A Family of Her Own by Rose Pearson

Chapter Seven

Anumber of days had passed since the picnic. Gertrude hobbled around when she thought she was being watched, but Sophie was sure that she saw her walking and running without trouble on a number of occasions. She did not say anything. It seemed clear enough that the girl was struggling with something and acting out. The last thing she needed was more attention, to reinforce the bad behavior.

“How is your poor ankle today?” she asked her young charge over breakfast. “We ‘ave not practiced your dancing or your comportment for some days now, and they are not skills that any young lady should be without.”

“It feels a little better,” Gertrude said piously. “I think I could manage something, as long as it is not too sprightly.”

“We can learn the Pavane,” Sophie said patiently. “It is quite simple and sedate. It shouldn’t tax your poor ankle too greatly.”

But before they had even finished eating, the sound of the front doors of the hall bursting wide open and a slightly accented female voice called out loudly “Where are you all?”

Gertrude beamed from ear to ear and burst from the breakfast room, forgetting completely to limp at all. “Mama,” she cried.

By the time Sophie had emerged from the breakfast room, her young charge was being held tightly and smothered with kisses by an elegantly dressed, very regal looking lady. “There are a hundred gifts for you, my darling, in my trunks. Why don’t you go and hurry Bonnet along, so you can fetch them and tell me what you think?” she said, caressing Gertrude’s face and then ushering her outside.

“Et vous, je présume que vous êtes Mademoiselle Sophie Lefebvre,” she said, her French perfect.

“Oui, Lady Compton,” Sophie replied bobbing a curtsey.

“Je suis ravi de vous rencontrer,” Lady Compton went on, as she took off her gloves and hat and handed them to a nearby maid. “Claveston m'a parlé des merveilles que vous accomplissez avec la chère Gertrude. Elle est un peu indisciplinés, mais si cher, ne pensez-vous pas?”

“I would ‘ave to agree,” Sophie said with a smile. “But you need not speak French on my account, though I must compliment you on your grasp of my country’s language.”

“Nonsense, you need not compliment me at all,” Lady Compton said with a grin, her English accent as clean and crisp as Charlotte’s, as she tucked her arm through Sophie’s and began to lead her to the drawing-room. “I myself am also French. It is a pleasure to have someone else to talk to in the most beautiful language there is.”

She sat down on an armchair by the window. “And where is my son?” she asked looking around.

“I’m here, Mama,” Claveston said bounding into the room and pressing a kiss to his mother’s powdered cheek. “How was your trip? Did you find the perfect armoire you set out to find?”

“You know, I did not,” Lady Compton admitted. “But I did find an escritoire which will be perfect for those empty rooms in the West Wing.”

“They are no longer empty, Mother,” Claveston said grinning as he sat down opposite her on the sofa. “I arranged for them to be opened for Miss Lefebvre.”

“But they are unfinished?” Lady Compton said aghast. “I have new wall hangings and carpets, and so much furniture for them.”

“They are quite perfect as they are,” Sophie assured her, smiling. “I do not think I ‘ave ever had such perfectly appointed rooms.”

“Pish,” Lady Compton said with a wave of her hand. “We shall have you moved into the Queen’s suite whilst I finish working my magic. Then you will see perfection.”

“Thank you, Lady Compton,” Sophie said, realizing that there was little point in arguing with this formidable woman.

As she took a seat by the window, Sophie couldn’t help thinking that she had been prepared to dislike Gertrude and Lord Wycliffe’s parents on sight, due to their callous disregard of their children. But it was impossible not to admire this remarkable woman. She was a force of nature, vivid and brilliant, strong and independent. Such a free spirit should not be tamed, and being a mother did not always suit every woman – no matter what men might think.

Gertrude entered the room carrying an armful of perfectly wrapped gifts, two of the household servants following on behind with an open trunk behind her. “Mama brought us so many things,” she said excitedly.

