Page 42 of His One and Only Lady

Her temperament?

All Mrs. Shepherd could tell her was that she’d come to the foundling home as a toddler. Unlike many of her friends who’d arrived as infants, Purity had spent time with her parents—or someone—before being cast off. Sadly, she hadn’t a single memory of them.

A wisp of white on the night table beside her bed, reflected in the looking glass, caught her eye.

What was that?

She slipped a fingernail beneath the wax seal and hitched her breath when a second sheet of foolscap slipped free. Purity caught the neatly folded rectangle in her other hand, then skimmed the missive.

Wonder of wonders.

She almost laughed out loud in relief.

Lady Ceddes had taken the time to pen her a note before she departed. Her ladyship wanted Purity to write the children. She’d also provided the coveted letter of reference.

Purity carefully unfolded the letter, and tears blurred her eyes.

The viscountess had written a flattering recommendation.

Just that morning, Purity had fretted what she was going to do, and now she not only had a letter of reference, she’d found a position.

Well, it had found her thanks to Lady Mumford.

The door swung open, and Purity turned.

“Trinity?”

“Purity?”

Laying the letters aside, Purity rushed to her girlhood friend, and they embraced.

“I didn’t know you would be here,” she said. “And we are to room together. How marvelous.”

Trinity laughed, her pale blue eyes shining with excitement and joy. “My tenure with Mrs. Westcott ended a few weeks ago. I am now companion to Mrs. Parmelia Templemore.”

Purity held her friend’s hands. “This is just too splendid. I wish I could stay and chat, but my new ward awaits me. We’re off to watch the boat races. Her papa is competing.”

Trinity bussed Purity’s cheek. “We’ll have weeks to catch up in the evenings. Mrs. Templemore retires early, as I imagine your charge does.”

“Indeed.” Purity gave a little wave as she left the bedchamber.

What a marvelous day this was turning out to be.

~*~

The lake’s shore

Eleven of the clock

“Look, Bernadine. There’s your papa.”

Holding a parasol borrowed from the countess, Purity pointed to a skiff in the middle of the lake. Her hostess had anticipated the weather and had provided parasols for anyone who required one.

As Purity didn’t own a parasol and Bernadine had the fair skin redheads often did, she’d opted to take advantage of Lady Mumford’s generosity.

Disgruntled quacking and honking filled the air as displaced waterfowl either waddled onto the shore or retreated to the lake’s farthest shore. None were so discontent as to fly away, however. They knew a good thing when it came their way, as did the daily treat of dried bread crumbs.

The gentlemen had removed their coats; a few, including Mr. Rutland, their waistcoats and cravats as well. Each of the six boats held three competitors. With their sleeves rolled to their elbows, they laughed and jested as the chattering guests made themselves comfortable on the shore in preparation for the race.