A Family of Her Own by Rose Pearson

Chapter Four

“Where in France are you from, Sophie?” Gertrude asked a few days later, as she walked up and down the length of the long gallery, with three heavy books balanced upon her head. She was surprisingly good at it and the exercise was improving her posture as Sophie intended it to.

In the past weeks since her arrival, the two women had shared little about each other. But it seemed that the early awkwardness had passed since their walk together in the orchards. Such difficulties were to be expected. Gertrude was fifteen years Sophie’s junior, and the age gap had left Sophie a little lost for topics of conversation. It had been some time since she’d felt the flush of youth, the excitement of becoming a debutante, so she was glad that Gertrude now felt able to ask more personal questions – and that she did not mind answering them.

“I was born in Montauban, in the south of France. It has been many years since I ‘ave been there,” she admitted.

“Is your family still there?”

“Oui. My father is Baron Maurice Lefebvre.”

“French gentry?” Gertrude questioned curiously as she turned at the end of the gallery and began to walk back towards Sophie. “I had no idea your father was of the French aristocracy. I presumed you were only a wealthy man’s daughter.”

Sophie smiled. “I am that also. These days, since La Revolution, it isn’t so wise to be a nobleman. He would not ever use his title, though it is his, still, by right. When I was a tiny girl, we moved to Marseille, where my father recovered our family’s lost fortunes by exporting fine linens from the region to countries such as Portugal, Spain and England.”

Gertrude smiled at Sophie her eyes bright with the glow of youthful curiosity. “How fascinating. Do they visit you often? I would be pleased to make their acquaintance.”

“My father is not fond of long voyages any longer. He and my mother have returned to Montauban and live a quiet life now.”

“Do you have brothers and sisters at all?”

“No. I am an only child.”

“Do you visit your parents?”

“No,” Sophie answered, her heart heavy. “It is very expensive to travel so far. My life has been in England for many years. I do not venture home, but I do miss my family. I don’t know how time flies by so quickly. One day it is just a week, the next years have gone by and you haven’t seen your loved ones.”

Gertrude nodded. “I understand. My parents are always away. They never had time for me or Claveston. Since I was a girl, they have spent less than a quarter of any given year with me. My brother was always the one who cared for me.”

Such a situation was not unusual. The life of the aristocracy in England was semi-nomadic at best, with time spent in London for the Season, summers in Bath or the country, and Christmas at their estates. From all Charlotte and William had told Sophie of the Duke and Duchess of Compton, they traveled more than most – as the duke liked to visit every single one of his family’s holdings at least once a year, and the duchess enjoyed taking the waters at every spa in the country, as well as shopping trips around Europe to purchase her trinkets to decorate this vast home.

Regardless, it made Sophie sad. She had been blessed with the parents God had given her. They had been present to love and cherish her, and she knew that she was a better person for it. She placed a gentle hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “Well, now, you have another person to care for you.”

Gertrude’s smile broadened. “Truly?”

Sophie nodded. “Truly.” The girl’s dark eyes shone with pleasure.

But the moment of closeness between them did not seem destined to last. A flicker of something passed across Gertrude’s pretty face, and in an instant, the child she was seemed to have disappeared, replaced by a cynical and troubled woman. “Do you care for my brother?”

The question took Sophie by surprise. She frowned, unsure of what answer Gertrude might wish to hear. “What do you mean?”

“Have you come here in the hopes of making my brother your husband, or have you truly come here for me?”

The question was leveled with such candor that Sophie was momentarily unable to speak. But it was clear that this was a matter of the utmost importance to Gertrude. Lord Wycliffe was not a man Sophie had ever considered. Not once. He was entirely too interested in his wealth and consequence to be of any interest to her.

Indeed, his self-importance and arrogance were amongst the qualities that had given her concern when she first considered whether to take the position as Gertrude’s companion. It had taken many days and nights of consideration to make the choice to take this position – and only once it had been clear that she was to be the duke’s servant and not his son’s.

