A Family of Her Own by Rose Pearson

Chapter Six

The sun shone brightly when Sophie awoke the next day. She smiled sadly at the remains of the tray that Mrs. Grint had brought her, supposedly at Lord Wycliffe’s request. It was the sort of gesture a man like him might make, rather than apologizing to her face, but it was at least something. She dressed and hurried downstairs to breakfast with Gertrude. Bonnet stopped her in the hallway and handed her a package.

“Oh, dear Sophie,” Gertrude said excitedly as Sophie entered the breakfast room. “How was the party? You must tell me everything? I cannot wait until I am old enough to attend such events.”

“It was just a party,” Sophie said, setting down her package and opening it carefully. She smiled when she saw what was inside. “But I think you will be much more excited by what is in here.”

“I will? What is it?”

“It is the sheet music we ordered,” Sophie said, pulling out the pages of music and passing them one at a time to Gertrude.

“Oh, how wonderful,” Gertrude said, beaming as she traced her slender fingers along the lines of tiny black notes. “Will you teach me them this morning, the weather is due to remain fine all day. We could perhaps take our walk this afternoon, instead?”

“I do not see why not,” Sophie said, as she helped herself to some food from the buffet and began to eat.

After they had eaten their fill, the pair went arm-in-arm to the music room and sat down at the pianoforte. Gertrude picked up the new tunes without much trouble and Sophie picked out the chords and improvised a second part, so they might perform them as duets. They laughed with each discordant choice Sophie made and paused until she had found something that worked better.

The morning flew by and Sophie was glad to have something so engrossing to take her mind from the events of the night before, but just before midday, Lord Wycliffe peered around the door, looking extremely sheepish. “Excuse me, might I have a quick word with you, Miss Lefebvre?” he asked tentatively. It was clear he hoped to be forgiven, though Sophie was disinclined to let him off without a real apology.

“We are in the middle of a lesson,” she said firmly. “I will speak with you later.”

Gertrude stared at her, then at her brother, who meekly disappeared and closed the door behind him. “Whatever is the matter? Has something happened between you two?” she asked.

“It is nothing,” Sophie said hurriedly. Gertrude could be all too observant when she wished, and Sophie had no intention of saying anything bad about Lord Wycliffe to his doting sister, or risk having Gertrude taking his side over a matter that would be easily settled later on.

The rest of the lesson continued without incident, and Sophie sent Gertrude upstairs to wash before lunch, while she sought out Claveston. She found him in his favorite drawing-room, pacing up and down in front of the fireplace. “You wished to speak with me,” she said, her tone icy.

“I did,” he said, turning to face her. He wrung his hands nervously and fidgeted with his jacket and his waistcoat. “I wanted to say I am terribly sorry for what happened last night, that you were quite right. I should have said something. Lady Honoria was casting aspersions upon the character of the people I hold most dear to me, and I should have stopped her immediately. And I should have thought more upon how arranging such an event for you might appear. I never meant to harm you in any way. I truly thought it would be something nice for you.”

Sophie shrugged. He was saying the right things, but she wasn’t sure if he truly meant them. “I should not ‘ave to tell you such things,” she reminded him. “It is the kind of lesson I might need to teach someone of Gertrude’s age, but you are a grown man. You should know better.”

“You are right, absolutely right,” Lord Wycliffe agreed nervously. “I am just not used to doing so. I have ever hated arguments, and it is easier to just let things pass me by – but I can promise you that this will be the last time it ever happens. I shall be a better friend, to you – and to William and Mary, James and Charlotte.”

“Words are easy, Lord Wycliffe. It is by our actions we must be judged. But I believe that you mean what you say.”

“I truly am so very sorry. I just wanted you to have a wonderful evening, to meet some people so you might feel you have friends nearby,” he said with a wry chuckle. “I should have asked you first if such a thing would even be welcome?”

“Perhaps. It was a kind gesture. You simply got the execution a little wrong, and it meant that people were able to speculate and make it into something ugly,” Sophie said generously. Poor Lord Wycliffe. He simply wasn’t used to having to take responsibility for his actions – and how they might be perceived by others. His position in Society protected him. He could do whatever he liked. Nobody would ever say anything unpleasant to his face – though they might talk about him behind his back. But woe betide someone like Sophie setting her cap at a duke’s son.

“Perhaps we might go on a picnic one day, the three of us?” she suggested, offering him something to prove she would not continue to hold it against him.

“I should like that,” Lord Wycliffe said, his entire face lighting up in his delight at being forgiven. “Why not today? The weather is so fine, and I can ask Cook to pack up our lunch. We could take a walk through the woods, out towards the river?”

