“Look what I brought you,” Lucy said, kneeling, and handing a basket of new apples to the little girl.
“Say, thank you, Chrissy,” her mother said, patting her child’s head.
“Thank you, Lucy,” the girl said shyly accepting the apples.
Lucy stood and offered Isabell a sheaf of papers. “And I brought you another chapter of my novel. I would greatly appreciate your thoughts after you read it.”
“Of course. You know I love reading your work. But Lucy, this must be the longest novel in recorded history. How long have you been working on it now?”
Lucy calculated and said, “Oh, dear, over six years now. But it is so difficult to find the time to write.”
“You are never going to make a career of your writing at that pace.”
Lucy laughed. “I think of it as a hobby now. I enjoy it but realize I shall never be very successful at it.”
“You never know. If you can get it published, you might become the new literary sensation in London and turn all of England on its head.”
“Who knows? And how have you been?” Lucy asked. “I have been so busy helping with the ball, I have not had a moment to come visit.”
“We have been mostly well. Chrissy had a few sniffles the other day, but they passed. She seems to have inherited her father’s constitution rather than mine—thank God.”
They went inside the tidy cottage.
“Kettle on?” Lucy asked.
“On the low boil, just waiting for you.” She headed toward the kitchen, holding Chrissy in the crook of her arm. “Now tell me about this ball. Carter says everyone in town is talking about it. Seems there has been a run on fabric, ribbons, buttons, and shoes at Strickland’s, as everyone prepares new gowns.”
Lucy laughed. “Do not tell a soul, but the ball is like a fire sale. It is a big final push to find husbands for the two oldest daughters. Neither has been proposed to, and the Duchess is panicking.”
“Poor dears. I can understand Ann not finding a husband as she is such a sour apple, but Charlotte seems sweet enough and is very attractive,” Isabell said, pouring hot water into the teapot.
“Attractive yes, but the Duchess has a habit of badgering the suitors—standing over them like an executioner. She is so desperate she tends to drive any potential suitors away. And, unfortunately, there seems to be a surfeit of eligible young ladies and a scarcity of young gentlemen these days countywide.”
“Why were the daughters never taken to London and presented to her Highness in a proper coming out?” Isabell asked.
“The Duchess has an abhorrence of London and could never bring herself to take the girls, even though they pleaded.”
Isabell put the teapot on the prepared tea tray, and they went outside to sit in the sun, partially shaded by a lovely old pear tree, just coming ripe. The two friends chatted a bit more as Chrissy played with a shovel, sitting on a heap of dirt on the ground. Lucy looked over at the child and was surprised to see the girl with handfuls of dirt in her hands lifting them to her mouth.
“Oh, Isabell, Chrissy is eating earth,” she exclaimed.
Isabell turned to look. “Oh, yes. It eats earth all the time. Never seems to harm her. Carter says she will grow out of it.”
“Well, I never…” Lucy said laughing.
“Carter says one of his brothers used to do it all the time and grew up to be a worker in a brewery, lifting two kegs of ale in one go.”
“Isabell, I need to tell you something,” Lucy said rather quietly.
“Oh, is it serious?”
“Rather. George’s Aunt Hester—you know the one we stayed with in London—sent me a letter. One of her friends is looking for a female companion, and Hester thought of me.”
“You would move to London?”
“I would if I took the job. Two hundred a year—a tidy sum.”
“It certainly is. Are you going to take it?”
“Oh, heavens, I do not know. It is a great deal of money for someone without any references. And I cannot go on as I am at Grayson Manor with no real job and no income.”
“Oh, Lucy, I should miss you so.”
Lucy began to tear up. “And me you.”
Isabell thought for a moment. “But you are such a lovely young lass. What about a husband? With all these gentlemen coming to see the sisters, might there be an extra stray one hanging about who would be suitable for you?”
Lucy laughed. “Isabell, they are all gentlemen. I am the daughter of tenant farmers. I have no living to offer, and they would not be interested in me. They are all looking to marry well.”
