A Dance of Manners

by Cynthia Breeding, Kristi Ahlers, Erin E. M. Hatton

  “Do all the servants sleep together?”

  “Oh no, dear.” The woman laughed. “We all have our own rooms, and within the servants, there are hierarchies.”

  “My lady, is that really true?”

  “Why would I tease you, child?”

  “I did not mean that. Please, explain these hierarchies to me.”

  The older woman stopped to catch her breath. They were nearly at the servants’ entrance. “Since we are here to serve the royal family directly—I mean you and I—we fall into the highest hierarchy. We eat alone in our own dining room and occasionally with the royal family, if requested to do so. The others, who assist us—or serve the household—are beneath us in the hierarchy, and at one point the lower servants are all sort of put together.”

  “Thank you for it explaining it to me. I did not know that.” Kitty smiled. “So we are the highest of servants?”

  “In reality, we are not servants. We are their companions of sorts. We are appointed and not all of us are paid a wage. Remember, it is a privilege.”

  Yes, Mama said that, too.

  The interior of the house was much cooler. Kitty followed her companion down a corridor until they came to the last door. The Countess pulled it open and beckoned Kitty to follow.

  They entered a lovely room, much different from the one she had stayed in at Kensington Palace. The walls were a mint green and there were plants at the open window. A writing desk sat between the beds, with lots of paper and ink. Two leather chairs filled one corner. An ornate gold-framed painting of a woman with dark hair hung on the wall in the middle of the beds.

  “Princess Charlotte,” Kitty said softly

  “Yes it is, the poor dear. Oh, it breaks my heart.”

  “I was very young when she died.”

  “Oh! The shock of it ... I will never get over it.” Lady Morelander dropped down on the bed.

  “I am sorry to have brought it up.”

  “Of all the royal houses I have been in, this is the most difficult for me. It is because she died here, just above us.”

  “Oh no!”

  “Yes, it is so. But, let us talk of something else. Why do you not unpack your trunk?”

  Kitty was curious to hear more of Princess Charlotte, but obviously not from the countess who found the subject unsettling. Thirsty, she looked around for some water and saw a white porcelain pitcher. She poured two glasses, took a sip and then carried them back between the beds. “Here, drink.”

  The countess took the water with a grateful look. She drank half of it down at once. “Would you mind, dear child, if I lie down for just a little while? I know I will not be needed until tomorrow, and so I am in no rush.”

  How could she sleep during all of this excitement? “Do sleep. I shall unpack and see you when you awaken.”

  “Do not go far,” she warned. “I have more to tell you.”

  “Indeed I will not. Go to sleep.”

  Kitty waited until the woman closed her eyes. In no time, Lady Morelander was fast asleep. As quietly as possible, she opened her trunk and began unpacking. While doing so, she imagined what it must have been like in the bedroom above her, thirteen years ago. She had heard that Princess Charlotte was giving birth to a baby and something went wrong. Her husband Leopold was waiting in the next room. People whispered for a long time that her doctor had done something wrong. The princess had died, along with the child, and the nation had grieved terribly. Their future queen had been taken. The king's only beloved daughter was dead, leaving everyone, including Leopold and the king, utterly shattered.

  In a race to produce a new heir to the throne, Victoria had been conceived. Had Princess Victoria been told all of this at her tender age? Did she know her favorite uncle had been married to the heiress presumptive to the throne of all of England?

  The quilt her mother promised to pack lay in the trunk, along with a note penned in her mothers’ hand. ‘I love you and may He hold you and protect you until you are safely home.' Thinking of God's protection calmed her. She pulled out the quilt and placed it on the empty bed. She lay down, just to try it for a moment. It was cool and soft against her skin and smelled of home. The comforting sensation sent her to sleep.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Chapter Four

  Quiet knocking at the door awakened her. Kitty sat up. Lady Morelander was still fast asleep. Although not dark, the sun had set, and it was cooler. Several hours had passed since she lay on the bed.

  The knocking persisted. “Yes?”

  “Dinner will be served in the dining room.”

