She was a comfortably plump woman with an air of confidence about her. She was very like some of the matrons of her own neighborhood, who seemed inured to ever having their feathers ruffled.
“I am,” Isabel said. She hesitated for a moment, and then decided she must plough on. “Betsy,” she said, “you will no doubt find this unusual, but I have never had a maid.”
She waited for the look of shock on the maid’s features, but none came. Betsy only nodded. “Ah, some of these families do get themselves into a bind here and there. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. All that’s required is allow me to do the work. You do your job and I’ll do mine and we’ll get on just fine.”
Isabel smiled. There was something very comforting about Betsy and she was very glad she’d not tried to act her way through her first time being dressed by a maid.
Over the next hour, Betsy put her clothes in order, then she put Isabel in her dress, all the while chattering on about this or that. It seemed Mr. Carlson thought himself a great predictor of the weather and had forecasted a fine night. Betsy found that amusing. She was a farmer’s daughter and said anybody with eyes could see the flat clouds with a gray tone that portended rain.
Finally, Betsy sat her at the looking glass and did her hair.
What a marvelous thing she’d done with her hair! It far exceeded anything Isabel could accomplish on her own. Though it had taken some time to achieve, it appeared soft and unstudied.
“There now,” Betsy said cheerfully. “You are ready to go down and dazzle the gentlemen with your beauty. They’ll all have arrived by now, as the duchess asked me to hold you back for a bit so you might make an entrance.”
“Dazzle? Betsy, I hardly think—”
“Now, don’t be modest withme,” Betsy said. “I’m the one who put you together and I take pride in my work. Off with you, now. I’ll be here to undress you at the end of it.”
Betsy very much sounded like a mother affectionately scolding a daughter. Isabel found she did not mind it at all.
*
Harry had arrivedto the duchess’ very grand house in good time. It was the first time he’d been admitted into her residence, and he was very interested in what he would find there. He had ideas around how he would live himself in the future, and if his finances went on as well as they had, no London address would be out of reach.
The duchess’ butler had seemed rather surprised and dismayed to find him coming in with a wet umbrella. He’d said, “It’sstillraining?” in tones of disbelief and outrage. Harry guessed the poor man thought the weather some sort of affront to the duchess.
The duchess herself was in full brocade regalia, with Miss Rightstone by her side. Harry quietly sighed as he surveyed the rest of the room.
It seemed it was to be a small party for dinner and he recognized everybody just now milling round the drawing room. Lymington was there and he could not imagine why, as he was certain the duchess found him tedious. Lady Redfield was laughing at something Lord Jeffries just said to her. Lord and Lady Heathway, Lord and Lady Featherstone, and Miss Rightstone’s parents, Lord and Lady Rembly, were in attendance. But where was this Lady Isabel that Bertridge had taken the trouble to write to him about?
The duchess had Miss Rightstone by the arm as they made their way over to him.
“Mr. Vance, how good of you to come,” the duchess said.
“It is my pleasure, Your Grace,” he said.
Miss Rightstone smacked his arm with her fan and said, “Well, were you pining all summer Mr. Vance?”
The duchess had the good grace to blanch over this fishing expedition.
“I naturally thought ofallmy friends in Town, Miss Rightstone,” he said noncommittally.
“Oh I see,” she said coquettishly, “I’m to be lumped in withallyour friends.”
Harry did not dare answer that particular salvo as there were only two ways to go. He must say that she was not lumped in, singling her out and giving her something to hold onto, which he certainly would never do. Or, he must tell her the truth—once his bruises had faded, he had not given her another thought.
Through the open doors of the drawing room, he saw a lady descend the stairs. She was of average height, but that was all that was average about her.
She had glorious auburn hair, glinting red and gold in the candlelight. Her features were very delicate and well-proportioned. Her eyes were bright and her rather perfect nose overlooked amply generous lips. It was as if a painter had stepped back from his canvas and thought, ‘Now, what would be perfection?’
Her head was held high and she wore a floaty, dreamy dress. She looked like a young queen descending to her subjects.
She was marvelous.
The duchess followed his eyes and said, “Ah, there is Lady Isabel.” She left him with Miss Rightstone to greet the lady and lead her into the room.
Miss Rightstone followed his eyes too. He was smacked again, rather harder than the first time, though she said nothing to accompany the assault.
