Page 72 of A Lesson in Forbidden Love

“Miss Wharton, I should not, at this hour of my life, undertake to dress a young woman of twenty‑two against her wishes. The grey silk will do very well. I shall send the carriage for you at half past eight.”

“My aunt will accompany me.”

“Your aunt will accompany you. Mrs Frampton, the carriage will hold three, and shall be at your door at half past eight.”

“That is very obliging.”

“It is the least,” said the Dowager Marchioness, rising, “that I can do, after all that has happened.”

She did not stay above the twenty minutes that she had promised, but made her farewell with the same unfussy correctness with which she had come in; and at the door of the parlour she paused, with her gloves once more in her hand, turned and looked across the worn Turkey carpet at Madeleine, who had also risen from her seat.

“Miss Wharton.”

“My Lady.”

“My son has not asked me to call upon you. He does not know that I am here this morning. I shall tell him, this evening, when I go home after the event; and I shall tell him also that you came to Belgrave Square upon my arm, that you were received, and that I have done what I set out to do. After that, the matter that lies between you and him is yours and his, and I shall not, by a word, set my hand to it. Do you understand me?”

“I understand you, my Lady.”

“Good,” said the Dowager Marchioness. “Until half past eight.”

She went out.

Madeleine stood in the middle of the worn Turkey carpet with the card in her hand, and she heard Patty close the front door behind the Dowager, followed by the sound of the carriage moving off down Doughty Street. Her aunt came across the room and took the card very gently from her, read it, and gave it back.

“Well, Madeleine.”

“Aunt.”

“You had best come and finish your tea.”

Madeleine went and finished her tea. Her hand, she observed with the wonder of a woman who had not, that morning, expected to be observing such a thing, appeared to now be perfectly steady upon the cup, though she had near dropped it earlier upon the Dowager’s arrival.

Outside in Doughty Street the milkmaid’s cry had long ceased, the sound of a passing cart had taken its place, and the ordinary noises of a day in July went on, very quietly, beyond the window.

Chapter Nineteen

The carriage came at twenty‑eight minutes past eight, which was two minutes before the half hour. Madeleine saw it from the front parlour window where she had been standing for perhaps a quarter of an hour, with her gloves on and her shawl over her arm, holding herself in the stillness of a woman who has chosen not to sit down for fear of creasing the only good gown she has.

The grey silk had been let out at the bodice in April by Mrs Holland’s under‑maid, and had been taken in again at the waist, by Patty, that afternoon, with unfussy competence; and Patty had brushed Madeleine’s hair and pinned it up with the two combs that had been her mother’s and that travelled with her, but had not, since 1814, been out of the small velvet box at the bottom of the drawer where her shawls were stored. The result, Madeleine saw in the looking‑glass over the parlour mantel, was a young woman of twenty‑two in a grey silk dress which did not, in the candlelight of Doughty Street, disgrace anyone.

“You will do,” said Mrs Frampton, who had come up behind her in a black silk gown which had not been out of its tissue since 1812 and was, in consequence, slightly stiff at the shoulder.

“Aunt —”

“You will do. Come.”

They went out to the carriage.

The Dowager Marchioness was in the carriage already. She had not come into the house — she had sent the footman to the door, with a civil message that she would wait at the kerb so as not to disturb Mrs Frampton’s hall a second time in the day; and when Madeleine came down the step with her aunt, the footman handed them up, and Madeleine saw, in the lamplight inside the carriage, that the Dowager Marchioness was in a pale dove grey satin, with a small set of pearls at her throat. It was understated, and perfectly designed to emphasise her importance, without overshadowing Madeleine. The Dowager must have been waiting in the carriage for perhaps ten minutes, yet she gave no sign of impatience, or that she had been waiting at all.

“Mrs Frampton. Miss Wharton.”

“My Lady.”

“It is a fine evening.”

“It is.”