Mrs. Linnell’s suggestion for a maid for Vanessa left me stunned. I had been so enveloped in the drama of the last few days that the obvious solution had never occurred to me. Nell Ridgeway’s maid, Alice Ord, it seemed, had accompanied her mistress on surreptitious visits to Moorhead Manor and was already well-liked by the staff. And, Mrs. Linnell added—evidently informed by some mysterious line of communication between servants—Alice had not yet returned to her home in the village. So after seeking Allard’s approval, I mounted Bess and set off for the Ridgeways. It was a brisk and surprisingly sunny October day and I traveled more than half the distance before reality penetrated my self-satisfaction with being on the verge of accomplishing the first item on my list of changes.
Bess’s steady gait faltered as my hands twitched on the reins. I was being high-handed again. Although I had permission from the butler and the housekeeper, I had not consulted Lord Hycliffe about hiring a maid for Vanessa. Should I have done so? Or would consulting the earl about hiring a maid from the Ridgeways once again bring Exmere’s wrath down upon my head?
Though why Exmere should think his father too fragile to cope with reminders of his wife’s desertion remained a mystery
Silently, I mouthed a few words of my secret vocabulary.
Lady Vanessa needed a maid, I assured myself, as befitted her station. Alice Ord, a trained maid, was in need of a position. The logic was irrefutable. I would go the Ridgeways, broach the topic as delicately as possible, and hope no offense was taken by either household. If there were repercussions, let them be on my head, for the concept of a maid for Vanessa was entirely mine.
An hour later, I rode away from the Ridgeways on a wave of relief. Mrs. Ridgeway had been all graciousness, getting over the awkward ground as lightly as possible, even expressing satisfaction that Alice had found such an excellent position. And no, we need not send someone to fetch her. Young Tom would deliver her in the pony cart.
As I made my way home, I wondered if the estrangement between the families could be ended. After all, the miscreants were long gone . . .
Which suddenly made me realize that other than Mrs. Linnell’s bare-bones account of Lady Hycliffe and the Ridgeway nabob who ran off with her, they were never mentioned. Not a word about where they went, what had happened to them in the last five years. Did the Ridgeways receive letters? What about Exmere and Huntley? Vanessa? Surely their mother would communicate with them somehow.
Dare I ask?
My curiosity piqued, I allowed myself a small smile, not only for the success of my errand but for the surge of anticipation brought on by the possibility of smoothing over an old rift. If only . . .
Once again, shame and not a few doubts struck me. I might wish to strive for better days at Moorhead Manor, but Vanessa was getting a maid because Nell Ridgeway was dead. And that was something I must never forget. “A soldier is always prepared,” Papa said. A motto I must live by. Beginning with anticipating trouble over the hiring of Alice Ord.
I heaved a sigh, stiffened my shoulders, and continued on toward whatever Fate might have in store.
Saved!
As I approached the house, a lumbering coach and four was just disappearing through the archway into the courtyard. “’Tis the luggage coach, miss,” Dobbins told me. “The markis and his family arrived a half hour since, and what a sight it was. Outriders, they had, with not hide nor hair of a highwaymen these past twenty years or more. Very grand it was, though. I’ve not seen such hustle and bustle in many a year. Not since the missus—” Abruptly, he cut himself off, leaning forward to confide, “I’d go in through the kitchen, miss. Quieter that way, don’t y’know.”
I was so pleased to have the earl and his heir distracted from my possible insubordination that I would gladly have crossed to the house and mounted the servants’ stairs barefoot if that I had been required. As it was, I picked up my cumbersome riding skirt and made my way upstairs as rapidly as possible. Vanessa and I had thought to have a few days to become accustomed to our new ventures before we were faced with company, and I had to forestall any second thoughts she might have about going down for supper. Maid or no maid, she must make an appearance tonight.
Sure enough, I could hear her arguing with David the moment I opened the sitting room door. Without a proper maid, Vanessa declared, she could not possibly show herself before two young ladies of the ton. “Nor Lady Rothbuy,” she added on a wail. “Everyone knows what a high stickler she is!”
“By tomorrow you will have a maid,” I announced without preliminaries. “For tonight we will manage. I have, after all, prepared myself for dining with Wellington. And, believe me, if ever there was a connoisseur of females . . .!”
“Alice is coming then?” Vanessa looked so eager, so vulnerable at that moment, my heart clenched.
“She is indeed,” I assured her. “And delighted to accept the position. Young Tom will bring her in the morning. And meanwhile . . .” I offered a confident smile. “We will have you looking as fine as any London lady.”
Some time later, Maud and I were selecting suitable gowns from Vanessa’s extensive wardrobe while she sat before the fire, fluffing her waterfall of newly washed hair, when Lady Emmaline came bustling in, looking stricken. “Penny, my dear, you simply must help me,” she burbled. “I have tried every which way, yet although our numbers are even, I can find no arrangement that accommodates precedence, salubrious conversation, and the juxtapositions Lady Rothbury requires of me!”
