A Midsummer Bride (6 page)

Harriet Redgrave spent a tedious afternoon in the company of the dowager and Miss Rose. She had hardly had a sip of tea and had only eaten one small biscuit before the two women whisked her back to their room with whispered warnings of the irreparable damage to her reputation the eating of more than one biscuit could produce.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent getting a lesson in etiquette. The dowager helped at first, but soon claimed a headache and lay down on the daybed, leaving Harriet in the kind and capable hands of Penelope. Harriet preferred Penelope, as she was gentler and more patient. Yet Penelope was also blunt in her critique, and after several hours of having her manners under review, Harriet wished Penelope would be less honest.

“I have been walking since the age of one and in the twenty-two years that have followed I was not aware I was doing it wrong.” Harriet sank into a chair.

Penelope followed her lead and sat on the settee, her posture rigid and correct. “I acknowledge my suggestions may seem petty, but so is society I fear. I wish for you to avoid malicious gossip.”

“No chance of that, is there? I mean even if my manners were impeccable, I would still be the daughter of Lady Beatrice, Lord Langley’s insane daughter. Why is it so difficult to believe my mother left because she fell in love?”

“People assume one is mad if they make a choice different from what society generally condones. Running away to America does seem rather…” Penelope searched for a word. “Unusual.”

“Perhaps it is, but my mother has been quite happy. My father was successful at sea, and I have lacked for nothing, though we do not hold to as strict an adherence to etiquette as does London society.”

“It sounds like you have enjoyed your life in America.”

“I have and I do. I plan to return next month. I can only imagine how my parents must be worried. I sent them word as soon as I arrived, but of course it takes a while for mail to cross the Atlantic.”

“So you plan to return to America?” asked Penelope.

“Yes, which leads me to another question.” Harriet decided to ask Penelope directly. “Did my grandfather arrange with you to find me a husband?”

Penelope paused for a moment, searching her with discerning eyes. Harriet did not look away. She wanted the truth.

“Yes,” said Penelope at length. “That is, he arranged with us to contact Madame X, a known matchmaker to London society, to arrange a marriage for you with a titled gentleman.”

“Titled?” Harriet slouched back further in her chair. “So now I am to be pawned off on not just a gentleman but one with a title as well. He is only doing this to restore his reputation since my mother left.”

“Yes, I think he did mention something of that nature.”

“Well I don’t care a scrap for it. I have no intention of being married off so that my grandfather can restore some sense of injured pride. Please relate my feelings to this Madame X and let her know her services are quite unnecessary.”

Far from being offended or shocked, Penelope accepted her words with composure. “I shall relay your sentiment.”

“It won’t stop them, will it? Perhaps I should remain in my room for the remainder of the party. I should hate to get compromised or trapped into marriage.”

“Rest assured Madame X does not employ such trickery. You are safe from her, at least. If you do not care for the man she chooses for you, you can always refuse.”

“Yes, well, I suppose you are right. I do fear my dowry may pose a temptation that will lead people to doing something rash.”

“Your dowry?”

“Yes, fifty thousand pounds is a considerable amount.”

“I should say it is!” declared the dowager, suddenly sitting upright.

“Yes. My mother put away money in some London bank and over time it added up. She told me she wanted me to have the option of joining London society someday if I wished it, but of course I had not thought to ever do so.”

Harriet rose and walked to the window. She did not care to discuss her dowry. She had already run into problems with men who would not scruple to do anything to get their hands on the capital. “I would prefer the size of the dowry not to become known.”

“Yes, yes, of course I understand your sentiments. Madame Leclair?” The dowager called her lady’s maid, who emerged from a side room. “Did you hear about Miss Redgrave’s dowry? I hope you know what to do with that information.”

“
Oui
, Your Grace.”

“Please go downstairs and ask if our trunks have arrived,” said the dowager, whose wardrobe and sundry traveling accoutrements required a separate coach.

“Plagued by fortune hunters?” Penelope crossed the room to the window and they sat in the window box.