  “Thank you very much. We shall be out shortly.”

  Kitty glanced at the sleeping woman as she walked over to her trunk to retrieve her toilette items. At least she could freshen up while she waited for Lady Morelander to awaken. She pulled out her comb and hair pins, along with some rouge. She dipped a soft cloth in water from the pitcher and wiped the sleep off her face. She combed out her hair. She couldn't find a mirror and so she pressed down her soft curls by feel and applied a touch of rouge to her mouth and pressed her lips together. Lastly, she chose a pin that matched her dress and put it in her hair, twisting her hair back.

  Glancing at the figure on the bed, Kitty wondered if she should awaken her. Surely the lady wouldn't want to miss her chance to dine. That seemed a good reason to awaken her—although deep down inside Kitty's aim was selfish—she didn't want to venture out alone.

  “My lady,” she whispered softly.

  The woman's breathing didn't change. Kitty gently shook the woman's shoulders.

  “Hmmm?”

  “Wake up. Dinner is being served.”

  “Dinner?”

  “Yes, dinner, dear. Do wake up.”

  The countess flailed her arms in the air. “No dinner,” she whispered. “My head hurts.”

  “Hurts? How severely?”

  “Very much.”

  “Can I do something for you? A cold cloth?” Kitty suggested.

  “I have forgotten my medicine, you see...”

  “Oh no. Where is the medicine, dear?”

  “At my bedside at home.”

  Kitty dipped a cloth in the cool water in the wash basin and squeezed out the excess. She folded the fabric and placed it on the elderly lady's forehead. “Maybe this will help.”

  The lady did not stir.

  After covering Lady Morelander with a quilt, Kitty was filled with misgivings. Was the older woman ill? Should she leave her alone and go to dinner? Should she alert someone or just allow her to rest? The arrival of Lady Antonia, the duchess's lady in waiting, settled the debate.

  After quick introductions, Lady Antonia motioned Kitty out of the room. Kitty followed the woman until they were in the corridor alone.

  “I knew something was wrong when she didn't come to dinner. Is it her head again?”

  “That's what she said. And she forgot her medicine.”

  “Then I must persuade someone to go back to London to retrieve Lady Morelander's medicine. If not...”

  “If not, what?” Kitty asked.

  “Either we can get the medicine here to provide her with some relief or she will have to be sent home. I do hate to bother Her Grace with these things. I do not like to upset their schedule and have one of their ladies missing.”

  “I shall go!” Kitty cried.

  “What?”

  “Let me go. It would be my pleasure. Lady Antonia, I must return anyway, since I have a dilemma of my own. I am not sufficiently packed for a three night stay. There was a misunderstanding, and I am packed only for overnight. So truly I should be the one who goes.”

  “You have only one set of clothes packed?” the lady asked.

  “Just one. The whole matter has me most distressed. It is urgent that I go, and in any case, it is most imperative word be sent to my parents that I am not returning as planned. They will be very worried.”

  Lady Antonia looked down, deep in thought, and t
hen raised her eyes.

  “I shall make the arrangements. Can you be ready shortly?”

  “Oh yes,” Kitty said.

  * * * *

  Outside, the air was cooler than it had been earlier, and the enveloping darkness soothed her.

  While staying close to the perimeter of the house, she looked at the gold light glowing through the windows. Trees rustled in a soft wind and she smelled lilacs. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine she was home, at Red Woodlyn, which sounded and smelled just like this in the springtime.

  “Do you know you should not be out here alone?”

  She gasped and turned around to see a man's dark figure walking toward her slowly, with the light of the window glowing behind him.

  “It is Grey.”

  She relaxed. “I am enjoying the night and the smells of spring.”

  “My favorite time of the year.”

  “Mine, too. Do not mind me being out here alone and please do not tell anyone. I have been in a sickroom for the longest time with Lady Morelander and I am enjoying the fresh air before my carriage comes.”

  “I am taking you back to London. The carriage is being brought over now.”

  “Thank you.” Her heart leaped in her chest.

  “Have you eaten?”