“Why not?” Sophie said, with a quiet chuckle herself. He was so easy to please, like a puppy dog.

As he hurried away, Sophie couldn’t help reflecting that many of the concerns that Gertrude had might also apply to her brother. Just because he was older now did not mean that he had not been affected by the absences of his parents when he was her age. To be raised by nannies, housekeepers and servants was quite normal amongst the aristocracy, but most children knew that their parents were nearby. Lord Wycliffe and Gertrude had often not even known what country their parents might be in, and the constant concern over whether they might ever return from their long sea voyages must have left its mark upon both children.

Lord Wycliffe had perhaps enjoyed a little more stability once he had gone to school, but there would have been long periods without word from his family due to the vagaries of travel by ship. To watch his friends as they received letters from home, and for there to be nothing for him, must have been hard. And then to be showered with gifts and given all they could ever possibly imagine when their parents did finally return had left both of them with a sense of entitlement, that if they asked, they would receive.

Sophie had willingly offered her understanding to Gertrude. She was not responsible for the way she had been raised. Why did she expect more from Lord Wycliffe who had been raised the same way? He was a wealthy man, from an aristocratic line that could trace itself back to William the Conqueror. To do as one wished was what such men were used to doing. She had been spoiled, herself, from knowing Lord William and Captain Watts, who were both such good men, generous and kind. Perhaps she had forgotten that they were the exception and not the rule?

* * *

Delightedthat Miss Lefebvre had given him a way to make things up to her, and to spend time with her, Claveston hurried to the kitchens and demanded that Cook change her plans for lunch, with just moments before service. She grumbled and frowned at him, but when he planted a kiss on her plump cheek, the old woman grinned and flicked a dishcloth at him. “Get away from me, you young devil,” she said. “Don’t think that you can charm me when you come into my kitchen with your demands – especially after all my hard work went to waste last night.”

“It is not for me, Cook,” Claveston assured her, “but for Miss Lefebvre and Gertrude. They have been cooped up in the music room all morning and are in need of some fresh air and delicious food – preferably combined in the form of one of your finest picnics.”

“Get on with you,” Cook said with a harrumph. “I’ll send up some baskets in ten minutes.”

Claveston beamed and grabbed an apple from the bowl on the sideboard. He took a big bite and made his way back upstairs. Miss Lefebvre was waiting in the hallway. Gertrude bounded down the stairs. Miss Lefebvre frowned. Gertrude immediately walked more sedately, her spine erect, her hand resting lightly upon the banister. Claveston couldn’t help admiring the difference. His hoyden of a little sister was no more, in her place was a poised young lady.

“Congratulations,” he said to Miss Lefebvre as Gertrude crossed the hallway, maintaining her poise. “I never thought I would live to see the day.”

Miss Lefebvre giggled. Gertrude frowned as she approached them. “What is so funny,” she asked petulantly. “Did I do it wrong?”

“Not at all,” Miss Lefebvre assured her, putting an arm around Gertrude’s waist and giving her an affectionate squeeze. “Quite the opposite. You were the perfect young lady. I was very proud.”

“Me too,” Claveston said, bending down to give her a peck on the cheek. Gertrude glowed under their praise, but Claveston also noticed that as soon as Miss Lefebvre turned away that Gertrude’s smile faltered, replaced by a suspicious look for the fleetest of moments.

One of the kitchen maids appeared a few moments later, with a basket over each arm. Claveston took them, and the trio headed out into the sunshine. They walked through the formal gardens, Gertrude chattering on about the new pieces of music that she and Miss Lefebvre had been learning that morning, and how she had to walk for half an hour every day, up and down the long gallery, with books on her head to learn about comportment.

Claveston listened happily enough, glad that his sister seemed so happy. But what he really wanted was to learn more about Miss Lefebvre. He tried to ask her a few questions, but Gertrude always cut him off, with something else that Miss Lefebvre had taught her. He began to get a little impatient. He loved Gertrude dearly, but it was impolite of her to cut him off in such a manner and to almost totally exclude Miss Lefebvre from their conversation.

“Miss Lefebvre, what was it that brought you to England?” he asked when Gertrude briefly skipped on ahead of them.

“My father brought me when he came here to trade in England. I loved it very much.”

“Come here, look,” Gertrude called, beckoning them forward. “There are snakes here, two of them.”

“I did not know there were snakes in England,” Miss Lefebvre said with a shudder.

“We are blessed to only have those whose bite do no harm,” Claveston said with a smile. “Adders and grass snakes only.”

He hurried to catch up with his sister, but there was no sign of the snakes by the time he arrived. Gertrude tucked her arm through his. “They were there,” she said, perhaps a little too vehemently. “Perhaps there will be otters in the river, today. I do so love the way they play together.”

