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“Strumpet,” Gregory growled, pulling her over with him so she rested her head on his shoulder.
Within moments, she slept.
CHAPTER14
The following morning, Matilda and Holly entered Bunty’s chamber. Holly glanced around in fascination at her predecessor’s room.
“Where should we start, milady?” Matilda whispered.
“Nothing has been moved. It is as though she could walk back in at any moment,” Holly marvelled reverently.
“I know, ’tis strange to leave it this way, untouched for over two years,” Matilda replied, sotto voce.
“Why are we whispering?” Holly asked, still in a hushed tone.
“I don’t know,” Matilda answered.
Glancing about the chamber, Holly’s gaze came to rest upon a large oil painting. “Oh my,” she gasped, pointing to the wall opposite the bed where a large family portrait leant against the wall. She crossed the room and gazed at a woman so like Libby that Holly knew it to be Bunty, Lady Beatrice Caulderbury, and Gregory’s first wife. Bunty was seated cradling a chubby baby on her lap. Two little girls, identically dressed, stood either side of her chair. Gregory stood behind his family, his face a much younger version of his present self. To Holly’s chagrin, he appeared very much happier. Her gaze returned to Bunty.
Despair flooded her veins as she studied the contented group. She sank to the floor before the picture. What had she been thinking? Gregory could never love her like he had loved this woman, the mother of his children.
“She was so beautiful,” she observed in quiet misery.
“Yes, but then so are you, milady,” Matilda tried to reassure her mistress.
Holly glanced quizzically at Matilda then returned her gaze to the portrait. Her own mother had been a rare beauty. Both her father and stepmother had kept her portrait in the house. In fact, Henrietta, her step-mother, had raised her with such love and compassion that Holly had not missed out on a mother’s love. Naturally, she would have liked to have known her mama. Her father kept his first wife’s memory alive for her; he had spoken of her often while she was a child, sharing anecdotes about her with his new wife and daughter. Henrietta had never shown any jealousy towards her husband’s first wife, only compassion.
Rising to her feet, Holly dusted down her skirts and shook herself out of her reverie. She was determined to behave like her stepmother and raise her stepdaughters as she herself had been raised, with no jealousy, but with love and affection. Turning, she and crossed the room to the bell push. This portrait belonged where the children could enjoy seeing it. To achieve its removal, she needed the help of some sturdy footmen.
“This needs to be hung back up in the nursery where the girls can see their mother and feel that she is watching over them,” she stated firmly. Aware that Gregory might hold an entirely different view, she was prepared to cross that bridge when she came to it.
Matilda had opened the dressing room door where rack upon rack of dresses hung. Lifting out a couple of girlish-looking gowns, she said, “These will be perfect for Libby after I take them in a bit. My, but the previous mistress must have been tiny.”
Holly stamped down her feeling of envy; after all, the poor woman was dead. She moved away and left her maid sorting through gowns.
She spotted a dome-top casket set upon Bunty’s dressing table. Holly found it full to bursting with trinkets and beads of all colours and descriptions. She decided the girls should have the entire box. She could find no precious gems in amongst the baubles. This held no surprise to her because Gregory had previously explained that all the valuable jewellery had been securely locked away in the strong box he kept inside his study.
Holly then searched the chest. She found ladies’ undergarments; hastily, she began to push the drawer shut, but something snagged and forced her to reopen it. A rolled package tied with ribbon had stuck on one side. Holly extricated it and undid the bow. She unwound the cloth and found three separate necklaces inside, each one a string of pearls.
A piece of paper fell to the floor. Holly bent and retrieved it. Tears filled her eyes as she read the handwriting.For L, K, and C.Bunty had obviously kept the pearls for her daughters, a strand each, perhaps to be held until her daughters’ confirmation days, or maybe their coming of age?
Holly raised her gaze to the portrait and met Bunty’s soft, sherry-coloured eyes, as portrayed in the oil painting.
“I promise I shall take good care of your daughters, Bunty. I will love them as my own,” she vowed softly.
Christmas would be a good time to give each of her stepdaughters this special gift from their mother. Holly decided she wouldn’t consult Gregory over this. She would simply wrap each little parcel and label them from Bunty to her children.
Three Footmen arrived, and Holly gave instructions for the portrait to be returned to the nursery.
By mid-morning, she’d had enough reminders of Gregory’s first marriage and left Matilda and another upstairs maid to carry on packing up Bunty’s belonging. She went to visit Libby and the girls.
They were surrounded by paper in the girls’ bedchamber. Miss Evesham showed them how to make and decorate cornucopias using sugar paper. Clemmy jumped up when she espied Holly and dragged her into their midst. Hugging Clemmy, then Kitty, Holly seated herself beside Libby on her bedside.
The child looked pale but happy. She plaited then stitched ribbon onto the cone-shaped baskets so they could be filled with sugar almonds and sweetmeats. These would be hung upon the Christmas tree on Christmas Eve.
“How are your battle wounds today?” Holly asked her and kissed Libby’s cheek.
“They itch but don’t hurt so much now. I am sorry Papa scolded you.”
