A Family of Her Own by Rose Pearson

Chapter Five

“Do I hear your friends?” Gertrude asked as Lord Wycliffe escorted his sister to her rooms in the West Wing. Sophie followed on behind the fast-moving siblings, puzzled by the change in his behavior this evening. Lord Wycliffe looked more than a little uncomfortable and kept fidgeting with his cravat, something Sophie had noticed he did often when he had planned something he feared might not go down well with others.

“You do,” he said a little irritably. “I have invited a few people so they might meet Miss Lefebvre.” He didn’t meet Gertrude’s eye, or Sophie’s. He stared ahead straight ahead, intent upon reaching his sister’s suite. If he had looked back, he might have realized that Sophie wasn’t much impressed by his obviously well-intended gesture for her. She was tired and longed for the peace and quiet of her rooms, so she might read for a time.

“Might I attend, too?” Gertrude begged, looking at her brother with wide, hopeful eyes. “I could perhaps practice all dear Sophie has been teaching me.” Sophie was glad she was not the one to make such decisions for her – it would be very difficult indeed to say no to such a plea.

“Not tonight, Gertrude,” Lord Wycliffe said firmly. “I don’t think you are quite ready, yet.”

“But I am,” Gertrude protested as they reached her rooms. She opened the door and flounced towards her bed before sinking down on it. “And I have the most perfect party dress and have not had a single chance to wear it since the dressmaker delivered it weeks ago.”

“No,” Lord Wycliffe said firmly. “Now, to bed with you.” He pressed a kiss to his sister’s forehead and left the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

“She will never truly learn how to behave in Society, if she is not in Society, my Lord,” Sophie marked wryly. “She would comport herself well, I think.”

“Not tonight,” Lord Wycliffe said with a frown. “Tonight’s entertainment is for you. If Gertrude attends, she will make it all about her – and I want you to have some fun for a change. You have been cooped up with Gertrude ever since you arrived. Don’t you wish to meet some of my friends?”

There was no way to answer such a question politely. Sophie had little desire to make the acquaintance of his Lordship’s friends. She could only assume that most of them would be like him – especially after the tales she had heard from William and Mary of the sorts of people they had encountered at one of his affairs in London.

“I should be delighted,” she said politely. “But I must wash and dress. I am not presentable to guests. I shall be down shortly.”

“Thank you, Miss Lefebvre. You shall have a wonderful time, I promise you.”

It did not take Sophie long to get ready, but she sat on her bed and waited for half an hour before she went downstairs. She needed to prepare herself. She did not like crowded affairs, a small card party or an intimate dinner with friends was much more her idea of a pleasant way to spend an evening. The noise level downstairs was rising, and she feared that the evening would be the worst kind of torment.

Yet Lord Wycliff had arranged the evening in her honor. In his confused way, he believed he was doing something good. Straightening her spine, holding her chin high, she took a deep breath and made her way downstairs to the drawing-room, where Lord Wycliffe and his friends were all gossiping and laughing amongst themselves.

Nobody even noticed her arrival. She wandered amongst them, catching snippets of conversation here and there. Much of the talk was about silly, trivial things she had no interest in – clothes, balls and possible matches. Not one person turned to greet her. She felt as invisible as the maids that provided an endless supply of drinks and tidbits. So much for the evening being arranged for her benefit.

Yet, it was fascinating being almost invisible to these people. One conversation made her stop and listen more closely. The talk in this little clique of women seemed to be of matches that they thought inappropriate. Sophie was aghast to hear names she knew all too well.

“The Duchy of Cott has little to be proud of,” one rather spiteful woman said with glee. She was dressed in the finest burgundy silk, but her long face and straight, prominent nose made her rather resemble a horse. “First Lady Charlotte and that soldier of hers, son of a solicitor I believe.”

“And then Lord William himself,” her companion added breathlessly, her plump face and short stature a complete contrast to that of her tall, thin friend. “To that merchant’s daughter. What was her name again, Honoria?”

“Mary Durand,” the horsey lady said with a sneer. “And it isn’t as if her dear Papa is even a real merchant, simply an inventor that got lucky. I’d wager the man’s still got dirt under his fingernails.”

