by Patty Bryant
She did miss Penelope and Lucy. She’d seen them only once since moving out of the Ware townhouse, at a dinner party intended to announce her engagement to Alexander. The encounter had been brief and in a crowded room; Savitri had barely managed to ask how they were before Louisa had rushed them away “so they wouldn’t bother the adults”. She wondered how Penelope was handling the aftermath of her adventure. Had Alexander gotten her the horse he’d promised? Did it make up for everything the young woman had lost? And Lucy, was she still keeping up with her French lessons and arithmetic? She’d had a talent for drawing that was surprising in one so young; Savitri missed finding her doodles on any sheet of paper left empty.
She realized that she didn’t even know if they had a new governess yet. It felt too soon, and yet perhaps that was sentimental of her. She wouldn’t want the girls to waste so many potentially useful days only because she herself wasn’t there to teach them.
“How are Penelope and Lucy?” she asked. “Perhaps they could visit me for tea one day? I would like to see them.”
Louisa huffed out an annoyed breath of air. “Don’t be silly. What could you possibly want with them? Besides, they’re not out yet; girls still in the schoolroom should stay within their own families, I always thought.”
Savitri sensed that something was off. She still found it hard to disagree with Louisa – working for someone made it difficult to disagree, even when you no longer depended on their good will for your livelihood – but she pushed through her disinclination. “But I will be family soon.”
“Of course.” Louisa’s answer sounded forced, and the smile she gave Savitri came a second or two late. And, Savitri noticed, she still gave no answer as to when she could see the girls.
Before she could push the matter any further, Madame Dubois stepped back from Savitri’s dress and tucked the remaining pins into the pouch at her waist. “There!” she said, dusting her hands together. “I have done. Now we will sew some more, and tomorrow you will try again. But now you take off – very careful! – and put on your morning dress. The new one, the blue, I think.” Her French accent was heavier today than usual. It had a habit of coming and going, though it was always particularly pronounced around Louisa, and Savitri suspected “Madame Dubois” wasn’t really French. But all the best fashion came from France, and so whatever her original name or accent had been, now she was the French modiste Madame Dubois.
“They’re all the new one,” Savitri said, half-amused and half-complaining, but the little dark-haired woman simply ignored her and began to removal the panels of the dress carefully and efficiently. Savitri kept on the same chemise and stays, and soon was redressed in a pale blue muslin printed in a darker blue with small flowers. The pattern reminded her of ones she’d seen worn and made back home in Calcutta, and she had been quick to chose this cloth when Madame Dubois had given her various samples to choose from. This dress was more comfortable than the one intended for her wedding, but she still felt awkward in it, aware that anyone who looked at her would read the money and expertise that had gone into making it.
And they would look at her, now. She had complained to Alexander that no one had bothered before, but out of her plain governess clothes she felt like an actress in the limelight, with an entire audience waiting for her to trip or miss a line. And Louisa was in the front row, staring most avidly of all.
Madame Dubois departed, her arms piled high with silver silk, calico, and lace, off to the parlor that she and her seamstresses had turned into their workshop. Savitri led Louisa in the opposite direction to the breakfast room. It was far too late for breakfast, but the room was Savitri’s favorite out of any in the overly grande suite she’d been given. The window was large and faced the south, so it caught sunlight all day long while being away from the busy, noisy street that faced the front of the hotel. Best of all, it had a magnificent set of bookcases built into one wall. Whoever had stocked the shelves had chosen books very different than Savitri would have, but she still felt awed and decadent to have an entire wall of books of her own – even if it was temporary.
“I must say, I like you better in this dress,” Louisa said as they entered the room. “The silver one is a bit too… intimidating, don’t you think?”
Savitri shrugged. “I suppose. But Alexander is insistent on having everything for the wedding be of the very highest quality. He says it’s expected of him. What good is a duke to the common people if he won’t give them a show?” She laughed quietly to herself, remembering with warmth the mocking tone of Alexander’s voice as he’d said it.
