A Dreadful Splendor (36)

The blood rose to my cheeks. I turned back to the armoire, partly to hide my embarrassment. But it made complete sense since they appeared so quickly after my arrival. How could I have believed otherwise? What else was I missing? I stepped aside to allow Flora a closer inspection of the garments. “Are these her dresses?” I asked. “Please tell me the truth.”

“I know they were in her collection, but I don’t remember her wearing any of these,” she said, pointing out several dresses, the black-and-red one among them. “No matter, Jenny. You’ll look nice in any of ’em.”

I put a hand to my stomach, replaying how foolish I must have appeared wearing Audra’s dress last night. No wonder Mr. Pemberton backed away from me when I opened my door. I had thought it was my lack of style, but I’d shocked him by wearing his dead bride’s clothing.

“Here,” Flora said, taking the blue dress and laying it down on the bed. “We can change it up a bit, make it simple, see? These long sleeves come off like so, leaving the puff at the shoulder. And you can pull on this shawl. Trust me, men don’t notice dresses; they only want to see them on the floor.”

I gave her a playful look. “And you know a lot about men?” I poked her.

She blushed and busied herself reworking the dress. When I put it on and faced the long mirror on the wardrobe, I saw that she was right. It looked different enough, and more important, it suited me. “Thank you, Flora,” I said. “I’d be hopeless without you.”

She rolled her eyes, but I could see the smile she was fighting. She then sat me in front of the vanity and began to gather my hair. “Mrs. Donovan was going to take care of you, but I told her I’m just as good as any of those trained lady’s maids.” I watched her reflection in the mirror as she worked. A lump rose in my throat. No one had touched my hair since Maman.

Flora gave me a perfectly acceptable hairdo with the few pins I had. “I must fetch some more pins for your dinner tonight, Jenny,” she said. “But I have to say your curls are doing half the work themselves. I wish I had curls like this, or at least just one. Will you give me just one? I’ll tuck it under my bonnet and let it drop right in the middle of my forehead.”

She went to the fireplace and picked up the bucket of soot. “Enjoy breakfast. If you need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen.” Then her face fell. “Are you okay? Jenny? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Her eyes grew wide. “Is it Maisie?”

“No,” I replied, except I wasn’t looking at Flora. I was looking at the perfectly straight picture above the mantel—the perfectly straight picture that was upside down.





Chapter Twenty-Three




Lady Audra Linwood

Diary Entry

Somerset Park, January 19, 1852

Dearest,

I finally met him.

I wore the yellow gown with the pearl buttons. Mrs. Donovan styled my hair in a series of loose waves to accent my heart-shaped face, then pinned the chignon at the nape of my neck. She suggested I wear the tiara, so I would twinkle in the candlelight.

He is handsome, very much so. Eyes like the sky and a wave of blond hair that seems spun of gold. I’m jealous of his natural beauty. And he has all the manners and grace one would expect, but there is a distance to him I find unnerving. He is cordial but cold. I can barely get a smile out of him.

Father is enamored. And I will give Mr. Pemberton accolades for slowing his pace to match Father’s as we made our way through the Gallery Hall. Soon, though, Father tired and Bramwell had to come with his wheelchair. He gave us permission to walk to the greenhouse without a chaperone. The look on Mrs. Donovan’s face almost made me burst!

We continued along the garden path. I’m ashamed to say I was jittery and dull-sounding all at once. I hardly recognized myself. I, who have been in society for two years, was tongued-tied like a kitchen maid in front of this young man from the north. I am surprised by how proud he seems. I know for certain that although Mr. Pemberton is a distant cousin, he is hardly in our rank of society.

He was mostly silent while I rattled off every topic I could think of. It relieved me when we reached the greenhouse, as it is one of my favourite places. I told him so and gave him a tour, stopping to mention certain plants along the walkway. His gaze lacked the earnest attention I was hoping for.

It is difficult not to compare him with William. I’ve never had to work for his attention. I confess, I wonder what an unchaperoned trip to the greenhouse would be like for William and me.

We came to the statue in the fountain, and perhaps I was distracted by thoughts of forbidden passion, but before I could stop, I told him the story behind the crying angel. My cheeks burned as I mentioned her lost love and how she threw herself into the sea to be with him. I dared myself to look him in the eye, to gauge what he was feeling. Surely, being in a warm room surrounded by lush plants with the woman you may possibly marry—surely I should have seen a spark of something.

But he turned away from the statue and peered out the window toward the forest, quite disinterested. I coughed but still could not rouse his attention. I even considered fainting, if only so he would acknowledge my presence.

Finally, I told Mr. Pemberton that if he wished to see the rest of the grounds, the stable would be the best option, as touring the property on horseback is most satisfying. In an instant, his face lit up like the sun itself.