Sophie glanced away from the pair, disgusted. She was surprised to see that Lord Wycliffe wasn’t standing more than a few feet away. He must have heard what was being said – yet he had said nothing to defend his friends. Sophie shook her head. What kind of a man was he? Sophie scrutinized his face, trying to understand, but he seemed no more inclined to say anything, and so Sophie realized that she must.

“I can assure you that the new Lady Cott would never speak ill of a friend of this household,” Sophie said pointedly, her voice loud and clear. Everyone turned to stare at her. She didn’t care. Lord Wycliffe might permit his friends to be insulted in his presence, but Sophie would not. “She knows how to behave in company, and as for Capitaine Watts, he is more of a gentleman than any in this room will ever hope to be.”

Lord Wycliffe looked ashamed, at least, but he didn’t speak to support her, or William and Charlotte. When he finally did clear his voice, with a polite cough, he simply introduced her to the entire room. Sophie walked away from him, intent upon leaving the room and retiring to her rooms. She knew that Lord Wycliffe was vain and self-absorbed, but she had not taken him for a coward as well.

A tall and well-dressed gentleman stopped her just before she reached the door. “Everton Cormick,” he said with a polite bow. “I just wanted to tell you I was very impressed with what you said. I attended school with Captain Watts and Lord Cott. They are both fine men, and I remember Cott’s sister with great fondness. I recall she was rather formidable and knew her mind. I am not acquainted with Lady Mary, but I am told that she has a sweet disposition.”

“They are amongst the finest people I know. I am honored to call them my friends,” Sophie said, glad that at least one person here tonight seemed to hold the same opinion of the people she loved. Mr. Cormick was handsome, with sandy blonde hair that flopped in his bright blue eyes. He didn’t seem affected in any way, his posture was upright, but not overly so. He was dressed well but was no dandy.

“Not many people would stand up to Lady Honoria that way,” Mr. Cormick said admiringly.

“I see you didn’t,” Sophie said drily.

“Touché,” Mr. Cormick said with an appealing grin. “You are right, and I must apologize for my tardiness in coming to your aid. I would make a terrible gallant knight, but to tell the truth, as I saw it, you did not need rescuing.”

Sophie couldn’t help but laugh at that. “You flatter me,” she said, warming to the young man. “I was terribly rude.”

“No, they were rude,” Mr. Cormick insisted. “But they are always rude. They think that their wealth and position means that they have a right to be so. Yet, neither has yet found a husband who will put up with their shrewish ways and spiteful tongues – so perhaps they needed to be told.”

“Thank you,” Sophie said. “Now, I think I will retire. I am not made for such gatherings as this.”

“I am sad to see you go,” Mr. Cormick said, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it as he bowed. “If I might ever be at your service in any way, do not hesitate to let me know.”

Sophie shook her head and smiled warmly at him. It was genuinely lovely to see a friendly face amongst the sea of eyes, all judging her without knowing a single thing about her. She curtseyed and made her escape.

* * *

Claveston glancedaround the room anxiously. Everyone seemed to have returned to their usual hum of gossip and nonsense, but Miss Lefebvre was nowhere to be seen. He knew he should have spoken up for William, and Charlotte – but he had never been one for making enemies. He hated confrontation and much preferred to ignore difficult matters than face them head-on. He had been shamed by what Miss Lefebvre had said, not because he disagreed with her – but because she had made him see what a coward he was, to not stand up for those he cared about.

Eventually, he found her. Mis Lefebvre was smiling and laughing with Everton Cormick, by the door. Whatever Cormick had said to her, he had clearly impressed her more than Claveston had ever managed to. She looked so happy, so beautiful and it made him peculiarly angry that it was Cormick who had brought her such joy and not himself. He was not entirely happy to realize that this was what jealousy felt like. He’d never felt it before – and there had never been anyone he had wanted to impress that much before.

He started to move towards them, then paused as he saw Cormick kiss Miss Lefebvre’s hand before she curtseyed to him and left the room. Claveston was furious. She couldn’t leave so early. The entire night was supposed to be for her. He had arranged everything, to please her. Her leaving meant he had failed, and he could not bear that thought.

Yet, he couldn’t entirely blame her for wanting to go. Both he and his friends had behaved abominably. He had not done anything to protect her or to stand up for his absent friends. He hated the thought that, in her eyes, he was the lowest kind of worm. He hurried out of the room after her and chased up the stairs, catching her arm on the landing, as she went to take the second flight up. “Miss Lefebvre, please don’t leave so early.”

