The Bridal Season

by Connie Brockway

  A gauzy white muslin, the skirt figured with black swiss dots and the bodice piped with black velveteen caught her eye. She held it up, pulling it to her at the waist and studying her reflection in the full-length mirror. It was lovely. In the very first stare of fashion. Or would be once she tweaked the bodice and hips. Sir Elliot wouldn’t spare a glance for his former fiancée once he got an eyeful of her in this dress.

  Well, she admitted after a moment, of course he would spare a glance for Catherine Bunting. And words. And a dance or two. Because he was a gentleman, and gentlemen always paid equal attention to all the ladies of their acquaintance. Added to that, even if he wanted to, a gentleman would never monopolize one particular lady.

  But, Letty grinned, spinning around and setting the skirts swirling out, wouldn’t it be thrilling if he did?

  Chapter 8

  Find out what people want to do,

  then tell them to do it.

  They’ll think you’re a genius.

  “Good morning, Miss Bigglesworth.”

  Eglantyne, who’d been waiting in the breakfast room since nine o’clock for their celebrated guest, or rather their employee, rose from her seat. “Good morning, Lady Agatha…” Her voice trailed off.

  Lady Agatha, posed dramatically in the doorframe, smiled. “Is something amiss?”

  “No, not at all,” Eglantyne hastened to say. “It’s just that your dress… It’s…it’s so…so exceptional.”

  The black piping decorating the bodice drew attention to Lady Agatha’s happy abundance in that area. Almost as much attention as the glove-close fit of the gown across the hips and nether regions. From there, the black dotted skirts fell in a long cascade of material that brushed the floor.

  Lady Agatha’s vastly expressive face lit with pleasure. She twirled, setting the light skirt swirling about her ankle in a froth of ruffles. “It’s all the thing in town.”

  With a sickly smile, Eglantyne sank down in her chair. Dear Lord, she hoped Lady Agatha wouldn’t suggest Angela’s wedding gown look like that.

  Lady Agatha paused beside the buffet, inspecting the scant leavings from the breakfast that had been put out hours before. She picked up a piece of dry toast. “I recall your saying something to that charming Sir Elliot about a picnic today?”

  “Yes,” Eglantyne said, hoping Lady Agatha liked the outdoors. She certainly looked like a, er, healthy young woman. “Our other guests will be arriving at about four o’clock.”

  “Delightful!” Lady Agatha smiled happily. She returned to the breakfast table, her hips undulating in a graceful and impressive manner. Not that Lady Agatha needed to move in order to be impressive. Not in that dress, Eglantyne thought, feeling the warmth creep into her cheeks.

  Lady Agatha began to hum, a catchy little ditty that stuck in the mind and sounded somehow…well, a bit fast. Eglantyne, as bemused by the ditty as the dress, picked up the breakfast bell and rang it frantically.

  She wished Cabot would hurry. Cabot would know what to do and how to react. He was the perfect butler. She didn’t know how to respond to Society ladies or what to say. This whole affair of hiring an aristocratic employee, the marquis’s exalted family coming so soon, Angela’s impending marriage, and then the fact that she’d be going away and never coming back again—

  Eglantyne’s eyes clouded over with tears. She had the most awful foreboding that everything was going to go horribly awry. And then Lady Agatha was beside her, sliding into the chair next to hers and laying a hand gently on Eglantyne’s forearm. “What’s wrong, du—darling?”

  “Nothing,” Eglantyne said bravely, but the unexpected sympathy in Lady Agatha’s voice threatened her composure. She couldn’t confide in a stranger, especially such an illustrious one.

  “Are you sure?” Lady Agatha prodded gently. Her warm brown eyes were steady and just a little bit amused, not in a mocking way, but in an oddly reassuring way, as if there was no trouble in the world that one couldn’t laugh away.

  “I am so glad you are here,” Eglantyne burst out. “I feel so inadequate for the whole ugly—Oh!” As soon as the horrible word was out she regretted it. Heat flamed in her cheeks. “How awful you must think me!”

  “Why? Whatever for?” Lady Agatha said.