Louisa pursed her lips skeptically and made no answer.
“What?” Savitri said, determined now to finally have the matter out in the air.
“It just doesn’t sound like something Alexander would say. I’ve never heard him express such an idea.”
Savitri reminded herself to keep calm, that she would need Louisa as an ally as she continued to work her way into the top tier of London society, but she couldn’t keep her voice from quivering just a little with the anger she felt. “Are you accusing me of lying?”
“No, no, of course not! I would never do such a thing. Lying is such a strong word. But are you sure you haven’t been influencing him just a little bit? I can’t imagine Alexander would want such an extravagant wedding for himself. So much money spent on such a brief, useless matter….” Louisa sighed. “It just doesn’t seem like him, that’s all I’m saying.”
Savitri could have taken offense to so much of that, but somehow it was the implication that she wasn’t familiar with Alexander’s tastes that stung her the most. “I think I know my fiancee better than you do.”
Louisa straightened in her chair and clenched and unclenched her hands on her knee, giving the impression of a fluffy hen grumpily adjusting the straw in its nest. “I have known him for years, remember. You have spent… what, a few days together?” She pressed her lips together in a flat pink line which trembled which repressed emotion, then burst out again in a flurry, “Or, I suppose I should say, a few nights?”
Savitri was too shocked to respond immediately, and Louisa went on.
“Oh, damn,” she muttered to herself, “I mean, oh, darn. I shouldn’t have said that. I really didn’t mean to. But you’re just so provoking!”
“Me?” Savitri said, still too stunned to think of a more sensible reply.
“Yes!” Louisa flapped her hands at Savitri, not bothering to point at any particular body part but gesturing at her whole self. “With your extravagance and your seductive wiles and your grasping, cunning greediness! What else could explain it? I know that Alexander would never, never behave in such a way if you hadn’t tempted him. Look at yourself! He is a duke, and you’re nothing!”
That was the final straw. Savitri rose abruptly from her chair, her hands fisted at her sides to stop them from trembling. “I think you should leave now,” she said, proud of the steadiness of her own voice.
“I refuse!” Louisa went so far as to cross her arms and slump back in her chair, daring Savitri to physically drag her from it. Savitri had a sudden, sharp memory of Lucy doing the exact same thing, and it would have been funny if she hadn’t felt so angry and, somehow, sad.
Her eyes felt hot and dry though she knew she was mere seconds from tears. This is ridiculous, she thought. I’ve never even liked Louisa. And she hadn’t; the woman was shallow and stupid and vain. But I wanted her to like me. The thought rose from some secret, childish part of Savitri’s soul, the hidden corner of her that was always afraid of being friendless and alone, shut out by her race and her class from mutual attachments.
Louisa frowned at Savitri’s lack of response. “Since I’ve begun, I may as well tell you what I really think of you. You are not worthy of marrying Alexander. You are neither elegant nor refined, and you bring no money to the marriage, nor even any family connections. If you insist on carrying through with this foolish sham of a wedding, you will bring down the good name of all the Wares. T
his family has existed for countless centuries and you will corrupt all that history and tradition. Have some common decency! It’s not too late to call off the wedding, you know. You can still do the right thing.”
“No. Alexander wants to marry me. I want to marry him. You can’t stop us.” Savitri turned her back on Louisa so that she would not see her blinking rapidly, attempting to keep the tears from falling.
“I’m trying to appeal to your sense of integrity,” Louisa said in a soft, sympathetic tone, then immediately ruined the effect by adding, “if you have one.”
“Please go away.”
Louisa sighed in irritation. “It won’t last, you know. The marriage. You may have enticed Alexander away from his familial responsibilities with your body for now, but he’ll come back to his senses sooner or later. And then he’ll realize that you ruined his life, took him from what he owed to his title and his ancestors. He won’t love you for that.”
