Page 78 of Yielding to Love

Chapter Twenty-Five

Camellia was grieving her son, her husband, and her brother. She’d lost her childhood home and her married one. She’d had to leave Tonbridge. And she was destitute. Marianne said she might stay with her forever, and she was grateful for that, but she dreaded the thought of being a burden upon her friend. Forever.

Once, she had been the cherished daughter of a respectable country gentleman. How had she ended up here?

It went without saying she should never have forced herself upon Major Taverston. But even if she had not, her brother would have died. She would still be impoverished. Of course, she would not have married Manfred. So she would not be a widow, and she would not have suffered the loss of her baby. But then, she would never have had a child to love. And she had desperately loved little Neville.

What ifs were useless. She must simply endure her grief, and try to make herself useful to the Stirlings. Her only other option was to apply for a nurse’s position at Chelsea Hospital for room, board, and a measly eight pounds a year. The pity was, she would rather be a burden on Marianne than spend the rest of her days nursing the dying. She’d done enough of that for a lifetime.

A new widow was not supposed go about in public until a year had passed. Not even swathed in black. She didn’t want to go out. But Marianne insisted the rule did not apply to a small charity event, held in the mid-afternoon, to raise funds for an orphanage. Marianne was one of the sponsors and was nervous that not enough ladies would attend. A few musicians had volunteered their time, and some of the older children, all girls, would be singing. It would be soothing, Marianne promised.

So, Camellia ventured out. She wore a new dress of black crepe that she’d had made in Tonbridge after Neville’s death. Thank God Manfred’s cousin had not confiscated her clothing. He’d claimed everything else in the house.

There were two dozen or so ladies gathered in Mrs. Galway’s receiving room. Marianne introduced her to several, including Mrs. Galway, an imposing triple-chinned matron whose social rank was not impressive but whose bank account was. The room had three brick-red walls and a wall of windows. There were scattered couches and chairs, but rather than sit, the ladies milled about, sipping lemonade or ratafia.

In one corner of the room, a plump young lady, or possibly one with child, was holding court. Camellia could not help stealing glances at her. The lady had a very determined way of gesturing. She was brown-haired with an unremarkable face, but her Pomona-Green dress was extraordinarily fine. Although it was not fussy, the fabric was top quality and her modiste knew how to style a dress to flatter.

“Who is that?” she finally whispered to Marianne.

Marianne followed the direction of her gaze. “Oh, that is Lady Haslet. The viscountess. She is a great benefactress of the orphanage. Apparently, she arrived back in London just this morning, because she wanted to be here for this.”

Lady Haslet? Camellia had heard the name before. From Marianne? “Are you acquainted with her?”

“Not yet,” Marianne said, smiling like a cat in cream. “But I expect to be introduced.”

Mrs. Galway suddenly announced, in a booming voice, “We should make our way into the music room. The performers are ready to begin.”

They filed across the hallway into a room where chairs had been arranged in curving rows to face a small makeshift stage. Large vases on pedestals in three of the corners held fragrant bouquets. Candles were lit in tall stands all along the walls. It was quite lovely.

Once the guests were seated, the musicians took the stage, four of them with stringed instruments and one with a flute. Then came a dozen girls. Camellia guessed them to be ten to fourteen years in age, in matching brown dresses, with scrubbed faces and excited smiles.

Camellia found the various performances moving. And when the young orphans sang Amazing Grace, they brought tears to her eyes. Of course, everything did anymore. She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. It would not do to start sobbing.

When the concert ended, many of the ladies crowded about the girls.

Marianne said quietly, “The goal was to find positions for these girls in service. I imagine we’ve succeeded.”

“Oh. Oh, yes, how clever.”

“Are you all right? You look a bit peaked.”

“I’m fine. It’s a little warm in here, but I’m fine.”

“We can leave. Some of the others are.”

Camellia knew she should say they might stay as long as Marianne was needed. After all, she was one of the organizers. Still, she said, “Yes, I would like to go home.”

Marianne picked up her reticule, took Camellia’s arm, and led her to the exit. She gave a little wave to Mrs. Galway across the room before stepping into the hallway. There were several other departing guests buzzing about, among them Lady Haslet, who was giving directions to a footman, indicating a box for him to carry.

Camellia stopped abruptly. That footman! He was the brawny young butler who had turned her away at Major Taverston’s door. The man raised his head at that same moment and caught her eye. His jaw dropped, and he reddened. Camellia looked quickly away, her face growing warm.

Marianne mistook the reason for her pause and murmured, “Oh, bother. We haven’t been introduced. And we can’t very well introduce ourselves to a viscountess.” Marianne nudged Camellia’s elbow to guide her to the door.

Outside in the drive, Marianne asked one of Mrs. Galway’s footmen to summon the Stirlings’ coach, which was somewhere in a long line of carriages trailing up the road. As they waited, the viscountess emerged from the house, waving. She hurried toward them while her footman walked staidly behind.

“Please excuse me,” the viscountess said, reaching them. “I know this is terribly gauche, but I am Lady Haslet. And you are Lady Stirling? And Miss Harrington?”

Marianne and Camellia both curtsied. Of course, the viscountess was permitted to approach them. It seemed odd though, to Camellia, that she was known to her as Miss Harrington.