Scarcely pausing to draw breath, she added, “The marquess must be on my right, of course, though what I shall find to say to him I cannot imagine. He is a sporting man with little conversation beyond horses and races, mills, cockfights . . . and possibly gaming,” she added on a rush. “And if I put Huntley near the top of the table next to the marchioness, where he undoubtedly belongs, she will eat the poor boy alive, for she has a quite encyclopedic knowledge of the ton and the latest on dits which poor Huntley absolutely abhors—”
“Let me see the list,” I said, cutting her off in full spate. Ah, but of course, I thought as I attempted to make sense of her scribbles and crossing-outs. The marchioness was in the seat of honor to Lord Hycliffe’s right, with Vanessa in her customary place on his left. The marquess was at the opposite end of the table, seated to Lady Emmaline’s right, with Exmere to her left. Next to Lady Daphne, I noted sourly, and had to force my attention back to the scribbled diagram in my hand. Lady Emmaline was right. Huntley next to Lady Rothbury simply would not do.
“But if—” I broke off, gulped at my near faux pas, and handed the list to Vanessa. “You, I’m sure, are familiar with everyone,” I said. “What would you suggest.”
A startled look, quickly erased, and Vanessa bent her head over the list. “I think,” she said at last, “that we must exchange Kenrick and Huntley. That way Huntley will be able to talk sports ad nauseum with Rothbury while Kenrick entertains his wife with all the gossip he so thoroughly enjoys.”
Thank you, Lord. One tiny step back toward being the daughter of the house.
“But that places my son above Huntley,” Lady Emmaline protested.
“Nonsense,” Vanessa retorted. “Is it not far more important to keep our guests happy than worry about precedence?”
“Of course, of course,” Lady Emmaline murmured. “I simply did not wish to encroach.”
“Encroach?” Vanessa returned, clearly incredulous. “You came to this house when I was five. You have been mistress here since my mother left us. How can you possibly encroach?”
Lady Emmaline’s lips quivered, and I caught moisture gleaming in her eyes, even as I silently applauded Vanessa’s words. Progress, blessed progress.
“Would you like me to come down with you, ma’am, and help place the cards?” I asked.
In muffled tones she said she would. I excused myself and walked out with her. Poor soul, to feel like a hanger-on after all she must have done to keep the family together after Lady Hycliffe ran off . . .
Together, we placed the cards that put Lady Daphne next to Exmere and Lord Norvelle next to Vanessa, and myself between Kenrick and Lady Daphne, a social solecism less heinous than failing to keep our guests of honor well entertained, though I doubted Lady Daphne would be best pleased, except for the opportunity it gave her to shun me completely and devote all her attention to Exmere.
It did indeed appear the families were matchmaking. And I could not like it. On Vanessa’s part I could not like the maneuvering—she was barely ready to appear at table, let alone entertain the idea of a suitor. And Exmere? What could two sheltered young ladies from London know about a man who could climb a cliff in Devon, carrying a dead body on his back?
What could the Durrant sisters know of any grim reality? Reality I, Penelope Ruth Ballantyne, knew all too well—
Listen to me! I was defending the fribble when he was as much of a town beau as they were London ladies. What was I thinking?
I wasn’t. Clearly, my foolish heart was thinking for me.
With slow steps I returned to Lady Vanessa, determined that she would be as finely turned out as the daughters of a marquess.
Fortunately for me, there were many occasions on the Peninsula when we dressed for dinner, so I had four gowns suitable for dining at an earl’s table. Not the latest style, or even the year or two before, but topped by one of my mother’s shawls, transported with great care from India, they did not put me to the blush. Tonight I wore an exquisitely patterned Kashmir shawl over a simple gown of amber silk and knew I looked my best. Lady Vanessa wore a rose silk half-dress with scalloped hem over a white undergown. A double strand of pearls filled in her décolletage, with more pearls twined among the blond strands of her upswept hair. Pearl eardrops peaked out from beneath the soft curls dangling over her ears—curls that had quite terrified me as I wielded the curling iron hot from the fire. No one would be happier to see Alice Ord than I!
In short, when David pushed Vanessa’s chair into the Green Salon where we gathered before dinner, I thought us both more than passable. Unfortunately, I was keeping a sharp eye on our visitors, and I saw their shock, quickly masked by the marquess and his wife. But Lady Daphne and Lady Jocelyn were not so socially adept, their surprise followed by a flash of disapproval, perhaps even revulsion. My temper flared, and I had to look away, lest I say something appallingly improper.
They were a handsome pair, however. Lady Daphne, whom I judged to be about my own age, was a classic beauty—with a figure that is frequently described as tall and willowy, dark hair the color of ripe chestnuts, and luminous brown eyes that seemed to invite admiration. Lady Jocelyn was overshadowed by her sister’s strong presence, a pale imitation, even though her medium brown hair gleamed in the candlelight and her green-flecked amber eyes glowed with a happier outlook on the world than her sister’s.