“If you don’t go away, I’ll call for the footman to have you carried away,” Savitri said, still keeping her back turned to Louisa. She didn’t want Louisa to see that her words were hitting Savitri’s most vulnerable spots. As much as she loved the nights she had spent with Alexander, as wonderful as it had felt to explore her body and his, a little part of her worried that it had been wrong. The church said so. Society did too. Had she made a mistake by letting her desire override her standards? A whole lifetime of proper behavior, and in Louisa’s eyes it all meant nothing compared to two nights spent in bed with a man before marriage.
Savitri refused to feel guilty. She had made her choice and she still believed it was the right one. What she and Alexander had shared hurt no one and brought a great deal of joy into her life. Even if he had not proposed to her, even if she had never spoken to him after that hour spent together in his library, she still would not have regretted her actions. She would have been grateful to have the memory of her night with the duke, intellectually appreciative to have experienced sex for herself at least once, and delighted to discover the physical pleasures she was capable of. She would have remembered the care and consideration of his hands on her body with gladness for the rest of her life.
And yet when she heard Louisa speak of what they had done in that disgusted tone, she couldn’t stop the hot flush of shame that filled her stomach with acid and burned in her cheeks.
Savitri’s silence seemed to enrage Louisa further. “After all I’ve done for you, you insist on betraying me? I’ve nurtured a snake in my bosom! You never would have set foot on English soil if it wasn’t for me. I paid you, I put a roof over your head and food on your table, and this is my thanks?” She stood and rushed to Savitri’s side, taking hold of her by the arm. “Say you will call off the marriage. You must!” When Savitri could only shake her head mutely, still fighting back tears, Louisa’s voice turned coaxing. “I’ll help you. It’s not so hard, you know, and brides call off all the time. No one will blame you or hold it against you. Your life will be just like it was before, and won’t that be easier? You can be a governess again, I promise you can.”
“Stop!” Savitri said, her voice low and thick with despair. Louisa’s pressure felt like a physical weight pushing her down into the earth, making it hard for her to think or to breathe. She struggled away, tearing herself out of Louisa’s grasp so desperately that she thought she heard cloth rip, and stumbled a few steps toward the door. “I don’t want to listen to any more.”
Louisa stood where Savitri had left her, all the fight abruptly drained away. “Don’t do it for me,” she said quietly. “Think of my son. He was going to inherit everything. He was going to be a duke. You’re stealing that from him.” She took a deep, shuddering breath, and clasped her hands in front of her. “He’s only a baby. He can’t fight back. Please. He’s a good boy – he deserves to be a duke. Don’t take that away from him.”
“That’s not my fault,” Savitri protested. “Alexander could have married anyone. You can’t expect him to remain a bachelor his whole life just for George’s sake!”
Louisa shrugged. “He was still single at thirty-eight; I don’t see why he couldn’t have remained so. Surely he would have, if you hadn’t come along and ruined everything.”
Savitri wanted to refute the obvious illogic of this statement, but abruptly it all seemed too much. What was the point of arguing with Louisa when she surely would never see things from Savitri’s point of view? Louisa had no interest in her as a real person with dreams and fears; Louisa saw her only as a servant to command or an obstacle to be overcome. Savitri’s efforts to prove herself more had never had a chance.
Whatever vague hope she’d had of turning Louisa from an employer to a friend, maybe even a true sister, died now. Savitri felt grief for a friendship that had never had a chance to exist. She forced herself to the door and held it open.“Go away. Please,” she whispered.
Louise sniffed, tossed her head so that her carefully arranged curls bounced prettily, and strode from the room.
When she was out of hearing range, Savitri collapsed into a chair at the table and burst into tears. Crying felt like a relief after the pain and shock of the fight, and she allowed herself to indulge in it completely. She wished her mother were here to comfort her with some dry wisdom, the way she had when Savitri was a child. She wished she had never come to London, where she was forced to make her way as alone in the face of hostile strangers. Louisa’s accusations were exactly what she had feared when Alexander first proposed and why she had taken so long to accept his hand.
