A Family of Her Own by Rose Pearson
Chapter Nine
“Mama, do you not think it would be better for Gertrude if you were there to introduce her?” Lord Wycliffe asked, his tone cool, though his jaw was tight as he attempted to hold back his obvious rage at the duchess’ announcement. “She will need your intervention to procure the necessary vouchers for Almack’s and to be introduced to your friends.”
“Miss Lefebvre can do all of that,” her Grace said dismissively. “I have had word from my agent that the piece I have been waiting for is to be sold at auction in Paris. I cannot miss it.”
“Could you not let your agent act in your stead?” Lord Wycliffe asked pointedly, his frustration with his mother more easily heard in his tone as his ire grew. Sophie was glad that he was speaking up for the poor girl. Someone needed to, and she could not. It was not her place, though she longed to do so.
But Claveston’s intervention was heartening, it showed how much he had changed. But his growth mattered little in this moment. Gertrude had been such a joy since her mama had returned. She had blossomed under the duchess’ constant attention and had worked so very hard to please her. It seemed most unfair that the reward Gertrude most needed, to have her mother by her side at the most important time of her life, was to be snatched from her.
“No, I could not,” her Grace snapped. “And I’ll hear no more about this.”
The servants cleared the plates and dessert was brought through. A sculpted sugar-paste confection in the shape of Compton Hall sat upon a mirrored tray, surrounded by tassses à glace and a range of crisp sugar biscuits and macarons. Bonnet poured glasses of sweet dessert wine, so they might dip the biscuits and savor the combination of flavors.
But nobody reached for any of it.
The entire room was silent. Gertrude was sulking. Sophie was mortified on the child’s behalf. Mr. Cormick looked embarrassed and fidgeted awkwardly next to Sophie. And Lord Wycliffe, well it was quite clear from his tight expression and his flashing eyes, that he was fuming.
“Might I be excused?” Gertrude asked nervously, looking as though she might burst into tears at any moment.
“I don’t see why not,” the duchess snapped all pretense at politeness now completely gone.
Gertrude ran from the room, raising her hand to her face as she went to smother her sobs. Sophie was sure that she was crying. She and Lord Wycliffe shared concerned looks. He obviously wanted to go after his sister, to comfort her, but he had a guest to entertain. And his mama would no doubt think him too soft on Gertrude if he were to follow after her.
Sophie too was torn. For the briefest of moments, she felt rooted to the spot. She did not wish to offend the woman at the head of the table. The two women had grown rather fond of one another in the past weeks, and Sophie was most grateful for the duchess’ approval of her position. But she could not see Gertrude hurting and leave her to bear it alone. She knew who needed her loyalty more yet feared the repercussions of disappointing the duchess.
Taking a deep breath, she got up from her chair, her decision made. “If you will excuse me,” she said bobbing a polite curtsey to the duchess and nodding to the two men, who had risen from their seats as she had. “I should go and assist Lady Gertrude.”
She did not wait for permission. Gertrude needed her. No, that wasn’t strictly true. Gertrude needed the love and continued attention of her parents. Without it, she lost sight of who she was. But in the absence of that, Sophie was all she had.
Sophie hurried to the girl’s chambers, where she found Gertrude staring out of her bedroom window, tears pouring down her cheeks. “Do you know why I chose these rooms, rather than yours?” Gertrude said as Sophie sat beside her on the window seat and took her hand. Sophie shook her head. “Yours are so much finer, but these look out over the driveway. I can see right to the London Road from here,” she said sadly.
“So, you can see the arrival of your family, when they return from their many travels,” Sophie said understanding the girl’s need at once.
“You must think me terribly silly,” Gertrude said.
“Not at all,” Sophie assured her. “Every girl needs her mother’s love, and her father’s.”
She put her arms around Gertrude’s thin shoulders and pulled her into a comforting embrace. Gertrude snaked her arm around Sophie’s waist, and they stayed there for some time. When Gertrude pulled away, Sophie pulled out her handkerchief and wiped Gertrude’s tears, then tucked a stray strand of the girl’s hair back behind her ear. Gertrude gave her a wan smile. “What would I do without you?” she said bleakly.
“You do not need think on that,” Sophie assured her. “I promise that I am not going anywhere.”
“You mean it? You swear?” Gertrude said desperately.
