Chapter Twenty-Nine

The countess kept the staff on pins and needles, scurrying around like frightened mice in order to do her bidding. She designated what was to be served at meals after a lengthy meeting with the butler, the housekeeper, and the cook. She explained to the upper servants as to what her usual routine would consist: breakfast with fresh-baked scones, hot from the oven, churned butter, marmalade, and hot chocolate laced with a dollop of heavy cream, served at precisely ten o’clock. Agina never ate at table in the morning. A tray was to be set for two, since Trent habitually broke the fast with her.

“The countess is very fussy about who delivers the tray to her room,” Agina’s lady’s maid told the butler. Later that day Trent sharply admonished one of the sprightly housemaids who had an Irish brogue. “Your ladyship prefers someone who speaks decent English, and you will not do.” The little maid blushed and scurried away, almost in tears.

To a second housemaid, Trent warned, “The countess’s bath water must be delivered to her steaming hot by half after eleven, precisely.” And went farther, saying, “The countess makes her appearance below stairs for luncheon at one o’clock,” Trent informed the butler. “And will receive callers no later than four o’clock for tea. Supper is to be served at seven o’clock and on time.

“And of course,” Trent continued, “Lady Trayhern will look for a nicely ironed copy of The London Times when it arrives in the daily post. How else are we to keep up with the goings-on in London’s beau monde?”

Having heard the rumblings in the kitchen, Dulcie knew she had let the countess browbeat her, again. However, the countess’s decrees weren’t of major importance in her own daily routine.

Dulcie rose when it grew light enough to see the sun popping over the trees to allow Simon outside and oversee his morning run. She ate in the kitchen with the cook and housekeeper, and some of the housemaids, along with the butler if he hadn’t breakfasted already. Simon was granted a treat after his morning exercise, and left alone to chew contentedly on whatever the cook saved for him from last night’s meal.

If she were going visiting that day, Dulcie first freshened up, donned a warm shawl over her gown, added a bonnet, and started out with a sturdy walking stick and Simon beside her. She often stopped for a bite to eat and a saucer of tea with one of the tenants, so she rarely ate a noonday meal.

On days when the weather was not cooperative, Dulcie had a footman build up the fire in her father’s study. There she sat and read for hours on end. On sunny days she spent time in the garden or conservatory with Denny or his father.

Dulcie tried to avoid her stepmother and her lady’s maid, but today Dulcie was asked to join the countess for tea. She forced down her animosity toward her stepmother, ordered Simon to remain by the entrance to the parlor, and stepped inside. She knew better than to leave on her “working” clothes, so she had changed into something more fashionable.

“My, my, Dulcina, I do believe you almost made yourself presentable,” Agina commented.

Dulcie might have choked on a swift, angry response. Instead, she replied calmly, “Thank you, Mother, I’m pleased you noticed.”

“I always notice your appearance, dear girl. I’m simply glad you are no longer the eyesore you were when you arrived to London. Goodness, what a horrid sight that was!”

Dulcie sucked in a deep breath and pressed her hurt down deep where she knew it would fester if her stepmother kept up her nasty comments.

Why in the world had Agina bothered to come here? Was it only to taunt me, bring me down a peg? Make me feel small and meaningless the way she used to?

I never thought of myself as being above Agina, although I am the daughter of an earl and a lady in my own right. I heard somewhere—probably from one of the servants—when my father married her, gossip stated that Agina had come from a common background. But, actually, that is all I know about my stepmother other than her extraordinary beauty and her unkind attitude.

“I was a bit surprised that my nephew was attracted to you enough to tumble you in his bed.”

Griff never had been that nasty. Just the opposite. He always bolstered my ego each time we spoke, even told me I was pretty. Well, perhaps, she retracted that thought. I should take those words with a grain of salt. They may have been simply flirtation. But he made me feel good—worthwhile and happy about myself. He made me feel…well, wanted…in the ways a man wants a woman he cares for.

“I’m sure I don’t know why either, Mother,” Dulcie replied, “but can we talk about something else? Trent, would you be good enough to pour me a taste of that exotic tea?”

Agina nodded to her lady’s maid. “If you wish,” the woman answered.

The countess next directed Dulcie’s attention to the latest news in The Times.

“I believe Griff’s unit was engaged in the siege of San Sebastian. His friend, the viscount, gave me that bit of news, but that was last month. The army since moved on, I believe. Spencer could be anywhere now—maimed—or even dead.”

The countess passed the newspaper over to Dulcie who was anxious to read the latest news from the Peninsula, praying Griff’s name wasn’t amongst the missing or dead.

“I urge you not to wait for Spencer, Dulcina. Marry now, and be done with it. I can procure you a more worthwhile mate even though you are secondhand goods. Griff may come back in terrible condition, badly scarred, awful to look at, and of no use to you or anyone—if you know what I mean.”

