Chapter Thirteen
“ W hat has happened?” Brilliance asked.
Lady Twitchard held up her hand, showing more than one unsealed message. “Another cholera outbreak.”
Brilliance gasped, her thoughts turning to her loved ones.
“Do not worry. Although it is a terrible thing regardless of whom it affects, this outbreak is on the east side of the city. I have already heard from your family, along with messages from nearly every female guest’s parent or guardian. While each of your situations is different, Lord and Lady Diamond have asked that you remain with me while they pack up their home and assist your siblings as they pack theirs. Everyone who is able to do so is fleeing London for their country homes, and as soon as your parents are established at Oak Hall —”
“That’s Oak Grove Hall, my lady,” Brilliance corrected her. “In Derby.”
“Yes, exactly. When they are in residence at your family’s country estate, then they will send for you.” Addressing her cousin, Lady Twitchard added, “Your mother and stepfather are also well.”
Brilliance glanced at Lord Hewitt, who was silently watching. “Then this isn’t my final night, after all,” she said.
His visage in the light of the outside lamps gave nothing away. While she was not at all pleased that cholera was ravaging the city, she hoped Lord Hewitt was not unhappy to learn he hadn’t yet seen the last of her.
“Indeed not,” Lady Twitchard said. “You may stay as long as you need. I must go speak with the rest of my guests. Two other young ladies will also be staying, and the rest are going directly to their family’s manorial estates.”
“And what of the gentlemen?” Brilliance asked, keeping her gaze on Lord Hewitt.
Her ladyship was already walking away from them, but she halted. “No male guests are staying on after tomorrow. They have no need. All of them can go to their country estates without waiting for family or chaperones.”
Then Lady Twitchard moved on to the next group.
“A strange coincidence,” Brilliance said. “Don’t you think?”
“How so?” Lord Hewitt asked, snagging them each a glass of syllabub from a passing footman.
Brilliance felt a pang of guilt at the thought of enjoying something as frivolous as the frothy, old-fashioned drink when people were suffering. But it was not the first outbreak in her lifetime, and it most certainly would not be the last. Londoners, indeed all her fellow countrymen, were made of strong stuff. Whatever happened in the next few weeks, it would not break their spirit. Of that she was certain.
Finally, she took a long draught and then answered him.
“Given what we were discussing earlier while dancing. Do you recall, about returning to London and how I hoped to see you there?”
He nodded. “You have cream on your upper lip.”
“Do I?” She licked across it in a quick sweep despite knowing good manners dictated she find her handkerchief and wipe it away properly.
“It looks delicious,” he added, his voice dropping lower.
She smiled and sighed. “It is. Try yours.”
“I meant your upper lip,” he said.
Her breath caught, and they enjoyed a long look, which she doubted she would ever forget. And still, she would love to invite him to try it, to lick it from her lip if at all possible.
Thus, she took another sip and watched him drink his.
“Now neither of us will be in London,” she mused.
“Yet nor will we be here together,” he pointed out. “I am one of those pesky male guests who shall be tossed out tomorrow.”
Drat! “Surely your own cousin wouldn’t mind if you stayed on.”
“I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing,” he said. “That would be an imposition. The party will have concluded, and I shall be ready to go home.”
He didn’t sound in the least bit bothered at leaving her behind.
“And besides those relations Lady Twitchard mentioned, have you anyone else to worry over in Town?” she asked. For her part, she would feel a little anxious until she knew her parents, sisters, and brother, along with their spouses and children had all vacated Mayfair.
“Neither of my siblings live in London. My mother and stepfather will undoubtedly go to their favorite spot, a small manor due east of here, in Kent. Although my mother adores the seaside, so perhaps they will go all the way to the coast.”
“I love watching the ocean,” Brilliance told him, but she was distracted by the inevitable occurrence of being in the Twitchards’ massive manor without the possibility of running into Lord Hewitt around every corner or in the dining room, drawing room, or one of the smaller salons. It would be empty, indeed.
“By the way, seeing as you will remain in Bexley a while longer,” he interrupted her thoughts, “I would be most honored to have you come visit my home.”
Had she heard him correctly?
“That would make me exceedingly happy,” she told him. “When shall I come?”
