“Since we visited the village yesterday, I didn’t have the inclination to duplicate the experience,” Venetia responded drily. “Though Dominic has no such excuse. He declined the walking tour yesterday, and he didn’t go shooting this morning. He’s been skulking about the parlor and dining room for two days. Oh, he does sometime find the urge to make the few steps to the conservatory or the drawing room.”
“Yes, for all your incessant energy at home, Dominic, it’s been sadly lacking here,” Edith agreed. “Perhaps it was merely a fever that has finally run its course.”
Dominic ignored them; one of the only benefits of being a brother was that he wasn’t always expected to act like a gentleman. He had been impatiently waiting for Mia’s appearance and, with only three days left of the country party, he was terrified that she would remain hidden indefinitely.
“Lord Pritchard is arriving this afternoon. Perhaps he’ll bring some liveliness and Dominic will be more active,” Georgiana suggested.
“If Lord Pritchard arrives today, perhaps you shouldn’t have worn that gold gown yesterday,” Edith said slyly. “It has the lowest cut bodice in your wardrobe and now you’ve wasted it.”
“At least I have a bosom to display,” Georgiana hissed back. “If a gentleman was searching for a bosom, he’d have difficulty finding one in your gown at all.”
“And here are those chocolates I promised.” Lord Bingham effectively cut the storm short as he walked into the parlor and handed his wife yet another beribboned box. All three sisters immediately pounced on it though Edith and Venetia both took only one. Georgiana, who never had to watch her figure, placed three on her plate and smirked at Edith.
Dominic reached for a chocolate then checked himself. He remembered that day at the fair when Mia had said she had never had the confection. He knew he wouldn’t enjoy the taste while thinking of her. He also remembered how she trailed her nails down his stomach, obviously enjoying his slimmer summer figure, when they made love and he certainly didn’t want to gain any weight should he have the opportunity for her to do so again.
He glanced at the doorway for the hundredth time, hoping for Mia to pass by, or, even more fortuitously, actually enter.
“Who are you expecting?” his mother demanded crossly.
“Georgiana mentioned that Lord Pritchard was arriving this afternoon, and I thought I heard footsteps.” Dominic resisted the urge to jump to his feet now that he actually did hear footsteps. Soft, feminine ones.
“I never heard of Lord Pritchard’s name before this summer. Suddenly you are a guest at his cottage and now he is attending Lady Darwinkle’s intimate house party. How quickly people can rise in the world.” His mother didn’t appear impressed with Theo’s rapid ascent up the social ladder.
“He did attend Harrow with me, Mother,” Dominic reminded her. “He’s not an urchin that someone placed a suit and pretended respectability. Though if they had, and he managed to deceive us all, that would be amusing.”
“Nonsense. An education only adds a bit of polish to a diamond. Grace, sensibility, and decorum are already in the bones…and in the blood.”
“Mother, please. Not while I’m eating.” Georgiana wrinkled her nose. “I’ve met plenty of well-bred, well-educated men who I wouldn’t consider for a moment. Take Lord Felling, for instance. Fine family. Also attended Harrow. I wouldn’t be in a room alone with him for a moment.”
“Whyever not?” Dominic asked. Felling could be snide or cutting upon occasion, but he did seem to have a stellar reputation. Honestly, Dominic rarely even noticed the man.
“He’s unctuous to his superiors,” Venetia said, “and disdainful to his lessers. There’s a bit of spite in him that’s distasteful.”
“And he hates Dominic,” added her husband. Everyone turned to Lord Bingham expectantly, and he looked mildly surprised at the attention. “I thought you all knew. He’s hated you since your school days, Dominic. And he was interested in Miss Levesque.”
“That opera singer?” Lady Swithun repeated derisively even as she glared at her son-in-law for bringing up Dominic’s liaisons in front of his impressionable younger sisters.
“What does that have to do with Dominic?” Edith asked, her round blue eyes confused. Her elders all pretended not to have heard the question.
