‘Foolish chit! I dance with you because it gives me pleasure. I am not ashamed of you, if that’s what you imagine, but I prefer to dance with you without being gawped at.’
‘And without creating unnecessary speculation.’
‘The thought of standing up with anyone else in my drawing room fills me with fatigue. You, on the other hand…’
‘Have no expectations.’ Flora turned her face away from him, attempting to hide her hurt feelings. ‘Yes, I quite understand.’
‘Flora, my sweet, you don’t understand anything.’ There was frustration in his tone.
The dance finished, bringing the intimacy of the moment to an end along with it. He offered her his arm in an oddly formal gesture and they returned to the drawing room in silence. Flora felt a cold chill sweep through her body when she noticed Lucy Arnold watching them from the open doorway, her face like thunder. She wondered how long she had been standing there.
Flora excused herself from Luke and went to check on the countess. Still at the card table, her headdress slightly askew, she was engrossed in her game.
‘There you are missy. Where have you been?’
‘I haven’t been gone for long. Was there something you needed?’
‘No, which is just as well.’
‘You did send me away.’
‘You did, ma’am,’ Lord Hardwick agreed, winking at Flora.
‘I can see that the two of you are having a successful evening,’ Flora said, glancing at the pile of winnings beside each of them.
‘I have carried him through the game,’ the countess replied, trumping yet another trick.
Flora smiled and drifted away from the table. Luke was now dancing with Emma. Mary and Captain Redfern conversed privately at the side of the room. Flora decided against joining them and turned away, only to come face to face with Mrs Arnold.
‘Pray, excuse me,’ Flora said, moving to one side so that she could walk past the woman. But Mrs Arnold moved too, blocking her path.
‘I do not know what to make of the position you hold in this household, Miss Latimer.’
The woman’s look of scathing superiority riled Flora. ‘Then we should both be grateful that it is none of your affair and that you needn’t trouble yourself over it.’
‘Such insolence.’
Flora shrugged. ‘You instigated a conversation which, without wishing to repeat myself, is both impolite and intrusive.’
‘Luke’s standards must have slipped if he allows his servants to speak so irreverently to their betters.’
‘You consider yourself better than me?’ Flora flexed a brow. ‘And you find it necessary to say so. I cannot begin to imagine whom you are trying to convince,’ she added, knowing very well, ‘but your attitude suggests that you are at best insecure and at worst envious. Of what I have no inkling on either count.’
‘Disrespectful woman!’
‘You are the one who referred to my position in the earl’s household in a disrespectful manner,’ Flora responded evenly. ‘I am a servant here, and I am very happy to make that admission. There, does that satisfy you?’
Mrs Arnold swallowed, clearly attempting to rein in her jealousy. If the woman had troubled to make herself more agreeable, Flora would happily have assured her that she had absolutely nothing to feel jealous about. Yet despite disliking Mrs Arnold, she wouldn’t be unkind enough to tell her she was wasting her efforts and that Luke had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her on a personal level. Lucy Arnold would not be the first woman to assume that beauty trumped all other considerations. And she was remarkably pretty, even when she was angry and her face was pinched into an expression of jealous spite.
‘I apologise if I seem rude,’ she said ungraciously. ‘It’s just that the blurring of the lines nowadays sometimes takes me by surprise. I have never seen a paid companion dressed so lavishly before.’
‘Why thank you, Mrs Arnold,’ Flora replied, even though she knew the statement had not been intended as a compliment.
‘My brother hopes to persuade Lady Mary to join us for an expedition to Swallow Hill on Monday. Can I depend upon you to help convince her? It is clear to me that Mary sets great stock by your recommendations.’
Flora was astounded by the woman’s effrontery, although perhaps she should not have been. She required Flora’s help but was also perfectly willing to insult her. ‘If your charming brother cannot persuade her without any outside influence, then I fear his aspirations are doomed.’
‘Oh, Mary wants to go. I am absolutely sure of it.’
