She was certainly starting to suspect it was true of him.
Matilda turned to her new lady’s maid. “What have you been doing whilst you awaited my arrival?”
“Reading books from the earl’s private collection,” Buttons answered. “It’s mostly been a paid holiday.”
Oh.
“An absolute tyrant,” Matilda murmured. “I suppose I can see Augustin’s point.”
The earl had a heart after all. Unfortunately, if Lord Gilbourne wasn’t a monster… it meant he simply didn’t like Matilda.
“Come with me,” said Buttons. “Allow me to help ready you for bed.”
Matilda followed obediently. She still wasn’t used to being helped with anything. When her parents had been alive, they’d all contributed their part. Father, with the maintenance of their cottage and its humble grounds, Matilda and her mother with the cooking and cleaning.
After their deaths, when she’d gone to live with Aunt Stapleton, Matilda’s new guest chamber was far finer than anything she’d experienced before. Nonetheless, she spent her year of mourning in such deep grief that she barely registered her surroundings. There had been no need for a lady’s maid. Matilda rarely left her bed. When she took meals at all, she did so alone in her room, and never once ventured outside her great-aunt’s Shropshire home.
When the year of mourning was through, Aunt Stapleton insisted Matilda return to a world of color and activity.
And now here she was, soaking in a perfumed bath whilst a servant washed her hair. It was absolutely decadent.
Matilda could scarcely believe that Gilbourne had gone so far as to hire a personal lady’s maid for the brief period whilst his unwanted ward awaited her twenty-first birthday.
His idea of providing the bare minimum was clearly wildly different from hers. She made a mental note to thank him for his thoughtfulness. And to tell him, effusively, just how sweet and kindhearted she found his actions.
He was certain to hate every word.
Chapter 7
The next morning was no less luxurious an experience. Rather than shimmy into an old walking dress on her own, Matilda stood in place like a living doll as Buttons happily dressed her in… well, one of Matilda’s old gowns. Humble attire had never bothered Matilda before, because she’d never had any occasion to dress any finer.
Now that she was in the middle of Marrywell in the height of a matchmaking festival, she wished she at least had a new ribbon for her hair. Not all the merrymakers were wealthy lords and ladies, but even the farmers’ daughters presented themselves in their best light.
Buttons read her mind.
“You sit here on this stool,” her new lady’s maid commanded, “and allow me the honor of properly arranging your hair. Here’s a looking glass, so that you can watch the transformation.”
Matilda sat, and accepted the handheld round mirror.
It wasn’t cold enough to require a roaring fire, but Buttons stoked a few low flames in the grate. She dangled a pair of curling tongs just out of reach until the metal heated, then set to work turning Matilda’s mass of thick, dense hair into sleek, symmetrical ringlets.
It was enthralling and deeply exciting. It also took forever.
“I presume such attentions are only for special occasions?” she asked.
“Every time a lady exits her chambers is a special occasion,” Buttons replied.
“I’m not a lady,” Matilda reminded her.
“Madam, you’re the ward of a wealthy earl who has rented one of the finest suites and hired an experienced lady’s maid away from her prior post in order to ensure you present yourself as befitting your position. It certainly sounds like you’re a privileged young lady to me.”
It sounded that way to Matilda, as well. The thought was dizzying. “Wait. Lord Gilbourne stole you away from some other employer?”
“Do you think a man like your earl would entrust his ward’s public appearance to an unemployed lay-about with second-rate skills?”
“No,” Matilda admitted. “I imagine Lord Gilbourne is used to the very best, and having every wish granted. Speaking of which, he said he would see me in the morning. Won’t he be wondering what’s taking me so long?”
“Ton gentlemen know exactly what’s taking so long,” Buttons informed her. “Many of their valets require more time than lady’s maids do. Beau Brummell’s morning toilette drags on for hours. I am renowned for my expediency.”