Dominic had no idea that Lord Felling was holding a grudge over Colette. He hadn’t even known that Lord Felling was one of her many admirers. Colette had delighted in showing him the number of bouquets she received after every performance. He had assumed it was an effort to make him jealous; she had been disappointed in his lack of reaction and he’d been exhausted by her constant need for validation. But she had never given names.
“Well, why was he in our parlor the other day if you all dislike him?” Dominic demanded.
“He’s from a very good family. And he is the nephew of one of my oldest friends,” Lady Swithun said.
“Gentlemen are more likely to call if they think other men may be interested,” Georgiana said with a despondent shrug of her shoulders.
“Nonsense.” It was only his good breeding that kept Dominic from rolling his eyes at his sister’s dramatics.
“Georgiana is sadly correct. If the most eligible gentleman asks you to dance, suddenly you have a dozen more admirers. Men are like children fighting over a toy; they didn’t even know they wanted it until someone else played with it. Dominic, you wouldn’t have…uh, called upon Honora Collingwood if half the men we know weren’t drooling at her hem,” Venetia said with a sniff. “You were bored silly by her within a month.”
“And Florence Fielding,” Lord Bingham added with a knowing nod. “She hosted those salons and was always sitting in on Parliament. You never gave a fig for politics but once she became the fashionable favorite…”
Dominic had never considered his past lovers before. There were very few because he considered himself a discerning man. Only now, with everyone scrutinizing his affairs did he notice a pattern that his family seemed to have discerned years ago. Beautiful, aristocratic women who dominated their sphere. He had wanted to be seen with the elite, to have the loveliest, most sought after female in all of England. It was an uncomfortable realization.
Dominic rose, unwilling to be under the scrutiny of his family – or himself – any longer.
“Ring for the maid,” Lady Swithun told Georgiana as she gestured to the bell pull. “This tea has gone cold.”
Dominic promptly sat again. He hadn’t yet seen Mia but knew as soon as she realized he was there that the last three months apart would be forgotten. They would depart immediately for that spacious cottage by his village and he’d never suffer through another house party or political soirée or soprano recital again.
∞∞∞
Mia found it remarkably easy to ascertain Dominic’s whereabouts. The other maids would whisper where he or some of the other gentlemen guests were as they progressed through the day though they were careful to keep their comments out of earshot of the strict Mrs. Greaves. Mrs. Vincent, the head cook who was nearly sixty, took great delight in encouraging their interest – the annual house party was her favorite time of the year.
“Now, Jenny tells me that the dark-haired fellow – no, not Lord Felling, the new one who arrived yesterday – seemed fond of these crumpets so I baked more this morning. I snuck out of the kitchen to peak in on him the other day. Seems our Misses Darwinkle are trying to place their hooks in him now that they’ve given up on marrying Lord Swithun. Not that their mother has quite given up the fight for him joining the family. Mia, I know you’re an upstairs maid but it’s all-hands-on deck during the house party. Please take this tray up to the drawing room. That…what is his name?”
“Lord Pritchard,” Annie supplied.
“Yes! Lord Pritchard is in there with the Atwood girl. The plain one.”
“Only Lord Pritchard and Miss Atwood?” Mia asked lightly though her stomach was clenching. The tray was crowded with teapot, plates, little
covered dishes, and four teacups.
“For now. I assumed some of the other guests may join them. What else have they to do all day?” Mrs. Vincent misinterpreted Mia’s shoulders sagging in relief as a sign of disappointment. “Oh, don’t tell me you’ve an eye for Lord Swithun! He’s turning everyone’s heads this year just like he did on his past visits. He’s in the conservatory reading a book.”
“Pretending more like,” Jenny, the thirteen-year-old tweenie, piped up. “The book is open, but he’s staring off into the garden.”
“But you know Lord Swithun, Mia!” Mrs. Vincent was struck by the memory. “You’ve been in his employ before. Your father came here and convinced us we needed a new tea kettle. We asked him in for tea – you know your father is a charmer and never turns down a cup or a biscuit and he asked if we knew Lord Swithun. We assured him we did, and he came here often as a boy. We told him the Swithun family comes here every year and we’ve never had any difficulties with them…unlike some others I could mention! Seemed to mollify him a bit. Good father you have, looking out for his girl.”
