by Sarita Leone
Still, wearing her rescued castoff and everyone else, including the household staff, garbed in the height of fashion was an unfortunate situation.
What to do?
The possibilities—what few there were—tumbled through her mind like small stones being swept along in a creek’s current. She felt each idea as it rattled in her head, was stung every time she discarded a thought as unfeasible.
Before the day had even begun in earnest, Vivian had a headache the size of a lion. It seemed prepared to roar, which would surely set her temples throbbing, so she sat up and pulled the sash of her dressing gown snug about her waist. A table and chairs were set before the largest window in the room. She pulled one of the chairs out and sat heavily, laying her head on the table atop her crossed arms.
A bit of folly, that is what Mother said this jaunt would be. Folly my foot. I am in well over my head, and sinking fast.
A knock at the door brought Vivian’s head off the table. A maid entered carrying a tray. She dipped a curtsey, and then crossed to the table, placing the tray down without as much as rattling the teacup on its saucer. “Good morning, miss. Would you like me to pull the draperies?”
Her response was not required. The servant went to the window beside the table and pushed the covering back. Sunlight streamed into the room. She watched the maid move from window to window repeating the task until every pane of glass was uncovered and the room bathed in light and warmth.
“There. That’s better, isn’t it?” The maid came back to the table, standing on the other side with a wide smile. Her gaze darted over Vivian as she introduced herself. “I am Jenny, miss. I am one of the upstairs maids but Lady Gregory thought I might do as your lady’s maid while you are with us. I would be honored if you consent to the arrangement. Of course, if I do not suit, there are others who are eager for the position.”
Lady’s maid? Vivian only had a vague idea of what such a person’s duties consisted of. Whatever a “lady’s maid” might do for her she was already capable of doing for herself but to say so would be entirely insulting.
Vivian nodded. A lady’s maid—good Lord!
“I do not see why you would not suit, Jenny. I, ah, I am grateful to have you assist me in…ah, in my needs.” There. That should cover just about everything.
“Very good, miss.” Jenny indicated the tray with a nod. “We were not sure whether you might want to take breakfast downstairs or up here in your room.”
Breakfast at home usually consisted of a watery cup of tea.
“Where do Lord and Lady Gregory take their morning meal?”
Jenny gave her a small nod, as if her response had been entirely appropriate. “They eat in their rooms, miss. But if you prefer dining downstairs we can accommodate that request. Just say the word and we’ll plan on it for every morning .”
“No, that’s not necessary. I quite believe I would prefer to eat here. It is such a nice room, and so cheerful in the morning with the sun coming in.”
“Yes, miss. Would you like me to serve you? We were not sure what you drink in the morning, so I took the liberty of bringing a pot of hot chocolate as well as a small Brown Betty. The tea is Earl Grey, if you are wondering.”
Tea or chocolate? Goodness, but she had fallen out of her ordinary world into a magical existence. It was almost too grand to bear.
Swallowing laughter, Vivian eyed the tray. There were, as Jenny said, two hot pots on its surface as well as several assorted covered dishes, a creamer and a jam pot.
“I can serve myself, thank you.”
“Very well.” With a bob, the maid headed for the door. She stopped midway, turned back and said, “Miss?”
She could not wait to dive into the contents of the tray but she reined in her enthusiasm and said, “Yes?”
“Lady Gregory sent a note with your tray. It is right there, beside the tea cup.”
“Thank you, Jenny.”
She waited until the maid left the room before ripping open the beige envelope. Inside, there was a single sheet of heavy vellum paper.
Dear Vivian,
I hope your first night at Willowbrook Manor was a pleasant, restful one. I am told by past guests that the beds are comfortable and, being that we are so isolated from neighbors, the atmosphere quiet. I hope you will find that the case. We do so want you to feel at home here.
It occurred to me that you might not have anticipated being summoned so quickly to a social engagement, and may not be prepared for such. I had hoped you and I might do a bit of shopping, as well as employ the modiste who does most of my clothes, before we began the round of seasonal entertainments. Unfortunately that does not seem to be in our cards. I apologize for not being able to accommodate your needs in the way I wished to do.