“Lord Wycliffe, this is not the place for such as me,” she said firmly, turning to face him, her green eyes flashing with unspoken anger. “I am your sister’s companion, and that is all. I am not your friend. Such an event for such as me is not appropriate.”

“But I want you to be my friend,” he said, aggrieved at her dismissal. He sounded like a petulant boy and as soon as he had uttered the words, he wished he could take them back.

“Then you should defend the friends you already ‘ave,” she said simply. “Would you ‘ave stopped their gossiping if I had not done so?” She waited for a moment for him to answer, but she knew the answer without him saying a word. She turned away and continued to mount the stairs to her chambers. “And do you not think that they would ‘ave been ‘aving such a conversation at all, if the reason for their presence was not also inappropriate?” She paused for a moment and looked back at him, tears in her eyes. “Do you not see, that by throwing a party for me, to introduce me to them, that it makes them think I have ideas above my station?” She turned and ran up the rest of the stairs and disappeared.

Claveston hung his head. She was right. He hadn’t thought any of it through, he couldn’t argue that. He should have spoken for William, for James, for Charlotte and for Mary. They were not here to defend themselves. It had been his place to do so – and he had left it to Miss Lefebvre to speak on their behalf. He had arranged a party in Miss Lefebvre’s honor, but not considered that doing so might in any way impugn her. Who threw a party for their sister’s companion? It was not right – and he had made a fool of her, and of himself. Everyone downstairs must think him besotted, about to make a match as inappropriate as they thought William’s and Charlotte’s to be. Or, worse, they might think that Miss Lefebvre wished to rise in Society and was using him to do so.

He did not follow her. There was little point in trying to explain himself, for there were no excuses for his conduct. He was ashamed, and it was even more painful that she had seen right through him – that she knew that he was weak and nothing more than a dandy, following fashion, desperate to be accepted.

He ran back down the stairs and whispered to one of the footmen, then burst into the drawing room. “Party’s over,” he declared. “Your carriages are being brought round.”

Everyone stared at him, as if he might be making some terrible joke, and they were waiting for him to reach the funny part. “I mean it,” he said. “Please, just go. All of you.”

They started to file out in twos and threes, muttering about what had come over him, and speculating that it must be to do with Miss Lefebvre’s influence over him. Lady Honoria was not so discrete, confirming everything Miss Lefebvre had thrown in his face. “Are you the next among our circle to be considering marrying beneath your status?” she asked as she passed him by. “Your father would never permit it, you know. He’d never let his heir marry such an old maid. And one of the help? Lord Wycliffe, I thought more highly of you.”

Claveston tried to bite his tongue. Lady Honoria was the daughter of one of his father’s oldest and dearest friends. But her spite was quite repugnant. “Lady Honoria, if you wouldn’t mind keeping your views to yourself, at least until you are no longer on my property, I would be most grateful,” he said as politely as he could muster as he kissed her hand and bowed gallantly. She looked utterly put out at being spoken to that way, but she didn’t utter another word until she left the house. Claveston saw that as at least a small victory.

Once all of his guests had departed, he sank down onto his favorite sofa and sighed heavily. Mrs. Grint entered the room and surveyed the debris his guests had left. “Things seem to have ended earlier than I might have expected,” she said softly.

“You were right,” Claveston admitted. “This was not the best idea I have ever had. Miss Lefebvre did not enjoy herself. My acquaintances, it turns out, are all spiteful and unpleasant jackals, out to rip everyone they think beneath them in any way to shreds.”

“So, will we be expecting them again?” Mrs. Grint asked, her tone neutral, though Claveston was sure he could detect a hint of amusement in her grey eyes.

“I doubt it, Mrs. Grint. I doubt it,” he said wearily.

“And, Miss Lefebvre,” Mrs. Grint queried. “Is she alright?”

“Miss Lefebvre has the heart of a lion,” Claveston said admiringly. “But I am sure that a pot of hot chocolate and a slice or two of cake would not go amiss if you were to take them up to her.”

“I shall see to it right away,” the housekeeper said and disappeared.

A flurry of housemaids appeared a few minutes later, cleaning around Claveston as he sat feeling sorry for himself. If he had thought to make a favorable impression tonight, he could not have failed more spectacularly.