“I’ll take the tray to Lord Swithun,” Jenny eagerly offered.
“No, you’re too young. And you’ll get nervous and drop the whole thing on the floor.” Mrs. Vincent dismissed the crestfallen girl with an impatient wave. “Mia, you can deliver the other tray to Lord Swithun if you like.”
“Oh, no! I’ll deliver this to the drawing room straight away.” Mia lifted the tray so quickly that the teacups rattled in protest and headed for the servants’ stairs, already plotting a route that would take her as far from the conservatory’s door as possible.
As she entered the drawing room, she saw that Lord Pritchard and Miss Attwood were seated awkwardly across from each other. She knew very little of Theo Pritchard; the villagers had spoken highly of him when he had inherited Neville Lindsey’s cottage, but Mia had only seen him at church services and had never spoken to him.
And she had seen Georgiana on a few occasions walking about the house and garden. She was easy to distinguish from her sisters. Dominic had said that Georgiana was the only sibling with brown hair, the one who was becoming quite sure that she’d never marry.
As Mia set the tray on the table, a spoon slipped off and fell to the floor.
“Sorry, sir,” Mia apologized but, before she could bend down to retrieve it, Lord Prichard held up a hand.
“Oh, let me.” As he was momentarily distracted, Mia saw Georgiana give an unladylike tug to her bodice to lower the neckline further.
“Shall I pour, miss?” Mia asked, managing to keep her voice steady despite her amusement.
“Please.”
Mia couldn’t fault Georgiana’s methods. As Lord Pritchard set the spoon on the table, his eyes were immediately drawn to Georgiana’s more fully displayed charms. And he gulped audibly.
“And do you spend much time at the club, Lord Pritchard? My brother seems to be there constantly. Or he was until this autumn,” Georgiana said as Mia set a teacup in front of her.
“I’m usually there only at lunch or dinner when I don’t have the time to return to my apartments for meals. I spend most of my days arguing with stodgy men in dark offices. Quite dull but then gentlemen’s clubs are not as entertaining as we would have women believe either.” And he flashed a smile. He wasn’t as handsome as Dominic, but that smile was warm, and it transformed his face from pleasant but rather round into something…well, something better than handsome. Genuine and honest. Mia found herself watching for Georgiana’s reaction as she poured the tea into the second cup for Lord Pritchard.
“Do you enjoy your profession?” Georgiana asked, her own plain face transformed as she flushed slightly and pretended a casual interest in his life.
“Oh. Um. Yes, I actually do.” He seemed surprised at his own answer as if he had never considered his work anything other than a necessity. “I do need the funds and it’s far better than sitting in idleness all day.”
Georgiana raised a mink eyebrow in amusement but then waved off his stammered apology when he realized he may have just insulted her by insinuating she actually enjoyed a life of indolence.
“I quite understand, Mr. Pritchard. My mother and sisters make calls or shop all day. My brother has only now become interested in filling his hours with something other than privileged passivity. I’m a bit jealous of you. It’s wonderful to be useful, to feel like you’ve accomplished something. I once was approached to assist in a foundling home, and I was ecstatic at the prospect.”
“But it didn’t meet your expectations.” Lord Pritchard obviously could read the disappointment in her voice and the rueful twist to her mouth.
Mia slowly removed items from the tray to the table. She should make her curtsy and leave but she was becoming quite involved in the seeming romance blossoming before her eyes. Which was peculiar because she was never one for gossip…fictional characters were much more interesting than people themselves.
Georgiana continued, “I knocked on the door, delighted to be helping children. I expected to be telling the littlest ones stories and rocking them to sleep, perhaps teaching the older ones to read. I even had steeled myself for changing nappies!”
They shared a look of horror at the very concept and then both laughed.
“The look on the matron’s face when she answered the door! They hadn’t dreamed I would want to step foot into the home, much less interact with children. They never let me past the foyer. It seemed they only wanted me to pledge money and convince my friends to do the same.”
“So you were to be a patron instead of a volunteer.”