  “No.”

  “You must. Come inside and we will find something for you.”

  “No, I could not really.”

  “You must keep up your strength,” he softly admonished. “I do not want you getting ill, too.”

  “I assure you, I will not.”

  “How can you be sure? Since you know not what ails Lady Morelander, and you have been with her in a room alone, it would be best for you to eat something to keep up your strength.”

  How sweet and caring he is to me. “If I promise to eat something once I get into the carriage, would that make you feel better? My mother sent a parcel of treats, which I have with me.”

  “It is against my better judgment.”

  “I am not hungry at all.”

  “If you think that will sustain you, very well.”

  She relaxed in his commanding and protective presence. “Thank you. Do you smell the lilacs?”

  “Yes, they are just ahead of us. Would you like some?”

  “Oh no, I should not.”

  “Just one.”

  He walked off into the darkness. The only noise was the occasional rustle of leaves and the gentle crackle of twigs as they snapped under his weight. A moment later, he returned with a plump lavender bloom.

  “For you.” He handed her the blossom and in the dim light, she saw his smile.

  Oh! As she took hold of the flower, again it seemed to be one of life's perfect moments. Everything was just right and in its place in the world. Decidedly content, she smelled the flower's fragrance. “Thank you so much.”

  “You are welcome.”

  Overcome by a sudden case of shyness, she could form no response, so she hid her face in the blossom and inhaled its fragrance.

  “The carriage is coming. I shall see you safely inside.”

  “Thank you.” While she had sought a moment to herself, she had preferred the encounter with the handsome coachman and wished to prolong their conversation. The carriage rumbled toward them slowly, finally coming to a stop. Disappointed, Kitty breathed in the familiar musky smell of the horses.

  Grey helped her inside. “Would you like a blanket?”

  “I would.”

  “I will just be a moment.”

  Thinking of the bouquet of wild flowers that were in a vase in her room at home filled her with warm thoughts. Today I have a lilac ... how odd today is. The lilac was the only nice thing to come out of this very strained day.

  Grey's voice was low as he conversed with someone outside the coach. She could hear the crackling of paper. Someone must be giving him his instructions.

  A moment later, in the dark, she heard his voice. “Here is a blanket.”

  “Where are you, Grey? Hand it to me.”

  When he entered the carriage, she could see only his silhouette until someone outside held up a lantern. Leaning over her, Grey laid a generous portion of the blanket in Kitty's lap. Her heart beat wildly as he gently tucked the ends underneath her feet. His gaze locked on hers as he laid the rest of the blanket in a fold on her lap. She shivered, and not from the cold. She had never enjoyed such a sensation.

  “Warm enough?” he asked, still watching her intently.

  She looked in his face. What was it about this man that affected her so? “Yes, thank you.”

  He flashed her a smile.

  She closed her eyes, suddenly overwhelmed.

  “I will take good care of you,” he promised. As he backed out of the carriage, he brushed up against her, and his warmth encompassed her. If only he could ride with her. Don't go.

  Grey spoke to another man and then climbed into the driver's seat. She felt the familiar dip. Relaxing in the warmth of the blanket, she closed her eyes. The carriage moved, and she struggled to stay awake. Perhaps there would be a chance for her to speak with Grey later. Listening to the rhythm of the horses’ hooves clip-clopping, she fell into a peaceful sleep.

  The carriage lurched, jolting her awake and dumping her to the floor. Her head hit something hard—the seat or the door? Dazed, she struggled to sit up. She looked around, trying to make sense of her surroundings in the darkness. What had happened? She swallowed hard, gasping.

  “Grey!” The carriage bounced, followed by a crackling, brushing sound. Kitty screamed, “Grey! Are you all right?”

  “I am coming. Are you all right?”

  “I think so.”

  “Hold on. I will grab the lantern,” he called.

  Her head throbbed. The coach listed, and she leaned crookedly. If only she could see. Outside, she heard a scratching noise.

  “Grey! What happened?”

  “The wheel of the carriage slipped into a rut! I have the lantern now. Just a minute.”

