* * *
Lady Tressingham rang for Alyssa’s abigail as soon as they reached Alyssa’s bedchamber.
“You sent for me, miss?” Durham bobbed a curtsy as she entered Alyssa’s bedchamber.
“I sent for you,” Lady Tressingham announced, stepping around Alyssa’s curtained tester bed and into view.
“Beg pardon, milady.” Durham bobbed another curtsy. “I did not realize you were within.”
“Or that my daughter has been without, apparently,” Lady Tressingham commented dryly.
“Ma’am?” Durham blinked at Lady Tressingham’s tone of voice, then smothered a yawn with her hand.
“Go below and bring up a breakfast tray of toast and hot chocolate, then draw a bath for Lady Alyssa,” Lady Tressingham instructed. “Oh, and stoke the coals before you go. My daughter has a habit to be rid of.”
“Beg pardon, milady, but housemaids are charged with stoking the coals. I am a ladies’ maid.”
Lady Tressingham narrowed her gaze at the maid. Durham had come highly recommended, but it was quite obvious that the maid was oblivious to the tension in the room and to the reason her presence had been requested. The woman appeared to be as thick as treacle pudding. And with a ladies’ maid like that, it was no wonder Alyssa managed to sneak out of her bedchamber dressed in rags like a street urchin.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!”
Durham threw up her arm, shielding her face as if from a blow, as Lady Tressingham strode across the room and picked up the fire poker.
“I’m not going to hit you!” Lady Tressingham announced, bending before the fireplace, stirring the smoldering coals to life. “I’m going to stoke the coals while you”—she glanced at the maid—“go down to the kitchen and order the hot water for my daughter’s bath and fetch my breakfast tray.”
“Yes, milady.” Durham bobbed a final curtsy, then jerked open the door and scurried out of the room. “Right away, milady.”
Lady Tressingham turned to her daughter. “And you—”
Alyssa bit her bottom lip and glanced down at her feet in a vain attempt to appear contrite.
Lady Tressingham wasn’t fooled. “Look at me.” She frowned at Alyssa.
Alyssa obeyed.
Lady Tressingham held out her hand. “My pelisse, if you please.”
Alyssa shrugged out of the garment and handed it to her mother.
“Now,” Lady Tressingham pronounced. “Take off that habit.”
Alyssa moved toward the dressing screen standing in the corner of the bedchamber.
Lady Tressingham shook her head. “Here. In front of the fire where I can see you.”
“But, Mama…” Alyssa felt her cheeks flame with embarrassment.
“Now, Alyssa.”
Alyssa unbuttoned the bodice of her riding habit and slipped it off her shoulders, then stood clutching the well-worn fabric in her hand. She let out a sigh. Her old riding habit had served her well. And replacing it would take a bit of doing. Alyssa glanced at the massive cherry wardrobe dominating the wall opposite her bed. Her winter clothes were packed away in the attic of their country home, but there had to be something she could use, something dark, something she might have worn for mourning. She bit her lip once again. But what? There hadn’t been a death in the family since they’d come to London. And if there had been, they wouldn’t be in London. The family, out of respect for the dead, would have forgone the season and returned to the country. Still…the maids wore black. Perhaps she could trade one of the many pastel muslins her mother had ordered for the season to one of the maids for a dress in nice serviceable black—
“No.”
Alyssa glanced at her mother. “Pardon?”
“No to whatever it is you’re thinking,” Lady Tressingham said. “Now, hand over the bodice and take off your skirts and that threadbare chemise.”
“Mama!”
Lady Tressingham studied the color staining Alyssa’s face and neck. “You undress in front of Durham.”
“I do not!” Alyssa protested. “I use the screen.”
“I’m your mother, Alyssa. I’ve seen you in the altogether.”
“Not since I’ve grown up.”
Lady Tressingham smiled. “Have you? Judging from your grubby appearance and your behavior, I’d say it’s a matter of debate as to whether or not you have grown up.”
“You know perfectly well what I mean.”
“Do I?” Lady Tressingham tossed the bodice of Alyssa’s riding habit into the fireplace. She snapped her finger. “Your skirt, Alyssa.”
Alyssa unfastened her skirt and stepped out of it, glaring at her mother as she did so.
Lady Tressingham ignored her. Scooping the skirt from the floor, she folded it neatly and then tossed it onto the fire.
Alyssa watched in horrible fascination as the coals burst into flames that consumed the fabric. “I am not a child.”
“Yet you persist in behaving like one,” Lady Tressingham countered.
“There is nothing childish about pursuing one’s dreams, Mama.”
Lady Tressingham smiled. “You dream of mucking stalls and digging in the soil?”
“I dream of designing gardens like Capability Brown and Mr. Repton. I dream of inventing new ways of doing things and improving the way we live.”
Lady Tressingham laughed. “We’re members of the ton, Alyssa. One cannot improve upon the way we live.”