‘In which case I fail to see why you need my help.’ Flora saw no profit in pursuing a conversation that was uncomfortable for them both. She used the countess’s cry of delight when she won yet another hand to make her escape. ‘Pray, excuse me,’ she said. ‘The countess has need of me.’
‘Your charge is a card cheat,’ Archie Hardwick said to Flora in a quiet aside when she joined him. The game had just broken up and the countess looked very pleased with herself.
‘I am not surprised to hear you say so,’ Flora responded, shaking her head. ‘Hopefully, your opponents did not notice.’
Lord Hardwick laughed as he used his stick to support his weight and struggled from his chair. ‘You have worked wonders with her,’ he said before excusing himself and hobbling across the room to join Luke and Paul.
Chapter Ten
It was well into the early hours before the party broke up. Flora could see that the countess was visibly flagging but also enjoying herself enormously, and refused to retire until the last of the guests had left.
‘She will likely sleep all morning,’ Sandwell told Flora as the two of them helped their charge into bed. ‘She always does after a particularly late night. It takes it out of her, but she won’t be told. Anyway, I suggest you do the same. No one else will stir much before midday, so it will give you time to recover, too.’
‘All right. But please call me if I’m needed. Thank you, Sandwell. Good night.’
‘Good night, miss.’
Flora was rather scandalised at the through of spending an entire morning in bed, especially a Sunday morning. She really should go to church. The countess never accompanied her, but some of the family members often did. Flora still found comfort in the familiar ritual of a church service and in a faith as strong as it had ever been. Which was not nearly strong enough to satisfy her father’s requirement for blind acceptance of the gospels. Remus’s appearance in her life had added to her doubts about the hereafter, but had at the same time given her absolute proof of an afterlife. In the circumstances, she felt her confusion was justified. She also reasoned if that if her grandmother had possessed that proof too, and had spoken about it, it would have been enough to drive her father to the extreme measures he took to silence her, confining her to her room and restricting her activities in public.
It had been a relief of sorts when she died of natural causes. And they had been natural, had they not? The possibly of another explanation flooded her mind, shocking Flora. Her father would not go that far, surely? She fell asleep with a deeply troubled mind.
Flora’s dilemma about attending morning service resolved itself when she didn’t wake until almost noon. She guiltily pushed the covers aside, washed and quickly dressed before making her way to the countess’s rooms. She found the old lady sitting up in bed, drinking a cup of hot chocolate and toying with a slice of toast. She looked small and worryingly frail.
‘Good morning, ma’am. I am shockingly late, for which I apologise. How do you feel this morning?’
‘Perfectly well, as always. Why must people insist upon asking after my health? You will want to be examining my teeth next, as though I was a horse.’
‘It’s the polite thing to do. Enquiring after a person’s health that is, not inspecting their teeth.’ Flora perched on the edge of the countess’s bed. ‘Are you intending to get up? Shall I ring for Sandwell? Obviously, she has already delivered your breakfast.’
‘You don’t look too wide awake yourself, miss.’ The countess tutted. ‘Young gels nowadays have no stamina. When I was your age, I thought nothing of dancing until dawn and then going on in a group somewhere for breakfast. It wasn’t uncommon for one of my admirers to drink champagne from my slipper.’
‘Wouldn’t that spoil the taste?’ Flora asked, attempting not to smile.
‘Foolish child! It was the romance of the gesture that signified. But romance is something else that no longer seems fashionable.’
‘You would have got a wet foot when you put your shoe back on,’ Flora reflected, determined to call the old lady’s bluff. ‘How did you circumvent that difficulty?’
‘Nothing could be easier.’ The countess sniffed. ‘I went barefoot, and my admirers fought for the privilege of carrying me.’
‘Ah.’ Flora bit her lip, but a smile still escaped. ‘That would explain it. Anyway, I think Mary enjoyed herself last night, which is all that signifies.’
‘Ha! If she’s taken in by that tragic hero then she’s more of a goose than I realised.’
Flora raised a brow. ‘You do not like Captain Redfern?’
