A Family of Her Own by Rose Pearson

Chapter Eight

As time passed, and the preparations for Gertrude’s first Season began to bear fruit, Sophie realized that she had finally started to feel at home here at Compton. Having someone to talk to in French, and their shared goal to prepare Gertrude so she could face any eventuality gave her days real purpose. Evening dinners had become lively affairs, with Lady Compton holding forth upon her many adventures, and Lord Wycliffe teasing his mother and sister good-naturedly. Sophie was even coming to see a side to him that she hadn’t seen before, the generous, loving, and devoted one that cared deeply about his family. She rather liked that Claveston St. John.

One afternoon, she bumped into Mrs. Grint on the stairs. The poor woman was trying to balance two heavily laden trays that she was bringing down from Lady Compton’s suite. “Let me ‘elp you,” she offered taking one of them before the elderly housekeeper could say no.

“You do not need to,” Mrs. Grint said, but grimaced a little as she took a few steps down.

“Is your knee troubling you, again?” Sophie asked. She knew that the older woman had a few niggles, especially when the weather turned cold and wet as it had done over the past few days.

“A little. The liniment you got for me from the village has been a great help.”

“I am glad.”

“You’re doing a fine job, with Lady Gertrude,” Mrs. Grint said, nodding her head sagely. She wasn’t much given to praise, so Sophie treasured the comment.

“She is a good girl, though I fear she lacks discipline.”

“Aye, they both struggle with that, her and Lord Claveston,” Mrs. Grint agreed. “They’re loving enough, but they’ve been both starved of affection and spoiled with everything their little hearts could ever desire. I don’t think anyone’s ever said no to either of them before you.”

“I don’t exactly say no to them,” Sophie said.

“Oh, you do – in your way. You show Lady Gertrude how she should behave, rather than screaming and shouting – or pouting – until she gets what she wants, she is seeing that you are prepared to wait until you have earned it. Learning by example is a powerful thing.”

“I agree,” Sophie said. “I think shouting at Lady Gertrude or telling her what to do would ‘ave the opposite effect to what I want from her.”

“You’re right enough about that.” Mrs. Grint chuckled as they crossed the hall and into the back corridor. “It’s a shame young Claveston never had anyone like you around when he was a boy. Maybe then he’d be more inclined to take a wife.”

“You think he’s avoiding it?” Sophie asked, curious as to the older woman’s answer. It had often struck her as peculiar that Claveston seemed to show no interest in finding a bride. She knew all too well the pressure that a man like him must be under, from his parents and Society, to wed and produce an heir. Yet, she had never heard his name linked to that of any of the eligible young women of his acquaintance.

“I fear he is as troubled by the thought of people leaving him as dear Lady Gertrude is,” Mrs. Grint said as they made their way down the back stairs to the kitchens. “I fear for him, that he may end up a bounder, even a cad.”

“You do?” Sophie said, surprised at such a thing. She knew, from Charlotte and William, that Lord Wycliffe enjoyed his parties and that he had been known to gamble from time to time, but she had not heard anything from them about any affairs he might have enjoyed. They never spoke of him in that way.

“You know, I think that this may be the longest that her Grace has spent here at Compton, in one visit that is. His Grace is here even less. Those children grew up knowing that their parents could only love them in small bites. It isn’t good for a child to be always alone with strangers who come and go as they have.”

“It must ‘ave been very hard on them.”

“Aye, it was,” Mrs. Grint agreed. “And I fear that neither will ever trust anyone enough to let them love them. But they are such good souls, they deserved so much more.”

Sophie pondered the older woman’s words as she went back upstairs and into the small drawing-room. It wasn’t as opulent as the one Lord Wycliffe favored, with its faded brocade chaises and light oak furnishings. It was a very feminine room, and Sophie found it a calming place to sit and think. It also housed a rather lovely old harpsichord, which she was teaching herself to play.

Whenever she was troubled, she had always found music to be a salve for her frayed nerves. And after her conversation with Mrs. Grint, she had much on her mind. Sophie sat down at the bench and let her fingers fly over the keys. They were much stiffer than those of the pianoforte and reacted to her touch more slowly, but she loved the sound that they drew, so bright and light – perfect to play the music of Mozart upon. She was soon lost in her favorite sonata, letting the melody soothe her as she added the changes in tempo, mood, and the dynamics of loud and soft it required to bring it to life.

She was so lost in her playing, that she didn’t notice Lord Wycliffe leaning in the doorway, listening to her, his expression dreamy – as if lost somewhere far away. When she did, she stopped playing abruptly. He blinked a few times, as if coming out of a trance, and then smiled at her. “You have such a wonderful gift,” he said admiringly, “to be able to play so beautifully.”