  Eglantyne gazed at her thankfully for kindly ignoring the all too obvious fact that she’d just about called her dear, darling Angela’s upcoming nuptials “the whole ugly task.” As if it were some onerous chore, like scouring a floor or blacking shoes and not a cause for…for cele…celebra…

  Eglantyne burst into tears.

  Letty stared at her, stricken. She couldn’t imagine what had set Eglantyne off. Not that she was concerned, mind you; why should she be? Eglantyne Bigglesworth had everything a body could want. And it was only that she was curious about what could cause a rich woman to sob so pitifully that she put her arm around the older woman’s shoulder and gave a little squeeze.

  Eglantyne lifted her head. Her eyes were puffy and red and her nose was dripping. As Letty didn’t suppose Eglantyne was the type who’d take advantage of her sleeve, she picked up the tidily folded napkin beside her plate, snapped it open, and held it under Eglantyne’s nose. “Here, dear, blow your nose. There’s a girl. Now then, why don’t you tell me what these tears are about?”

  “I really shouldn’t trouble you…”

  “Nonsense. It is my job to be troubled. I mean, to facilitate weddings. If something is amiss, then I can’t do my job properly, can I?”

  “I suppose not. But there’s nothing amiss, really. It’s just that… I don’t know. I suppose I’m a foolish, selfish old woman. I want Angela’s happiness more than anything in the world, but oh! I shall miss her so—oo—oo.” She burst into tears again.

  “Of course you will,” Letty crooned, wrapping her arm around Eglantyne’s shoulders and rocking her gently. When Eglantyne’s shaking subsided, Letty shoved the wrinkled napkin into her hand again. “That doesn’t mean you are selfish. It simply means you love Angela.”

  “Oh, I do! I do!” Eglantyne blew her nose.

  “And you’ve been mum to her for how long?” Letty asked.

  “Ever since her mother died giving birth to her. Over eighteen years.” She smiled tremulously. “She was so sweet and tiny and the dearest little creature you can imagine. I simply couldn’t leave her in the care of someone we paid to—” She blushed. “Oh! I am sure I didn’t mean that simply because one was paid for one’s efforts they were somehow less valuable!”

  “Never mind, dearie,” Letty said comfortably. “I’m not offended. And I quite understand. You can rent a chap’s talents, but you can’t buy someone’s affection, and clearly you’d fallen in love with the little squib.”

  “Squib?”

  “Baby.”

  “You understand. I just want her to be happy and I am worried that my misgivings about her becoming a marchioness spring from an entirely selfish desire to keep her here with me.”

  Letty patted her shoulder. “You mustn’t fret. I’m sure your Angela will be ecstatic in her grand castle.” I would be. “As a marchioness, she’ll have no more to do than order about a horde of servants and count the family portraits. She’ll dine on caviar and champagne every night and have two dresses for every hour in the week.”

  Eglantyne sniffled around a little laugh. “Oh, Lady Agatha, you are too kind, playing the jester for me.”

  Jester? She’d been dead earnest.

  Eglantyne’s expression sobered. “I wouldn’t mind so much, not really, if I were only certain Angela was looking forward to it. But lately Angela doesn’t seem the same happy girl I have always known and loved. She looks pensive, and sometimes actually morose.”

  “Wedding jitters.”

  Eglantyne shook her head. “Angela’s never been a flighty sort of girl. When she told us about Hugh Sheffield’s proposal, she was ecstatic, otherwise Anton would never have agreed to the match.”

  “Maybe she’s having second thoughts? That’
s natural.”

  “I thought so, too, but when I asked her if she’d prefer not to marry the marquis, she burst into tears and swore that she desired to be his wife above all things.”

  Well, thought Letty, at least the chit hadn’t gone daft.

  “I think,” Eglantyne said, leaning toward Letty, “I think it’s the Sheffields.”

  “How so?”

  “They’ve already made it clear how low Hugh is stooping to marry Angela. I hesitate to make any accusations, but it seems to me that his mama has found every excuse by which to keep Hugh away from The Hollies and at her side.

  “Don’t misunderstand me, I don’t pretend to know anything about High Society, Lady Agatha, but surely it is a bit unusual for the groom not to spend any time visiting his future in-laws at their home?”