“I do. I will not leave you, unless you wish me to go. I swear.”
The girl snuggled closer, and Sophie sat with her, letting her cry. After some time had passed, Gertrude sat up and pulled away. “I think I would like to go to bed now,” Gertrude said, with a yawn. “I am quite exhausted.”
“I shall leave you. Would you like me to send up Myrtle to assist you?”
“No, I don’t need a lady’s maid tonight,” Gertrude said sadly. Sophie kissed her on the cheek and left, closing the door softly behind her. Poor Gertrude. All she wanted was to be loved, to be seen even by her mother.
In the days that followed tensions between everyone in Compton Hall made for a very uncomfortable time. The duchess seemed not to notice a thing, blithely continuing with her plans to travel and with the fittings for Gertrude’s gowns for the Season. Gertrude was surly with everyone, especially Sophie. At times, Sophie considered that it was just that Sophie was the only person she could take out her frustrations to – but as the days went by, she came to realize that Gertrude was ashamed that Sophie had seen her so upset and had been kind to her.
Gertrude was not the kind of girl to wish to be in debt to anyone she deemed below her station. And Sophie’s concern and genuine affection could easily be seen as a debt - one Gertrude did not know how to repay. She had not been taught how to give and accept love freely, other than with her brother. Sophie’s ability to love easily was a gift that nobody in the Compton household seemed blessed with. All were entirely too suspicious of other people’s motives and considered that there must always be a cost to friendship that must be paid.
The tension was suddenly broken, five days after that uncomfortable dinner party, when a carriage rumbled up the driveway, as Sophie and Gertrude were halfway through a painting lesson, on the lawns at the front of the house. “Papa,” Gertrude cried, looking painfully hopeful that somehow her father’s arrival might solve all the ills in her young life. She raced after the carriage, barely waiting for it to come to a halt before she opened the door and flung herself inside.
Sophie followed more sedately and bobbed a curtsey to the Duke of Compton, who peered out at her over the shoulder of his sobbing daughter. “Might I ask why my daughter is so very emotional?” he asked.
“She is just glad to see you, your Grace,” Sophie said. It was true enough. “Come Lady Gertrude, let your father at least leave his carriage and come inside.”
Gertrude released him reluctantly and stepped down from the carriage. She stood demurely next to Sophie and offered her father a deep curtsey. He nodded his approval. “I see you have had some influence then,” he said with a wry smile. “But it is quite clear that my daughter is still a hoyden.”
He got out of the carriage and put an arm around his daughter’s waist. She snuck her arm around his and the two of them walked towards the house together, talking animatedly about all the gifts and treasures that he had brought back from America and the Indies for her. Sophie marveled at how much the duke and duchess seemed to genuinely love their daughter, when they could be bothered to do so - yet did not seem to see that she did not need their gifts, or their money. All Gertrude wanted was them, their love, and their time.
As they reached the doors, the sound of hoofbeats behind them made all three of them turn back to the driveway. Mr. Cormick approached at a gallop, his tailcoat flapping in the wind behind him. He grinned at them all as he dismounted and ran up the stone steps, two at a time. “I am glad to have caught you, your Grace,” he said bowing deeply to the duke and then to Sophie and Gertrude.
“What is it, young Cormick?” his Grace asked.
“My father asked if he might wait upon you, at your nearest convenience,” Mr. Cormick said. “He has some matters of great import he must discuss with you. Has been waiting for your return for some weeks. As soon as we got word that you were back in England, he sent me here and my brother to your London house, to be sure that you received the message straight away.”
Gertrude’s expression sank. Sophie moved to comfort her, but the young woman moved away. She clenched her delicate fingers into fists, then raced inside and up the stairs. “Whatever is the matter with her?” his Grace asked but did not wait for an answer. He turned back to Mr. Cormick. “Is he in town, or in Hertfordshire?”
“In town, your Grace.”
“Then I shall have the horses changed and head there straight away.” Cormick nodded. “Take your mount to the stables, have him fed and rubbed down. Take one of Claveston’s to return to London and inform your father that I shall be there shortly.” Cormick bowed to the duke, and Sophie and did as he had been told.
“And you, Miss Lefebvre,” the duke said, turning to her. “Might I speak with you in my study, before I depart?”