“I do love to play,” Sophie admitted as he moved into the room. “It is such an escape.”

Somehow, though the room was amply sized, his presence made it seem somehow small and cramped. Sophie had not ever felt so aware of his presence before. She wondered if it was because they had never been alone before, there was always someone else present. He did not draw any nearer, but it still felt as if he was right beside her, his warmth filling the space between them as if he was sitting beside her on the stool.

He perched on the back of one of the chaises and extended his leg. She couldn’t help noticing his shapely calves, though she forced herself to look away. He was dressed in a plain green velvet jacket today. It was unusually somber for him, he usually favored intricately embroidered waistcoats and bright colors. Seeing him this way it felt as if she was finally seeing the man hiding behind the dandy. It was disconcerting. Somehow their meeting this way seemed somehow untoward, clandestine, and Sophie felt a flush of heat suffuse her skin, from her chest to her cheeks.

“I often wish I had learned to play,” Lord Wycliffe said sadly.

“But you ‘ave a fine tenor voice,” Sophie said nervously. She and Gertrude had often accompanied him as he sang for them after dinner. “I cannot sing a note. You cannot be blessed with every gift.”

“Indeed, that would be quite greedy of me, would it not?” he said with a grin. “But I fear it may be the only one I possess.”

“I doubt that, my Lord,” Sophie said softly. “There are many things that you excel in I am sure.”

They looked at one another awkwardly, neither knowing what else to say. The atmosphere between them felt charged, as if they had crossed some kind of barrier that they had both been trying not to. Sophie fidgeted with the ringlets that hung down around her face nervously, as she tried to think of what to say next. Lord Wycliffe picked at a loose thread on the back of the chaise, his eyes never leaving her face, not even for a moment. Sophie felt he was looking right through her, though she had no idea what he thought he was seeing.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity had passed, Lord Wycliffe stood up. He smoothed the wrinkles in his jacket and turned to leave. He paused in the doorway and looked back at her. “My friend, Everton Cormick, is to join us for dinner this evening. I hope you do not mind. He wished to pay his respects to Mama before she decides to leave again. You seemed to at least not mind his company, when he was last here.” There was an edge in his voice as if he expected her to object, or perhaps to be delighted by such news.

“He was kind to me,” Sophie admitted cautiously, not sure why she felt that she should answer him so carefully. “I shall make sure that Gertrude is prepared for company. Perhaps we can convince the two of you to accompany us so she may practice her dancing?” She smiled tentatively, knowing that though Claveston often assisted her in teaching his sister to dance, it was not one of his favored pastimes.

“I am sure we shall bear it, as it is for such a fine cause,” Claveston said, looking amused. “I shall see you at seven.”

He left the room, leaving Sophie feeling confused and disconcerted. There had, at times, been something almost flirtatious in their conversation, or so it had seemed to her. She had surely been imagining it, because Claveston St. John would not be flirting with a mere lady’s companion like herself. His father would intend him for someone like Charlotte, the daughter of a duke or a marquess, or an earl at the very least. Yet at others, there had been an undercurrent of something much darker coming from Lord Wycliffe, and anger or jealousy perhaps, and she did not know why.

Before going upstairs, she ordered a bath to be sent up to her rooms. When the maids had finished filling it with steaming buckets of water, Sophie sank into the rose-perfumed water and wondered about everything that had happened with Lord Wycliffe. It did not make sense to her at all. The richly perfumed water began to work its magic though, and her mind eased leaving her free to daydream.

She closed her eyes and wondered what it might be like to be married to someone – anyone. But as she let her imagination run free the man beside her at the altar, and opposite her at the dining table was no longer faceless, as he had been throughout so much of her life. Now he possessed the face of Lord Wycliffe, and no matter how hard she tried to banish the image of his handsome face, Sophie couldn’t seem to imagine it any other way. And he was a good husband. Loving, devoted, loyal – and happy to stay home with her and build a family.

It was a pretty picture indeed, but so far from what could ever happen in reality, that Sophie vowed to put it from her mind as soon as she got out of the tub. But as she dressed and fixed her hair, brief glimpses popped, unasked for, into her mind. She shook her head and hummed loudly as she made her way to Gertrude’s chambers. At least she would have no time for such silly nonsense as she got the young woman ready for her first real test. Gertrude’s chatter alone would keep her distracted enough, surely?