“Precisely. They were quite disappointed at what a small allowance my brother actually provides. I did convince Dominic to fatten their coffers and provide a daily delivery of food stuffs. I still chaff a bit that I didn’t get to do something though.”
“It is their loss then. I’m sure the children, and truly anyone, would be delighted to have even a few moments of your company, Miss Attwood.”
And his warm brown eyes were filled with approval. Perhaps even admiration. Mia saw Georgiana’s already fine posture straighten a bit further. Silently cheering for Georgiana’s success – well, not yet success but certainly progress, Mia bobbed a curtsy at no one in particular, picked up the empty tray, and silently left the room.
As Mia walked through the hallway, she was surprised to feel a genuine smile on her face; it was impossible to be sullen or disconsolate in the midst of romance, even when it wasn’t her own. Despite her rule of not becoming emotionally involved in her employers – and she blushed now to think of how willingly and thoroughly she had broken that rule earlier that year, – she began to imagine various scenarios that might encourage the two new acquaintances into something a bit more.
“Oh!” She was so lost in thoughts of romantic machinations that she plowed straight into one of the other guests.
“No harm done!” he declared, putting steadying hands on both of her upper arms. Her mind scrambled to remember his name. Fallow? Farthing? Felling! Did this one possess a title? Most of the guests did.
“I am so sorry, Lord Felling.” Mia chose to give him a title; better to flatter him with a loftier station than to insult him by negating it.
“That’s quite all right. Mia, isn’t it?” His teeth flashed white under his dark mustache. Mia smiled stiffly, noting that his eyes didn’t reflect the charm he was attempting to exude. Her father was much better at the whole charade. And she didn’t particularly care for Lord Felling knowing her name. “Yes, my lord.”
“My aunt, Lady Darwinkle, speaks very highly of you. I suppose that means you’ve managed to mollify the wraith-like Mrs. Greaves too.” He laughed lightly but Mia didn’t smile in return. Her hands were clenched around the serving tray between them. His hands hadn’t left her upper arms and his thumbs were disturbingly close to the sides of her breasts.
“Again, I apologize for my inattention, my lord.” Mia attempted to step around him, but h
e held her fast.
“I hear that you charmed Lord Swithun as well.”
“He was my employer, sir.” Mia replied sharply. She no longer could hold her facial expression of polite inquiry.
“He wrote you an exemplary recommendation. He rarely makes such efforts, even for a colleague or acquaintances. Sounds very friendly to me.” His thumb began to stroke her arm and Mia resisted the urge to curl her lip in disgust. “I could be a good person to call friend too.”
As Mia debated whether she should “accidentally” stomp on his instep or just be more direct and slam the serving tray into those flashing white teeth, someone cleared their throat by the servants’ stairs.
“May I help you with something, my lord?” Annie stood by the servants’ door cleverly concealed in the wall. “Mia is still a bit new here, but I’d be glad to assist.”
“Uh, no. I have everything I need.” Lord Felling’s hands dropped to his sides and Mia skirted around him.
“Very good, my lord.” Annie turned to Mia to ask in a carrying whisper, “Whatever is taking you so long? Mrs. Greaves is furious about the state of Misses Attwood’s bedroom! If you don’t have that cleaned in the next five minutes, she’ll be ready to tear out your hair.”
Mia followed Annie into the servants’ stairwell and Annie snapped the door behind them. The space was narrow, hardly room enough for the two small women, and Mia found herself nearly nose to nose with the other maid.
“You’re welcome,” Annie said pointedly, her russet eyebrows raised, and her lips pursed.
“I was in no danger.” Mia shrugged her off. She had been in much worse situations before that. One leering man in the bright light of day with a house full of people didn’t even give her pause.
“Well, Mrs. Greaves does want Misses Attwood’s room cleaned and you can do it yourself since it appears you don’t need my help. It’s the third one on the left.” Annie snatched the silver platter from Mia’s hands and handed Mia the dusting cloth before stomping down the stairs, leaving Mia with little option but to climb the creaking steps to the second floor.
One Enchanted Summer Page 20