by Brown, T. J.
Prudence brought out a crisp white cotton blouse with a high lace neck and fitted sleeves. She laid it on the bed next to Rowena and then paired it with a walking skirt of dark maroon wool and black braid. A black riding jacket had ruffles at the cuffs, a double row of ruffles down the front, and a flounce under a deeply nipped waist. Even Rowena couldn’t get away with forgoing a corset with this ensemble, and she knew it would flatter her. It would show off her slender figure without looking coquettish and be appropriate for both tea and whatever activity would follow. “It’s perfect. Thank you, Pru.”
“You can thank me by telling me all about it later. Promise?” Rowena nodded. “Now go have a bath,” Prudence told her. “I’ll brush out your wool coat. It’s far too cold to go out with just a jacket.”
Rowena nodded and was soon soaking in the giant white tub, wondering exactly what it was she thought she was doing. Her little sister was practically sick with grief and Prudence was stuck in the kitchen washing pots and pans and God knew what all, while she was running off to tea with a young man she didn’t even know. She closed her eyes against the tears that were welling up. She hadn’t done anything to keep her uncle from selling their home. For the last month she had sunk under a never-ending grayness that discolored her every thought and mood. She knew she should be up and taking care of things, but had fallen under a spell of inertia that made it difficult for her to get out of bed in the mornings. The only times the lethargy had truly abated were that afternoon she had watched over Jonathon and their visit in the hospital. She just wanted to feel normal again. Was that so terrible?
She allowed Prudence to wrap a giant Turkish towel around her and brush her hair until it was smooth. They didn’t speak. Rowena was half afraid that Prudence was angry with her. She had every right to be, after all, but she didn’t want to talk about it. Not today. She knew they would have to talk sometime soon, but today she just wanted to live in the moment, escape from her grief and the crippling burden of her responsibilities—and broken promises—to Vic and Pru.
Prudence dressed her, pulling the corset laces until her waist was as small as a child’s. Then she did her hair, her fingers deftly curling, pinning, curling, and pinning as if she had been trained in France.
“Where is Victoria?” Rowena asked, frowning. It was already almost time for luncheon and she hadn’t seen her little sister at all.
Prudence shrugged. “Susie helped her dress this morning and told me to leave her be for the rest of the day. She didn’t look as if she were going out, but she had that mysterious expression that she gets when she has a secret.”
Rowena shook her head. The only secrets she could manage right now were her own. “She’ll be fine. Still, will you check to see if any of the horses are gone? I will make sure she hasn’t gone to town when I have the driver take me in.”
Prudence nodded and then cleared her throat. “I won’t be here next Thursday. I’m taking the day off.”
Rowena looked up. “So now you have secrets, too?”
Prudence smiled ruefully. “No. You just haven’t asked. If you must know, I am going to spend the afternoon with Andrew.”
“Who’s Andrew?” Rowena asked more sharply than she intended.
“One of the footmen, actually.”
“Oh, Prudence.” Rowena hadn’t meant to sound so disappointed, but she was shocked. She never thought of Prudence in relation to a young man, and if she did, it was a young man more like the ones Rowena had met. Rowena’s cheeks flushed at her own pretentiousness. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” she put in quickly. “I was just wondering about Lord Billingsly, Sebastian. He seemed very interested in you.”
Prudence put down the brush and comb, her manner stiff. “Your hair is finished, Miss Rowena. Would you like anything else?”
Rowena turned, her stomach wretched. “Don’t be like that, Prudence. I didn’t mean it like that, at all.”
“Lord Billingsly is not a possibility for me, Rowena,” Prudence said quietly. “Perhaps your father was optimistic in believing that things were changing between the classes, because it seems to me that in places like Summerset, things are very much the same. Andrew may be a footman, but he is a very nice young man and remember, I am nothing but the daughter of a maid turned governess. And now, as you well know, I am a lady’s maid.”
Prudence spoke these last words matter-of-factly as she left the room and Rowena sat frozen. Then tears came to her eyes. She sat at the dressing room table, unable to look herself in the mirror. After a few moments, she stood up and snatched her coat off the arm of a wing-backed chair where Prudence had set it. She didn’t care that she would be early to town. She couldn’t stay here one more moment.
