by Nicole Byrd
The next morning dawned cloudy but with the rain now reduced to only a light patter of droplets. By the time they had broken their fast, a few feeble rays of sun peeked through the layers of cloud.
Coming in from outside, Sir Lucas announced that the road, though still muddy, appeared passable. Louisa had informed him of the new addition to their party, and if he had reservations—he treated Gemma politely but with a slight reserve—he kept them to himself.
Only once did Gemma overhear Louisa protesting, “But she is Lord Gabriel’s sister, Lucas. Why should I need more introduction than that?”
And at his low-voiced answer, her new friend had pushed back a straying curl of fair hair and smiled. “We will find out shortly, will we not?”
Bending over to check the lace on her traveling boots, Gemma pretended not to hear. It would not be the first time she had been treated with suspicion or indifference. When one had no family name to give one credibility, slights were commonplace. She had developed a thick skin over the years, or so she told herself. If, deep inside, she still felt the pricks of hurt from raised brows or arch looks, or even outright rudeness and exclusion, she was careful not to show it.
Her family might be unknown, until now, but she would behave like a gentlewoman. Somehow, Gemma had always been certain that her mother was a lady, and that she owed it to her faceless parents to conduct herself accordingly. Others might doubt her, but Gemma would not offer anyone an excuse to further condemn her.
So her two modest valises were added to the luggage strapped on behind, and she took her place in the carriage beside Louisa, with the older lady on the other side, and Lucas once again riding.
The roads were slowly drying but still forced them to proceed at a leisurely pace. Lucas had to ride slightly ahead of them to keep from being pelted with mud from the carriage wheels. As the day went on, the sunshine grew stronger, and Louisa beamed just as brightly.
“We shall be there soon. I recognize that inn and that bridge. Oh, I am so happy! And having you as a guest will only add to the fun, Gemma.”
Gemma’s presence had rarely before been considered an asset—she thought of some of the girls at school who had snubbed her and whispered behind her back—so she returned the smile with real gratitude.
This was so much better than riding jammed into the public coach with a fat merchant from Lincolnshire poking his elbows into her side or a sales clerk who smelled of garlic coughing into her face. Louisa’s coach was better sprung, too, and did not toss one about as badly.
And best of all was having someone to chat with, laugh with . . . above all, the heady feeling of being accepted. Gemma felt her heart soar. If she had wondered in odd moments if this journey—embarking without an invitation from her unknown brother with no indication of what his reception might be—was rash and foolhardy, she felt much more confident now.
She was alone no longer. So it was a merry pair who hung out the windows and pointed out to each other signs of the approaching metropolis.
The sun was high in the sky by the time they rolled into the fashionable west side of the city. Gemma gazed at the wide streets and squares lined by handsome houses and felt quite awed. Louisa must be wealthy, indeed, if she could lease such a house without qualms.
And her brother—did Gemma’s brother live somewhere about in a grand home? Residing in such a desirable location, he must be very self-assured. What if he didn’t wish to claim a sister who had appeared out of nowhere, who was tongue-tied with nervousness and provincial naivete? If so, what would she do?
Gemma swallowed hard as her delight in her improved circumstances faded a bit. If Lord Gabriel rejected her, Louisa must surely do the same. She had accepted Gemma so easily only because of her claimed connection with the Sinclairs.
It always came back to that. Unless one had a family to give one credibility, a grounding and a place in Society that others could easily note and identify, it was like being a fragile sapling in a strong gale. Without deep taproots, such a tree would be blown away, tossed forever amidst a whirling maelstrom with no safety in sight.
Gemma shivered. But her mother had wished to see her—the letter said so. Surely, a mother would not reject her child?
Again.
They pulled up in front of a handsome town house, flanked on both sides by houses of similar proportions. The house that Louisa had rented had numerous levels rising to a slated roof. The door was painted a deep crimson, and the windowpanes were clean and bright.
When Sir Lucas dismounted and went up to rap on the door, a footman opened it at once. The groom put down the steps of the chaise, helping first Louisa, then Gemma, then Miss Pomshack, to climb out.
