Page 24 of From Governess to Bluestocking (Love in the Shadows #8)
Twenty-Four
R uth overslept. She’d expected a wake up call of sorts, or at least for her body to wake her throughout the night as she so often did in new surroundings. It seemed, however, that she’d been betrayed by her own exhaustion. When she woke, the sun was already streaming in through open curtains — a sign that a maid had tiptoed in to refill the water on the dressing table and let in the morning light. She’d just missed it.
She stumbled out of bed and saw that the silver blue gown laying over the chair had been replaced by something filmy and white — a day dress, by the looks of it, and a fine one. She dressed quickly, noting that Lady Richmond, or whomever had sent the gown up, had likely meant to send her off in something plain. The fashionable cut and stunning embroidery, though, showed how very well-off the Richmonds were. Even their lady’s maid clothing looked as though it had come out of a high-end modiste.
She struggled a little to lace the stays and tend to the buttons, but in the end the task was complete. She splashed some water on her face and used a handful to breathe life back into her curls before pinning them up in a modest bun. Looking in the mirror, all she could see was her exhaustion and worry, etched over her features like some gaudy French paint.
She walked out into the hall and heard not a sound. She turned and tiptoed downstairs, her ballroom satin slippers silent against the marble floor.
There was noise from the breakfast room. She hesitated outside, not wanting to go in and face Lord and Lady Richmond in the light of the day. It had been difficult enough with the flickering firelight to hide in — she would not be able to control her emotions so well when they could see her every expression.
She turned and walked to the parlor, surprised to find Lady Cecelia sitting in a chair by the fire, alone. The old woman was also dressed in a fine gown Ruth guessed had been donated by her sister. It was a plain but elegant grey silk, and it made her white hair — pulled back in a severe bun at the base of her neck — a badge of age rather than the beauty it had seemed in the red ball gown.
Ruth walked over to her and knelt down, taking the older woman’s hands in her own.
“My Lady?” she asked. Then, more gently, “My Duchess?”
Lady Cecelia looked up wordlessly, her eyes like distant pools.
Ruth swallowed hard. “I know last night was difficult for you,” she said. “How are you feeling today?”
The Duchess shook her head and looked towards the fire. “I made a fool of myself.” She bit her lip, that girlish side appearing yet again. “I made a fool of my sister.”
Ruth squeezed her hands more tightly. “You did not,” she said. “You were just confused.”
Her heart ached to think of the scene that had set Lady Cecelia off — she could still remember how handsome Stephen had looked dancing with Lady Lina. She blinked, pushing the vision from her mind.
“Miss Selwyn, are you quite ready to leave?”
She turned in surprise to see Lord Richmond in the doorway. He was standing with one hand in his jacket pocket, the other on a cane. He looked imposing and professional. She scrambled to her feet.
“Already?” she asked. “I believe Lady Cecelia would like to bid goodbye to Lord Darnley and Lady Richmond. Are they nearby?”
“Is it simply Lady Cecelia who wishes to bid goodbye to my son?” Lord Richmond asked, his face stiff.
Ruth blushed despite herself. “I just think she deserves a proper goodbye.”
“She has already said her goodbyes.” Lord Richmond looked at the clock. “It is late morning, Miss Selwyn.”
So Stephen is not coming to say goodbye. For some reason, this hit Ruth harder than any blow thus far. After everything they’d shared, and the difficult night just passed, she had at least expected to bid this man she cared so much for goodbye — even if it was the last time.
She bit her lip and tried to look as passive and obliging as she could.
“Then we are ready,” she said simply. “Please send for our cloaks.”
Even as she spoke, a footman appeared with a cloak for her and for Lady Cecelia, helping them on with their garments. Ruth did up her clasp and then helped the older lady, feeling for all the world like an exile being systematically banished from the kingdom.
They walked outside and climbed into the carriage together. Lord Richmond turned and strode back towards the house, not even waiting to see the carriage off.
The beginning of the journey was a quiet one. Ruth felt torn between her own breaking heart and the concern she felt for the Duchess. Last night, the woman had seemed quite inconsolable — one of the worst attacks Ruth had witnessed. She wondered what had brought it on. Somehow, she knew it was tied to the sad memories she’d read about in the Duchess’ diary, but she didn’t know exactly how. After a time, she worked up the courage to start a conversation.
“Do you remember much of what transpired last night?” she asked tentatively. She didn’t want to open an old wound, but she knew that their time together was drawing short. She wanted desperately to afford the woman any healing she could while she still had the time.
The Duchess looked over at her with an unusual calm expression on her face.
“I remember everything,” she said. She smiled a little sadly. “I always do.”
Why did you do it? She wanted to ask the Duchess directly, but she chose a circuitous route instead.
“Did anything frighten you while I was away gathering punch?” she asked.
