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Chapter Twelve
May 14, 1819
Lavinia allowed herself a small smile. Her relationship with Percival was progressing in incremental ways.
After the rout, which had seen both highs and lows, she’d still been vulnerable when they’d arrived home, but her husband had made an effort and aside from him imbibing, he’d been utterly devoted to her after the contretemps with Lady Jersey. So much so that she’d fallen for his charm and invited him into her bed. He’d put her through her paces so thoroughly that he’d stayed with her for the remainder of the night, which had startled her maid the next morning. They’d both awakened when the girl had squeaked in alarm.
Since then, he’d made certain he spent time with both her and Deborah during the day, and when he left the house after tea to attend duties in Parliament, he never failed to kiss her on his way out. Would it last? Only time would tell. In many ways, life had turned idyllic and would have remained so if not for the slings and arrows shot her way repeatedly from the ton.
However, she could weather that part of the storm, for the rest was more than worth it.
“Lavinia?”
The sound of Deborah’s voice brought her out of her thoughts.
“Yes?” The two of them had been sitting demurely in the drawing room, taking tea together while waiting for Percival to join them. He often gave them an additional thirty minutes of private time before interrupting.
The girl poked at the icing on a tiny cake with a forefinger. “Are you a fallen woman? If you fell, are you injured?”
Her heart skipped a beat in dismay. The hand holding her teacup shook so badly she was obliged to set the cup on the low table in front of her. Keeping her past from bleeding into her life had obviously proved impossible. “Where did you hear that?”
Deborah shrugged as if she hadn’t just rocked the foundations of Lavinia’s life. “From Anna.”
This wasn’t the first time the nursery maid had spoken out of turn. The house gossip needed to cease. As soon as she could arrange it, Lavinia would call a meeting with the housekeeper and address it personally. If the nursery maid couldn’t abide by the new rules, she’d be sacked.
But Deborah required an answer. “I will tell you the truth because I believe you’re old enough to understand.” The child looked at her with large blue eyes, full of trust. “There are many different sorts of people who make up our world, Deborah. No one is better than another, but everyone should strive to help the less fortunate as well as treat each other with respect, no matter what their status within society.”
For long moments the girl licked at the icing on the cake. “But did you fall and hurt yourself?”
Such a simple yet complicated question. Finally, Lavinia nodded. “I did fall, through no fault of my own.”
That wasn’t necessarily the truth, for she’d willingly chosen to become part of the demimonde. She’d learned the art of pleasure from her mother—both she and sister had. But the difference was that Lavinia had refused to rely on a man’s whim in order to survive. Where her mother had indiscriminately spent the coin she’d earned, Lavinia had saved hers, hoarded it as if she were a dragon with gold. She’d invested some, of course, and kept her various charities operating for that day in the future when she wouldn’t need to work on her back merely to keep a roof over her head or food on her table.
With a sigh, she continued her explanation. “When I was born, my father didn’t love me, and my mother wasn’t one who went through life embroidering or painting or anything proper ton ladies did.” She paused, held her bottom lip between her teeth for a fraction of a moment. “That meant the people who your father knows, who profess to be his friends, as well as his peers don’t think I’m good enough to visit them or go to their parties let alone talk to them.”
It was the best she could do for the moment without going into more detail.
“Oh.” Deborah slipped from her chair to stand at Lavinia’s legs. After popping her cake into her mouth and chewing, she swallowed then laid a tiny hand on her knee, leaving a smear of icing behind. “That doesn’t sound fair.”
“It’s not.” She wiped a few crumbs from the corner of the girl’s mouth. “People should be accepted on their own merits, for the good they do, on the contents of their hearts instead of who they were born to or what title they hold.” Not that a title made any difference. She’d become a countess upon her marriage to Percival and still she was shunned. With difficulty, she ignored the ball of tears in her throat. “One must carry on despite these challenges.”
“You are Papa’s countess. Why do they not like you?”
The child was too observant for her own good. “For the simple fact I am still me.” She tucked a strand of golden hair behind Deborah’s ear. “People don’t like that I won’t let their hurtful words or stares bother me.” Her voice broke, the words felt torn from a tight throat.
“Why not?”
“I’m different than they are. I’ve worked hard. I’ve struggled and I’ve persevered. And now I have your father.” She shook her head. “There are rules, you see, in the world you live in. Invisible, unwritten rules about how one should act and behave, what bloodlines a person needs to be deemed worthy.” Despite her wish they wouldn’t come, tears welled in her eyes. “Some people say he should have married a lady much better than me.” Oh, she’d heard the whispers the other night at the rout, even though Percival had tried to deflect her attention. Though she’d pretended that she hadn’t, that the words hadn’t stung, it had been a lie. She’d wished to be strong for him, to show him that she was worthy and that he hadn’t made a mistake.
But the tongues still wagged, and each veiled barb had pierced her heart.
When they’d returned home from the rout, even though she’d had the endorsement of the marquess and that had helped some, she’d cried from the unfairness of it all. Percival had held her, murmured words of reassurance until she didn’t feel as fragile, but it had strengthened their bond, and even then she had to fight the gossip on all levels.
“Lavinia?” The sound of her name in Deborah’s voice brought her back to the present.
“Yes?”
“I think you are enough.” She patted Lavinia’s knee. “Papa says there are wolves in the world.”