She had yet to be proved incorrect about her assumptions, as since her arrival, the Earl of Wycliffe had proven himself to be even more consumed with his trappings than with things she considered more important. But she could also see now that he was a kind man, and obviously loved his sister dearly. He was witty and amusing, and excellent company at dinner – but in all honesty, she knew that she could reassure Gertrude that she had no intention of setting her cap at the girl’s brother.

She looked Gertrude in the eye. “I have no interest in Lord Wycliffe, not in that manner.”

Gertrude looked surprised. “Are you sure? Ladies always come here, pretending to be my friend, but they have no interest in me. Their interests are always in my brother.”

Sophie chuckled. She could believe it. He was the type to attract a woman as shallow as he was. Poor girl. Sophie wondered how many would-be duchesses the poor child had been forced to endure? “I promise you. I have no interest in your brother. Lord Wycliffe is not the kind of man I would ever consider.”

Her response seemed to please Gertrude, her smile grew wide. “Wonderful! Then I may look forward to finally having a real friend.”

Sophie suspected that the question that had just been asked had been a fear lurking in Gertrude’s mind that whole time, making it even harder for them to truly become better acquainted. If Gertrude had been questioning Sophie’s motives, that might explain why things had often been a little strained between them before. Hopefully, that was behind them now.

“Do you have many friends?” Sophie asked, knowing she was testing the bounds of their new-f0und accord.

“Mama and Papa always wanted the best company for me,” Gertrude explained “They don’t consider many girls, even the daughters of their own peers, to be our equal. Claveston was lucky, though they were choosy about his acquaintances, too, he left to attend school where he made friends of his own.”

“And you have just had governesses and tutors?”

“And no matter how kind they may be, such people can never be friends,” Gertrude said sadly. “They were only here for a wage. My nannies all left to marry. The only person who has ever stayed is Claveston.”

“You need not worry about that now,” Sophie assured her. “I came here to be with you.”

The child returned; the dark cloud of the woman, old before her time, vanished as soon as she had arrived. Gertrude clapped her hands happily. “Oh, Sophie! We shall be the greatest of friends! We can paint together, go for walks, and have picnics. We shall have a marvelous time.”

Sophie smiled. “Of course. And, if your family permits, I will accompany you when you ‘ave your first Season.”

“You will act as my chaperone when I Come Out?”

“To some extent, though a young woman is usually presented at Court by her mother or another close relative. But I shall accompany you to the card parties and soirees, the meeting rooms and the theatre – and the balls, of course.”

Gertrude beamed at that. “I am a terrible dancer,” she confessed.

“You will be an expert by the time we leave for London,” Sophie assured her. “I will show you how the ladies of Society interact. How they carry themselves in company and make sure that you know the steps to every dance you might ever need to know.”

“Thank you, Sophie. I already feel much more content about it, knowing you will be by my side.”

“I am glad because someday soon, men will present themselves to you with regard to claiming your hand. You must always stake care of your reputation. Not every man is a gentleman.”

Gertrude giggled. “I find it hard to believe that gentlemen will look at me, and consider me as a potential bride,” she admitted. “I am only a girl.”

“You are a young lady, Gertrude. And though that can be hard, by learning all I can teach you, you can arm yourself to bear it – and even enjoy it.”

Gertrude listened with rapt attention her eyes glued to Sophie as she spoke. It was strange to direct one so young. Charlotte had never needed such guidance, she was already acquainted with the way of the world as she had a companion before, but Gertrude was different. She could see both the child and the young woman in her eyes. Gertrude was not yet experienced enough to handle the adult world, but she was not as naïve as some might think.

“You won’t ever leave me, will you?” Gertrude said suddenly, her eyes wide with fear.

Sophie was silent. It was a question that a child might ask, one who could not see past their own needs, and Sophie did not wish to tell Gertrude a lie – but she also knew that the truth would be too hard for her to bear. It was impossible to say what the future might hold. She could not say, for definite, whether she might have to part with this fragile young woman someday.

“I beg your pardon, Sophie,” Gertrude asked, looking down for a moment, before boldly holding Sophie’s gaze once more. “I do not mean to offend, but I know you are older, much too old for a husband and children, therefore there will be no need for you to leave.”