“Smelters, isn’t it? This looks very nice,” Louisa said to the servant, looking not in the least abashed as she took Lucas’s arm and led the way into the front hall.
A lanky chambermaid and a stout lady, who was likely the cook, hastened to join the footman, to make their curtsys to their new mistress and then stand stiffly against the wall like a line of toy soldiers.
“I am Miss Crookshank,” Louisa told them, with the calm matter-of-factness of someone who has dealt with servants all her life. “I am sure you will prove a most competent staff, and I shall enjoy my stay with you.”
The footman introduced the other servants. “Brownley is our cook, miss; the housemaid is Lily. The scullery maid’s below stairs—she’s been scrubbing pots and she didn’t wish to come up with a dirty apron. We have a right good dinner cooking for you and your guests, if I do say so, and would you like a light luncheon laid out in ’alf an ’our? When you didn’t arrive last night, Cook made sure to keep the sliced beef and the apple pie in the cold safe. They’ll make a nice bite after your trip.”
“That would be excellent.” Louisa smiled at the woman. “I was sorry to be delayed. The heavy rain made the roads impassable.”
“Thank’ee, miss. The pie is still nice and moist, but we couldn’t save the souffle,” the cook said sadly, as if it were a relation who had passed on instead of a puffy egg dish.
“I shall take a tour of the house, and then you can serve luncheon. Oh, I shall be advertising immediately for a lady’s maid. Until I find someone who suits, you might assist me, Lily.”
“O’ course, miss,” the maid said, looking a bit awed to have acquired such a comely new mistress.
Lucas said, “I shall inspect the stables for you, Louisa, and see that the space is adequate, as we were promised, and that the horses are properly attended to.”
“Thank you, Lucas,” she told him.
The ladies proceeded through the house, and Gemma silently admired the handsome draperies and fashionable furnishings. Like many London houses, this one was tall with many levels, with kitchens and pantry and servants’ hall below stairs, the dining room and tiny library on the ground floor, the drawing room a level up, then two floors of bedchambers, and at the top of the stairs, an attic with small rooms for the servants.
She was relieved to see that Louisa had a spacious bedchamber, and Miss Pomshack and Gemma would each have smaller bedrooms of their own. At least here Gemma did not have to worry about crowding.
After directing the footman to bring up the luggage, Louisa followed Gemma into the guest chamber and peered about at the rose-colored hangings on the bed and the windows. “It’s small and a bit plain. I hope you will be comfortable,” she said.
If her new friend thought this room small, Gemma was glad she could not see the tiny chamber at school, which several girls had shared. “It’s lovely. I shall be most easy here, I know,” she assured her.
“Good. I’ll leave you to take off your bonnet. Come down to the dining room when you’re ready,” Louisa said.
She turned and left, and Gemma removed her bonnet and gloves and washed her face and hands. She had never had a room to herself before. Of course, she might not be here long. What was Lord Gabriel going to say when he met his new sister? How long would it be before Gemma could meet
her mother? Did she reside in London, or somewhere in the country—on that estate in Kent, perhaps? Gemma hoped her mother’s home was not far away. Sighing, Gemma put her worries aside and descended the staircase.
The others were already gathered at the table, and dishes were set out on the sideboard. Gemma accepted some cold beef and potatoes from the footman. Louisa was eating with a good appetite, but Gemma found it hard to swallow the food, palatable as it was.
“I’m going out to peruse some shops on Bond Street,” Louisa announced. “My wardrobe is in urgent need of refurbishing with more stylish London fashions. Would you not like to come, Gemma?”
Flushing—her own clothes were less up-to-date than Louisa’s—Gemma shook her head. “Thank you, but not today. I need to write a note to my brother and see if he is at home. Perhaps another time.”
Louisa looked disappointed, but she nodded as the footman poured wine into her goblet. “Of course. We shall have much shopping to do before the Season starts, I have no doubt. I’ll see you at dinner then.”
