It was likely that if her grandmother had had a chance to vet Daisy at all, she would not have approved.
The young woman had worked in Cheapside for a seamstress since she’d been ten, she’d explained to Charley, when her aunt and uncle had sent her packing. As the carriage hired by Charley’s father rolled slowly toward Westerley Crossing, Daisy’s story unfolded. She’d explained how she’d worked doing all manner of chores for a small stipend plus room and board, but that she’d watched and learned the trade, knowing she would eventually move onto something better.
In a theatrical whisper, she’d confessed that she’d exaggerated her experience just enough that the agency would recommend her for a lady’s maid position. Rather than appalled when the young woman confessed to the partial deception, Charley had instead been somewhat impressed with her ingenuity. Her maid possessed a decidedly American outlook on life.
Charley approved of Daisy wholeheartedly.
Charley hadn’t initially thought she would need a person to attend to her personal needs, but with all the clothing and accessories her grandmother insisted she bring to the house party, she conceded that perhaps she did.
And furthermore, now that she was caught up in the thick of all these British trappings, Charley was grateful for the companionship of someone who actually seemed to approve of her.
Even though Charley had been acquainted with Daisy for less than a week, she already seemed less like a servant and more of a friend. The girl was kind, unassuming, familiar, and close to her in age.
Charley closed her eyes. “It was not quite as horrible”—she answered and then took in a deep breath when the garment loosened—“but I didn’t enjoy it.”
Daisy laughed heartily, causing one of her unruly chestnut curls to escape her mob cap, “Surely not all the young ladies in attendance are empty-headed? Or perhaps you’ve found a handsome gent to snare?”
Charley snorted.
Wouldn’t that just be a hoot? That would make not only her grandparents happy but her aunt back in Philadelphia as well.
She clenched her teeth. It was likely exactly what her mother would have wanted for her.
Charley’s parents had met in Paris just before the American Revolution and at the time, the prospect of marrying a wealthy American distiller had been an exciting and romantic one. After knowing one another for less than a month, the unlikely couple had wed without obtaining Lord and Lady Thornton’s permission.
They never would have granted it, of course.
Now that Charley had met her grandmother, she couldn’t help but wonder if her own mother had not been looking to rebel. Her mother had acted rashly, and it had altered the course of her life. Oh, she had never admitted to regretting her marriage outright, but she hadn’t had to. Her resentment of living in such rustic conditions in ‘the colonies’ had been subtle but pervasive.
And yet, Charley’s father had never stopped doting on his perfect English wife.
Charley lowered herself onto the bench in front of the mirrored vanity and watched her reflection as Daisy removed the pins from her hair.
Any handsome suitor that wooedherwould only be doing so in hopes of getting his hands on her father’s money. She’d very nearly fallen for one such villain; she’d not do so again. A sick feeling swept through her at the unsettling memory.
Even if one of the bachelor guests at this house party sought her out, there was no way she would ever trust any of them.
“Like fire, it is,” Daisy commented, not for the first time, as she drew the brush through Charley’s hair.
Charley remembered the look on her grandmother’s face the moment Charley had removed her bonnet. Pained was the best way to describe it.
The expression had been familiar to Charley. Too familiar. Her mother had made the exact same one almost every day Charley could remember. How had such a delicate and refined woman given birth to someone like Charley? Charley’s father had referred to her mother as his English ray of sunshine.
Charley wasn’t as tall as most men, for certain, but she certainly wasn’t tiny by any means. She leaned close to the glass and touched her fingertips to the smattering of freckles that danced across her nose and beneath her eyes. She actually liked her eyes—they were the same color as her father’s. It was her hair to which most people took offense.
Which reminded her why dinner had not seemed as horrible as she’d imagined it would be.
Following the long and drawn out meal, Ladies Tabetha and Bethany had both declared that her hair was quite lovely and original.
“Our hostess’s daughters were kind.”
Her father had disappeared with the gentlemen and although Charley would have managed just fine on her own, the hostess’s daughters had refused to leave her to her own devices. In between various introductions, they had told her who to avoid, who would make for worthwhile acquaintances, and despite Charley’s protests, they’d told her who they thought would make for a good husband.
“I cannot help but admit that I am jealous. You’ll get to dance and take tea. Please, please, if they serve any scones with cream, I’ll be forever in your debt if you sneak one back to me. Not to mention all those handsome lords.” Daisy giggled. “Feel free to bring back one of them for me as well.”
Charley met Daisy’s twinkling gaze in the mirror and rolled her eyes. “You know I’m not interested in any of that. I have no interest in marrying I’m far more interested in—”
“—making the devil’s tonic,” Daisy finished Charley’s sentence for her.