* * *

A loud bangingupon the door announced Everton Cormick’s arrival at the house. Claveston ran from the library into the hallway to greet his friend. He stopped abruptly when he saw Bonnet walking sedately, his back as straight as a poker and his hawklike nose in the air, towards the large oak doors. The butler opened them wide and stepped aside to let Cormick inside. Claveston stepped forward to greet his friend with a firm handshake, before Cormick removed his hat and coat and handed them to Bonnet.

“So, old man,” Cormick said as Claveston guided him towards the library, where he had a fine claret awaiting. “How goes life in the country?”

“Well,” Claveston said. “And how are matters in London?”

“Dull,” Cormick said with a smile as they entered the library. “But I did not come here to talk business. How is Miss Lefebvre? I must confess to being quite taken with her. She is quite lovely.” He sank into one of the comfortable armchairs by the fireplace.

Claveston frowned as he moved to the small table where he had placed the decanter of wine and two glasses. In his pleasure at his friends’ arrival, Claveston had briefly forgotten that Cormick was the only person that Miss Lefebvre had really spoken with intimately at his failed party and had just allowed himself to be happy to see the man. With Cormick’s innocent comments, all of Claveston’s jealousies reared to the fore once more. He hated that he was so possessive of Miss Lefebvre. Surely if he truly cared for her, he would want the very best for her? And there was no denying that Cormick was a better man than he would ever be.

“She is well,” he said hastily answering Cormick’s question as he poured a glass of the rich red liquid and handed it to his friend. “She will be joining us for dinner, along with my dear Mama and Gertrude.”

“How delightful,” Cormick said looking genuinely pleased. “I heard a rumor that Lady Gertrude is to make her debut this Season?”

“She is, and I would be grateful if you might ensure that she has at least one dance on her card filled if you are ever attending any of the same events, old friend.”

“I should be delighted. She has always been a spirited little thing. She will make someone a fine wife someday.”

“I doubt that,” Claveston said with a chuckle as he poured himself a glass and took a sip. “The girl is a hellion.”

“There are some men that would prefer that,” Cormick said seriously. “I cannot imagine anything more unpleasant than an insipid Bath Miss.”

“You’ll not find any of those at our table,” Claveston said as he took a seat opposite his friend. “Mama is, as you know, a force of nature, Miss Lefebvre is most definitely a woman of spirit – and Gertrude, well, she is learning how to behave in polite Society, but she is impetuous and often forgets her manners.”

“And you would not wish to change any of them,” Cormick said chuckling.

“Sometimes I would,” Claveston admitted. He would willingly temper his Mama’s wilfulness with a small dose of motherly feeling if he could.

A gong sounded across the hallway. “Ah, dinner is ready,” Cormick said jumping to his feet. “I am famished, old boy. I do hope that your wonderful Cook has made that delicious venison dish she made last time I was here.”

“I believe we have beef,” Claveston said a little distractedly as he saw Miss Lefebvre descending the stairs through the open doorway. As she disappeared out of sight, he shook his head almost imperceptibly, stood up, and slapped his friend affectionately on his back. “But I can assure you, it will be just as fine.”

Mama was already seated at the head of the table when they arrived. Claveston should have been put out. In his father’s absence, he was supposed to be the head of the household, but he would never gainsay his mother, and most certainly would not ever do so in public. She rose briefly so that Cormick might kiss the back of her hand and bow graciously to her, then sank back down and flicked open a feathered fan and wafted it in front of her face.

Miss Lefebvre and Gertrude were stood by their seats, both looked lovely, their hair pinned in concoctions of elaborate plaits and curls that framed their lovely faces. Claveston smiled at Miss Lefebvre as Gertrude dropped into a very elegant curtsey and held out her hand for Cormick to take. Cormick kissed the air above Gertrude’s skin politely.

Miss Lefebvre smiled back at Claveston. Her pupil had learned a great deal in a very short time. She switched her attention back to Gertrude and nodded approvingly as Cormick gallantly offered Gertrude his arm and escorted her to her place at the table, while Claveston did the same for Miss Lefebvre. “She did that rather well, did she not?” he whispered as Gertrude took her seat and nodded politely to Cormick.

“Yes, she did,” Miss Lefebvre said as she took her own seat and smiled encouragingly at Gertrude.

Mama had seated Cormick next to Miss Lefebvre, and so Claveston took the seat by his sister. He could have chosen to sit at the foot of the table, though the head was technically his right in his father’s absence - but in a strange way that felt too much as though he truly was acceding all power to his mother. By choosing not to take her seat at the table, he would also be closer to everyone and they could all converse more easily. The last thing he wanted was for Cormick to be able to monopolize Miss Lefebvre all night.