“It was just that scene,” the older woman said quietly. “It was as though I had seen it before, somewhere deep in my memory. I know that it was Stephen and some other lass, but it felt as though I was watching myself and—”
“And who?” Ruth prodded.
“And another man from long ago,” the Duchess finished vaguely.
“I’m sorry for whatever bad memories you still must live with,” she said quietly. “It must be difficult.”
“I don’t want to talk about me anymore,” the Duchess said abruptly, turning towards Ruth. “I want to talk about you.”
Ruth forced a weak smile — all she could manage under the circumstances — and shook her head. “I have nothing of interest to say,” she assured the older woman. “I can’t imagine it will be a long conversation.”
“That’s not true,” the Duchess pressed. “I feel something has changed in you, Miss Selwyn. Something is troubling you.”
Ruth felt the tears that she’d been hiding since the evening before suddenly threatening to brim over. She couldn’t understand it — all this time controlling her emotions, and yet here she was about to spill her heart out to the woman she was supposed to be caring for.
“My troubles should not be yours,” she managed, her voice breaking.
“Ah, but my dear, that is not true,” the Duchess said. She took Ruth’s hands in hers, pressing them kindly just as Ruth had pressed hers earlier that day. “I may choose whose worries I care about,” she said with a smile. “And I have chosen yours, just as you chose mine when you first met me.”
Ruth couldn’t resist a smile. “You pay me good money to care about your troubles, my Lady.”
“Don’t go back to dropping the “Duchess” now that you’ve finally gotten the hang of it,” the older woman clucked teasingly. “But I will not believe that you have been so selfless and calm all this time because of the money alone. I believe you genuinely care about the people in your charge.”
The older woman’s words touched Ruth, if only because she knew such vulnerability and kindness to a person of Ruth’s rank was a stretch for a woman of the Duchess’ position. She felt as though the woman was talking to her as a friend might talk to a friend.
“I had a disappointment of my own last night,” Ruth said at last, the words coming out strained and thin, as though they themselves didn’t want to be spoken.
The Duchess nodded. “I know,” she said quietly. “I wasn’t fully aware last night, but in the bright light of day…” she hesitated. “I think I saw that last night.”
Ruth blushed. “What did you see?”
“I saw that the man you loved was dancing with another woman,” the Duchess said, her eyes taking on that far-off gleam that Ruth had seen so many times before. “You saw that the love you’d hoped would come to fruition was crumbling away. You thought he was choosing his family and society over true love.”
Ruth sucked in her breath sharply. All this talk of “love” was more than she was ready for. I don’t love him, she thought. Then, after a moment of hesitation, it hit her like a thunderbolt. I do love him. I love him.
She hung her head a moment in resignation. Then she raised her eyes to the other woman. “It’s not that I think it wouldn’t work,” she said. “I know it. I think I’ve known it from the start.” She saw the Duchess’ mouth open in response, but shook her head to cut off the words. “Don’t try to tell me otherwise, Duchess. I know the truth, and it isn’t his fault. It is likely not even Lord and Lady Richmond’s fault. It is just the way the world goes, and I was a fool to believe otherwise.”
She dropped her head then, tears coming at last in uncontrollable waves. Somewhere through the haze she felt the Duchess’ arm creep around her shoulder; felt herself pulled into what could only be an embrace. Her head laid there for a long time. Even after the tears abated she let her eyes close and stayed there, feeling as though she could keep the whole world on the other side of her eyelids.
They reached the house in the late afternoon and walked inside together. Ruth caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror and could hardly recognize herself. Just one day before she’d walked down that staircase in Stephen’s direction, dressed like Aphrodite with all the magic of the world spread out before her. Now she stared back at herself and saw only a thin, pale thing with red eyes and a defeated posture.
“You ought to rest,” she said to the Duchess. “It was a long journey.
“You are the one who ought to rest,” the Duchess responded, looking at her with a critical expression. “You seem as though a spare wind would sweep you right away.”
Ruth felt a sharp pain in her head.
“It is nothing,” she said, wincing. “This is what happens when you give in to emotion.” She smiled weakly at the Duchess. “It overpowers you and leaves you feeling the worse for wear. I cannot recommend it.”
The Duchess seemed to be standing very far away, and speaking through a thick kind of haze. Ruth blinked, trying to focus.
“My Lady,” she said slowly. “We ought to get…we ought to pack your things. Lady Richmond…”
She put out a hand and clasped the banister. The world was not quite as it ought to have been. It teetered dangerously, and she felt a dull chill creeping over her body to join the now throbbing pain in her head.
Lady Cecelia’s voice came to her as if from far away.
“Miss Selwyn, ought you to be standing right now? You look as if you’re feeling faint. Mr. Tylor, will you—”
But Ruth heard no more. All the world faded to black.