Bridget felt her aunt tense beside her, and her chest flamed. How humiliating to be spoken about as if they were a pair of stray dogs! These people were positively horrible!
“You must realize that you cannot keep them on once you get married,” Lady Eamont continued. “Surely, your wife will want to run her own household.”
Bridget bit her lip. She wanted desperately to speak up in her own defense, but what could she say? Everything Lady Eamont was sayingwas true. She was only living a fantasy. How long would it be before Mr. Squires grew tired of her and her aunt?
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want two strangers living in my home when I am married,” Adelia Eamont said. “Nor should I want to be a charity case.” She looked pointedly at Bridget, whose chest blazed anew.
She could no longer hold her tongue. “Married?” Bridget blurted before she could stop herself. “Are you to be married soon, Miss Eamont?”
Her sister, Lydia, giggled. “Definitely not. She’s had her fourth season without any prospects.”
“And you are not far behind me with three seasons completed!” Adelia said icily. Then she peeked at Nate and fluttered her eyelashes “I’ve been saving myself for a love match. I won’t settle for anything less.”
“So, you have rejected many suitors, then?” Bridget asked.
Nate put a gentle hand on Bridget’s arm under the table, letting her know that she needed to stop and let well enough alone, but her temper had gotten the better of her.
A blue vein jutted out from under the pale skin on Adelia’s neck.
“Let me give you a piece of advice.” Lady Darby turned to Adelia. “You’d best not be too fussy. You’re not pretty enough to wait for a love match, and if you wait too long, your womb will dry up, like my nephew’s wife’s.”
Bridget shrank back, no longer wishing to partake in the conversation. These people were awful, and she’d let them rope her into their cruelty. She felt ashamed of herself.
“We don’t know that, Aunt,” Mr. Harley said. “Mrs. Harley is resting in bed as we speak, unable to eat due to nausea. There is hope yet.”
Lady Darby snorted. “Another month of false hope, I suspect. But we shall see.”
“I am a widow,” Madam Bouffant said, “and I am deliciously happy. It is wonderful to be an independent woman, free to come and go as you wish and with whom you please.”
Bridget glared at the actress. Had she been sitting beside her, she would have given her a good kick under the table.
“It is one thing to be a widow and quite another to be a spinster,” Lady Darby said as she eyed Miss Eamont.
“And just where do you come from, Madam?” Lady Eamont asked.
“Paris.” Madam Bouffant drained her glass of port and then held it out to the footman who hovered beside her with the decanter. “Fill it to the top,” she instructed the servant, who did as she bid and then moved quickly to the next guest.
“Indeed,” Lady Eamont said, giving Madam Bouffant a disapproving look. “And when were you last in Paris? That shawl you are wearing is at least four seasons old.”
Bridget bit her lip. She hadn’t thought of that.
“And I do wonder about your dress,” Lady Eamont continued. “You are not one for the latest fashions, I take it?”
“Yet that brooch of yours is quite remarkable,” Lady Darby said. “Where did you get it, I wonder?”
“It was Wordsworth’sGuide to the Lakesthat brought Madam Bouffant here all the way from Paris,” Bridget said, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. “Isn’t that right, Madam?”
“Yes.” Madam Bouffant held up the guidebook, and Bridget sighed. She hadn’t meant for her to bring the book to the table.
“So many beautiful descriptions of the lakes.” Madam Bouffant waved the guidebook at Lady Darby. “I could not resist coming to see it for myself.”
“If the weather permits tomorrow, might I suggest everyone take a rowboat onto Lake Windermere?” Bridget said, trying to take the focus off Madam Bouffant. “We have several boats for guests to use.”
“I wouldn’t dare go out on my own,” Adelia said. “But, perhaps, Mr. Squires and his friends will be kind enough to accompany us and our mama, of course.”
“He’d love to,” Bridget answered for Nate. “Wouldn’t you, Mr. Squires? You can go after you give Miss Eamont a tour of the garden.”
Nate gave Bridget a hardened stare.