Only now did Savitri remember that Louisa was supposed to escort her to Almack’s Assembly Rooms that very evening. Savitri wouldn’t miss the opportunity to dance and gossip, but she knew that exclusion from the club could mean total social exclusion from the society she would have to depend on for the rest of her life. She had never imagined that being a duchess might be more lonely than being a governess.
She was still sobbing into her fists like an overwrought girl when Madame Dubois poked her head around the doorframe. Savitri abruptly sat up and pretended that nothing was wrong, wiping at her cheeks with fingers in a hopefully discreet manner before remembering to use her handkerchief instead. She cleared her throat, but had to do so again before she could speak normally. “Oh, Madame Dubois, Lady Louisa has just left –“
“Yes, I heard,” the modiste said wryly. “We all heard.”
“You did?”
“Of course. This is a grand hotel, so it has thicker walls than most, but a shouting match will still carry.”
“Oh.” Savitri felt flustered; she wanted to deny that anything had happened though that was clearly impossible. She hated that the terrible things Louisa said had been overheard. The thought of other people witnessing her shame made her want to crawl into a hole and hide forever. Might some of them even agree with Louisa? Savitri knew it was sheer luck that had plucked her from her previous poor, obscure status and raised her to more money and power than she had ever dreamed of; surely some of the other servants must be jealous. It would only be reasonable.
Sometimes she wished Alexander was a butler or vicar or merchant, anything that would have let her marry him without making herself an object of speculation to all of London. She was grateful for the advantages she would gain as a duchess, of course, but by God it came with a high cost.
Madame Dubois settled herself on the chair next to Savitri, then leaned over and patted her knee comfortingly. “Listen, dearie. That woman may call herself whatever she likes, but she’s no lady. Not like you are.”
“Oh, no,” Savitri began, assuming that Madame Dubois had misunderstood her status. “I’m not a lady, at least not until after the wedding. My mother was only –“
Madame Dubois waved her protests away. “None of that matters. I don’t care who bore you nor who raised you. What matters is how you carry yourself, and you acted like a lady. I was impressed to see it, I can tell you that.”
“What do you mean?” Savitri was mortified
to think of how easily Louisa had overpowered her. She should have defended herself and Alexander. She should have told Louisa to mind her own business. Savitri normally had no difficulty being headstrong and undisciplined; the opposite was more often true, as she had frequently struggled to rein her emotions into the humble calm required of her role.
It was just that she had been so happy. The unexpected triumph of Alexander’s proposal, the prospect of spending her life in an equal partnership full of love and respect, even the silly luxuries of her new wardrobe and the hotel suite – she had let her walls down. She had begun to believe the world could be a safe, sunlit place. And Louisa’s hatred had come like a knife in the dark.
“What do I mean?” Madame Dubois repeated in surprise. “Well, you just should have heard the fight for yourself. That woman shrieking insults and slander like a Billingsgate fishwife, storming here and there, and look, she’s even torn your sleeve! But through it all you kept your temper, didn’t shout back once, and were just as genteel and polished as any mother could wish. Now that is what I call ladylike. Dignified as Princess Caroline, and under just as much provocation.” She shook her head. “If it were me, I’d have called her a bitch.”
Savitri was surprised into laughter. “I wish I had.”
“She deserves it right enough, but don’t you go lowering yourself to her level. Hopefully that woman learns to keep her vile opinions to herself and you never need to call her anything.” Madame Dubois gave her a brief but warm embrace, then stood. “Now, let’s get your dress for tonight ready. I won’t have her ruining your debut at Almack’s.”
Savitri looked up at her, uncertain and grateful to have someone to ask for advice. “Do you think I should still go? What if Louisa turns all her friends against me?”
“What nonsense is this? Of course you should go!” Madame Dubois studied her, then shrewdly added, “You’re not going to let her win, are you?”