“Including the fabrics we will need to have all your dresses made so you may have your Coming Out this year,” Lady Compton said, getting up and handing Claveston a pile of parcels, and then a few to Sophie, too.

Sophie held them on her lap as she watched Claveston and Gertrude opening theirs. Their mother had brought everything she could think of that a young man and young woman might want – except her own presence. Sophie opened her own gifts and was stunned to find a diamond necklace with matching earrings, some ivory combs, and a bolt of cloth that she could have made into an evening gown. “This is too much,” she protested. “I ‘ave no need of such riches.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Compton said. “I cannot have you escorting my daughter around London dressed like a beggar.”

“Mother,” Claveston said with a grin, “I can assure you that Miss Lefebvre does not possess anything that might make her even vaguely resemble a beggar.”

“Nonetheless, she will have an entirely new wardrobe. My seamstress will attend her, and Gertrude tomorrow. There is much to get ready, and not enough time.”

Sophie glanced at Gertrude, who was still unwrapping gifts with the enthusiasm of a child. “Ahem,” she said, clearing her throat a little. “I do not wish to speak out of turn, but I am not sure if Lady Gertrude is quite ready to ‘ave her first Season.”

Both Gertrude and her mother turned and glared at Sophie. “Then the two of you have much to do, do you not?” Lady Compton said peremptorily. “My daughter will be presented at court this year as she turns sixteen. Every girl in the St. John family has been presented at sixteen. I will not be the only mother not to manage that.”

“Yes, my Lady,” Sophie said, bobbing a curtsey. “Then we should perhaps continue with your lessons, Gertrude, don’t you think?”

Gertrude frowned. She obviously did not wish to be taken away from her mother, or her gifts. But the promise of her first Season did much to dispel her unhappiness. She followed Sophie to the music room, where she applied herself wholeheartedly to her dance lessons and even agreed to practice more in her spare time.

* * *

The moodin the house seemed lighter since Mama’s arrival and that concerned Claveston. Mama could be charming, delightful and full of excitement when she was wrapped up in a project, and it seemed to him that getting Gertrude ready for a London Season could easily be put into that category. Yet, she could bore of her passions just as quickly as she took them up, and Claveston was not sure how Gertrude would deal with that, especially with so much at stake this time.

Claveston had seen a real change in Gertrude, and even in Miss Lefebvre since Mama had reappeared in all their lives. Both of the younger women seemed more relaxed, happier even. He often found Miss Lefebvre and Mama together, chattering in French as they picked out patterns, colors, and fabrics for Gertrude’s gowns, and made plans for the kinds of events that she should attend once in London. He could see that Sophie was growing close to Mama, and he hated the thought that she might be hurt if Mama’s affections were snatched away, as they so often were, without notice.

Yet despite his concerns, it was a delight to see them getting on so well, and he knew that his mother appreciated Miss Lefebvre’s tendency to speak her mind, as she had done in the drawing-room on Mama’s first day home when she had pointed out her concerns about whether Gertrude would be ready. It was such a French thing. Mama did it too. They simply didn’t see that by being honest that they might be seen as being rude. It was as charming as it was infuriating.

However, Gertrude had not taken her companion’s words as well as it might at first have seemed. Claveston had noticed the occasional flashes of anger that crossed his younger sister’s features when Miss Lefebvre was not looking, though she had seemed keen to continue her lessons ready for her Season and was a diligent student in every way.

Yet, something nagged at Claveston. There had been too many odd looks, and there was the bad ankle that had never shown any signs of damage that had so magically healed the day Mama returned home. It puzzled Claveston. Gertrude might be mercurial, but she was not usually so secretive, or so deceitful.

He was glad to note that he had noticed less of such moments since his mother’s return, which was at least a blessing of sorts. Mama doted upon Gertrude, lavishing her with the attention his young sister craved so desperately. She blossomed under the attention – and that left Claveston full of fear as to what might happen when Mama undoubtedly disappeared again once her interest in being a parent dissipated. Mama could only be delightful and charming with children for so long, after all.