If you do not mind terribly (and I pray you do not) there is a solution to this bumblebroth. You occupy my daughter Lucie’s old room. I had it readied for you because Lucie always loved it, and I hoped you would as well. More to the point, now that Lucie is married and mistress of her own home, she has taken most of her belongings from the room. There were, however, a modest number of gowns and frocks which she left behind because they needed to be let out. After seeing your willowy, graceful figure it occurs to me that you might find these few garments just your size. Please feel free to take any that might suit your needs. Lucie will not mind in the least. Most of the dresses have never been worn, and most have matching shoes, pelisses and fans. There are also fichus, bonnets and other fripperies in the big closet beside the chest of drawers. Please rummage to your heart’s content, use anything that pleases you and, most of all, please forgive me for not having the foresight to stall social engagements until after our shopping spree.
I am so glad you are here, my dear. I pray we become as close as true blood relatives.
Please let Jenny know if there is anything you need. She is yours for the duration of your stay.
Very sincerely,
Ethel Jane
A closet with dresses. Her night terrors had been for naught!
As she rose from the table Vivian took a large bite from a warm orange scone. Its buttery pastry melted in her mouth as she dashed across the room and flung open the closet door.
Oh, good Lord! I have died and gone to Heaven!
****
The drive to Waltham Hall was nothing like the ride to Willowbrook Manor had been. The Gregory carriage was spacious, their horses a practiced team whose hoof beats hardly rocked the conveyance one bit. Instead of dust and mildew filling Vivian’s lungs, she inhaled the sweet scent from the covered basket the cook had sent along in case anyone wanted a morsel during their ride.
She could not think of eating. A herd of butterflies frolicked in her middle. She laid a calming hand over her midsection, but the butterflies paid it no mind. She swallowed hard, hoping to discourage them from flying right out her mouth.
“Are you all right, my dear?” Lady Gregory’s solicitous nature pushed the fluttery feeling entirely away. When Vivian nodded, it was the truth. She was fine. “Good. I worry we are taxing you. While we are used to the hustle and bustle of Town, you are not. Do not hesitate to say if we are too much, all right?”
“Fiddlesticks.” Lord Gregory winked. Seated as he was beside his wife, Vivian was the only one who saw his action. “Vivian is a young lady, darling. She has come all the way from Stropshire to taste some of our fun. I doubt we can run her ragged. It is more likely that you and I will be the ones worn to a shred. We are old, and she is young. She probably wonders when the fun will begin, and when she will be able to lose the two old fogies her mother saddled her with for the Season.” He leaned forward. There was ample space between the two seats, so the duke had to reach out to pat her arm. Sitting back, he said, “That’s it, my dear, isn’t it? You are conjuring schemes to scamper from the two of us, aren’t you? Do not be shy; I cannot blame you a whit. If I were in your position I would do the same.”
Horror turned her throat as dry as the Sahara d
esert. Vivian felt the color drain from her face as her hands turned clammy. How could they believe she wanted to get away from them? Why, she had just arrived and already knew she would love to spend every night of the rest of her life in the cozy bed back in her room at the manor.
“No! I-I—good Lord, I definitely am not thinking anything of the sort. Lord Gregory, please forgive me if I have given such a bad impression. Why, I never—”
A large sigh escaped Lady Gregory’s lips. She scowled, turned to face her husband and said, “What goes on in that head of yours? Goodness, look at how you have managed to get our guest in such a twist—and so quickly! We are used to your silly pranks—she is not.” She faced Vivian again and spread one hand, palm up, to her. “Look at how you’ve upset her. She believes you, you and your practical jokes.”
Lord Gregory’s eyes stopped twinkling. He looked chagrined, his moustache drooping low over his lips and his pipe forgotten in his hand.