“I expect you are right.” She thought for a moment or two longer as she poured them each another cup of tea. “And Mr. George? You mean to tell me there is nothing of interest going on between the two of you?”
“Oh, Isabell, that you would even ask! We are great friends, and nothing more. And him to be the Duke one day. It would never be allowed, and we both know it.”
“It never crosses your mind?”
Lucy was silent. “I cannot say it hasn’t.”
“And does he have feelings for you?”
Again, Lucy hesitated. “He might. But he has never said so directly
. But there are looks, and we have held hands. And heaven knows my heart goes aflutter at times when I am near him, and we brush shoulders, or he looks at me with those eyes.”
“Ah… just as I thought. A sure sign of true love.”
“Isabell, please do come down to earth. A romance between us is about as likely as the sun dancing with the moon.”
Chapter 14
The ball was two weeks away. It was late September, and George was busy with his father preparing for the autumn shearing. But every free moment he could spare was spent at his easel, so he was totally unavailable to help with the preparations for the grand event.
However, the Duchess managed to rouse herself enough to be actively engaged in executing the plans for the ball, and she had Flossy, Lucy, and Mrs. Mead scrambling to carry out her orders.
And for the sisters, it was all about the new gowns. Betsy was quite content to wear what she already had—much to her mother’s chagrin. But Charlotte and Ann had worried and fussed over the design, construction, and fitting of their gowns for the past several weeks.
The dresses were due to be delivered this morning, along with the dressmaker and her assistants, for any final adjustments that might need to be made if there were any concerns.
As Ann had the largest bedroom, the three sisters were gathered there in preparation for the arrival of the dressmaker.
Betsy, even though she was not getting a new dress, had been asked to come along because she had elegant taste and the other sisters valued her opinions. But until the dresses arrived, she was curled up in the window seat with her latest book, oblivious to her sisters’ conversation.
Ann was standing before her full-length mirror with a tiara worked into her hair, and she was turning her head from side to side to gauge the effect.
“Too pretentious, do you think?” she asked Charlotte.
Her sister took a step backward to study her. “It makes you look too matronly,” Charlotte offered.
“Oh, no. Anything but that.” And she whipped the tiara out immediately.
“I am going with a floral look,” Charlotte said, “I am securing the hair on top and adding a ringlet of blue flowers. I think simple and charming is the look to go for.”
“I believe I shall wear my hair shorter with spit curls around the face,” Ann replied. “It will make me look younger, think you not?”
But Charlotte was already engrossed in selecting just the right necklace and was searching through the family jewel box looking for what might work for her. She found a simple choker of gold leaves that would match her gown perfectly.
Without knocking, the Duchess rushed in followed by the dressmaker and her assistants carrying the new dresses.
“Oh, daughters, they have arrived. Come, change immediately and let me see how you look.”
Even Betsy raised her head and closed her book.
Ann and Charlotte quickly changed and stood before the standing mirror admiring themselves.
The dressmaker, Madame Hortense, fluttered around them, adjusting the fall of the fabric, examining a seam, or pulling up a puffed sleeve into its proper position.
“Ah, zay are so lovely. What charming daughters you have, Your Grace.”
Judith sighed as she beheld the lovely gowns. Even Betsy smiled as she looked on.
Ann’s gown consisted of a robin’s-egg-blue, satin, high-waisted, full-length base with puff sleeves, overlaid with a sheer floral-patterned fabric that fell to the floor and created a modest train. A white satin belt was fitted just under the bust.
Ann raised her arms and frowned, “It pinches,” she said to Madam Hortense. “The sleeve seams need to be let out.”
Madame Hortense checked the seam as Ann held her arms in the air. She then turned to one of her assistants. “One-quarter inch,” she commanded. “Miss, if you will remove the gown we shall make the adjustment immediately.”
“Thank you,” Ann said as she shed the gown.
