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Chapter Twelve
The sweeping ancestral manor in Maidstone appeared almost intimidating. Framed by thick, grey-blue clouds, it towered over her like a disappointed mother, somehow seeming to chide her for having ever left. Perdie sighed. She clutched the sides of the open carriage door. The driver who had traveled with them from the cottage waited to her right, having put down the steps to the carriage. He held his hand to help her descend. Perdie couldn’t move. The house didn’t appear to have changed, but in some fundamental way, Perdie feared she had.
“Will you go inside?” Felicity asked. Her voice sounded wistful.
No doubt she hoped for a warm bed and a hot meal, and Perdie couldn’t fault her that. But neither could Felicity fathom the roiling apprehension in Perdie’s belly. She had left without warning, without escort, leaving behind only a short note of explanation. She might have left her reputation in tatters and her brother to pick up the pieces. She chewed on her lower lip and gathered her courage to step out into the drizzle.
Somehow, she had been silly enough to think this would have been easy because she returned home under her own will.
“Just one more moment, milady,” Hattie said. She rearranged Perdie’s hair for the tenth time since they’d turned onto the drive leading to the manor. “There.”
If Perdie lingered but a moment more, Hattie might give her an excuse to stay inside the coach. Never to face her brother’s ire or her mother’s disappointment, assuming they were here and not in London. She swallowed thickly and stepped out with the driver’s aid.
Felicity followed, leaving Hattie to take up the rear and discuss the arrangement of their luggage with the driver. She finished the task while Perdie stood shivering on the steps in front of the house, shawl clutched tight to her shoulders. From the corner of her eye, she watched her lady’s maid walk round the side of the house to the servants’ entrance.
Without a word, Felicity slipped her palm into Perdie’s. She squeezed tightly. They stood like that for a moment, taking strength from one another before Felicity asked softly, “Would you like my company? You don’t have to face them alone.”
With a wry twist of her mouth, Perdie wondered how Felicity could read her so well. She glanced sideways at her friend, then shook her head. “Go see your mother, assuming she is here. I’m sure you’ve missed her.” Felicity’s mother was the paid companion of Perdie’s mother. The families were nearly united as one.
“A few days away from mother was good for me. I’d take a few more if you’re keen to pile back into the carriage and go on our way.”
Perdie squeezed her hand, then released it. “You don’t mean that.”
Something drifted across Felicity’s expression, but it was gone before Perdie could name it. “I could mean it, if that’s what you wish.”
Perdie shook her head. “Don’t be dishonest with me, Felicity. You’re allowed to want different things than I do, even if it puts us at odds. And it doesn’t now. Go and find your mother, and I’ll see to mine.”
Perdie felt like a general storming a fortified keep as she marched up the front steps and raised her hand to the knocker. The door opened before she touched it to reveal a young, gangly footman in the family livery. It took her a moment to place him. Perhaps she’d been in London too long. “James.”
He stepped aside at once and ushered her in. “Welcome home, Lady Perdita.” He tugged at his forelock. Despite trying to maintain a somber expression, worry and relief pinched his thick eyebrows.
The emotion made her uncomfortable. To lighten the mood, she teased, “That’s quite the mustache you have started. Did you grow it because you were sore over my absence?”
The young man, who might not be sixteen yet, smoothed his fingers over the short few hairs adorning his upper lip. He took her shawl and Felicity’s too and draped them over his arm. “Begging your pardon, milady, but I’d say my new hairs are a sight prettier than the white ones you’ve given the duchess.”
All desire to tease drained from her body at the mention of her mother. She straightened her spine and clasped her hands in front of her, pretending at a serenity she didn’t feel. “And where is my brother at this hour? I trust he is at home?”
James stammered. “No, milady. Only the duchess is in residence.”
Perdie jolted. They would not have stayed in London. She truly believed her brother would have been here. Perhaps in his study. It was where Seb went to worry, to plan, to pace.
As Felicity slipped away deeper into the house, Perdie took command.
“If you’ll see me to the duchess.”
He bobbed his head. “Yes, Lady Perdita. Her Grace is in her chambers.”
“Please have mama’s dresser inform her that I am here. I will wait in the green parlor. And if you’ll send someone up to ready my room?”
“Already done, I’m sure, but I’ll see to it.” He tugged on his forelock again with a muttered, “Milady.” Then he bustled away, leaving her alone in the expansive entryway, shivering from the chill.
The heels of her boots clicked along the polished floors as she made her way to the green parlor. It was so named for the fashionable color of the wallpaper, accented by cheery yellow rugs and white upholstered furniture. A young maid—not Hattie—was already adding logs to the fire in the hearth and setting up the ornate iron grate in front of it. As Perdie entered the room, the young lady sank into a deep curtsy.
“Lady Perdita, welcome home. May I bring you something to eat or drink?”
Perdie laid a hand on her stomach to quell its fluttering. “No, thank you. But see that something is sent up to my room. I’ll be going there directly once I speak with my mother.”
The maid curtsied and left.