Alyssa kicked the porcelain chamber pot beneath her bed. “Maids must haul water from the kitchen up three flights of stairs in order to fill the bathing tub and empty the chamber pots we keep hidden beneath our beds.”
Lady Tressingham nodded. “Yes, my darling girl. Maids do those things. And they’re grateful for the work and the money it provides. You should be grateful for the fact that because you’re a lady and a member of the ton, you’re above that. You’ve a reputation to protect and an old and honorable name to uphold. You’re a Carrollton. The daughter of the Earl of Tressingham. You’ve no need to haul water or empty chamber pots or muck stables or dig in the dirt. And no one expects that you should perform menial tasks.”
“There is nothing disreputable about performing menial tasks,” Alyssa argued. “They’re necessary to our current way of life.”
“Indeed, they are,” her mother agreed. “But why do those things if one can afford to hire someone else to do them?” She reached out and pinched Alyssa’s cheek. “You’re a lady, Alyssa. The only task you need worry about performing is finding a suitable husband.” She held out her hand. “Chemise, stockings, and boots, please.”
Alyssa sat on the edge of the bed and tugged off her boots.
“No need to frown, my darling girl,” Lady Tressingham said. “I’m not going to burn your boots. Just your chemise and stockings. I intend to keep your boots locked away so that you won’t be tempted to use them. And from now on, you’ll behave like the lady you are. You’ll dress in the pretty dresses I bought you and attend all the lovely gatherings to which you’ve been invited. The only gardening you’re going to be doing is arranging flowers in vases, and there will be no more trips to the stable.”
“What about Joshua?” Alyssa asked. “Are you going to forbid me to ride?”
“Of course not,” her mother answered. “If a gentleman asks you to accompany him on a morning ride, you’ll be allowed to do so, as long as your father or I am present.”
Alyssa groaned.
“And don’t think that misbehaving or disobeying my orders will result in being sent home to the country.” Lady Tressingham eyed her daughter. “Oh no, my darling, we’ll simply redouble our efforts to transform you into the Incomparable Beauty of the Season as I and your sisters were, and when we’ve succeeded, your father shall choose the man he thinks will best suit you— unless, of course, the duke of Sussex has acquiesced to his mother’s wishes and offered for you as he should have done for one of your sisters.” She paused. “Undergarments, please.”
Alyssa stripped off
the rest of her clothes and watched as her mother added them to the flames. “I don’t want anyone to offer for me.”
“Of course, you do,” her mother protested. “Because the only alternative is to live out the remainder of your life taking orders from your father and me and from your married sisters and their families once we’ve gone to our reward.” Lady Tressingham smiled. “Marry, Alyssa. Marry well. Give your husband his heir and a spare. Then you will have earned the right to do as you please. Even if what you’re pleased to do means mucking stalls and designing gardens.”
A knock sounded at the door.
“Ah,” Lady Tressingham sighed. “My breakfast and your bath.” She walked over to Alyssa’s wardrobe, removed a dressing gown, and carried it back to Alyssa. “It’s a gentleman’s world, my darling. And marrying well is your best way of succeeding in it. Being a spinster is no life for you—not if you wish to pursue those dreams of yours.”
Alyssa frowned.
“No need to make such a face at me. I’ve only your best interests at heart. You may believe there’s no reason for you to marry, but eventually, you’ll see the wisdom of it.” Lady Tressingham arched a brow at her daughter. “And you’ll have plenty of time to ponder the notion, since you are forbidden to putter in the gardens or grounds or frequent the stable for the duration of the season.”
“For the duration of the season?” Alyssa was aghast at the idea of not being able to garden or to ride unchaperoned for the next ten weeks. “I’ll go mad.”
Lady Tressingham smiled. “I don’t think so, my darling. We’ve had an eccentric or two in the family, but no strains of madness.”
“I’m likely to be the first,” Alyssa muttered, sounding more like a rebellious ten-year-old than a young lady in her second season.
“Well,” her mother drawled, “I believe the condition can be cured with a proposal from a gentleman of wealth and impeccable breeding.” Lady Tressingham narrowed her gaze at her daughter. “Get yourself betrothed, Alyssa. Find yourself a suitable husband, and I’ll gladly allow you to dig up and rearrange every flower bed on the place.”
Alyssa pinned her mother with a look. “Have I your word on that?”
Lady Tressingham heaved a dramatic sigh. “Yes,” she confirmed. “You can dig right up until time to dress for your wedding.”
Chapter Three
“Earlier this month, our great enemy, Napoleon, married Marie-Louise of Austria in order to secure an heir for the throne of France and to form an alliance with Austria. It seems I must marry and do the same—on a less exalted scale—if I wish to take up my commission in the cavalry. My search for a suitable bride has begun.”
—Griffin, Lord Abernathy, journal entry, 23 April 1810
Barely a Bride Page 7