Page 48 of Manufacturing a Duchess

She quietly removed Marjorie’s hand but did not drop it as she came to her feet. “Missie,” she began, “you have been a good friend to me over the years. I always considered it to be so. In fact, I believed you to be the best.” She paused. “In point of fact, Lady Marjorie is not your child. And you do not have the raising of her. You are welcome to whatever judgment you choose. I certainly cannot stop you. But you do not have the right to punish or harm her in any way.”

Aurora paused. A soft hiss from Missie told her that her suspicions were correct. She had been the reason for Marjorie’s fall.

“Also know this: I will not banish Lady Marjorie from this drawing room. She is a young person who is a member of this party. How is she to learn how to behave as an adult if she cannot directly observe adults? She is not some wild animal let out of a zoo for special occasions.”

Here, Aurora looked down at Marjorie and smiled. “I have it on very good authority that she is not a bear.” Marjorie tremulously smiled back at her.

The room was so quiet, Aurora could hear Alec’s exhale from where she stood.

“I know I presume in my parents’ place,” she continued, “but this is still my home as well. It is not yours. If you find the way it is managed so distasteful, I shan’t impose on your time or request your presence any longer. You are free to leave whenever you wish.”

Aurora had been looking generally in the direction where Missie was, but this was the first moment she looked directly at her. Missie’s mask was frozen even harder into place than it had been on their carriage ride here. Her lovely gray eyes were dark as slate, and, if looks could wound, or even kill, Aurora knew she would be lying on the carpet, bleeding from a thousand cuts. What had happened to her friend? Where was the person she believed she had known for years? Had she ever existed? And for someone whose manners had been honed to the finest exactitude, how could she be so incredibly rude? And how could she purposely hurt a child?

Missie stood, eyes snapping at Aurora. “Well, that is the way the wind blows. I should have known. Blood will out.” She turned to look at the Duke of Selkirk, and whatever she saw in his face momentarily caused her to quail, but she rallied. “I wish you well of your choice, sir. I believe you may come to regret it. Come along, Mama, Papa. We must prepare to depart. We are not wanted here.”

Missie swept out of the room. Crestfallen, Lord and Lady Wentworth scurried out after her.

With an apologetic look at his friend and a quick murmur of, “Let me see if I can address what is amiss,” Lord Galloway stood to follow the Wentworths. He bowed to Mr. and Mrs. Hardcastle, then to Aurora, and gave a quick wink at Marjorie.

The room fell silent again.

When a hiccupped sob came from Marjorie, her father was across the room in two strides picking her up and murmuring into her hair. He swayed back and forth, attempting to comfort her. While she was eight now and not a tiny child anymore, she clung to him as if she were. Mr. and Mrs. Hardcastle found the nearest sofa and collapsed into it. Aurora’s knees buckled and she, too, sat down abruptly. She indulged in a moment of burying her face in her hands, then used those hands to push herself to stand again.

“I think we each need a fortifying cup of tea. Even Marjorie, Alec.” Aurora addressing him so informally would normally have been remarked upon, but no one appeared to register it. She turned back to the butler, who had remained in his position near the tea things, and had him pour and pass around the steaming cups (with plenty of cream and sugar for Marjorie) and thick slices of cake. While he did so, Aurora walked over to her parents, hugged each lightly, kissing her mother on the cheek. Instead of returning to her former place, though, she kept on walking and took a seat beside Alec, where he was sitting with Marjorie. She put one hand on his back and reached across him to touch the little girl’s nearest arm and gently caressed it.

Thirty-Nine

Aurora waited until the mood in the drawing room had returned to something approximating normal and Marjorie had uncurled from burying her head nearly under her father’s arm to drink some stronger-than-usual cambric tea and eat a healthy slice of cake. Aurora had kept an eye on her parents as well and was relieved when the whiteness in both of their faces began to return to pinker tones. If she was being honest with herself, she also needed to steady her own nerves and steel them, because she knew what she must do.

