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“You performed with excellent decorum before Lord Claverley. And Mrs. Greer, which was an exceptional challenge given the woman’s propensity for chasing gossip.” Lady Edith added the last bit in a quiet voice, and I bit back a smile.
I could not explain my comfort in the drawing room with Lord Claverley, for I did not know how it came about. “I spoke hardly a word in Mrs. Greer’s presence.” I snuck the bite of ham into my mouth.
Lady Edith scrunched her nose and searched the painted ceiling for confirmation to my claim. “Is that true? I dare say that is not a challenge to achieve in her presence.”
“I think I will quickly prove that it is not a challenge for me in any new acquaintance’s presence. I have . . . trouble . . . in new company and grow anxious when surrounded by many strangers. It is a fault I am rather embarrassed by, but I have no recourse for which I can change it.”
The silence at the dinner table was excruciating in its purity.
Lady Edith cleared her throat and finally spoke. “I do not fully understand what you mean.”
Nerves fluttered in my belly, but I could put this off no longer, especially since I would be called upon to meet members of Society tomorrow. Lady Edith deserved a warning about what type of person her daughter-in-law was. “I cannot be expected to have much to say in company, and I certainly cannot be expected to dance more than one dance at any ball. My nerves simply will not allow it, regardless of how I prepare myself and deeply wish it were otherwise.”
Time and again my mother had grown disappointed in me at various social functions or when friends came to call, and I knew it would be no different here. Nay, it would be worse, for the stakes were higher. Mama loved me regardless of how often I let her down—I could not expect the same from people who had only known me for a week.
“We will not force you to do anything you are not comfortable with,” Henry said at length.
Lady Edith, I noticed, remained woefully quiet.
The remainder of dinner passed in a discomfiting blend of silence and stilted chatter, of which I played little part, and I was eager to escape to the solitude of my chamber. I missed James’s steadying presence, and though I believed I would pass the time well enough with Henry, our comfortable conversational habits from our initial meeting last summer had not transferred as seamlessly as I’d hoped. He was all things good and kind, and when we spoke of books we could get lost in endless discussions on the plot and characters and how they appealed—or didn’t—to each of us, but there was something missing now . . . and I believed that something to be whatever James possessed.
The folded paper of my husband’s words scratched lightly against my skin, however, and over the course of the uncomfortable dinner, I recalled how deeply James wished to be with me.
And I, him.
Once Lady Edith stood, I followed her from the room and paused at the base of the wide staircase. “I think I shall retire early,” I said, already dreaming of continuing the book that I most certainly should not read after dark—but knew I would anyway.
She paused and turned back to face me, her shrewd gaze raking over me. “You are not making it easy for me to ascertain your character, Felicity.”
“Pardon?”
She took a deliberate step closer, her eyes wandering over my face. My hands began to shake under her scrutiny, and I clasped them at my sides, clutching my skirt to avoid showing my weakness.
“Each time I believe I have your measure, you do something to take me by surprise.” She drew a breath through her nose. “I am not yet sure if I am grateful that you managed to convince James to the altar, or if I should be justifiably indignant on his behalf. I’ve done my best to put my own reservations aside and welcome you into my home, but you do not make it easy.” She closed her eyes and gave her head a small shake before leveling them at me again. “I do not know what your aim is here, but I do hope you realize that I will not give up my son or my role in this house until you have proven yourself worthy of them.”
Give up her son? Had she not done so already? My voice failed me, and I tried to swallow against a dry throat. Her vehemence had taken me swiftly by surprise, and I could not understand what I had done to deserve such a sudden change in her opinion of me.
Except, of course, it wasn’t sudden. Lady Edith had merely reached the point where she could no longer hide her true opinion of me, it seemed. She had remained at arm’s length since I arrived at Chelton. She had thanked me for extricating her from the drawing room following her nephew’s visit, but every other moment together she had made it clear that she was doing her duty to teach me the ways of being the mistress of Chelton, and nothing more.
Indeed, if Lady Edith did not care so deeply about her home and family, I wondered if she would have bothered to teach me anything at all.
“I hope I have given you something to think on. Goodnight, Felicity.” Lady Edith walked toward the drawing room without another word, and I stood at the base of the grand staircase, my feet on the checkerboard tiles, and watched her leave.
My heart raced in the silent, echoing chamber. Turning, I lowered myself onto the bottom step. How was I to accomplish anything now that I understood Lady Edith’s true feelings? Without James here to lean upon, I was certain to fail.
Excuses to extricate myself from family time ran through my mind. I could have Fanny tell the family that I suffered from a fever in the morning. But no, for then the doctor would be called. A headache? That could perhaps work, and it would allow me the day to hide away in my room.
But I had three—possibly four—days before James returned, and I could not stretch a headache as long as that without giving cause for great concern. I rubbed the exhaustion from my eyes and swept my gaze over the dim room around me. Paintings covered the top half of the enormous walls and bled onto the fresco covering the ceiling, and marble carvings littered the walls and crawled over the cornices.
This room alone was far more elaborate and elegant than anything I had ever hoped to call my home, and I allowed myself, in the depths of my current melancholy, to wonder if I would have accepted James’s hand had I known the life I was agreeing to.
And furthermore, why, when James was exceedingly aware of the extent of my proclivity for social anxiousness, did he allow me to become the mistress of such an estate with all of the duties that accompanied the role? This was no small country house to quietly manage. This required the work of a productive and capable woman.
I forced myself to stand and turned to move up the stairs, puffing out a defeated breath. There was no changing my situation now, regardless of how deeply my mother-in-law desired it.