Victoria’s room was still empty when she passed it. Cairns hurried to have the auto brought around for her as soon as she ordered it. Her father may have detested having an army of servants and spoke often against the sense of entitlement it brought, but it certainly was handy, Rowena thought.
From beneath her lashes she covertly studied the young man driving her. He only said “Yes, miss” and “No, miss” to her, and Rowena wondered what he had said to Prudence to make her want to go on an outing with him. Did they talk and laugh naturally? Prudence loved to read. Did this young man have a hidden passion for books? Did they discuss politics or music? How could she have said “Oh, Prudence,” as if seeing a footman was something to be ashamed of? Andrew faced straight ahead, his mouth set. He looked nice enough, with blunt, simple features, but nothing special. But maybe he wasn’t showing her the side that Prudence saw.
Restlessly, she asked him. “You know where the Freemont Inn is, don’t you?” She hated the way her voice sounded so peevish and cross.
“Yes, miss.”
She turned away and fell silent. Evidently, Prudence possessed some charm that she didn’t. Or perhaps he was just being smart. She recalled what Prudence had said earlier that day, about the classes—that nothing was going to change. Perhaps Rowena herself was a part of the problem. Would Jonathon think that way? Who was he, anyway? Nerves bounced around in her stomach and she felt crosser than ever. She hated feeling like this.
“What time would you like me to pick you up, Miss Buxton?”
She blinked, realizing they had stopped in front of the inn.
She waited to answer until he had leapt out of the car and came around to open her door. “I will get my own ride home, Andrew, thank you. And don’t worry about your outing with Prudence. She can take the days she needs.”
He stared at her, his eyes carefully blank. “Yes, miss. Thank you, miss.”
She flounced out of the motorcar, feeling at a disadvantage. She hadn’t meant that she would give Prudence the days off, but that Prudence could have whatever days she needed. That they were Prudence’s days, for goodness’ sake. She had a feeling she’d been misunderstood.
Taking a deep breath, Rowena smoothed her skirt and went into the inn, hoping that she wasn’t too early. Mr. Dirkes was sitting alone at one of the tables and Rowena’s heart fell with disappointment, but she put on a smile and approached him, her hand outstretched. “Mr. Dirkes, how wonderful to see you again.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Buxton. Jon will be down in a moment. Have a seat.”
She sat down at the table, her spirits lifting.
“Please, call me Rowena. How is Jon feeling? I was worried that he would be too tired for tea today. He did just get out of the hospital.”
“Oh, no. He is a trouper, that one. Can’t keep him down for long. That’s why I wanted the lad to go into business with me.”
“And what kind of business do you do again, Mr. Dirkes?” she asked politely. She didn’t really care that much; her eyes kept flicking over to the staircase that led up to the guest accommodations.
“I’m in the motorcar business, but I’m expanding into aeroplanes. Right now, Jonathon does all the testing. He does a fair bit of the planning, too.”
She turned her attention
to him. She found him infinitely more interesting when he was speaking of Jonathon. “Don’t you think they’re just a fad? My uncle certainly does, though my father wasn’t sure.”
“Ah, the peerage hates to see such sweeping changes. Most of them find it too much to cope with. I’m hopeful that you younger lot will adapt better.”
Her father had said the very same thing.
“And no, I don’t think they are just a fad,” he continued. “I think they are going to revolutionize travel, the shipping of freight and warfare. My compatriots think I’m either a genius or a madman.”
“Ah, going on about the future of aeronautics again? Are you trying to bore our pretty guest to death?”
Even with a cane, Jonathon Wells had come up behind her so silently that she hadn’t heard him. He smiled down on her and her breath caught and held as she stared up into his strikingly blue eyes. The sounds around her—the muted conversation of the other diners, the soft clinking of the dishes and silverware, and the muffled street noises from the front—were drowned out by the deafening beat of her heart in her ears. She smiled back, and for the first time since her father had died, she had an unwarranted urge to giggle at how ridiculously giddy she felt. She lowered her eyes for a moment to gain her composure, then met his gaze.