Sophie bobbed a curtsey. “Of course, your Grace,” she said.
She wondered what it was he wished to say to her. Her stomach began to churn as she followed him into the wood-paneled study and took the seat opposite his desk when he indicated she should sit. “Miss Lefebvre,” the duke said, clasping his hands in front of him on the desk and looking at her frankly. “I have been assured, by both my son and my wife, that you have been doing an excellent job of preparing my daughter for her debut. However, that display of temper that I have just witnessed leads me to think otherwise. Do you have an explanation?”
Sophie stared at him, open-mouthed. Somehow, she was the one at fault for Gertrude’s behavior? Gertrude had been in perfect control of her emotions, or at least she had been able to control them better, until her parents had flown back into her lives with their ready promises of love and affection, and both were now withdrawing themselves once more. She knew that it was not her place to comment, to point out the glaring reason why Gertrude was so upset, yet she fumed silently that she was to be made out as the one to be blamed.
“Miss Lefebvre,” the duke continued when she did not speak. “You come highly recommended. Your time with Lady Charlotte Watts is a great credit to you. I am told that Gertrude has learned much under your tutelage. But I must stress to you, that her Coming Out is of great importance. Of all people, you must realize that her chances of making a suitable match are greatly enhanced by the success of her debut.”
Sophie forced herself to ignore the insinuation that as she was herself still unmarried and that must somehow mean that she had been at fault when she had been Gertrude’s age. “I am aware,” she said trying to keep her tone even. “I can assure you that Gertrude is ready.”
“I should hope so. If she fails, it will be your responsibility, Miss Lefebvre.”
“I understand,” Sophie said through gritted teeth. “Is that all, your Grace?”
“For now,” the duke said, waving his hand dismissively. Sophie stood up, curtseyed, and then let herself out of the room.
She hurried outside and away from the house, into the woods where she let out a most unladylike scream. How dare he? How dare either of them try and blame her for their daughter’s unhappiness? She paced up and down, her fists clenched, and her jaw set as she tried to let go the anger that she was suddenly feeling towards both the Duke and Duchess of Compton. They treated their children as playthings, picking them up and discarding them at will, then wondered why they were so spoiled and willful.
Mr. Cormick appeared, running through the trees, looking breathless. “I heard a scream,” he said, looking around. “Are you quite alright?”
“I am quite well,” she assured him. “I am not hurt. Simply angry.”
“Ah,” he said knowingly. “Yes, I’ve seen Wycliff struggling his whole life to deal with the peculiarities of his family.”
“How can they be so blind?” Sophie asked him. “Do they choose not to see how much their absences and whirlwind trips hurt Lord Wycliffe and Lady Gertrude?”
“You have been around the English aristocracy long enough to know that children are heirs and a means to extend one’s holdings, Miss Lefebvre. Love is not part of the deal in many families in Society. Marriage is as much a business transaction as any done in the City, and often has more at stake. Producing an heir and a spare is a duty, not a choice.”
“I know it should not shock me. But somehow it still does,” Sophie said. “I was aware that Lord William and Lady Charlotte’s father was distant and demanding, but I suppose I assumed that was because the duke was grieving for his wife and ‘ad never quite managed to get over her dying. I excused his behavior, I suppose.”
“Nothing to excuse,” Mr. Cormick said with a grin. “All perfectly normal. Showing affection would be the more unusual behavior.”
“Are your parents the same?”
“Thankfully, no. But theirs was a love match, and we are not quite so wealthy and powerful. To be a duke is a heavy burden.”
“I can imagine,” Sophie said.
She glanced along the path, back towards the house. A lone figure stood in the formal gardens, facing their way. She was sure it was Lord Wycliffe, yet he came no closer. She wondered how long he had been watching them. “I should go inside and check on Lady Gertrude,” she said, as he turned away and stomped back towards the house.
“And I should be on my way,” Mr. Cormick said, as always honoring her with a bow. “It was my pleasure to see you again, Miss Lefebvre. And try not to let them get to you. Underneath it all, they are all kind and good people.”
“I am sure you are right,” Sophie said, letting him kiss her hand as they reached the house. She watched as he headed back towards the stables, then went inside. She wasn’t quite sure she would ever understand the peculiarities of the English, no matter how long she lived amongst them.