“Yes, you understand.”

“Not from personal experience. I did not become the companion to the Duchess of Marchford due to my great fortune.”

“You became my companion because you have more sense than anyone else in my acquaintance,” declared the dowager, closing her eyes once more.

Penelope smiled and glanced at a clock. “You should go and dress for dinner. I do hope our trunks arrive in time or we shall be forced to eat in our rooms. I fear I have not yet gone over the table expectations. Did your mother instruct you?”

“Of course she did.” Harriet tried to keep the bite out of her tone in wanting to defend her mother. Truth was her mother had allowed Harriet to experience an unconventional childhood and had many times told Harriet she wanted to give her the freedom she had never experienced.

“Good. If you are confused by anything, just look over to me. I bribed the butler to have you seated across from me.”

“You did what?”

“It was easy, the staff are months behind in their wages. Easy to bribe.”

Harriet viewed Penelope from an entirely new perspective. Penelope Rose was a resourceful creature, and one she was glad to have on her side.

***

“Finally!” breathed the Dowager Duchess of Marchford. “I thought we would not see our trunks before dinner.”

“Just in time,” commented Penelope, as she directed the footmen who were bringing up the numerous trunks the dowager felt necessary for a short venture into the Highlands. Madame Leclair swept majestically through the room and began unpacking the duchess’s trunks, putting away the gowns, hats, capes, shawls, shoes, bonnets, and other essential items.

“I shall leave you to dress.” Penelope took her trunk into her adjacent room, a room most likely designed to house a lady’s maid or a companion of a wealthier, more important person. That is what she was. A paid companion. No shame in it, of course, but it was no great honor either.

Things would change when she started to draw income on the capital they made through their clandestine business as matchmakers. As a single woman, she would still not be allowed to live alone, perish the thought. But at least she could live with some independence.

Penelope opened her trunk and saw at once that it was not hers. The gowns inside were fine and definitely unfamiliar. She carried the trunk back into the dowager’s room and handed it to Madame Leclair. “I believe I took one of the dowager’s trunks instead of my own. Have you seen mine?”

“That is your trunk, mademoiselle,” said Madame Leclair.

“I thought it looked like mine, but when I opened it, none of my clothes were inside. I believe this must belong to the dowager.”

The dowager yawned audibly in a manner Penelope had never seen before. If Penelope didn’t know different, she would say the dowager was pretending to be tired to get rid of her.

“This is your trunk, mademoiselle,” repeated Madame Leclair.

“But it is full of—” Penelope stopped short when she noted a pointed look pass between the dowager and Madame Leclair. “What is this? What have you two done?”

“We have a lovely surprise for you,” said the dowager, a sugary sweet smile on her face. “We replaced your wardrobe.”

“What do you mean?” asked Penelope.

“Your gowns needed updating. If you are to accompany me as my companion, I expect someone with a little more sense of style.”

“My gowns were perfectly serviceable.” Penelope rifled through her trunk to find layer after layer of unknown clothing. “Where are my gowns?”

“The maids—” began the dowager.

“You gave my gowns to the maids?” gasped Penelope.

“I tried, but they would not have them,” said Madame Leclair.

“What was wrong with them?” demanded Penelope.

“Wrong,
oui
, very wrong,” said Leclair with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Gave them to the poorhouse, poor souls.”

“You gave them to…” Penelope spun around and stared at the dowager. “You gave all my clothes to the poor?”

“Of course not. I could hardly give away what you were wearing. But I did replace what I could. At least take a look at the gowns.”

Penelope took out a blue damask, a golden silk, and something of pink that was so light and airy she thought it must have been spun of clouds. They were beautiful, all of them, and it gave her a lump in her throat. What was she going to do with these clothes? She could hardly wear them.

“Do you not adore them?” asked the dowager.

“These are all ball gowns. None of them are practical.”

“I should hope I did not buy you anything practical. But here, you have not opened your other trunk.”

“I do not have another trunk.”