“I am so glad to see you up and about, Mr. Wells. Thank you so much for inviting me to tea.”
He smiled, showing straight, even teeth. “Thank you.” He tapped his leg with his cane. “As you can see, my leg is actually healing quite quickly. And please, call me Jon. Mr. Wells sounds like my father. And I am going to call you Rowena, if I may. After what we’ve been through, Mr. and Miss sound ridiculously formal.”
“Adapt or die! That’s what I always say,” Mr. Dirkes put in, waving his arms about. His curly black hair was streaked with silver and his moustache was waxed stiffly against his lips. He looked quite mad, but in a nice sort of way.
“You may call me Rowena.” She paused for a moment and then added, “Jon.”
He smiled and inclined his head. A maid in a crisp black uniform wheeled a tea cart out to them and poured their tea. The men spoke excitedly about this and that, and Rowena forgot her manners, so interested was she in their conversation.
“But don’t you think at some point the labor unions will have their day in court? I know the last lawsuit was a devastating loss, but I think it will either be overturned or answered with another lawsuit, which will set precedent.”
Mr. Dirkes sat back in his chair and blinked. “I daresay we’ve been boring you?”
Jon’s lips curved, showing dimples just above the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think so. She seems very knowledgeable on the subject, maybe more so than you. What do you always say? Adapt or die? I think this is one of those instances. Perhaps Rowena is one of the New Women you hear so much about.”
Mr. Dirkes held up his teacup in salute. “Touché.”
Rowena gave Jon a rueful smile at his teasing use of the derogatory term New Woman before answering. “My father was good friends with Ben Tillett, so labor issues were a normal topic of conversation. And if you’re asking if I’m a suffragette, I would have to say yes, of course. Women certainly should have the vote, but I also think we should be educated equally in order to use our vote most effectively, don’t you agree?”
Jon raised his brows. “I do agree. I just didn’t know that anyone of your class did. For instance, it’s hard to believe that your uncle would feel that way about independent women.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I can hardly speak for my uncle. We’ve never really touched upon the subject.”
“I’ll bet not.”
Rowena frowned. The tenor of their tea had suddenly changed. Instead of being lighthearted, Jonathon now looked as if he had bitten into something unpleasant and couldn’t quite get the taste out of his mouth.
Mr. Dirkes took up the plate of scones. “Would anyone else like a scone?”
Both Rowena and Jonathon declined and Mr. Dirkes looked disappointed. “Well, if you two are done with your tea, perhaps it is time for the second half of our afternoon. Are you still up to it, my boy?”
Jonathon nodded, but he didn’t seem as thrilled about the prospect as he did earlier. There was no doubt that Jonathon’s demeanor toward her had changed, but what had done it? Her mention of her family? Wasn’t that what had upset him so last time?
They walked out of the inn and got into Mr. Dirkes’s green Silver Ghost. She sat up front with Mr. Dirkes, who drove, while Jonathon lounged with his injured leg in the back. She was conscious of his eyes on her and she hoped her hair hadn’t come undone and that her hat was on straight. She very much wanted to touch her hat to see, but didn’t want to let on that she was concerned with her appearance. Her neck flushed under his gaze. Unable to stand it, she turned in her seat. “So where are we going, Mr. Wells?” she asked above the sound of the motor.
“So we’re back to being formal again, are we, Lady Summerset?”
“I’m not Lady Summerset! That’s my aunt. I’m not the daughter of an earl. I’m the Honorable Rowena Buxton, but we don’t really want to carry things to that extent, do we, Mr. Wells?”
He smiled at the little lesson in peerage etiquette. “Jonathon! And no, Rowena, we do not. It’s much easier if we are simply Jonathon and Rowena, isn’t it?”
Her cheeks heated at the way he’d spoken, as if they had an intimate relationship. She nodded, unable to answer, but something had lightened between them again and Rowena was able to relax and enjoy the drive.