‘He’s a charlatan.’ The countess set her features in a rigid line. ‘After her fortune, and if he gets his wish it will slip through his fingers like sand through an hourglass. You just mark my words.’
Flora nodded. ‘I tend to agree with you. But Mary’s no fool. Besides, if she genuinely likes him…well, she won’t be the first lady to allow a handsome man who needs to marry for money to turn her head. He cannot be blamed for being the youngest of several sons who must fend for himself. Besides, perhaps he genuinely likes her.’
‘Ha!’
‘Anyway, Mary is enjoying being courted. She never said as much, but I sensed she felt a little overshadowed by Emma’s beauty. But now her sister is happily married and it’s Mary’s turn to shine. You yourself are always telling me how much you enjoyed being admired. Surely you wouldn’t deprive your granddaughter of that pleasure.’
The dowager gave an indignant huff. ‘I got myself respectably married first, so I was not in danger of being compromised.’
Flora felt mildly concerned. ‘You think that is the captain’s intention?’
‘I think he urgently needs a rich wife, and if he can’t charm Mary into compliance, then I wouldn’t put anything past him. As I say, he’s a charlatan. If he’s genuinely lame, then I’m the Queen of England.’ The countess pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, her chins wobbling with the effort it took her to adjust it to her satisfaction.
‘You imagine he’s feigning his injury to invoke Mary’s sympathy?’ Flora took a moment to consider a possibility that had not previously occurred to her. So much for her instincts! She recalled seeing him invite Mary to dance a jig and had thought it odd at the time. A disabled man required to give up a career that he supposedly thrived in because of his injuries wouldn’t even consider dancing—and certainly not something as energetic as a jig. ‘Or to avoid returning to his regiment.’ Flora’s eyes widened. ‘You think he is a coward.’
‘I noticed him briefly limping on the wrong leg last night. He covered it quickly, but not so quickly that I didn’t see him make the adjustment.’
‘Oh dear. This is worse than I thought.’ Flora didn’t doubt the countess’s powers of observation. She cared deeply about her family and Mary, as a young, wealthy, well-connected but inexperienced female, was in an especially vulnerable position. ‘Have you told the earl?’
She flapped a hand. ‘He will say I imagined it. But I’ll tell you this much, his pretending to be a hero and affecting a limp to lend his story credibility is an insult to men like Lord Hardwick who are genuinely disabled.’ She cackled. ‘Even if his injuries were incurred pursuing a different sort of duty all together.’
‘I happen to know that the earl shares your concerns about the captain and is making enquiries about his circumstances, so if there is information to his detriment, we shall soon discover what it is.’ She considered asking the countess about her son’s supposed unpaid debt to the late Lord Redfern but quickly dismissed the idea. If her charge knew about it, she would have mentioned something. Since she clearly did not, it would serve no purpose to upset her. ‘Captain Redfern is anxious for Mary to accompany him and his sister on an excursion to Swallow Hill tomorrow. Mary wants to go.’
‘Of course the silly goose wants to go. Then the sister will find an excuse to leave them alone and goodness only knows what he will talk her into.’
‘She will take a chaperone, and in any case it wouldn’t be the end of the world if the two of them are left alone out of doors, where no one is likely to see them.’
‘No, but if they were in a house, on the other hand…’
‘Ah, I see what you mean. If Lucy were to invite Mary back for refreshments…’ Zeus appeared from somewhere and jumped onto the bed. Flora absently stroked his back as she thought about the countess’s words. She had long since become accustomed to her exaggerated tales about her own exploits. Having champagne drunk from her slipper indeed! But she had also become used to her sound common sense. It only came to the fore when she felt a situation warranted it and Flora had learned to trust her opinion. ‘Yes, the same thought occurred to me. I suggested to the earl that he compromise by letting her go, but insists that she take her maid with her. I mean,’ she added, grinning, ‘a gentleman with honourable intentions could hardly object.’
‘You’re not so green as you’re cabbage looking,’ the old lady said with an approving nod, her words accompanied by a hacking cough.