  Was it? “Ah, well…not necessarily,” Letty said cautiously.

  “Really?” Eglantyne fell on her words. “You give me hope. And,” she went on as though to herself, “it is true that Hugh is coming at the end of the month and his family has answered my latest invitation by promising to arrive shortly thereafter.”

  Letty smiled brightly. “Seems right as rain to me.”

  Eglantyne looked at her hopefully. “Hugh is most attentive to Angela. He writes to her daily. Though lately she doesn’t seem so eager to read his letters.’’ Her face fell. “I think it might worry Angela that they’ll find us provincial and that we’ll feel badly for it. Or they’ll think the wedding reception is shabby. Or we are shabby. We simply can’t appear second-rate! You must help us, Lady Agatha.”

  She held out her hand appealingly. She spoke so earnestly, her expression filled with such an odd mixture of affection, tenderness, and frustration, that it quite touched Letty’s heart.

  She gave herself a mental shake. She was getting soppy; she must be nearing her monthlies.

  “Of course, I will,” Letty said, disconcerted by these surprising treacly feelings. “Rather than worry about whether your Angela is good enough for the Sheffields, you might better concern yourself with whether the Sheffields are good enough for her.”

  At this mild suggestion, Eglantyne’s eye widened and she clasped her broad hands across her chest. “I never thought of it that way, Lady Agatha! I can see why you are so successful. You are a paragon as well as a confidante and adviser. If only…” Eglantyne trailed off wistfully.

  “If only what?” Letty prompted, in full charity with this unexpectedly canny woman.

  “I couldn’t possibly impose.”

  “I am not a falsely proud woman, Miss Bigglesworth,” Letty said. “I should not hesitate to remind you that I am here in the capacity of your employee.”

  Instead of encouraging Eglantyne, Letty’s words seemed to have the opposite effect; her pink and powdered countenance crumpled in misery. “You’re right. I could never take advantage of a situation in which my position is in any manner superior to your own.”

  Letty sighed. Gads, but the rich made things needlessly difficult! “Then perhaps as a new friend, I can encourage you to ask what you will.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Eglantyne clasped Letty’s hands fervently. “It’s just that, as one so close in age to Angela, and being a woman of the world, I was hoping that you might counsel Angela. Such advice would be invaluable to her. For you to give her the benefit of your experience and wisdom would be a gift that I, poor little country spinster mouse that I am, could never offer.”

  Her? What would she say to the girl? She’d never been married. In fact, she’d never even— Well, no one ever said that women of the world had to be fast.

  She looked at Eglantyne. The older woman was regarding her anxiously. Ah, hell. What could it hurt to say she’d advise the girl? She wouldn’t be here long enough to do the kid any lasting harm. Might even do her some good to hear a few frank facts. Letty capitulated with a deep inner sigh.

  “Why, Miss Bigglesworth,” she said, “of course. I will be only too happy to advise her in any small way that I might.”

  “How ever can I thank you? You are an inspiration!” Eglantyne’s gaze traveled over Letty’s person. “Why, one has only to look at you to realize that you are your own woman, Lady Agatha, and piffle to anyone who tries to tell you how to behave or how to live.”

  “True,” Letty allowed, flattered.

  “You don’t let convention and small-mindedness govern your life,” Eglantyne went on, warming to her subject.

  “Righto,” Letty said.

  “You don’t give a fig what people say about how you dress or act!”

  “You bet I—” Letty stopped. She didn’t? She should. Lady Agatha would. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, most ladies wouldn’t dream of wearing something so interesting. Nor would they be so devil-may-care, if you’ll excuse the term. I imagine you’ll cause quite a stir in our little community when you appear in that gown.”

  “Really? The ladies will talk?”

  “Yes. Enviously,” Eglantyne said.

  “And do you think the gentlemen will approve?”

  “I dare say so!”

  “Even…Sir Elliot?”

  “Oh.” Eglantyne considered. “Well, Sir Elliot is a different kettle of fish, isn’t he?”

  “Is he?” Letty asked.

  “He is,” Eglantyne confided, “a very private man. Not that he isn’t amiable. Indeed, Sir Elliot is everything one could ask in a gentleman. He’d never let a lady’s appearance affect his opinion of her.”