The wind bit her cheeks and lips, and she wished she had thought to bring netting to protect her face. No doubt she would be all chapped and windblown before they reached their destination. The trees stood stark and bare against an ominously gray sky. “I do think it’s going to snow,” she said to Mr. Dirkes.
“It feels like it will, but maybe it will hold off until your flight is over.”
Rowena’s stomach sank. “My what?”
“Now you’ve gone and spoiled the surprise!” Jonathon said, leaning forward between the two seats.
Just then Mr. Dirkes pulled off the road and into a field. Rowena’s eyes widened as she saw several men working on an aeroplane in the middle of the field.
“So what do you say, Lady Rowena?” Jonathon’s voice was thick with challenge. “Are you ready to take an aeroplane ride?”
She sat staring at the machine as it got closer and closer. “I’m not a lady,” she said, swallowing.
He laughed as Mr. Dirkes helped her out of the motorcar.
“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Mr. Dirkes asked.
She opened her mouth to say No, no, I am NOT, but then she noticed he’d addressed the question to Jonathon, not to her.
“I guess we’ll have to see, won’t we?” He laughed and cast a challenging look at Rowena.
She lifted her chin and firmed her shoulders. There was no way she was going to back down now. She felt as if her sex and her class were being tested.
She followed a limping Jonathon over to the aeroplane. “Don’t worry,” he called over his shoulder, “this one has been tested before. It’s usually quite safe.”
Rowena tried to not show her alarm as they got closer and closer to the machine. It looked rather small to take two perfectly normal-sized people into the sky. “What kind is it?” she asked, trying not to show her nerves. The men servicing the plane smiled at one another. Evidently, she wasn’t successful at hiding her fear.
“It’s a Bristol T.B.8H. We built it for the Royal Flying Corps, you see,” Mr. Dirkes answered.
“What’s this part?” She touched the side of the plane, trying to keep talking. Maybe if she kept talking, she would forget the terror turning in her stomach.
“The fuselage.”
One of the men had handed Jonathon a clipboard with a list on it, and he suddenly turned serious as he hobbled around the plane and began checking things off. Rowena realized she hadn’t seen that
particular look on his handsome face before. She’d seen him flirtatious—with the nurse at the hospital—and angry, with her, but this expression was completely different. Rowena found it thrilling to observe someone so wholly engaged in his work, and she was so busy watching that she forgot her fright.
Suddenly Jonathon nodded. “Load her up!”
One of the men took her arm and Rowena realized that meant her. “Oh, I’m not sure this is a good idea,” she said to Mr. Dirkes as they guided her toward the front seat of the aeroplane.
“Oh, don’t worry, he’s quite good,” he assured her.
“But the first time I met him he was crashing!”
“That was an experimental plane!” Mr. Dirkes had to yell to be heard above the propeller of the aeroplane, which had just started up.
Jonathon was suddenly behind her, so close she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. With one hand he took off her hat and then she gasped as he began taking the pins from her hair.
“What are you doing?” She whirled around but couldn’t escape, as she was trapped against the fuselage of the aeroplane. He kept picking pins from her hair as if he were grooming an animal. His brow was furrowed in concentration, but she saw the humorous glint in his eye.
Her hair finally tumbled down and she reached up and gathered it up in one hand so she could see. He held up a small leather cap with goggles attached to the top. “You have to wear this for safety. It will protect your eyes and keep your hair from flying about.”
“Oh. You could have told me.”
“But it was so much more fun my way.” He grinned.
What cheek! The man was positively insolent. But she found herself smiling back at him. She took the cap and the hairpins. Then, before she could react, he turned her back toward the plane and put his hands around her waist. She gasped as he lifted her up onto a stepladder that had been brought out for the job. She climbed into the passenger seat of the aeroplane, her legs numb with fright. Dropping the hairpins quickly into the pocket of her coat, she then twisted up her hair and tucked it inside her blouse before settling the leather cap over her head. After she settled down into her seat, he buckled a harness around her. She couldn’t look at him. Not with the imprint of his hands on her waist still hot beneath her corset.