“If we are very still and very quiet,” Claveston warned her. “You know they will not come if you are making lots of noise.”

“I know,” Gertrude said in a sing-song voice. “Run with me?”

“Young ladies do not run,” he said, trying to be stern, but it was always hard when she grinned at him and hoicked up her skirts and scampered off expecting him to follow.

“She has enough time to be a young lady,” Miss Lefebvre said holding out her hands for the picnic baskets. “Let her enjoy being a child while she still can.”

Claveston grinned, handed over the food, and raced after his sister, who squealed with delight when he caught her as they emerged from the woods near the riverbank and picked her up and spun her around. “I shall not be able to do this for much longer,” he said sadly as he set her down and they picked a spot where they could lay out their blanket and enjoy their lunch.

As the siblings romped a little, Miss Lefebvre laid out the picnic. Gertrude flopped down onto the blanket. “I’m fashed,” she said as she reached for a sandwich.

“You are fatigued,” Miss Lefebvre corrected her. “A polite young woman never uses such vulgar words.”

Gertrude sulked. She did not like being chastised. Claveston poured her a glass of lemonade and gave her a clandestine wink. She grinned back; she could never stay too mad when he was around. He was glad that it was so easy to appease her. Her mood seemed to be even more mercurial than usual, today.

“So, how are you settling in, Miss Lefebvre? I know I did not perhaps choose the right manner in which to introduce you to the local community, but what would be the right one?” he asked.

After thinking for a moment, Miss Lefebvre smiled. “We used to attend church in the village, and often undertook charitable work there.”

“We can go to church this Sunday in Compton if you would like? We can call for the carriage – or perhaps even walk? I could show you some of the sights, hereabouts” Claveston said, delighted that there might be something he could do for her.

Gertrude rolled her eyes as Miss Lefebvre nodded. “That would be lovely,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Are we quite done?” Gertrude demanded rudely as she set down her plate and stood up to go.

Claveston was mortified. Miss Lefebvre had barely taken a morsel of food, she had been too busy ensuring that he and Gertrude were served first. Gertrude was acting as though she were a child, and not the young woman he had hoped she was becoming under Miss Lefebvre’s tutelage. He simply did not know what had gotten into her.

“We should give your companion a moment to eat, at least, do you not think?” he reminded his sister, who stomped away from them and stared out over the river.

Claveston looked at Miss Lefebvre who could not even meet his eye. “I am sorry,” she muttered.

“Such behavior is hardly your fault,” Claveston assured her. “I shall speak with Gertrude when we get home. She knows better than to be so rude.”

“It is my duty to prepare her for polite Society, that she is not yet there reflects badly upon my teaching.”

“No, it does not,” Claveston assured her. “You have been here a very short time. I have been responsible for Gertrude, and it is my fault that she is so spoiled.”

Miss Lefebvre raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Not your parents’ responsibility?” she asked. “You are just her brother. You are not her guardian, or her tutor.”

“I suppose you are right. But I have been the only permanent presence in her life. If she is ill-mannered, it is because I have let her be that way. I hate to scold her, and she knows it.”

“Yes,” Miss Lefebvre said with a smile. “I ‘ave noticed that neither of you takes well to being told what to do.”

Claveston laughed out loud, causing Gertrude to turn and glare at them both. “But I am at least trying to learn how to change,” he assured her.

“I suppose you are,” she said graciously. “Perhaps we should go back to the house now, before poor Gertrude explodes from her frustrations?”

They packed up the remains of the picnic and called to Gertrude who dawdled behind them on the way back through the woods. They were about to cross through the gate into the formal gardens when they heard a loud cry of pain from somewhere behind them.

Claveston turned and ran back. He found Gertrude lying on the ground, writhing in agony, clutching at her left ankle. “I must have twisted it,” she said between moans. “I am so clumsy, I wasn’t looking where I was going, must have trodden in a rabbit hole or something, and lost my balance. Before I knew it, here I was.”

Feeling worried, Claveston picked Gertrude up and carried her into the house, Miss Lefebvre hurrying at his side, her face a picture of concern. He laid Gertrude down on the chaise in the library, while Miss Lefebvre fetched bandages, hot water and sent one of the maids to the icehouse so she could make a cold compress for Gertrude’s ankle.

While she was gone, Claveston inspected Gertrude’s supposedly twisted ankle. There were no signs of swelling or redness, not even a scratch from the branches that littered the ground in the woods. He looked into his sister’s face, hoping that the little minx hadn’t manufactured this entire scenario in order that she might be the center of attention once more. But even Gertrude was not so spoiled, was she?