“I will, Julius,” she answered, kissing him on the cheek and smiling at him adoringly.
“Now, if it is quite all right with the household, I should like to go to my room and not hear any shouting for at least a full day,” Julius said, glancing around and suddenly becoming aware of the mess the kitchen was in. “Am I to assume from the state of things here that dinner may be late?”
Madame Saunier giggled. “I will make sure Cook has your favorite food for your dinner tonight. Now, go to your rest at once.”
Julius nodded and left the kitchen, the weight on his shoulders already a heavy burden to bear. He wanted nothing more than to lie down in a darkened room and forget that everything he’d striven for was falling apart around him.
* * *
“How did you enjoy the opera, Martha?” Lady Farrington asked, approaching Penelope and her mother. Penelope looked away, barely disguising her disdain for what would surely become a lengthy conversation on attendees’ fashions and acquaintances.
“Tiresome as always,” the Marchioness replied with a haughty laugh. “I cannot follow the Italian, so it all simply becomes noise after the opening notes.”
“I heartily agree! But at least it was not a German opera, with all the grunting and shouting,” Lady Farrington replied, pressing a hand to her ample chest in mock horror. She turned her large frame to block their conversation, then added, “So I suppose you’ve heard that Lord Bronson’s niece is returned from Scotland?”
Penelope’s ears pricked at the mention of her friend, but she suddenly felt defensive. Her mother’s hand clamping against her wrist reminded her that there would be dire punishments for speaking her mind to one so well-revered as Lady Farrington.
“No, I had not heard. We are not so close as we once were, after all,” Lady Pembolt answered for both she and her daughter.
“Really? I thought Lady Penelope here was still a close friend of that girl. But you are wise to put a stop to that at once. You know how people do like to gossip, and it would be a terrible shame if your daughter were dragged through the mud alongside Lydia.”
“Lady Paxton, you mean,” Penelope corrected, ignoring the pressure of her mother’s hand and speaking directly to the other woman. “She is, after all, the Earl’s wife whether anyone thinks it a good match or not. Think whatever you must of her, but she is now the Countess of Paxton.”
The Marchioness laughed nervously, but said, “Quite right, I suppose we must give her some credit for doing the proper thing, don’t you agree, Constance?”
Lady Farrington narrowed her eyes. “I suppose that would be proper. I do not have to like the circumstances nor approve, but I can attest that at least she attempted to redeem her wanton actions with a marriage, even one so lacking in legitimacy. Only time will tell if her behavior proves to be improved, though.”
“Yes, it would be terrible if she made a habit of nearly plunging to her death and having to be rescued by a man she knows as a brother,” Penelope said acidly. “But young ladies these days simply are not learning from their elders, are they? Why, I’m certain back in your day, a true lady would rather die in the river than compromise her good name.”
“Quite right!” Lady Farrington agreed, oblivious to the cut down in Penelope’s words. “Ladies now are taught to think of other things instead of their reputations and that of their families. It’s very sad, indeed.”
Lady Pembolt made their goodbyes and steered Penelope out the doors of the opera house, waiting until they were within the confines of their carriage before admonishing her daughter.
“How dare you speak to Lady Farrington that way?” her mother asked quietly.
“It was quite easy, actually,” Penelope answered in a bored voice. “I have told you already that I will not stand idly by while anyone speaks ill of my friend. If you will not champion Lydia to your peers, then do not pretend to be shocked when I do it for you.”
The Marchioness turned away and looked out at the darkened streets along the carriage, a heavy emotion settling on them both. She sniffled and said, “I did my best.”
Penelope turned and gaped at her. “That was your best? ‘I suppose we must give her some credit’ was the kindest thing you could come up with? Tell me, Mother, was it because you honestly fear the opinions of one such as Lady Farrington, or because you do not think so highly of Lydia?”
“Penelope, I am trying to understand. The least that you could do is to not be so cruel to me,” she answered, tears pooling in her eyes. “I do not understand this changing world, one where young people are permitted to do as they please without consequence.”
“Consequence? So it is only punishment that you seek for Lydia then? Tell me, Mother, why should there be consequences for this? What has she done that is so egregious?” Penelope retorted angrily.
“I do not even know! Only that in my day, a young lady in her position would have fled the country and never shown her face again,” Lady Pembolt said, though there was no anger in her words, only confusion and concern.
“Then it is a mighty thing, indeed, that the world is changing,” Penelope answered evenly. “I, for one, welcome any change that would rid us of such hate-filled judgment on us all. Not one of us can live a life entirely unblemished, and I shall not live in fear of upsetting the Lady Farringtons of the world.”
Chapter 23
As Williams had suggested, Lydia sought to keep out of the Countess’ way as best she could. That meant taking her meals in her chambers—ample though they were, they were still confining—and spending as much time as possible outdoors. She was pleased to find that Matthew had a well-stocked stable, though Lydia was careful to learn which horses were a favorite of the Countess so that she might avoid them.
“Good day, My Lady,” Mary, the lady’s maid said after Lydia bid her enter her sitting room on the second morning. “I’ve finished with the Countess and thought I’d see if you need anything.”
“That is very kind, Mary, thank you,” Lydia answered earnestly, “but I’ve already told you. You mustn’t jeopardize your position here, certainly not on my account. I will make do until this is all sorted out.”
“I can at least launder your gowns,” Mary said helpfully, eyeing the few items that Lydia had packed in her bag to Scotland. “As lady’s maid, I’m the only one well-taught in how to launder such fine fabrics as this. All of the housemaids are very good, but I would not have them do washing of this sort.”