My fingers closed over a glass of sherry that was thrust in front of me. Startled, I looked up into Exmere’s penetrating gaze. There was a message there, a warning. Evidently I had failed to hide my indignation on Vanessa’s behalf. Heat stained my cheeks as I murmured a strangled thank-you. When I had myself in hand and dared look around, Exmere was gone, and the sisters had shifted their attention away from Vanessa. To David, whom they were eyeing as if he were some delectable sweetmeat. A glance at Vanessa revealed a sharp spark of anger I feared might build into a tantrum that could ruin all our plans. I plunged into some inane question about the Durrant family’s journey to Moorhead and was saved from complete foolishness only by Allard’s ringing tones announcing, “Dinner is served.”
Grandly, David followed on the heels of Lord Rothbury and Lady Emmaline, causing me to choke back a gasp as he neatly maneuvered in front of the younger members of the party, including Exmere, Lady Daphne, Huntley, and Lady Jocelyn. Oh, David, you rogue. The smirk of self-satisfaction on Vanessa’s face was priceless, wiping away her anger on the spot. Sometimes I could swear the two of them communicated by some silent means unknown to others.
To my surprise, both Kenrick and Lord Norvelle held out their arms, sweeping me into the dining room between them, albeit at the tail end of the line. As I took my place between Kenrick and Lady Daphne, I did a swift appraisal of the results of our playing hopscotch with the seating. Ah . . . I had not thought of one ramification of the switch. Huntley might have Rothbury to his left, but on his right was Lady Jocelyn, as lovely a seventeen-year-old as any young man could ask for. David, after rolling Vanessa’s chair into place, had effaced himself, standing motionless against the wall, as he did every night. Something I always found difficult, as I’m sure Vanessa did, for it was impossible for those who knew him to think of him as a servant.
By the time the fish course arrived, I had decided I did not like the Marchioness of Rothbury. I intercepted several speculative, even disdainful glances sent in Vanessa’s direction when she thought no one was looking. Or perhaps she disapproved of her son being so charming to the cripple. And cripple, I was certain, was how Lady Rothbury thought of Vanessa. She had, of course, welcomed a possible match between Exmere and one of her daughters, but I doubted a pairing between her precious son and Lady Vanessa had ever crossed her mind. At least, not since the accident. And, truthfully, who could blame a mother for worrying about what Norvelle’s apparent interest in Vanessa might mean to the succession?
Much ado about nothing, I decided. On my part, as well as an anxious mother’s. Lord Norvelle was a man well versed in how to be a charming guest. That was all there was to it. And then I looked up into David’s thunderous scowl.
So . . . perhaps it wasn’t all a hum. Lord Hycliffe’s determination for his daughter to lead a normal life was manifesting itself more precipitately than I had hoped. We weren’t ready. We were, in fact, so far from ready, our new regime had barely begun. Oh dear. Under other circumstances tonight’s dinner might be the start of a normal courtship—or two or three—but given Lady Vanessa’s problems, both physical and mental, the volcano likely seething under David’s stoicism, the earl’s expectations, and God alone knew what Exmere, Kenrick, Huntley, Norvelle and his sisters were thinking, the room was awash in swirling currents of tension.
I felt some hope for the complexities of the situation when I noted that Kenrick was most definitely keeping Lady Rothbury entertained, and Huntley seemed to be doing splendidly with the marquess, while managing his share of conversation with Lady Jocelyn with surprising ease. When Vanessa caught my eye, she actually smiled at me, so I was probably being foolish, my imagination escalating the stress out of all proportion to the truth.
I so wanted Vanessa to succeed as hostess. This was what the earl expected of me, and I had to make it so. For as long as I could remember, my life had been controlled by others, my fate dependent on the movement of armies, on battles fought, retreats endured, the vicissitudes of weather. I had truly been the faithful Penelope, the Ruth who followed where others led. Never before had my fate depended on me, on what I might accomplish.
Movement. Lady Emmaline had signaled the moment when the ladies left the gentlemen to their port, and David was suddenly in place behind Vanessa’s chair. A general rustle as everyone stood, Lady Rothbury and her daughters sweeping into the lead, the sisters with their heads together over something that caused them to giggle. I hoped their topic was David and not some disparaging remark about Vanessa, whose self-confidence was so new, so fragile, that almost anything could shatter it.
After rolling Vanessa’s chair close to the fire, David set a small sidechair in place for me beside her and once again retired to stand against the wall, as stiff as a sentinel outside Wellington’s headquarters. He seemed to be staring straight ahead, but I knew he didn’t miss a thing.
Here it comes, I thought. The inevitable questions about Vanessa’s health, the cloying sympathy that would be more of a patronizing denigration of her ability to fulfill her role as an earl’s daughter.
And the Durrant ladies would likely get around to me as well, quickly discovering I was a girl of no family and no background outside an army at war.
And then there was David. A target even more vulnerable than I.
I damped down my temper, folded my hands in my lap, assumed a pleasant expression I did not feel, and waited for the onslaught to begin.