Page 11 of His One and Only Lady
A genuine smile of affection crumpled Lady Mumford’s plump features as her eyes lit with pleasure. The startling array of feathers in her chignon perfectly matched the cobalt blue, primrose yellow, and fuchsia gown stretched over her generous curves. “Ah, Theran. Forsythia was just asking if she might show Bernadine the puppies in the stables.”
Forsythia aptly wore a bright yellow gown, but her tangerine and raspberry striped spencer did nothing to complement her spotty teenage complexion.
Bernadine lifted her head, excitement shining in her eyes. “May I, Papa? Please?”
A fond smile softened the angular contours of Mr. Rutland’s face. “Of course, pet. But you have to promise to take your nap afterward without any fuss.”
“I promise.” Bernadine gave an eager nod. “I shall go straight to sleep.”
He set her down, and her cousin clasped her hand.
“I’ll take good care of her, Theran,” his pretty, young cousin, still harboring a hint of baby fat, assured him before leading Bernadine away.
Hop. Hop. Hop.
Bernadine giggled as she hopped along.
“Excuse me a moment while I have a word with my aunt, please.” Mr. Rutland took his aunt’s elbow and guided her a few feet away, where they spoke in low tones.
His attire, from his dusty Hessians to black pantaloons and stylish jacket, bespoke quality without garishness. Mr. Rutland was no dandy or coxcomb.
Feeling Miss Sommerville’s hostile gaze boring into her, Purity glanced in her direction and quirked a sardonic brow.
What had come over her to behave so insolently?
Had the nature she’d worked so hard to squelch these past years finally escaped?
“I don’t know what you are about, Miss Mayfield.” Miss Sommerville raked a critical gaze over Purity and found her wanting from the superior raising of her nose and eyebrows. “But you should know your place. Which I presume is that of a servant.”
She hissed the last word as if she’d uttered a profane expletive or accidentally consumed an insect. A big beetle or a spider.
“A governess, to be precise.” Purity fashioned a humorless smile and, in a wholly foreign fashion, let fly a verbal jab. “As, apparently, are you.”
Purity Josephine Sapphira Shepard Mayfield, that is beneath you.
It was. Mrs. Shepherd would be horrified.
Purity felt rather gratified.
Spine gone rigid as a fire poker, Miss Sommerville jutted her dainty chin upward. Pure loathing shot from her eyes. “Why you…”
I’ve accepted a new position as a companion to Mrs. Parmelia Templemore. My previous employer’s sons objected to Mrs. Westcott gallivanting—their word, not mine—around the world once she reached her seventieth birthday. They insisted she move into the eldest son’s home. She was quite broken-hearted at doing so and also to part ways with me. I felt the same. We’d grown close these past six years, as she has no daughter and I haven’t a mother.
In any event, Mrs. Templemore and I shall attend the Earl and Countess of Mumford’s house party, though we shan’t arrive until Wednesday. Her ladyship is even more pious than Mrs. Shepherd and won’t travel on Sunday.
As much as I enjoyed exploring the world, I am glad to be back in England. I hope to visit you, Joy, Purity, Mercy, Honoria, and Faith soon. I’ve missed all of you most dearly.
~Miss Trinity Ablethorne, in a letter to Mrs. Chasity Terramier
Mottford Hall’s Terrace
Several even more uncomfortable and awkward minutes later
As Theran left his aunt’s side, he—and regrettably several other guests—caught the caustic exchange between Athena and Miss Mayfield. Well, to be perfectly fair, the overt hostility was entirely one-sided. Nonetheless, such exchanges should take place in private. To do otherwise always led to speculation and the spread of gossip by intrigued observers.
“I’ll have you know that my father was a baronet. I am an aristocrat. A lady.” An unbecoming sneer contorted Athena’s mouth as she scraped a contemptuous glance over Miss Mayfield. She eyed her as one might a warm cow patty upon one’s gold-rimmed dinner plate.
Marcel Sommerville might’ve held a baronet’s title, but by all accounts, the man had been a cockroach of a human being. A libertine who cared more about gambling, whoring, and his hounds than he did providing for his wife and daughter, he’d been set upon by padfoots as he left a gaming hell.
