Born of Persuasion (4 page)

I pulled my unbound hair over my shoulder, too bewildered to speak. Beneath my window, hens clucked and the annoying rooster crowed again, this time sounding indignant. Yet even that horrible noise was balm.

The girl laughed, dusting her hands, then turned and saw me. “Don’t be minding that old bird. His whole brood is suchlike. ’Tis about time ye woke anyway. I’m to be in the kitchen afore the hour ends.”

I rubbed my forehead, probably looking more severe than I intended. Ignoring her, I anxiously searched near the hearth for the page I’d been reading the night before. I loathed the idea of others learning I’d been reduced to the role of a lady’s companion. I had told no one, lest Edward learn of it and regret our secret engagement.

The girl’s mouth twisted when I said nothing. She knelt before the hearth and brushed the ash. “Miss Lizbeth sent me to be your lady’s maid. She says ye travelled without one.”

I grabbed a silk wrapper and stole from bed to rifle through my satchel. I breathed relief upon finding the letter stashed in its rightful place.

Free from that worry, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and considered my room. Sun stretched over the birch floor, making it glint like a polished piece of citrine. At the washstand, I scrubbed with a bar of oatmeal soap. The room never changed between visits, but I liked the old-fashioned jade-colored walls and cream bedding. The only harsh colors were the ones I brought. My weather-stained trunks were piled in one corner, and the black garments I had strewn over the floor still lay where I’d dropped them. Yellow roses were crammed into an aged vase atop the writing desk. Since it seemed unlikely Mrs. Windham remembered they were my favorites, I concluded Elizabeth had overseen the detail.

I turned my attention back to the maid, who extended a linen towel, arching her eyebrows and seemingly waiting for comment.

“Your name?” I inquired, burying my face in the soft linen, satin-stitched with flowers and ribbons.

“Nancy.”

I patted my face dry and then with mild alarm took in her soot-stained fingers and freckled face. “Have you experience as a lady’s maid?”

Her smile increased as she lifted on her toes. “I got natural knack. Me mam says so.”

I stared in dismay. Never before had my need to be lovely been so pressing. This girl scarcely looked as though she’d combed her own hair. Yet there was one comfort. Had she been qualified, even with that accent, decorum would have demanded that I tip her.

Her smile fell with my silence.

To hide my discomfort, I hung the towel back on its bar, wishing I were more like Elizabeth, who befriended others easily. At best, I could be forthright. “You realize I shall not tip you. Your wages shall only be what the Windhams pay you.”

She scowled askance, but then went to my luggage, squatted, and lifted the lids.

I shut my eyes, knowing what was coming next. I’d stripped my house of every piece of silver and wrapped my garments about the pieces to keep them from chinking. She must have unfurled the first dress, for clattering filled the room.

Mouth open and wide-eyed, she turned to stare at me.

Having no reasonable explanation to give, I turned from her and took a seat at the vanity.

“Eh,” her voice said behind me, “is this all you got?”

I drew my eyes to the mirror and watched as she rummaged through the trunks a second time, removing the undergarments from the platters and candlesticks.

“Three dresses and a tea service?” Disappointment filled her voice. “Where’s th’ other gowns?”

“There are no other gowns.”

“Then thou are as marred as that rooster and as beggarly as me,” she mumbled, loud enough for me to catch, but not loud enough to merit a reprimand.

Am Meer’s dining room faced east, so despite the intermittent clouds, the large mirror above the mantel sent sparkles dancing
over the rows of china encircling the pale-green room. I paused in the doorway to view my hosts.

“Now here is a pretty change.” Mrs. Windham noticed me as she tapped her hard-boiled egg. “Do you not think that coiffure lessens the gauntness of Julia’s face?”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened as she lowered her cup. “Pay Mama no mind, dear. You always look becoming.”

Mrs. Windham glanced up from her dish. “Be good enough to tell me when I ever called her unbecoming?”

“Mama, hush,” Elizabeth whispered.

“Well, I never stated she was unbecoming.” Mrs. Windham pouted, waving away her egg as if it were now intolerable. “That was you.”

“I said no such thing, and you know it.”

“Yes, you did. Just now.” Mrs. Windham motioned me into the argument. “Did she not?”

I gave Elizabeth a wicked grin as I took my chair. “I rather think you did, just now.”

Mrs. Windham pulled a dish of cold fowl toward her. “Let it be stated now, I’ll tolerate no competition between you. Elizabeth, apologize.”

Elizabeth gasped but before she could object, I clasped my hands over the table and leaned forward with a mock-expectant look. “Oh, fine.” Elizabeth set down her cup and pummelled her skirt with her fists. “Julia, I apologize.”

“And I accept—” I patted the braids that looped over my ears and met in an intricate knot behind my head—“since you sent me a lady’s maid with a natural knack.”

Elizabeth gave a half smile, though she did not look completely appeased. “Yes, well, I thought you’d like Nancy.”

“Nancy?” Mrs. Windham stopped carving the fowl. “I should not have thought her that accomplished. When I agreed to allow her to dress you, I had no idea, though I supposed she could do no harm considering . . .” She paused to look over my dress,
licking her fingers. Elizabeth nearly choked on her tea, but Mrs. Windham took no notice. “No indeed, I had not a suspicion. What a pleasant surprise. Julia, after we’ve fattened you up a bit, you’ll almost look lovely.”

