Page 12 of The Gentlewoman Companion (The Gentlewoman #4)
Chapter Five
O n Lady Halverton’s next receiving day, Louisa was anxious to greet and win the approval of the neighbors.
An hour before the first callers would arrive, Louisa busied herself in her room, organizing the gowns she had acquired in Bath.
Vibrantly colored fabrics, some shiny, others textured, flooded from an open portmanteau.
She had delayed unpacking any of her dresses from Bath, not wanting to bring painful memories to the forefront of her mind.
However, this occasion warranted something impressive but not too fine, so to her wardrobe from Bath she turned.
She shook out the folds of a gold gown and placed it neatly in the clothes press. It was too fine for morning calls, and it reminded her of dancing with that man.
Returning to the chest, she reached for the next dress.
Her hand paused above it, sweat breaking cold between her shoulder blades.
It was the blue silk, once a favorite. She picked it up between two fingers and shoved it into the recesses of the armoire’s bottom shelf.
Bile stinging her throat, she slammed the doors and leaned against the wall, a hand pressing her chest to snuff out the panic that shuddered her breath.
Nothing could compel her to lay that fabric against her skin.
She wasn’t sure how long she stayed there, trying and failing to prevent tears from spilling over her cheeks.
At last, she pushed herself from the wall and wiped her face.
One of her old gowns would suffice. From the wardrobe, she pulled the same sage mantua she’d worn the day before and hastily dressed herself.
She glanced in the mirror, pinched her cheeks, and reminded herself not to jeopardize her future with Lady Halverton.
She needed the job and the stipend that came with it.
To that end, she pulled a bright peony from a small bouquet on her dressing table and twisted off the stem.
In the morning room, Lady Halverton reposed by the window reading a book.
“Am I late?” Louisa asked, forcing a smile.
Lady Halverton stood and straightened her gown. “Not so late but do mind the hour.”
Louisa’s heart gave an uncomfortable squeeze. “I brought this for you. The shade will flatter yer complexion.” She removed one of her ladyship’s hairpins and fastened the flower into her hair. “It is very becoming, my lady.”
“How lovely!” The clasp that wrapped Louisa’s arm almost had her forgetting about the blue silk gown stuffed in the wardrobe.
She felt useful, a proper companion, and Lady Halverton was warm and understanding—and her key to social acceptance.
She recommitted to being the best companion possible: punctual, thoughtful, droll.
A challenge, but one she must meet. They sat on a settee, facing the door.
“Shall I fetch yer wrap? Or ring for refreshments?” Louisa asked, practicing thoughtfulness.
“I am not cold, but you may ring the bell for tea after the first visitor arrives.” Lady Halverton studied her. “Are you quite sure you’ve recovered from the incident with Daisy? You are pale.”
Louisa willed color to fill her cheeks and sat up straighter. It was not Daisy’s spook that bothered her but her encounter with that dress . “You are very kind, my lady, but I assure you, I am quite well.”
Just then, the butler announced Lady Waxpole, who swept into the room wearing a heavily embroidered gown and bringing with her the overwhelming scent of rose water. She had a round, wrinkled face and walked with a delicate black cane. Louisa and Lady Halverton stood in unison.
“Lady Waxpole, so kind of you to visit. I am very pleased to introduce you to my companion, Miss Thorpe.”
Louisa went forward and gave the appropriate greeting to the lady. Lady Halverton smiled her approval, and a little bubble of pride swelled in Louisa’s throat. She could succeed in this new role.
Louisa rang the bell before sitting next to Lady Halverton.
“How is your husband?” Lady Halverton asked.
“Poorly.” Lady Waxpole sniffed. “His gout vexes him a great deal, though I made a salve myself and he uses it daily. The poor man has no relief. And I believe he has a complaint of the liver, though he denies it.” She rambled about her husband’s health until a tray of meat and fruit arrived, at which point she stopped mid-sentence, focused on the platter.
Aware of her duty, Louisa poured Lady Waxpole a cup of tea, not wasting a drop or clattering the china.
“Would you care for sugar or milk, my lady?” Louisa asked.
“Both.”
Louisa did as she was bid, pleased at her own ability to appear calm while inside her heart still hammered from touching her blue silk.
“She is a pretty girl,” Lady Waxpole said. “Where did you find her? A parish orphan, like your others?”