Sophie had not expected such a bald statement of her circumstances from one so young. Taken aback, she responded without thinking. “No, I do not expect I will find a husband at my age.”

“I am sorry,” Gertrude said, though she did not look even the tiniest bit contrite. “But I am also glad, for my sake. Everyone always leaves me. It would be so good to have someone stay for a change.”

The child was starved for attention, and so Sophie could forgive her this once. But such selfishness, and even unintended spite was something that Gertrude would need to temper before she made her debut. It concerned Sophie that the girl had been left so much alone, and that she had gotten so used to getting her own way that the happiness of others – if it might affect her – was not even a consideration.

The young woman needed her, and Sophie knew that she’d made the right choice to leave Alnerton and start again. Charlotte’s happiness was complete, but Gertrude’s was now beginning, and Sophie could be a part of it. She could help mold this budding young woman into a refined lady. She could make a difference in her life.

She may not have children, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t nurture Gertrude as if she were her own child. Sophie could be the mother figure that Gertrude lacked, due to the continuing physical absence of her own mother. She could be the positive influence that Gertrude needed to make her mark in the world. She hugged the young woman back. “Nor I, Gertrude. Nor I.”

* * *

Claveston decided to throw a party.It was quite the very best way to welcome Sophie to Compton Hall. Not only would it show her the high regard in which he held her but would also introduce her to Society – at least those in the county at present. He hurriedly sent out invitations to everyone in the county. He entrusted the task to Watkins, one of the stable lads. He was a swift rider and could be trusted not to dally. Many of his friends sent their acceptance back with the lad, who arrived back at Compton just before dinner - both he and his mount utterly exhausted. Claveston rewarded him with a couple of coins and ruffled the boy’s unruly hair.

He was so excited about his plan, that he could barely contain himself over dinner that night – and though he usually requested his sister and Miss Lefebvre remain at the dining table whilst he enjoyed his cigars and port, he chose to retire to the library alone – in order to stop himself from blurting out the surprise.

He swore the staff to secrecy, and warned them all not to tell Gertrude, as she would never have been able to keep the news to herself – and would wish to come herself, which was out of the question. Claveston was not going to spend precious time he could be organizing his soiree on Gertrude’s demands. She had a rather uncanny way of persuading him, just by wearing him down.

On the day of the party, he stopped by the kitchens. Cook was preparing a buffet of delicious treats, including many of Miss Lefebvre’s favorites. She slapped his hands away as he tried to sample a little of everything and shooed him out of her domain. Mrs. Grint and the housemaids cleaned the house until it shone, and somehow, the secret had been kept, right up until the moment his guests began to arrive.

Claveston left Mrs. Grint expertly shepherding guests into a part of the house well away from where Miss Lefebvre and Gertrude were currently occupying themselves – which was also, thankfully, well away from the grand driveway that led from the road to Compton. Yet, he had still not told Miss Lefebvre. He paced up and down in his favorite drawing-room, wondering how to do so.

A soft tap on the door alerted him to Mrs. Grint’s presence in the doorway. He looked up. “My Lord,” Mrs. Grint informed him, with a slight frown. “Lady Alice Whyndam has arrived, with Lord Alfred Marchum.” 

He gave her a nervous grin. “Capital.”

“I’ve shown them into the library, where Lord Henry Findlay and Miss Grace Ripperton are enjoying Cook’s particularly spectacular seed cake.”

“Good, good,” Claveston said, rubbing his hands, delighted that his subterfuge was working, though also a little disconcerted by the look of disapproval on his housekeeper’s face.

“My Lord, will other guests be joining us this evening?” the housekeeper asked, her tone respectful.

“Indeed, I expect a few more to arrive soon.”

Mrs. Grint pursed her thin lips. “I see. And is Miss Lefebvre aware of this soiree?”

“Not yet,” Claveston admitted. “As you know, it was planned as sort of a surprise for her.”

“How considerate of you.”

“I’m glad you noticed.”