“You are right. I am incorrigible, frightening her with my hijinks and it is entirely improper.” He looked from wife to guest and back to his wife again. With a sigh, he asked, “When will I learn, darling? Not everyone enjoys a joke as well as I do.”
Vivian hated seeing him so deflated. “I love a joke! Truly, I do. I just did not realize…well, let us just say I am not as adept at seeing humor as you are at dispensing it. Mother says I am as serious as an old toad sometimes, and I do believe she is right.”
His humor restored, the duke chuckled. “An old toad? You? My dear, you could never be anything of the sort. Why, I could see you a graceful damselfly or perhaps a hummingbird, but never a toad. Why, what a preposterous notion!”
****
Waltham Hall lay just outside London proper, and retained many features similar to Lord and Lady Gregory’s residence. The estate was not as big, and the edifice not so grand, but it was far more luxurious than anything Vivian was used to seeing.
They arrived just in time for lunch. Serving tables were set up near Lady Blakely’s rose garden. They were laden with sumptuous offerings, heavenly scents being borne on the warm summer breeze.
Vivian’s stomach rumbled and her mouth watered. She surveyed the selections, completely overwhelmed by the sheer volume of food. Surely this could not all be meant for just one meal?
None of the other guests looked startled by the fare, or its staggering amount. Apparently the serving dishes, platters and heaping bowls were not out of the ordinary for such events.
After greeting Lady Blakely, and having been made to promise to amble through her hostess’s prized roses at some point during the day, she had lost her sponsors. They had disappeared into the crowd while she and Lady Blakely had been discussing the merits of different shades of rose petal—their hostess favored pink while Vivian had a mind for red—and had not reappeared since.
Striped tents scattered about the lawn, with seating in loosely arranged clusters beneath every tree and near all the fountains, statues and stone walls dotting the area. The effect was studied casual, and very welcoming. It would have been pleasant to pass the afternoon in the space in solitude, a sanctuary far above any an ordinary park would provide.
A uniformed maid appeared by Vivian’s elbow. She walked on silent feet, cushioned by the lush green grass.
“Luncheon, miss?”
Vivian jumped. She whirled about to face the young woman.
“Pardon?”
“Sorry, miss. I did not mean to give you a fright.” A tiny apologetic smile. “Forgive me, please. It is only that I saw you standing here by yourself, and wondered if you might be ready for lunch. I would be happy to serve you.”
As if on cue, her stomach growled. The maid pretended not to notice, but Vivian could not see how she did not hear. The sound was loud and insistent.
In her excitement over finding a roomful of beautiful dresses, she had neglected her breakfast tray. It had looked delectable but the pretty fabrics and buttery-soft slippers had enticed her more than the cook’s offerings.
“I would love that, thank you.”
The maid inclined her head. “Would you like me to fill a plate for you, or would you care to choose for yourself?”
Passing up the chance to get a closer look at the marvels spread on the serving tables was something she could not do.
“I would rather choose.”
“As you wish, miss. This way, then.” The servant led the way to the first table, picked up a silver-edged dinner plate and waited. When Vivian did not move, she said, “I am ready. Just tell me what looks good to you and I will see that you get a taste. Anytime you are ready, then.”
Enthusiasm to sample a bit of everything spurred her on. Every dish looked appetizing, even those she did not recognize. Welsh rarebit, roast beef, puddings of all sorts, vegetables she had never heard of—let alone tasted—and a dozen other delectable aromas captivated her. All she had to do was smile when a dish lid was raised or nod when the maid’s hand hovered above a serving spoon.
It did not take long for the fancy white plate to be filled. When it could hold no more, she turned to view her seating options.
“Where do you wish to sit?”
Since she did not know anyone besides the Gregorys—who were still absent from sight—she decided it best she sit by herself. Indicating a small table in the shade of a sprawling elm tree, Vivian grabbed a napkin and flatware as she passed the last serving table and headed for one of the folding chairs tucked beneath the table’s edge. The maid followed, and when Vivian sat down she placed the plate on the table.