Yet, as the meal progressed through the soup and fish courses, it was clear that Cormick and Miss Lefebvre were enjoying a number of private moments, despite his choice of seat. Claveston often caught the two of them laughing at something that he’d not heard, and he did not like being on the outside one bit. He had to choke down his jealousy on a number of occasions, and he didn’t like himself for it. Cormick was a good man. The best of men. He would make a fine husband – certainly a better one than Claveston would. He knew how to give love and accept it freely. Miss Lefebvre deserved someone that could offer her that.

As he glanced around the table, it seemed that Gertrude wasn’t too pleased about the way the evening was progressing either, as she began to forget the manners that Miss Lefebvre had been so diligently teaching her, and rather than waiting to be asked a question began to try and dominate the conversation with the things she had learned that day. Claveston wasn’t sure if she wanted Miss Lefebvre’s attention most, or Cormick’s, but she seemed determined to get someone’s.

“Mama,” she said eagerly as they awaited the arrival of the roast beef. “You must come and see the watercolor I painted today. Miss Lefebvre says it is quite the best one I have ever done.”

“I am sure that can be arranged,” Mama said a little wearily, as if she was already growing bored with family life and the little things that a mother should be happy to give to their children – like encouragement and praise. Claveston was not surprised that the bored comment was soon followed with a rebuke. “Though a young lady should wait to be asked about her accomplishments, not simply blurt them out at the dinner table. And it is quite vain of you to remark upon how good they are yourself.” He winced on Gertrude’s behalf.

His sister frowned at the gentle scolding and glared briefly at her mother and then at Miss Lefebvre who was biting at her lip anxiously. Claveston caught the gentle nod of encouragement from teacher to pupil and watched as Miss Lefebvre straightened her spine and smiled graciously. Gertrude nodded back and immediately copied Miss Lefebvre’s posture and expression. “You are quite right, Mama,” she said contritely. “Please do forgive me, Mr. Cormick. I am still learning.”

“I think you are doing splendidly,” Cormick said gallantly, raising his glass in a toast. Gertrude beamed, delighted at his compliment.

The servants appeared and served them with thick slices of perfectly pink roast beef, a rich meat gravy, crisp roasted potatoes and vegetables from the walled garden. The food was excellent, as always, and conversation grew sparse for a few minutes while everyone took the first few bites, savoring the flavors.

“So, Mr. Cormick, will you be in London for the Season?” Mama asked, as she cut up her meat and then took a dainty bite.

“I shall, your Grace,” Cormick said. “I am in London most of the year, now. I have the running of my father’s enterprise there.”

“He must be very proud of you. I hear business goes well,” Mama said with an approving nod. Cormick might not have a title, but his mother was the daughter of an earl and his father was an extremely successful man. He had been doing business with Claveston’s father for many years, and Cormick would undoubtedly be seen as a suitable match for Gertrude, with his ten thousand pounds a year and a fine manor house and estate in the neighboring county.

“It does, your Grace, but such talk is not suitable for the dinner table,” Cormick said with a polite smile. “I hear you have been traveling around Europe again?”

“I have, and I must leave for the continent again soon,” she said without even looking Cormick’s way.

Gertrude’s pinned-on smile faltered. Claveston reached under the table and squeezed his sister’s hand. Mama’s appearances were often fleeting. He was used to her comings and goings, and the news fazed him little these days. But he could remember being a boy and how much they had hurt. It infuriated Claveston that his mother so little understood the impact that her leaving again so soon might have upon Gertrude.

A telltale wobble of his sister’s bottom lip told him how hurt she was by their mother’s bored announcement. “You will not be here for my debut?” Gertrude asked, her usually bold voice faltering.

“I shall be back for your presentation at Court, do not fret,” Mama said dismissively. “You will have dear Miss Lefebvre to accompany you through any events before then. She will take excellent care of you. Of that, I have no doubt.”

Miss Lefebvre blushed prettily, but Claveston was sure he noted a flash of rage in the young woman’s eyes, she was not coloring up because of the compliment, but at the treatment of her charge. He was more than a little incensed himself. Mama had made such a big thing of Gertrude’s Coming Out. She had insisted it be this Season, despite Miss Lefebvre’s concerns that Gertrude was not yet ready - and had made it seem as though she herself would be at Gertrude’s side to smooth her passage through Society. He had been disappointed many times by his mother, but to do such a thing to Gertrude after everything was not right.