The older woman sighed. “My Lord, I do suggest you inform Miss Lefebvre of this evening’s entertainments. I think you might find her otherwise disposed to a party. From what I have seen of Miss Lefebvre, she is not the kind of woman who is accustomed to such gatherings, at least not of the sort that those of your acquaintance prefer.”

“What do you mean by that, Mrs. Grint?” Claveston asked, a little annoyed at her presumption. His friends were of the highest echelons of the Ton, the crème de la crème of county Society. There were future dukes and duchesses amongst his acquaintance, several earls, one or two barons, and even a few members of the merchant classes with great wealth and importance if not high birth.

What did Mrs. Grint know of Sophie? They’d only recently met. What woman didn’t enjoy an evening of entertainment in her honor? “I am sure you are wrong, Mrs. Grint. She will enjoy the surprise and the opportunity to be better acquainted with our friends.”

Mrs. Grint looked skeptical. “Perhaps. However, my observations of her say otherwise. She is not the kind of woman who enjoys the types of gatherings your friends do.” Such candor was common for the doughty housekeeper. She always spoke her mind to everyone she met. It was a trait that both endeared and angered. But she was rarely wrong.

“My friends are the best of the Quality, Mrs. Grint,” he said firmly. “I assure you that Miss Lefebvre is worthy of such society.”

Mrs. Grint sighed. “Whether they are deserving of her is what I question,” she remarked, before turning from the room, leaving Claveston speechless.

He went to storm after her but then paused. He could only hope that he was right and Mrs. Grint, for once, was wrong. It was too late to change his plans now. His friends were starting to gather, and that meant the party would go ahead whether Miss Lefebvre attended or not. It also meant that Gertrude needed to be in bed. She was too young for such an event. He took a deep breath and made his way along the corridors to the music room.

The sound of the pianoforte carried clearly throughout the east wing of the house. Claveston stopped outside the door for a moment, just listening. The tune was not the kind of cheery and uplifting music that Gertrude normally played. It was melancholic, haunting, and yet captivating at the same time. He leaned against the door, entranced by what he heard.

He remained transfixed until the music reached its final notes. Gathering himself, he pressed down on the handle and stepped inside. “Miss Lefebvre, Gertrude,” he said, bowing to them both. He was taken aback for a moment, seeing his sister sat in the position he so often took for her, to turn the pages. It had been Miss Lefebvre playing. He shouldn’t have been surprised. He knew well enough how accomplished she was, and yet he had not considered it might not be his sister playing.

Miss Lefebvre looked up and smiled. “Lord Wycliffe, can we ‘elp you?”

“I’m sorry. I thought Gertrude was playing,” he said a little foolishly.

“No,” she replied. “It was me.”

“Doesn’t she play marvelously, Claveston? Sophie composed the piece herself.”

“Miss Lefebvre, it seems you are all surprises,” Claveston commented.

“How so?” She looked at him curiously.

“Who knew you could play so well? You never said anything.”

“You never asked,” Sophie remarked. She stood her hands folded demurely in front of her.

“I hope that such a reply means that I may ask about your other accomplishments in the future?” Claveston said with a flirtatious smile.

Miss Lefebvre blinked rapidly and looked a little awkward. Claveston wondered if he had, perhaps, been too forward. “You may ask whatever you like, my Lord,” she said after a brief pause. “‘owever, the right is mine whether I choose to answer.”

He smiled. She was quite remarkable. “Very well said, Miss Lefebvre. I shall keep that in mind for the future.”

He turned to his sister, whose eagle-eyes had narrowed a little at the exchange. He couldn’t make out if she was amused or annoyed by it. But he did not have time to find out. “Time for bed, little sister,” he said briskly. “Shall I see you to your room?”

Gertrude glanced at the grandfather clock and frowned. It was barely eight o’clock. “Why do you want me gone so early?” she asked, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

Claveston squirmed a little. “If I say it is your time for bed, then it is time for bed,” he said trying his best to sound firm. “Don’t argue with me.” He grabbed his sister’s arm and almost dragged her out into the corridor.