It also concerned him that Mama had talked only of Miss Lefebvre accompanying Gertrude through her Season - and hadn’t once said whether or not she would be there to present her daughter at Court – let alone any of the balls and assemblies she had insisted were the places to be seen. A daughter needed her mother at such a time in her life. There was so much to navigate, and though he did not doubt that Miss Lefebvre was up to the task, it should not be hers to bear.

Knowing that there may be a gaping hole torn into their lives again, before any of them were ready for it, Claveston knew he needed to make sure that Gertrude knew she was loved. He decided that it was time to spend some time with his little sister so she might be better prepared for Mama’s unknown but inevitable departure.

He’d barely seen Gertrude, except at dinner for weeks, she had been so caught up in all the preparations and all of her lessons. He poked his head around the music room door, knowing that was where they could often be found after lunch, and grinned when he saw her with Miss Lefebvre, practicing a cotillion. Poor Gertrude kept moving forward when she should wait and was often tempted to dance the man’s part rather than her own.

“Do you need rescuing?” he said with a grin.

Gertrude glanced over at him and rewarded him with a delightful smile. “Oh, would you?” she begged.

“Do you mind, Miss Lefebvre?” he asked her. “I feel I have barely seen my sister in weeks, whilst you ladies all plan and plot for the most perfect Coming Out there has ever been.”

Miss Lefebvre smiled, too. Just seeing her so content brought Claveston such joy, even if it was tinged with concern. The atmosphere at Compton had truly changed in recent weeks, and he hoped that she was glad to have come to Compton. He knew he was glad that she was here. “Go,” she assured her pupil. “We ‘ave time for you to get this right. Perhaps we can convince your Mama to let us roll back the rugs in the drawing-room and practice after supper. I am sure that your brother would make a fine partner to help me show you ‘ow these complex group dances work.”

“I should be delighted to accompany you, Gertrude,” Claveston said and was rewarded with another bright smile from his sister and her companion.

He offered Gertrude his arm and the two of them left. “What should you like to do?” he asked her.

“May we go riding?” Gertrude asked. “I’ve barely had time to visit Moonlight since Mama returned, much less take her for a gallop.”

“If you were a man, you’d be a neck-or-nothing rider, would you not?” Claveston teased.

“I should enjoy the chance,” Gertrude admitted as they walked around the house to the stables. “Why are women not permitted to do anything that is truly enjoyable?”

“You are permitted to do all manner of things.”

“But not to go to school or university, I am only permitted on the hunt here because nobody wishes to upset you or Papa, but heaven help me if I should wish to hunt anywhere else.”

“It is just the way the world is,” Claveston said with a sigh. He often wondered why women were held back from doing so many things that were deemed healthy and invigorating for men yet damaging to young women. It made little sense to him. Surely a healthy enjoyment of exercise and fresh air was good for anyone?

Claveston nodded to one of the stable lads who disappeared into the stalls and brought out his bay stallion, and Gertrude’s grey mare. He had bought the feisty horse for Gertrude’s fourteenth birthday. The two were quite a pair, and there were few riders in the county that would keep up with them.

Gertrude nuzzled Moonlight’s neck and rubbed her nose lovingly. The horse nickered a greeting, as the stable lad went to fetch Gertrude’s side-saddle. “Miss Lefebvre said that even if I can take Moonlight with me to London that I will not be permitted to do more than trot in the park.”

“That would be terrible,” Claveston said solemnly, as he threw his own saddle onto Hector’s back, amused by his sister’s serious face. “Perhaps I can come and take you out from time to time. There are places I know that are away from prying eyes where you might have a good gallop.”

“Would you do that for me?” Gertrude asked, brightening immediately as she fitted Moonlight’s bridle and bit herself, then used the stable-lad’s proffered hands to boost herself up into the saddle. She arranged her skirts as she had been taught, and sat erect, her hands light on the reins.