Although located near a village only a few miles outside of London, the institution sat apart, looking isolated and unfriendly. The grounds were bare, with no flower beds or shade trees in evidence. The main building was tall and dark and somehow gloomy. Its windows were streaked with grime, and ivy clung in scraggly patches to the outside walls. Matthew could not imagine it full of laughing children, though he had tried to picture Clarissa in affectionate and protective surroundings, tried to pull his musings away from the images of dire circumstance and deadly dangers which had haunted his nightly dreams and waking thoughts.
Now he wondered if his worst fears had been true, after all. The guilt and the anguish conjured up by such a reflection turned his stomach and left his shoulders stiff with tension, just as they had been at Abourkir Bay when he had watched the French ships flood the horizon, their masts straight and their bright-colored flags tossing in the brine-scented wind as it pushed the two fleets closer and closer until the cannons boomed, emitting puffs of smoke and a rain of deadly shot. . . .
Now, as then, he took a deep breath and braced himself for battle.
He lifted the knocker and pounded, hard.
A child answered, a small girl wearing a faded gray-blue pinafore over an even more colorless dress, her brown hair pulled back into a severe knot. She had a smudge of dirt on her cheek. Her mouth formed an O as she looked up at him.
Matthew tried to smile, but he knew his expression must be more like a grimace. The sight of her had made his heart twist. Clarissa had been much this age, the last time he had seen her.
“I wish to speak to the matron in charge,” he said.
The child looked doubtful. “Visitors ain’t allowed,” she said, her voice as small as her stature.
“She will see me,” Matthew predicted, his tone firm.
As the girl bit her lip, as if unsure how to respond, a woman appeared from an inner doorway.
“Here, get along with you. Miz Craigmore don’t see no visitors today,” she said sharply.
Matthew gave her the look that had been known to make cocksure ensigns take a step backward. The woman hesitated, and her arrogant expression wavered.
“She will see me,” he said. And neither female made any move to stop him as he crossed the dirty threshold and strode into the hall.
When she rose from the table, Louisa summoned the cook to confer briefly about the week’s meals, then said good-bye to Gemma and to Sir Lucas, who was going—he announced with an air of great importance—to look in on his club.
Since she knew perfectly well that he only belonged to one men’s club—and had just been accepted to that, his name put up by an old friend of his father’s—Louisa hid her smile.
Miss P made ready to accompany her young mistress, and she and Louisa set out. Lucas had decreed that Louisa’s team needed rest after its long journey, but it was not far to Bond Street, and Louisa was too eager for new fashions to consider delaying her first shopping excursion.
She could have sent her footman out to hail a hackney cab, but the day was mild and the rain seemed to have receded. Louisa was so happy to be in London that she thought everything gleamed, the handsome buildings and wide thoroughfares glistening not just from the recent storms, but reflecting her own happiness. She could have skipped along the paving stones, if such a gait were not undignified.
She had to content herself with a quiet smile as she pointed out the most interesting sights to her companion.
“Yes, miss,” Miss P answered, her eyes down as she carefully skirted a puddle.
Sighing, Louisa wished that Gemma had come along. But of course, it was natural that she would want to send word to Lord Gabriel right away. Perhaps they could go shopping together tomorrow.
Soon they approached the first of the shops that Louisa had decided to honor with her patronage, and she pushed open the door and stepped inside. This was a popular hat shop, and several women were inspecting airy bonnets or lavishly trimmed hats, while one gentleman waited at the side, looking bored. Louisa stepped up to wait her turn, glancing about at the hats on display.
Oh, there was a particularly fetching model with osprey feathers dyed a deep crimson. Louisa moved closer to inspect it and almost collided with another customer, an older woman whose face was somehow familiar.
Heavens, it was Lady Jersey, the influential society matron and one of the patronesses of Almack’s, whom Louisa had accidentally offended last year. Louisa felt as if she had been struck dumb. What should she say? Would Lady Jersey remember her?