“
Oui, mademoiselle
, this is for you,” said Leclair with a wink and opened a second trunk, larger than the first. In this trunk Penelope found a scarlet riding habit, several morning dresses, and others.

“I cannot believe you did all this.”

“But there is more!” Leclair brought out bandboxes of hats, bonnets, and another smaller trunk just of slippers and boots.

“I do not know what to say,” mumbled Penelope. “This must have been very dear. How can I pay you back?”

The dowager coughed slightly and asked Madame Leclair if she would run down to the kitchen to ask if they would bring up tea. Leclair gave a pinched look of injured pride—she was a French lady’s maid, not a common messenger—but she complied.

“I shall pay for that,” mumbled the dowager.

“Your Grace, I appreciate this, but I cannot possibly accept such extravagant gifts,” said Penelope, holding herself straight and tall. “I should be much more comfortable in my own clothes.”

“Yes, about the money. I decided you needed a new wardrobe so I…” The dowager turned away and took a deep breath. “So I used the funds we acquired from our success as Madame X.”

“You used our funds?” Penelope swallowed hard a lump of foreboding. “Please tell me you did not use
my
funds.”

“I thought it appropriate since it was to benefit you.”

“You spent my money?” cried Penelope. Those funds were going to provide her an independence so she would not have to be anyone’s companion. “I asked you to have your solicitor invest the money.”

The dowager turned to Penelope, her bright-blue eyes blazing. “And I have invested the money. I have invested it in you. There is no reason why you should be so shabbily dressed.”

“Those were my funds. You had no right!”

“If I am going to be seen with you, I should be able to demand a style of dress that is appropriate.”

“But these gowns are not appropriate. They will make me look like I am putting myself forward. People will talk.”

“People may notice you, which is a good thing. You are a young lady. Why should you be attired in clothes best suited for a woman twice your age? You are much too young to be dressed as a matron. Where did you get your clothes? They are dreadful.”

“They were my mother’s!” cried Penelope.

“Aha! My point is made. Why would you wear such gowns? I have seen your sisters. They do not languish in such unattractive attire.”

Penelope sighed and paced the room. “When my sisters and I first came to London, we were sponsored by our aunt, but we had very little to buy new clothes. It seemed more important for my two elder sisters to have the appropriate adornment to put themselves into society where they could meet husbands. After a few years, my elder sisters were married and it was time for my younger sisters to come out into society. Of course they needed new gowns and such.”

“Now that all four of your sisters are married, when does it become your turn?” asked the dowager with a pointed look.

“I do not wish for a turn. I do not wish to be dressed in such finery.”

“You dress like an unemployed governess so that no one will notice you. These plain gowns of yours are like a shield.”

“And what is wrong with that?” demanded Penelope. She had been unfavorably compared to her beautiful blonde sisters her whole life. As the only brunette of the family, and a rather plain one at that, Penelope had learned early not to compete in the same games as her sisters.

“You have given up on yourself. You consider yourself a spinster.”

“I
am
a spinster.”

“You are still in your twenties. Perhaps you never found a husband because you never even looked for one. You were too busy finding husbands for your sisters and hiding beneath frilly lace caps.”

Penelope unconsciously felt her head to ensure her lace cap was in place. “Are you more concerned with my wardrobe, my marital status, or keeping me dependent on you by robbing me of the living which would have given me my independence?”

“What a thing to say!”

“You just wish to keep me because I am the only companion who has stayed with you for more than a week!” accused Penelope, and at once she was shocked by her own words.

“And you are just angry because I am forcing you to join society, instead of hiding behind plain muslin gowns and sensible shoes.”

Madame Leclair cleared her throat. “Your tea, Your Grace, it will be brought up shortly. Miss Rose, this is for you.” The French maid handed Penelope a sealed missive. “With your permission I shall retire to the servants’ hall for tea.”

“Yes, yes.” The dowager gave her a wave. When the maid was gone, the dowager gave Penelope a critical glare. “It is time you stopped making matches for everyone else. It is time for you to seek your own husband.”