‘Well, thank you.’ Flora shook her head. ‘I think. Anyway, about your getting out of bed. It’s a lovely day and it would be a shame to waste it.’
‘I am not having you drag me all round that lake.’ The old lady folded her arms and adopted a mulish expression. ‘Not this morning. I have seen enough ducks to last me a lifetime. What it is about you and your constant need for fresh air I have yet to fathom. If you intend to stay here with me through the cold winter, something will have to be done about it. I have absolutely no intention of freezing to death in order to satisfy your whims. You are the one who is supposed to be putting my considerations first. Not that anyone in this household ever does.’
‘I was thinking more of reading aloud to you,’ Flora said calmly.
‘Well, all right then, I suppose that will suffice. But no religious literature. Just because it’s Sunday…’
Flora held up a hand. ‘I wouldn’t think of it. I’ll ring the bell for Sandwell and come back in half an hour, if that suits.’
‘It obviously suits you, which is all you care about.’
‘Don’t be difficult, ma’am. It won’t serve, since I refuse to quarrel with you.’ She stood and shook a finger at the countess before ringing the bell for Sandwell. ‘I shall bring a tincture back with me to help with your aches and pains. And something for that cough.’
‘I don’t have any aches and pains. And even if I did, that hogwash you force upon me makes absolutely no difference.’
Flora took herself off to make the promised tinctures, aware that today would prove to be one of the countess’s particularly argumentative days since she was tired and in pain. The countess was nearing the end of her life and was fearful of what might follow. Flora wanted to reassure her that it would not be the end, merely the start of the next phase. Since she knew such assurances would be met with derision, she did not voice them. Instead she did everything else she could to keep her cherished charge comfortable and entertained while she remained in this world. She endured her sometimes barbed remarks that were intended to shock and offend with a calmness that disappointed the contrary countess. Flora knew the old lady secretly enjoyed the fact that she was perfectly willing to stand up to her. None of Flora’s predecessors had dared to, which is why they had not stood the test of time.
Flora concocted her tinctures and made her way back through the house, thinkin
g that it seemed unnaturally quiet. The family, it seemed, had slept even later than Flora and she didn’t see any of them.
She spent the afternoon with the countess, who continued to be quarrelsome. Flora had almost exhausted her means of entertaining her when late in the afternoon the lady decreed herself bored with Flora’s endless fussing.
‘Go away, child, and stop flapping over me.’
Flora, to the best of her knowledge, had never flapped in her entire life, but the countess’s complaint was the closest she would come to admitting exhaustion. ‘Very well, ma’am, I can see that you are tired of my company.’
‘Your company constantly tires me, but you are too stubborn to leave me alone.’
‘You’re in the right of it. Which is why I will only leave once Sandwell has come to help you back to bed.’
‘Fuss, fuss, fuss!’ the old lady waved her hand. ‘Do whatever you like.’
Flora rang the bell and passed responsibility for the countess’s care to Sandwell when she answered it. She wandered downstairs and heard male laughter coming from behind the closed doors to Luke’s library. Archie Hardwick was probably in there with Luke and Paul. Most likely Alvin Watson, too. Mary and Emma were now closeted together in Mary’s sitting room and she had no idea what had become of the rest of Luke’s brothers. With time on her hands she strolled outside, welcoming the fresh nip in the air as it bit into her cheeks. She wandered around the lake, watching as a strong breeze whipped up the water, bending the reeds as the sun put in intermittent appearances from behind heavy clouds. The air smelt of impending rain.
She sat on a bench at the furthest point from the house, enjoying the solitude but wishing she did not have the problem of her father’s threats against Luke permanently at the forefront of her mind, spoiling her inner peace. Mr Farthingale would call in the morning, she reminded herself, and all would then become clearer. Even so, the persistent feeling she couldn’t shake that something would happen before then made it hard for her to relax. Or there again, unaccustomed to late nights and sleeping half the day away, perhaps her fertile imagination had got the better of her.
A Sense of Misgiving (Perceptions Book 3) Page 15