If Lady Jersey maintained her animosity this year, Louisa would never obtain the vouchers to Almack’s that she coveted so badly. The so-called Marriage Mart was reserved for the most exclusive circles of Society, just where Louisa craved to be. She tried to decide what to do. She could pretend not to recognize the noblewoman, or she could face the social dragon and see if she would be slain before her quest had even begun.
Never a coward, Louisa cleared her throat.
“Pardon me, Lady Jersey, but perhaps—”
“I’ll see the maize-colored bonnet, too,” the other woman said, hardly glancing at her. “And mind, I told you to bring back the one with the rose-tinted ribbons.”
She thought Louisa was a shop girl! Louisa’s quick temper flared. “I am not a clerk!”
Frowning, Lady Jersey raised her prominent eyes to focus on Louisa’s face.
Her heart sinking, Louisa bit back any more rash words. She felt an ominous sense of deja vu. This could not be happening again! Oh, please, if she angered this woman afresh she would never get into Almack’s!
Like a guardian angel, the gentleman who had been hiding a yawn behind his hand suddenly stepped closer. “This is not the girl who was helping you, Lady Jersey. The clerk will be back momentarily. I believe this lady was simply about to remark—” He paused and looked toward Louisa, his glance remarkably bold, his eyes holding a spark of cynical humor deep in their hazel depths.
“Yes, I was about to say that the hat you are holding should look most becoming on you. The shade will complement your, ah, eyes,” Louisa managed to say. “Forgive me for intruding.”
“Oh, you think so?” The lady’s gaze dropped back to the overlarge hat in her hands, and to Louisa’s relief, the countess seemed to forget her existence. “Tell me, Lieutenant McGregor, do you think this one will complement my eyes?”
“No,” the gentleman said, to Louisa’s annoyance.
Why could he not agree and allow her to fade gracefully out of sight before she put her foot into her mouth again? She realized now that she should not even have spoken to Lady Jersey without a proper introduction. Why did she always barge into trouble without thinking first?
But he continued smoothly, “After all, how can any confection do justice to such lovely features, dear lady?”
Lady Jersey gave her somewhat shrill laugh and wagged her fan at him. “You are a shameless man!”
“Of c
ourse. Otherwise, I would wane into just another boring acquaintance,” he pointed out, his tone unrepentant.
“Here you are, my lady.” The real shop girl hurried from the back carrying an armload of hat boxes. Lady Jersey turned away to examine them.
Louisa sighed in relief and glanced toward the gentleman. Who was he, to be following like a footman after a lady so obviously older than he? He was dressed like a gentleman, and he had a roguishly handsome face, deep brown hair, those cynical hazel eyes, and, yes, although of middle height, a fine military bearing. And his smile made Louisa suddenly wish that she had taken more care with her appearance before she had come out. This was a man who knew women, and somehow, she wanted to be a face that he remembered.
Yet, he appeared to be neither rich nor titled. Lady Jersey had called him lieutenant. He could be one of the many officers who had fought in the long war against Napoleon and were now forced to sell out or exist on half pay during peace time.
As if he felt her stare, he looked back to meet her glance, and his eyes seemed to laugh. “Not that you wouldn’t make a fine shop girl,” he murmured, for her ears alone. His voice had just a tinge of Scottish burr, and its tone was rich and smooth.
Louisa opened her mouth to snap at him, then realized she couldn’t risk anyone else hearing her rebuke.
“That is to say, anyone so lovely would convince me to buy anything,” he added.
Louisa felt her cheeks flush with gratification and couldn’t decide whether to laugh or frown. Before she could decide on a suitable answer to such bold manipulation while he waited, his eyes still twinkling, they were interrupted.
“Lieutenant McGregor, come here, do!” Lady Jersey called to her companion.
He moved away to solemnly view more hats and offer his opinion, making both his august companion and the salesclerk giggle with his flagrant compliments and wicked judgments. “That one, no. It looks like a barnyard run amok,” he said as the clerk held up a wide-brimmed hat trimmed with what did look very much like small yellow chicks.