Elizabeth glared at her mother, then swung her gaze to me. “Julia, you mustn’t take offense. You—”

“Offense?” Mrs. Windham dropped her fork and knife. “How obstinate you are being this morning to keep insulting Julia and then blaming me. I shall bear no further abuse at my table. Save your breath, Elizabeth, to cool your porridge.”

I suppressed my giggles in my napkin while Elizabeth squinted her confusion at me.

Later I intended to explain how difficult the months of near isolation had been. I was at Am Meer. Every detail was as I remembered it. Even Mrs. Windham’s babble was music. I now had only to see Edward to be assured that all would be well.

Appetite awoke after months of slumber as I piled buttered eggs and leftover fowl onto my plate. I ate slices of plump, red tomatoes fried fresh from the garden, and then signalled for tea, taking delight in being properly served again.

We ate in silence for several minutes before the doors swung open and Mrs. Windham’s manservant entered with a tray of mail. Elizabeth caught her mother’s attention as she pointed to the ivory envelope on top.

“Oh dear.” Mrs. Windham laid her utensils aside and picked up the missive, giving Elizabeth a worried glance. “Now what can she possibly want?”

I felt myself pale as Mrs. Windham broke the seal and shook open the post. With discomfort I recalled the stark terror that filled Mama’s eyes each time the mail arrived.

“What do you think this means?” Mrs. Windham refolded the letter and handed it to Elizabeth. “Lady Foxmore sends her regrets, but she shan’t come for tea on Tuesday.”

“Thank heavens.” Elizabeth opened the note for herself.

At first it was impossible for me to believe that I correctly understood them. Lady Foxmore was legendary—and the scandals involving her, even more so. Not that Mama allowed me to read those sections of the paper. But I had not needed to do so.

Viscountess Foxmore was the primary landowner in Elizabeth’s district, and something of a sphinx—an ever-absent dowager who ruled her land from afar with strange whims and tempers. What genteel mothers didn’t allow daughters to read behind closed doors, merchants and fishwives discussed openly, gossip being their only means of waging war in retaliation.

“Lady Foxmore,” I said, unable to hide my disbelief, “was going to come here for tea?”

Elizabeth lifted her gaze from the letter with a glance communicating that the circumstances were far from comical.

“But that’s impossible . . . ,” I argued, then trailed off seeing that Mrs. Windham’s face had pursed.

“We’ve displeased her.” Her lips trembled as she turned to Elizabeth. “I told you she would think your remark flippant.”

Elizabeth refolded the note. “She began our acquaintance displeased with us. So if she is angry, then I say good riddance.” Seeing my astonishment, she explained. “Two months ago, she arrived home, stating she was bored and needed a change of pace. It would have been better had she remained in Bath or London. Amongst her other unspeakable deeds, she widened her circle to include us. I fail to see how we amuse, unless she finds entertainment in dominating our very lives.”

“What nonsense, my pet,” Mrs. Windham said in a whisper. “She has been most kind.”

I shook my head, wanting to declare that none of this was possible. Yet despite my disbelief, all that came out was, “Are the rumors true?”

Elizabeth’s eyes flicked to the servant before she whispered, “I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she cooks and eats infants for breakfast.”

“Oh, Elizabeth, fie!” Mrs. Windham flew to her feet, knocking the table, and then shooed the maid from the room. Once the door slammed shut, she sank into her chair, gasping for breath. “How can you say such things? Imagine what she should do if she learned we spoke ill of her over breakfast? She would never again receive us. And we might never see Mr. Macy again, our poor Mr. Macy, or his friend Mr. Greenham—”

Mrs. Windham stopped midsentence and turned toward me, mouth agape. “Good heaven and earth! Why have I not thought of this before? Elizabeth, do you suppose our Mr. Greenham might take interest in Julia? What a useful match that would make.” She clasped her hands together, her former agitation draining at the thought of a potential match. “His income exceeds that of nearly all our acquaintances.”

I gave Elizabeth a warning shake of my head, not to encourage her mother even in jest. I wanted nothing to interfere with my plans.

Elizabeth rubbed her brow. “Mama, please collect yourself. A second ago Lady Foxmore was never speaking to us again, and now you’re planning matches with her acquaintances.”

“Hush, I need to think.” Mrs. Windham held up a hand. “Just consider the advantages Julia should have if Mr. Greenham took pity on her.”

Elizabeth opened and closed her mouth twice before managing, “Oh, nonsense. He’s far too reserved to even notice her. We’ve dined twice with him, and I’m still not convinced he knows we exist.”

Mrs. Windham positioned her hands near her ears, as if about to cover them. “Be so good as to remain quiet, love. Now that Edward’s out of the question, I must do something. Lucy would expect it.”

The dining room dimmed as my fork clanked to my plate.
Edward’s out of the question.
I stared at Elizabeth, demanding explanation.

To my horror, Elizabeth only winced. “Mama, please! Now is not the time to speak of this.”

“Why ever hadn’t I thought of Mr. Greenham before?” Mrs. Windham spoke more to herself than to us. “We could have spent the last month dropping helpful hints to him. Yes, the more I think upon it, he is the very thing!”

I scarcely heard her. I tried to remember the last time Elizabeth had managed to wedge a bit of information involving Edward into a letter. Knowing Mama would also read the posts, she’d taken great care to give hints only I understood—a scarlet oak leaf, an odd phrase that could only have come from Edward’s mouth. After Mama’s death, very little had been forwarded by my guardian; therefore months had gone by without news.

Mrs. Windham rapped the table with her knife as she blathered about the merits of a match with Mr. Greenham. I willed Elizabeth to look at me, but she kept her gaze on her plate of eggs.