A Perilous Perspective (Lady Darby Mystery #10)(5)
If only that had proven to be the case.
Chapter 2
The following morning Gage and Henry set off on horseback with Jack and Rye while I joined Charlotte and the other ladies in the rose parlor, which had largely been given over to wedding preparations. Even for such a small, private ceremony, there were details to be attended to. However, not so many that the tasks became tedious, or so laborious that we couldn’t gossip while completing them.
Unsurprisingly, Charlotte’s great-aunt, Lady Bearsden, possessed the most titillating information, as she was an incorrigible rattle. Though I knew from experience she also understood when to hold her tongue. As such, she and Aunt Cait had more to say than all the rest of us combined, though Morven’s comical facial expressions were perhaps the most amusing.
Our gowns had been designed and sewn by a modiste in Edinburgh, but there were still a few minor alterations to be made by the manor’s resident seamstress, and a large portion of the morning was taken up by this task. All the ladies had chosen to have new gowns made, not simply Charlotte and myself, as her attendant. Rye’s six-year-old daughter, Jane, seemed charmed by the confection she was to wear, and I could tell how much this pleased Charlotte.
However, I couldn’t help but feel a pulse of concern seeing how much my friend’s gown needed to be taken in. Her last fitting in Edinburgh had been barely three weeks prior, yet she’d lost enough weight in that time that the seamstress would need to cinch the bodice in further. Charlotte had already possessed a slender figure, and she didn’t have the excuse I did that I was slowly shedding the extra weight I’d gained while with child. So there was no reason that she should be dropping inches. No reason except nerves.
As such, I made it a point to thread my arm through Charlotte’s as we all scattered to our various pursuits following luncheon, sticking to her side like a burr. Once we’d slipped away beyond the hearing of the others, I diverted our steps toward a bench situated in an alcove beneath the grand staircase fashioned of gleaming oak and finely carved spiraling balusters.
“Now, tell me what has your stomach so tied in knots,” I ordered lightly. “And don’t try to insist it isn’t,” I hastened to add when she opened her mouth to do just that. “If the amount of fabric your gown is being taken in wasn’t indication enough, the fact that you barely ate a bite of luncheon confirmed it.”
A vee formed between her pale brows, as if she were cross with me for broaching the subject. But then she gave a deep sigh, either weariness or distress pulling down the corners of her mouth.
I urged her to sit beside me on the bench upholstered in cream silk. “You aren’t having second thoughts, are you?” I asked, trying to mask the disquiet I felt at such a possibility. After all, Rye was my cousin and a gentle soul. Should Charlotte decide now not to go through with the wedding, I knew he would be tremendously hurt.
But she reassured me immediately on that score. “Oh, no! No, that’s not it at all. I love Rye.”
“Then, is it the children? I know you’re anxious for them to like you.”
“I am,” she conceded. “But I know that will take time. Such matters can’t be rushed.”
I watched as she smoothed her pale pink muslin skirts over her lap, diverting her gaze from mine. “Then what is it?”
She seemed to struggle with herself, though it wasn’t clear why she was so hesitant to speak. Did she fear my reaction? Or maybe she was worried that putting her misgivings into words would only make them more concrete?
“Is it the governess?” I guessed.
Charlotte seemed startled by the suggestion, and then uneasy. It was an expression I had not seen on her face since the early days of our acquaintance, when her rotten blackguard of a husband, Lord Stratford, was still alive. Then, she’d tried to mask her pain and insecurity with icy disdain, but now she merely gazed back at me in apprehension.
“I noticed that the manner in which she addresses you isn’t entirely . . . respectful,” I clarified.
No one could have taken fault with Miss Ferguson’s words, but the few times I’d observed the young governess, her brittle tone of voice and the look in her eyes were a different matter. She might not have displayed outright contempt, but she came very close to it.
“Then, I’m not just imagining it?” she murmured uncertainly.
“Definitely not.”
She seemed to exhale in relief. “I worried I might be misreading her intentions or expecting too much.”
“So you haven’t spoken to Rye about it?”
“No, I . . . I didn’t want to raise the issue. Not when I wasn’t sure.” She flushed. “The children are so fond of her. I suppose she’s the closest thing they’ve had to a mother since theirs died four years ago, God rest her soul. And I . . .” Her gaze dropped to her lap, where she worried her fingers. “I didn’t want to upset them.”
I could appreciate the compassion she was showing her new stepchildren, and the delicacy of the situation, but that didn’t mean she should discount her own feelings on the matter. I also knew from experience that if the staff were allowed to treat you with even a whiff of disrespect, things would merely get worse. My late husband, Sir Anthony Darby, had permitted and even encouraged his staff to disregard me, so I’d possessed few allies in a household where I had desperately needed them.