  She had never been in a carriage accident. Was she injured? How far were they from London? A light grew brighter and brighter. The lantern? Grey opened the door and stuck his head in, lifting the lantern inside the coach. To her horror, blood streamed from a mean gash on his knuckles down his hand. She gasped.

  “You are bleeding!”

  “You are on the floor!” he cried.

  He hung the lantern in the corner and helped her to a sitting position on the seat. Dizziness swept through her, but more from his touch than any wound.

  “Are you injured?” he asked softly.

  “I hit my head, but I think I am all right.” Without thinking, she took his hand and examined the cut. Using the hem of her dress, she pressed it down firmly to stop the bleeding. In the shadows, he appeared to be smiling in amusement, but then she realized he seemed dazed. She continued to apply pressure to his wound, and enjoyed the warmth of his hand and the thrilling sensation of touching him.

  “Your hands are so soft,” he said in a gentle voice.

  “Oh, are they? Well, I would imagine they are in comparison to a coachman's rough hands,” she answered.

  “My hand is fine, though. I am sorry you ruined your dress on my account.”

  “Nonsense!” She tried to recover her composure. “My dress is the least of my worries. Do you think your hand is broken?”

  “Definitely not. I am more concerned on how we will get out of here. In a moment, I shall help you out to the side of the road. Then I will have the horses pull the carriage out.”

  “Fine, but let us stop the bleeding first.”

  He was watching her, smiling. He covered her hand with his uninjured one. “I confess that I love the feel of your touch.”

  She gazed back at him, with only the yellow glow of the lantern to illuminate them. She wanted to speak, but could not. She wanted to stay here forever, sitting close to his warm body, looking into his beautiful eyes, with his hand snuggly over hers. A tingling sensation from her
neck to her toes weakened her.

  I love him.

  "Let us not put any more weight in this carriage than we have to. Do you think you could stand?"

  The word no hung on the tip of her tongue, but getting out of the carriage was the safer choice, no matter how tempted she was to remain at his side. She fought her impulses and pulled herself together. “Yes, I can.”

  He helped her out, all the while holding her hand. She dusted off her skirt once she was on the ground, and he reached back inside for the blanket and lantern. Softly, he draped the blanket around her back, then handed her the lantern. Putting his hands gently on her shoulders, he moved her back to safety. She didn't resist.

  “Could you hold the lantern up while I pull out the carriage?”

  “Of course.”

  She watched him walk away and admired every inch of him. He was so ... attractive. She felt protected. It never entered her mind that she wouldn't get home. Confident in his abilities, she trusted him fully. He had protected her before. She watched as he commanded the horses to pull the carriage.

  He called out a command to the horses and the carriage rocked, but didn't dislodge. Again he yelled to the horses, and they strained and pulled, but the carriage didn't budge.

  “It is not working!” she called to him. “Do you need more light?”

  “No,” he yelled back. “Stay where you are.”

  Again the horses strained and pulled. The wheel hobbled back and forth in its secure rut, but wouldn't come out. Shivering in the chilly night air, Kitty tugged the blanket tighter around her. Or was the source of her shivering, love? Grey was perfect. Handsome, well-mannered, thoughtful...

  A sinking feeling in her stomach brought her happiness to a halt. She felt suddenly drained. A coachman. The man she had fallen in love with was a coachman. He was a servant, well below her in class, unsuitable to court her. Her father would never allow it. Somehow she must forget this night. Grey was forbidden to her. She could never marry someone like him, no matter how he made her feel.

  Burning tears scalded her eyes at this full realization. She was destined to be with someone like Edward.

  No! She couldn't.

  Maybe ... somehow ... there was some way her father might permit Grey to court her. She pondered the possibility as she held the lantern in one hand, and listened to sounds of the carriage rocking back and forth and the horses straining in their harnesses. Maybe if she confided to her father, if she told Papa of Grey's bravery ... about how hard he tried to get her home and keep her safe from harm ... might he consider it? Could she convince Papa that Grey was a hero worthy of her hand?