It took a moment for Louisa to realize the woman was referring to her. Did her manners or conduct suggest the air of a foundling? She did not lose her composure, delivering Lady Halverton her tea with barely a trembling hand.
“She is the daughter of a squire and quite genteel.”
Louisa poured tea for herself and sipped it plain, as she preferred.
“At least she knows not to waste sugar on herself,” Lady Waxpole sniffed.
Lady Halverton opened her mouth, but at that moment the butler reappeared with two women, both of rounded brows, dimpled chins, and red hair.
Louisa’s stomach tightened. It was the disapproving woman from the literary breakfast. Lady Halverton introduced Mrs. Trelawney and her daughter, Miss Rosamond Trelawney.
Louisa offered a smile to Miss Trelawney, who returned the gesture with a polite press of the lips.
“Mrs. Trelawney, how is your husband?” Lady Halverton asked, her face showing real concern rather than the polite disinterest she had shown Lady Waxpole. Miss Trelawney slipped her hand into her mother’s and squeezed. The subject was dropped.
Louisa watched Miss Trelawney as she sipped her tea daintily.
She was nearly as perfectly poised as Lady Halverton and had a glint in her eyes, as if she always had an entertaining thought to share.
What Louisa wouldn’t give to impress her and call her a friend, to establish a firm place of belonging in the society surrounding Lundbrooke.
“Miss Thorpe,” Lady Halverton said, “tell our guests about yourself.”
A knot began forming in Louisa’s middle. These women seemed to disapprove of her without even knowing her greatest offense, but she placed her tea on the table and folded her hands in her lap as she’d seen Lady Halverton do. “I am from Cornwall. My father?—”
“Of course. I recognize the accent,” Lady Waxpole said. “My brother’s wife is from the West Country and speaks with much the same provincial lilt. One hardly knows how it seeps into refined households, but there we are.” She chuckled and popped a blueberry into her mouth.
Was this why Louisa was so easily dismissed? She practiced speaking like Lady Halverton when she read aloud, but it seemed she required more training.
Miss Trelawney stifled a giggle but turned serious under Lady Halverton’s frown.
“We are not without our own unrefined behaviors,” Lady Halverton said with a sharpness that did not seem to penetrate her guests’ understanding.
All the same, aching warmth spread through Louisa’s chest at hearing Lady Halverton defend her. She lowered her head to conceal a smile.
Mrs. Waxpole said, “That strong r and those vowels. Say those words again, from Cornwall and Fa ? —”
Lady Halverton stood, and the other women followed. “I believe we must cut our visit short. Next time we meet, I expect proper respect will be shown to my friend.”
Friend? Louisa glanced at her employer.
Mrs. Waxpole’s neck splotched red.
Miss Trelawney, perhaps wishing to remain in Lady Halverton’s graces, reached for Louisa’s hand and said, “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Thorpe. I hope we shall meet again.”
The women departed, Mrs. Waxpole muttering to herself that Louisa spoke like a pirate.
More callers came. Some snubbed Louisa or spoke of her as if she was not there. Each time, Lady Halverton reproved them, and each time, they were quick to mend their ways, eager to please the countess.
When calling hours ended, Louisa leaned back and released a sigh. Then the butler entered, followed by Mrs. Beecham and Miss Fischer. More callers?
Lady Halverton nearly ran to them. “Miss Thorpe, you remember my dear friends, Mrs. Beecham and her sister Miss Fischer.”
Miss Fischer took Louisa’s hand in her long, thin fingers. “Lovely to see you again, dear.” She turned back to Lady Halverton. “We arrived late on purpose to avoid your other callers, but we will leave if you don’t want us.”
“I always want you, but you might have come earlier and done me the favor of scaring off the other guests.”
They all laughed. The sisters appeared everything proper, but Louisa understood why some might avoid them. Their intellect could be intimidating, and if Mrs. Beecham was separated from her husband, she was imbued in scandal, regardless of her innocuous appearance.
The ladies seated themselves while Louisa rang for fresh tea.
“Miss Thorpe, tell us what you thought of the literary breakfast.” Mrs. Beecham wore a whimsical array of feathers in her hair and a lilac gown. From beneath her skirts protruded bright green walking boots. Her attire contrasted sharply with her sister, who wore her usual plain brown linen.
Louisa tried to think how to express her admiration for the estate without implying that she was the sort of woman who might need to live there someday. “I liked it very much. The tea cakes were excessively fine. And the conversation,” she added.