Yes, Eva had to believe that and if she could not find a solution soon, she would ask the duke for help again.
She had thought about him a lot since that morning two months ago when he had left Stratton for London. Eva had watched him walk to his carriage, his eagerness at leaving obvious in his long strides. She’d leant on the window ledge to get a final glimpse of him, and as if he sensed her presence, he had looked up and their eyes met briefly. She had raised a hand in farewell but he simply climbed inside and closed the door behind him.
“Your Grace!”
Eva watched Luton hurry toward her. Tomorrow, she decided, they would hire a young boy to serve as his helper. Surely it was not good for a man of his age to be running about collecting his mistress? And two new gardeners, she thought with a spurt of independence. Stratton deserved to be restored to its former glory and since her husband was not here, that task now fell to her.
“Your Grace, Miss Belmont and Mrs. Potter have called to see you.” Luton clutched his side as he drew in a deep breath.
“Oh dear.” Horrified, Eva looked down at her drab grey dress. “Who are they, Luton?”
“I believe Mrs. Potter is the reverend’s wife, your Grace, and Miss Belmont’s father owns property which borders Stratton”.
“Oh dear,” she said again, feeling her newfound confidence wane.
Eva patted and tucked and fiddled with her hair on the way back to the house, took out her handkerchief and scrubbed her face, then tried to brush the grass stains from her skirts.
“It is you who are the duchess, your Grace,” Luton said as they entered the house. “Therefore perhaps they are at this very minute doing the same to themselves.”
Eva’s hands stopped in mid-pat and she looked into his wise old eyes and smiled. “You, Luton, are a prince amongst men.”
“Thank you, your Grace.” Luton opened the parlor door for Eva to enter.
“I’m so pleased to meet you, your Grace.”
Eva watched the beautiful woman walk toward her. She had hazel eyes and an open face and strawberry blonde curls peeking out from beneath her bonnet.
“I am Miss Belmont, your nearest neighbor.”
“How do you do.” Eva sank into a curtsy.
“And this is Mrs. Potter. She is the wife of Reverend Potter from the local parish,” Miss Belmont added, squeezing Eva’s hand hard, thus drawing her eyes upwards. Miss Belmont then winked at her.
Puzzled by the young lady’s actions, Eva turned to face the other woman in the room.And I thought I had bad fashion sense, she thought, looking at Mrs. Potter.
The woman before her looked like a brightly colored Christmas parcel. She was as wide as she was tall, her body swathed in yards of bright red fabric that scooped low over her ample bosom and nipped in tight around her waist, which in turn was accentuated with a wide green sash. Then again, perhaps she resembled a gaily wrapped sausage, Eva thought, looking at the rolls of fat protruding over the sash. Even Mrs. Potter’s hair was curled in tight sausage ringlets that framed a round face punctuated by two small eyes of indeterminate color.
“Please allow me to welcome you to the village, your Grace. Reverend Potter urged me to call upon you now you have settled in and ask if you will be attending services this Sunday.” Mrs. Potter’s smile was hopeful.
“Uh, I…”
“We are delighted to at last have another duchess living here at Stratton, and hope that soon you will honor our small village with a visit.”
“O-of course,” Eva said, feeling guilty that she had not already done so. “Please tell Reverend Potter I will attend church this Sunday, and forgive me for not doing so sooner. I am afraid it has taken me some time to settle in.’
“Oh no, your Grace.” Mrs. Potter clasped her hands to her ample bosom. “Please do not apologize. We are aware of the pressures such a great lady must have upon her time and it will be such an honor to have you attend our service. I will have the Stratton pew cleaned in expectation.”
“Please do not go to any trouble on my behalf, Mrs. Potter,” Eva added. She had visions of the village all turning out to clean before she arrived and she did not warrant such attention.
“It will be our pleasure, your Grace.” Mrs. Potter sank into a curtsy so low Eva wondered if she would need help rising.
“Would you ladies care for tea?” Eva looked longingly at the door. She had no experience with social chitchat and the prospect of sitting in a room with them was making her feel uneasy. She envisaged long, awkward silences.
“Tea would be delightful, would it not, Mrs. Potter?” Miss Belmont said, taking the lady’s arm and leading her to a chair.
“Oh, indeed it would, Miss Belmont. Tea with the Duchess.” Mrs. Potter patted her sausage curls. “The ladies of the village will be most envious.”
Eva did not say a great deal through the subsequent tea. She sat on the edge of her seat, very aware of her worn dress with its frayed hem, and listened to the other two ladies chat.