“Anything else, miss?”
“No, thank you. I believe this will do for now.” Vivian dropped the snowy linen napkin onto her lap, picked up the fork and smiled. “Yes, I think I’m set for a while.”
Chapter 4
Lady Blakely cut a swath through her milling guests like Moses parting the Red Sea. No one hesitated when she approached, moving a step either forward or back to allow her unimpeded movement from one end of the wide, rolling lawn to the other. Then, like a flock of geese on a lake, those assembled dipped, nodded and bobbed ever-so slightly, a dramatic show of respect for one of London’s greatest hostesses.
Feeling a bit like a tail on a kite, Vivian followed, taking care not to let too much distance show between her and Lady Blakely. She feared that just as the Sea closed after Moses, so might the crowds converge following the Lady’s passage.
No one had joined Vivian for lunch. She had garnered quite a number of semi-covert glances and a couple of outright stares but no one had ventured over to her little table beneath the tree. It was a shame, really. The spot had been ideal, and she would have stayed right there even after a maid collected her empty plate and discarded flatware. It might have been nice to inhabit the spot for the entire afternoon, just watching people and getting a sense of the unfamiliar world in which she currently found herself.
Lady Blakely had other ideas for her, however. Not long after she had consumed the last delicious bite of lunch, her hostess appeared from behind and introduced herself. When she stood and curtsied, Vivian spied Lord and Lady Gregory a short distance away. They occupied an even more secluded dining table. They waved, but Vivian kept her attention on the woman before her.
It seemed inconceivable that someone so tiny could command such interest. Not having an insider’s view of London’s elite did not keep Vivian from realizing that the petite woman with almost childlike features moved social mountains with the wave of a hand. When she told Vivian she intended to introduce her to “some bright young minds” she did not doubt it.
When Lady Blakely stopped it was so abrupt that Vivian nearly collided with her. If the other woman feared she might be tumbled to the grass she did not show it. Instead, she gave one general nod to the small knot standing beside a marble fountain. Three nods and a bow quickly acknowledged their arrival.
With a wave of her hand, Lady Blakely made the introductions. She began with the woman standing closest to them, a p
retty, plump redhead who looked glad to be diverted from whatever had been going on before their appearance.
“Miss Miranda Spencer, of London.”
Miss Spencer bobbed, the long ribbon of curls beside her right cheek falling forward as she lowered. Straightening, she pushed the errant locks behind the shoulder of the robin’s egg blue dress she wore and said, “My pleasure.”
Before Vivian could do more than half-nod, Lady Blakely moved the airborne hand to the next woman. In direct contrast to the first, she had a barely-concealed scowl on her face. Thick black eyebrows were so tightly drawn together they looked like a black caterpillar marching across her forehead, and the dark curls beside her ears were so heavily sprayed they seemed cast in stone.
“Miss Rebecca Hastings, also of London.”
Miss Hastings barely bent her knees, and her nod was sharp enough to slice bread.
Again before Vivian could properly react, Lady Blakely turned to the final young woman.
For her part, she curtsied so deeply and well in advance of her name being said that when their hostess announced, “Miss Eloise Smythe, of London and…” Lady Blakely sniffed, the sound so low it was almost inaudible. Nonetheless, it was a sniff, and standing nearly shoulder to shoulder with the woman, Vivian heard it. “Paris.”
Someone with more flair than most.
A furtive head to toe glance at Miss Smythe’s rising confirmed the suspicion. Her dress was the palest pink silk with an underskirt just a shade darker. The contrast was stunning, and the embroidered hemline and low-cut, ribbon-trimmed neckline was surely a one-of-a-kind creation intended solely for its owner. She had sewn enough gowns to know by sight that the one Miss Smythe wore had not been made in London.
The reason for the sniff, she thought. Not unreasonable, really. Who wouldn’t want a Parisian wardrobe?
There was no time to waste thinking. Lady Blakely’s hand gestured to the only man in the group. She favored him with a warm smile that the ladies had not seen.