  Letty stared at Eglantyne to see if she was joking. She wasn’t. The old dear really believed it. “Sir Elliot is a man, is he not?”

  “Oh, yes,” Eglantyne said wistfully. If she were just twenty years younger…

  “Then, believe me, Miss Bigglesworth, his interest in a lady is most definitely affected by how she looks. No man, gentleman or not—”

  “Miss Bigglesworth?” The butler’s voice interrupted them.

  “Ah, Cabot.” Eglantyne turned toward the door with a little whoosh of relief. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to hear what Lady Agatha had been about to disclose about men. “Would you please see that Grace makes some fresh coffee for Lady Agatha?”

  She turned to ask Lady Agatha’s preferences. As she did, Lady Agatha’s little doggie Lambikins sauntered in from the hallway and, as though these exertions were quite enough for one morning, sat down squarely on Cabot’s foot.

  “Just give him a nudge,” Lady Agatha said, lowering her gaze at Lambikins. “He’ll—” She looked at Cabot and abruptly stopped speaking. Her eyes grew round.

  Cabot, imperturbable, stone-faced Cabot, swallowed audibly.

  “Cabot?” Eglantyne asked. Whatever was going on? Cabot looked as though he’d seen a ghost. “I say, Cabot, are you quite all right?”

  “Quite all right, madam,” Cabot said. “Do you require anything else?”

  Eglantyne looked askance at Lady Agatha. She had recovered from whatever had momentarily nonplussed her. “If there are any strawberries?” she asked demurely.

  “Very good, madam.” Cabot said. “Will there be anything else, Miss Bigglesworth?”

  “Yes,” Eglantyne said, seized by a sudden inspiration. There was no time like the present to get things rolling along between Lady Agatha and Angela. “Cabot, would you fetch Miss Angela at—”

  “Ahem.”

  Eglantyne turned toward Lady Agatha. “Yes?”

  “Might I suggest that you bring her here yourself, Miss Bigglesworth? It will give you an opportunity to lay the groundwork, so to speak, for our little chat.” She glanced at the stoically waiting Cabot.

  “A fine idea, Lady Agatha,” Eglantyne agreed, rising. “I’ll get her directly.”

  As she passed Cabot, he turned to follow her out of the room. But then she heard Lady Agatha say, “Oh, don’t run off yet, Cabot.”

  Chapter 9

  The past keeps showing up wearing new makeup.

  “Is it really you, Sammy?” Letty peered at the
portly, stern-looking butler in amazement.

  “Yes, Letty. It’s me,” he said, his voice hushed with astonishment.

  And then she was across the room, flinging her arms around him and hugging him tightly. He returned her embrace awkwardly, a man unaccustomed to demonstrations of affection. She chuckled. The same old Sammy.

  The last time she’d seen him had been a half dozen years ago when Veda and Alf had been working the Saturday variety acts at the Palace Theatre. They’d known all the other performers from years past—including Sammy, who’d knocked about the “human oddities” shows for years as Sam-Sam, The Spaniel-Faced Boy, Nature’s Fantastic Amalgamation of Characteristics Both Canine and Human.

  She smiled into his shoulder. One would never tell by looking at him now, but at one time his face had been covered with dense fur. But now…she lifted her head and regarded the furiously blushing butler delightedly. By gum! The Spaniel-Faced Boy had a receding hairline!

  “Letty Potts,” Sammy exhaled taking a step back and clasping her shoulders. For a moment his expression was as soft and pleased as her own and then the pleasure dimmed and his smile faded. “Whatever are you doing here? And why are you posing as Lady Agatha? Where is Lady Agatha?”

  “Hush!” She darted behind him and hurriedly pulled the door shut. “Come across the room and I’ll tell you.”

  The butler followed her slowly. “Last thing I heard about you, Letty, you’d taken up with that no-account Nick Sparkle.” Worry supplanted his earlier pleasure. “I warn you, Letty, if this is one of his schemes to bilk people—”

  “No one’s going to bilk anyone!” Letty said, waving her hand to quiet him.

  He didn’t look convinced. Which hurt. Sammy and she had once been friends.