Then Judith and Madame Hortense turned to Charlotte who was wearing an extremely simple cream-colored gown with a pattern of grey dots covering the entire dress until the bottom where the pattern turned into a delicate floral pattern, evolving into a simple train. It, too, had puff sleeves with the dotted pattern.
Charlotte looked radiant, Judith thought.
Turning in a circle, Charlotte studied the gown from all angles. “I believe it is just perfect,” she said. But Madame Hortense went over and gave the dress a final inspection.
“It is beee-u-ti-ful,” she rhapsodized. “Yes, perfect.”
Judith turned to Betsy and scowled. “Now, are you not sorry you did not get a new gown too?”
Betsy shrugged. “No one cares what I look like. I know I certainly do not.”
Judith scolded, “Oh, Betsy, you will ruin us all with your lackadaisical attitude. Do you not want to find a husband?”
“Perhaps one day. But what is the rush?”
“The rush is that you are eight and twenty and not getting any younger. Before long there will be other eligible young ladies coming along and looking for husbands who are younger and prettier than you are.”
“Then let them dance their dance. I shall care not.”
Judith threw her hand up in the air. “Why am I so cursed?”
The Duchess was in a quandary. She needed Lucy to be with her at the ball to look after her, but she also did not want Lucy to be a distraction from her daughters, and, unfortunately, she knew that would be the case if Lucy were present. Maybe she could convince Lucy to wear a veil. But to do that she would need a hat, and as one did not wear hats to a ball these days, it would probably draw even greater attention to her. The only solution she could come up with was to make sure that Lucy wore the plainest possible dress, and put her out of sight, and call upon her only if she was urgently needed.
“Turn around,” Judith instructed Lucy, inspecting the dress she was wearing. Lucy did so. “No, no, that will not do. Simpler, much simpler.”
“But, Your Grace, it is a ball. I cannot attend to you looking like a scullery maid. What will people think? It might reflect poorly on the house.”
“Hmm.” Judith went to her window and gazed down at the tranquil landscape. “Well, we cannot have that, can we?”
“Perhaps you can explain to me what you hope to achieve, and then I might come up with a solution,” Lucy suggested.
Judith could not tell her the truth. How would that look?—admitting that one’s daughters were not nearly as lovely as one’s personal attendant—and the daughter of a tenant farmer as well.
“It is just that Mrs. Mead will need your assistance for the evening, but I might need your services occasionally as well. You see my quandary.”
“Then perhaps I might stay in the kitchen, but if you need me you can send for me and I will come right up.”
“Or, I could just rely on Flossy for the evening.” The girl was as plain as a dirt fence and no competition for her daughters, Judith admitted to herself. Perfect for the situation.
“As you wish.”
Lucy had been holding off, but now she needed to ask. “Your Grace, since I have been attending to you these past few years, I was wondering if it might be possible to get a letter of reference from you for the work I have done.”
Judith did not comprehend. “A letter of reference? Whatever for?”
Lucy did not waver but presented her request forcefully. “There is a position in London I have been suggested for, and I think it would improve my chances if I had such a letter. I assume you would give me a good reference, would you not?”
Judith was completely dumbfounded. “You are thinking of leaving me?”
“Well, not you personally, but certainly the Manor. I think it is time I strike out for myself. And… well, it pays a very handsome wage.”
Again, Judith was flummoxed. “But you…” Then she realized she had no idea what sort of salary Lucy was receiving. “We do pay you, do we not?”
“No, Your Grac
e.” This was no time to accuse or elaborate.
“Oh…”
“However, I have been receiving some remuneration for the sitting I do for George’s portraits.”
“Well, then. There you are. You are receiving a salary then. There should be no need for you to leave me.”
“But I am paid nothing for the work I do for you or in the kitchen.”
Now Judith was agitated. “Well, I cannot do without you. There can be no thought of a letter. We will just need to work something out. Speak to the Duke. He handles all these matters.”
The Legend of the Betrayed Duchess_A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 11