It hurt that she was often so easily pleased. She did not really need all of the gifts and trinkets that Mama and Papa showered upon her. All she longed for was for them to notice her, to spend time with her. She was just a little girl who longed to be loved. “I shall be delighted to do just that,” Claveston assured her, “and shall make sure I find time to do so at least once every single week that you are in London, come what may.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. You will need the escape from all those tedious afternoon teas and dances. It might seem exciting now, but months and months of it would drive even the most eager young woman half mad.” Gertrude giggled.

They rode out of the yard, the horses’ hooves clip-clopping on the cobbles until they reached the grasslands where Gertrude urged Moonlight to a canter. Claveston did the same, but stayed just behind his sister, watching the way she handled Moonlight. She was one of the finest riders he’d ever seen, and he loved to watch the way she guided Moonlight with soft touches and light hands. He’d not ever seen her tug on Moonlight’s tender mouth, or use a riding crop, so in tune with one another were horse and rider.

As they rode further out of sight of the house, Gertrude grinned and urged the gallop. She raced away. Hector was a fine, strong horse, but he struggled to match the pace of the faster mare. Gertrude flew, her hair streaming behind her, all worries thrown to the winds. Claveston whooped his appreciation for her form and was delighted to lose to her when she bet him that she would reach the river first.

As they let their mounts rest and take a well-earned drink, brother and sister sat down, side by side, on the riverbank. “Do you like Miss Lefebvre?” Gertrude asked him unexpectedly.

“Of course,” he said awkwardly. “She is a fine young woman, and an excellent companion, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so,” Gertrude said. “I’ve not had one before, so cannot tell. But that isn’t quite what I meant. There are times… times when I catch you looking at her.” She looked at him intently. “Would you wish to marry her, Claveston, if you could?”

It was such a peculiar question, and one he wasn’t entirely sure he wished to answer. If all things were possible, then he would certainly like to entertain such a possibility – but Miss Lefebvre was a member of their household now. It would be quite improper. But he did not want to lie to his sister and deny that he was most certainly fascinated by the unusually beguiling Frenchwoman.

He pursed his lips. “I am fond of Miss Lefebvre, it is true. She is quick-witted, accomplished, rather lovely to look at - and if we were compatible then I might perhaps consider a union, but…” he tailed off. He wasn’t explaining it well, but it seemed that his sister had heard enough.

“If you were to marry, would you leave here?” she asked him. “I mean, to set up a home elsewhere?”

“Why would I do that?” Claveston asked, a little confused by the peculiar questions. “This is my home, and yours. The furthest I might go would be to the townhouse in London – and you shall be there with me this year for the Season.”

“All my nannies left when they married,” Gertrude said sadly. “I should hate it if you went, too.”

At times, especially since Miss Lefebvre had been at Compton and had been helping Gertrude, Claveston forgot how very young she still was. He put an arm around her shoulder and hugged her close. “I am not one of your nannies,” he assured her. “If I marry,” he paused, he did not wish to give her some kind of false hope that such a thing might not happen. “When I marry, Compton will still be my home. I am heir to the Duchy, and Papa relies upon me to run the place while he is gone. I will never leave.”

Gertrude gave him a peculiar look. He wasn’t sure if he had eased her mind or not. “If anything, Gertie, it will be you who leaves me when you find a rich duke to marry you.” He kept his tone light and teasing, and Gertrude smiled, but he wasn’t sure if he’d said the right thing to reassure her.

“Shall we go home,” she said, moving towards her horse and taking the reins ready to mount. She was not happy, but Claveston did not know what she wanted him to say. He had been as truthful as he could be – and surely that was for the best?

With a heavy sigh, he offered her his cupped hands and threw her up into the saddle. He watched as she settled herself, wondering what had gotten into her, to have her seem so sad and serious. He would speak with Mis Lefebvre when they returned and ask if she might keep an extra eye on Gertrude. He didn’t know precisely why, but he was worried about her.