From the countess’s raised brows, Dulcie took her words to insinuate that Griff might not be able to sire children.

Meanwhile, Trent prepared Dulcie’s tea and brought it to her.

“Thank you, Trent,” Dulcie said and took a sip. “Oh my! It’s quite nice. Very sweet, the way I like it.”

“It needs a prodigious amount of sugar, my dear, otherwise it tastes slightly bitter. I myself use two teaspoonfuls, so I’m sure that is how Trent fixed it for you. By the way, I am persuaded that Chinese concubines…umm…depend upon this particular blend to keep them young, beautiful, and…er…interesting. I asked Cook to use only this blend while I am here. Perhaps, it will work as well on you, eh?” In Dulcie’s eyes the countess’s smile was less than encouraging. “You will acquire the taste in no time, I’m sure, as I have. Just be certain to use plenty of sugar. You do wish to make an impression if and when your fiancé returns, do you not?”

“Of course. Yes, I’ll try to get used to it. Thank you, Mother.”

* * * *

The early days of autumn rolled along the Surrey hills without additional animosity between Dulcie and her stepmother. The weather held, so Dulcie and Simon made the rounds to the estate’s various tenants almost daily. Her stepmother and Trent made trips into Pinkney-on-Barrow to shop and gossip with the shopkeepers about London and the war.

Dulcie began to feel rather listless in early October. Evening fell more quickly, and it seemed to bear down on her daily. She no longer had the same stamina she had during the summer months. She often cut short her walks with Simon. Her appetite lessened, and she realized some of her gowns had grown a bit loose on her. She also developed an unusual thirst, and often consumed several saucers of her stepmother’s exotic tea each afternoon to slake her dry throat.

The countess had commanded Dulcie to take tea with her and Emma Trent every day. The women habitually napped before supper, and Dulcie often followed the pair above stairs. It was becoming her habit to do so also. She felt weary and dull-witted by the time late afternoon came. Perhaps, it had something to do with the blended ingredients in the Chinese tea, or perhaps it was simply that she was on edge with the countess staying on. She was lonely and missed Griff terribly. It dawned on her that she didn’t wish to let him go, had no wish to cancel their agreement when he returned from the war. But, of course, she must. They had agreed to it when he left England.

During Dulcie’s sojourn in London, Denny Wall had found himself a lively, pert girl that suited him. He spent his leisure time with her now that he was serious about marriage and a family. Dulcie missed their time together, felt somewhat jealous of the girl. She no longer had anyone to talk and laugh with unless she visited Bitsy Bowden. Even walking the short distance to the Bowden’s cottage was becoming a chore.

Dulcie began suffering headaches. More than once, after supper, she excused herself to her stepmother and took to her bed to rid herself of the throbbing in her temples. The powders and tisanes she requested from the housekeeper didn’t work very well, and she turned and tossed, wrapped up like a shroud in the bedcovers before sleep finally took her.

She found herself snapping at servants, and even at Denny if she ran into him on her short ambles in the garden. Her sudden outbursts of temper were something she never thought would occur to her at Bonne Vista.

Most odd of all, her thirst grew to prodigious proportions. Her stepmother took to ordering a second pot of tea in the afternoon especially for Dulcie. Most of it was poured into Dulcie’s cup, and she was given her own sugar bowl.

“I’m so glad you like this blend,” Agina told Dulcie several weeks after the countess and Trent had arrived at Bonne Vista. “I noticed it is doing you some good. You have lost some of your baby fat. If I recall, Griff was attracted to slender women, and of course, you were a bit on the plump side when you two met.” She even winked at her stepdaughter. “I’m sure he will approve when…er…he returns.”

Dulcie poured herself more tea and added three teaspoonfuls of sugar.

In another few weeks, she took to her bed for the better part of each day. She felt impossibly tired and somewhat weak. But she dragged herself out of her chamber to make her presence known belowstairs. She now skipped a hearty breakfast and drank tea with, perhaps, a day old slice of bread in order to keep food down. She vomited regularly but never complained and made certain she did it outdoors where no one saw her or heard her.

She was certain she was with child. She counted backward and realized her final encounter with Griff took place in late June. However, she still had her monthly courses. July and August passed without undue cramping. It was normal for her to be irregular, but always, the bleeding arrived before her next moon cycle.

Unfortunately, she was almost a month late now. How could this be? Did one begin breeding two or three months after the fact? It was very strange. There was no way she would question her stepmother. Or anyone else, either. She would simply go along and see what happened during the next few weeks. Perhaps she was mistaken entirely, and her flow would begin again in a day or two. Meanwhile, she was growing weaker and feeling sicker.

Now, painful stomach cramps bothered her, and the headaches came with more frequency. Dulcie stopped eating, but she continued to drink the exotic tea her stepmother had brought with her to Surrey.

The second week in November, Dulcie was too debilitated to lift her head off of her bed pillows.