All this finery, the elaborate hairstyles, the sweeping gowns, the luxurious bed, the imposing armoire, the lady’s maid whose sole responsibility was to make Nora look like she belonged… She couldn’t help but feel like she was living someone else’s life.
“Beautiful,” she said in awe.
She paged through her sketchbook. These detailed drawings had taken far more effort than the caricatures. Mixed in with endless pages of designs for ball gowns and daywear for fashionable ladies were an equal number of sketches of events that had never happened. Nora as the queen of a ball. Mr. Grenville inviting her to dance. A stolen kiss beneath the light of—
Nora snapped the book closed. It was one thing to sketch fanciful situations as if High Society were a fairy story. For girls like her, it certainly was. But she would do well not to confuse dreams with real life. Drawings did not come true.
“Truly?” Pepys stepped back to admire her handiwork. “You are pleased?”
“You’ve outdone yourself. Thank you.” Nora set the sketchbook atop the vanity and woke Captain Pugboat from his nap. “Come along, snuggle pug. We’re on companion duty.”
She hurried down the stairs with the puppy bounding delightedly beside her, his interrupted nap completely forgotten with the promise of new adventure. Or at least a brief jaunt from one floor to another.
As they drew closer to Lady Roundtree’s favorite salon, muffled voices wafted through the semi-open door.
Nora hesitated just out of sight.
If the baroness was entertaining, was Nora meant to enter as usual, or to keep a discreet distance?
She wished someone would explain the rules. High Society life was so different than the environment back home, where the only title in town was that of “vicar.”
Her fingers clenched. Even if someone had penned a tome entitledHow to be a Proper Companion to one’s Wealthy Distant Cousin who is also a Baroness, she wouldn’t have been able to read it anyway. The bouncing letters of the title alone would be too difficult to parse. Nora was just going to have to figure things out as she went along, like always.
She took a step forward just as a low, rich laugh reached her ears. Her heart warmed. Might Lord Roundtree finally have carved out a moment for his wife?
“She didn’t!” Lady Roundtree exclaimed. “You Grenvilles are a force of nature!”
Grenvilles.
Mr. Grenville.
He was here. Why on earth was he here?
Obviously not for Nora. He had come to visit with Lady Roundtree. A peer. An equal. ’Twas nonsensical to feel disappointed. Nora hadn’t come to London to receive callers, but to serve the baroness.
Yet she could not help wistfully imagining how she would sketch the scene tonight in the privacy of her guest chamber. Herself reposed in a salon, Mr. Grenville her gentleman caller, a duenna in the corner so that he should not forget himself in passion. She grinned at the fanciful idea.
“Come along Captain Pugboat,” she murmured to the puppy circling excitedly about her feet. “Let us provide some companionship. At least you and I will be a united front.”
Captain Pugboat immediately darted off toward the rear of the town house, leaving Nora alone in the corridor.
“Traitor,” she muttered.
“Winfield, is that you?” Lady Roundtree called. “Come join us.”
Nora gritted her teeth.
On the one hand, it should be an honor to be invited to join a baroness and future baron. On the other, remaining “Winfield” rather than “Miss Winfield”—or the far less likely “my cousin Nora”—in front of Mr. Grenville served to not-so-subtly remind her that she was being invited in as an employee, not an equal.
The implicit warning was wholly unnecessary. Nora was unlikely to forget where she stood, or why she was there.
When she stepped into the room, Mr. Grenville sprang to his feet, as if preparing to bow, or perhaps ensure she took her seat first.
Lady Roundtree motioned for Nora to join them. “This is Winfield, my companion. You may recall her presence in my carriage the other day in Hyde Park?”
“I have not forgotten.” Mr. Grenville did not bow, but nor did he immediately retake his seat. “How do you do, Miss Winfield?”
“Very well, thank you.” Nora dipped a curtsey and perched on the edge of the closest chair.