Perhaps, technically, she did not owe Missie anything. How does one gauge such a thing? For herself, she could not duck and hide from this. If she was building her future, here and now, this was one of the unexpected hurdles she needed to face. Setting down her second cup of tea, she looked at Alec and he nodded at her. She stood and quietly stated, “Please excuse me for a few moments,” and left the room.

Aurora neither scratched nor even knocked on Missie’s door before entering. She found the room in a complete flurry. Gowns and slippers and other accoutrements were flung all over the bed and the floor. For the first time since she had met her, Aurora felt a pang of sympathy for Hyacinth. That individual’s perpetual look of hauteur, particularly when Hyacinth’s glance strayed to Aurora, had been part of her daily existence since the woman had first been hired. Instead, it was clear Hyacinth was completely discomposed, frantically scrambling around the room to pick up the garments and items Missie was pulling out of her closet and flinging without aim or plan.

Missie whirled around at the sound of the door opening, stopped, and simply croaked out, “You!”

“Hyacinth,” said Aurora. “Would you please leave us? You can return to the packing momentarily.”

Aurora almost swore she heard a grateful sob as Hyacinth deposited everything in her arms onto the bed and literally ran out the door, actually slamming it behind her. Aurora simply stood there until the vibrations from the slam had ceased and looked at Missie. And waited.

Instead of some type of screaming fit—Aurora had literally braced herself, expecting Missie to hurl herself at her, so fierce was the emotional energy coming off her in waves—Missie collapsed into a heap on the floor, burying her head in her hands and sobbing as if her life were ending.

Bewildered, Aurora could only stand there for a moment, thrown once again by this atypical and untoward behavior from a woman who had always appeared in immaculate control of herself.

Finally, she spoke. “Missie, I do not understand. She is only a child. How could you be so cruel? Hate me all you want. Not Marjorie.”

At that, Missie only sobbed louder. Finally, Aurora walked over to the dressing table, found a silk handkerchief, and knelt down next to Missie with it. “Blow,” was all she said. Without raising her head, Missie took the handkerchief from her and blew heartily. And then she lifted a swollen, blotchy face to Aurora, any trace of the porcelain doll completely vanished.

“Oh, Rorie! I am a horror. A complete horror! I cannot help myself. I hate this, I hate this. I hate me!”

Aurora shook her head in confusion and this abrupt change of tone and behavior. “Missie, I do not understand. You have all you have worked so hard for all these years: you are this Season’s Incomparable. You have several interested suitors dancing attendance on you and the most eligible duke of them all here, right now, in this house. Why are you throwing it all away? And with such needless cruelty?”

Missie’s eyes darted across Aurora’s face, and then the fragments of the porcelain doll mask began to reassemble themselves, though Aurora almost imagined she could see the cracks, fissures even, and the jagged, sharp edges. She pulled back, both dismayed and repulsed.

With a sudden spurt of furious energy, Missie regained her feet. Her eyes never leaving her friend’s face, Aurora scrambled up as well. Missie’s head jutted forward, and she jabbed her finger at Aurora, once again on the attack. “Oh, you, you, you have not the faintest inkling, do you? Quiet Aurora, beloved by her parents, always with her nose in a book, a wealthy heiress, bursting out with, oh, God, Homer! In the presence of eligible suitors.” She punctuated this statement with a brittle laugh, which turned bitter. “And yet still, still, you are able to get him. Him!”

Aurora had begun backing up at the onslaught, then felt a block of ice form and settle in the pit of her stomach. She stopped and stood her ground. Because it wasn’t only about her anymore. It was about Alec. Her Alec. And Marjorie. “Missie! You knew almost from the first: he has little money. He is a widower with a small daughter. He is absolutely not what you are looking for.”

“Of course he’s not! But what does that have to do with it? He needs to be dancing attendance upon me! I am this Season’s Incomparable! I am this Season’s Beauty! Every head would turn should they see me on his arm! Every. Single. One. They will all see me. No one will ever belittle me. I shall be free from them!”