Page 36 of The Gentlewoman Apprentice

Meg felt the falseness of her smile. “I just sat down to supper. Would you care to join me, my lady? Miss Ivy?”

“Yes. How delightful.” Lady Halverton yanked off her hat and removed her cloak. As the rest of the party stood motionless, the countess found bowls and spoons. “I am famished. I spent all day on a horse—ten miles at least. James was with me half the time and the other half I jumped more hedges than I can count. Only don’t tell James.”

Lady Halverton began ladling stew into bowls while Grace held them steady. Meg surged into motion and cut bread, frowning at the oblong, flattened slices, evidence of her anxiety.

“Please, Miss Ivy, sit,” Meg said over her shoulder.

“I must do something in this house of female industry.” Miss Ivy slowly removed her mantle, hat, and gloves.

“Miss Ivy, you can set the table with mugs while I fetch ale from the cellar.” Grace disappeared, leaving Meg alone with the interlopers.

“I confess your visit surprised me,” Meg said.

“You did not take my threats to call on you seriously?” Lady Halverton teased. “We came to invite you to a literary breakfast. Everyone is buzzing about the female apprentice. You will be a favorite. Miss Fisher already thinks well of you. And how is Miss Matilde? A lovely girl.”

Meg wondered if this gathering could be an opportunity to mingle with potential customers. “What is a literary breakfast, and who attends?”

Grace returned with the ale, Matilde at her heels, and the five of them sat around the small round table.

Lady Halverton cast a pointed look at Miss Ivy, whose silence seemed deliberate. She must have heard Meg’s outburst. But had she understood it?

“We read novels, philosophy—anything, really—and discuss what we read,” said Miss Ivy reluctantly.

Meg would be bored to tears without something to do with her hands. “And who attends?” she asked, a spoonful of stew cooling over her bowl.

“So many wonderful, intelligent ladies,” said Lady Halverton. “Ladies like you.”

“That is a pretty little bird.” Miss Ivy picked up a watercolored card from the table that had lain there all week. “A starling, charmingly done.”

“Miss Margaret has a valentine,” said Grace.

“Such detail.” Lady Halverton squinted at the card.

The card was painted artfully, but it meant nothing to Meg. What use had she for clutter? “Grace is giving it to her own valentine so the effort does not go unappreciated.”

“You better hang it on one of your bare walls,” Miss Ivy said, glancing at the unadorned room.

Stark white walls stared back, but they were clean and beautiful to Meg. The sight of their unadulterated spotlessness made her heart sing.

“For one possessed of an acute eye for beauty, I wonder you do not make an effort with your own home.” Miss Ivy’s tone held a cool glint.

Meg, usually so quick with a response, could think of nothing but to sip another spoonful of soup.

“And how do you like it here?” Miss Ivy asked Miss Matilde warmly.

“Very well indeed. But I shall return home soon to marry, have children, and keep a garden.”

“To Havenwood?” asked Lady Halverton.

“To my family in Kent.”

“How lovely for you,” Lady Halverton said, squeezing the girl’s hand before turning to Meg. “We received a letter from Samuel’s headmaster. He is doing well but caught a cold.”

Meg’s heart clenched. “Was the purpose of the letter to report the illness or how he excels?”

“Do not fret, dear Margaret. A mere trifle.” Lady Halverton squeezed her arm, but it did not reassure. Samuel suffered frequent, serious illness. Meg wished for someone who would understand her distress.

The meal continued with Lady Halverton carrying most of the conversation and Meg catching suspicious glances from Miss Ivy. As Mr. Sloan’s friend, she would surely tell him what she’d heard and urge him to end the apprenticeship. Her anger faded, replaced by dread. Whatever crumbs Mr. Sloan condescended to drop, she would collect them while she could.