“You must’ve been so shocked. Poor John. Did Mrs Bates scold him terribly?”
“She hadn’t noticed yet.”
“What an exciting life you seem to lead.” Arabella looked at Meg curiously. She wasn’t used to hearing such volubility pouring forth from the maids.
Meg curtsied again. “Yes, my Lady.”
“I hope you can dress my hair, Meg.” Lucy smiled to put her at ease.
“Yes, Miss, I can, am good at it, too. Used to dress my sisters’ hairs, and it was a lot longer than yours. I’m sorry, I’m so excited.” She covered her face with her hands.
“Don’t fret about it, Meg. It was my fault for not telling everyone who I am.”
“I just wanted to say, thank you for helping me get this position!” Meg took Lucy’s hand and kissed it.
“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not the queen. And you don’t need to thank me. I know you’re a hard worker.”
“I’ll never, ever forget your kindness. If only I’d known you were no housemaid—we’re all so shocked! Mrs Bates fairly cried. I’ve never seen her cry!”
“Poor Mrs Bates. I never meant to make her cry!” She made a mental note to talk to Mrs Bates later.
“Oh no, look at the time! We have to get ready for dinner.” Arabella opened the door to a mahogany clothes press. “Look. These dresses are either unworn or too small for me.” She looked at Lucy anxiously. “We’re the same height and nearly the same shape, though you’re slimmer. I hope you don’t mind taking my cast-offs?”
“Don’t be silly, they’re all gorgeous! But goodness, Arabella, what do I need so many dresses for?”
“Trust me, you will need them.” She dug around and took out a sprigged muslin morning dress with green embroidered leaves and held it up to Lucy. “This used to be one of my favourites, but it’s too small now. This green shawl here matches it nicely, and I think there’s even a green-ribboned bonnet and matching kid slippers. I hope it fits you, otherwise I’ll send you my maid to have it fixed. Oh, and this yellow dress here is a lovely afternoon dress for walking. And look here, a dinner gown.” She shook out a cream silk and tulle gown with lace and embroidery at the hem.
Lucy had never worn anything as lovely as this. “Arabella, it’s gorgeous.”
“Try it on! In the meantime, I’ll change my dress, too. Goodness, how time flies.”
Arabella gave her a hug then left to her own quarters.
The evening dress fit Lucy perfectly.
Meg set to work and tied up Lucy’s unruly curls in the current fashion.
“You look as lovely as any of the ladies, Miss. They already arrived. There’s His Grace, together with the Duke of Tilbury and his daughter, Lady Louisa Whitehall. Then there are Lord and Lady Conway, and Lord and Lady Bleckingham with their daughter, Miss Jane Weston. There’s to be picnics, concerts and even a ball on Saturday.”
Lucy groaned. “A ball.” She couldn’t imagine a worse way to spend the evening.
“It’ll be wonderful, Miss, you’ll see. His Grace rarely entertains, but when he does, it’s always in big style.”
Meg chattering on about the guests, while Lucy listened with growing discomfort. The duke didn’t know she was here. Even with the Dowager Duchess’s grudging acceptance of her, and Arabella’s support, Lucy doubted that he’d welcome her here. She’d try to keep in the background and wait for the opportunity when she could talk to the duke in private to ask for her letter. Then she’d leave. Preferably sooner rather than later.
Chapter 7
Lucy stood awkwardly in a corner in the drawing room, next to a big palm tree and wished she could be the tree. She hated nothing more than having to do small talk with a group of haughty people who looked down on her. When surrounded by elegant, judgmental ladies and arrogant dandies, she just could not be herself. None of her otherwise talkative, vivacious personality shone through. It was clear they shrugged her off as an insignificant, gauche girl.
Since neither the Dowager Duchess nor His Grace of Ashmore was present, the women circled around Arabella and Louisa.
Like vultures, Lucy thought.
A buxom lady in a mustard gown raised her quizzing glass at Lucy. “Bell. Never heard of them. As in the Durham Bells?”
“More likely the Sutherland Bells.” Another pair of quizzing glasses, Lady Bleckingham’s, fixated on Lucy.
“I’m not at all certain,” replied Lady Conway, a fearful looking matron. “To my knowledge, the Sutherland Bells are not of a family of quality.” Three coiffed heads turned to Lucy, who cringed even further into the palm tree. She felt like a pinned-down insect, inspected and categorised.