He chuckled. “Let us first finish my cousin’s ball without wishing the night away.”
Suddenly, the future seemed brighter again, and the pallor of parting and of the frightening sickness somewhat dissipated.
“You are correct, of course.”
Grabbing for his empty glass, Brilliance set it along with her own on the stone wall beside them. And then, she took hold of his hand.
“Come along, my lord. I am ready to dance.”
While sad to say goodbye to Martine who had been summoned to her family’s estate in Surrey, Brilliance was equally excited at the prospect of going to Lord Hewitt’s country home. And knowing she would do so softened the pang she felt at seeing him depart the following day.
One by one, her fellow guests left until it was only Brilliance, Miss Newton, and — unfortunately — Lady Georgiana. She wished they had never had a cross word. On the other hand, she hadn’t been “treated” to another session of the girl’s singing, so perhaps falling out with her had been worth it.
Now that Lord Hewitt had left, Brilliance found herself haunting the conservatory. She even brought out the repaired sheet music and spent a frustrating few hours picking out the tune. While doing her best, the piece still scarcely sounded like Mr. Castern’s famed work.
Lady Twitchard entered upon hearing her playing.
“How are you coping, Lady Brilliance?”
“Coping, my lady?” She rose from the stool.
“Stuck here without any planned activities. My husband and I lead a rather dull existence when we are in the country. But compared to our hectic schedule in London, being quiet here is the desired goal. Perhaps not for a young lady though.”
“I do not mind. You have an extensive library, and there are the other two ladies, although we do not share a close friendship. I believe they went riding and didn’t ask me to join.”
“You were improving your musical talent, and good for you.” Lady Twitchard eyed the torn and glued pages. “What is that piece you were playing?”
Brilliance couldn’t help laughing. “I suppose my musical talent, as you say, has not improved at all, elsewise you wouldn’t need to ask. It was Mr. Castern’s ‘The Hummingbird.’”
“Oh dear,” her ladyship said. “Is that what had my cousin all up in arms earlier in the week? Did he tear those?”
“Yes, my lady. I don’t understand why, do you? I heard him playing the music, so I thought he liked it, but he denied the tune he played was ‘The Hummingbird,’ despite it being unmistakable.”
“Lord Hewitt is a remarkable composer,” Lady Twitchard said. “And years ago, he wrote a piece that sounded much like ‘The Hummingbird.’ Or my cousin claims exactly like it.”
Brilliance frowned. “He wishes he had published his version first, I imagine.”
Lady Twitchard shrugged. “Something like that. You will have to ask him the particulars for I do not gossip. Would you care to take tea with me?”
“I would. Thank you.”
Brilliance hoped Lord Hewitt soon sent word inviting her to visit his estate. She would find it difficult to wait, knowing he was nearby. If given no choice, she was willing to break the etiquette that guided so much of her life, but she would much prefer that he be the one to communicate first.
Luckily, she didn’t have to set pen to paper and do anything that would make her sister Purity have a fit. The next day, two letters arrived addressed to Brilliance. One from her dear mother assuring her everyone was well while stressing the need for her to stay put.
And the second — she tore it open to read Lord Hewitt’s brief but welcome words:
Lady Brilliance,
I have sent word to my cousin that I am serving tea and a light luncheon at noon tomorrow with the expectation of your company along with that of the other stranded guests. I hope you will attend.
Hewitt
Her emotions wavered between excitement and chagrin. Going with Lady Georgiana was not in the least desirable. Brilliance had spent hours playing cards with her and with Miss Newton the previous evening until she thought they would wear off all the marks, and still Lady Georgiana held a grudge.
Regardless, Lord Hewitt had singled her out with a private note, and thus Brilliance could ignore the other girl’s discontent.
When the time came the following day, she was ready with her gloves and new bonnet on, waiting in the front hall before the others appeared.
“Oh!” Lady Georgiana exclaimed. “Are you going, too?”
As if she didn’t know! They had discussed it over dinner the night before. And Lady Georgiana had gone so far as to speculate why Lord Hewitt was eager to see them all again so soon.
“Perhaps he has fallen in love with one of us,” Miss Newton had said, sticking her fork into a roasted potato with some vehemence.
Lady Georgiana had looked thoughtful and pleased at the prospect. Perhaps that was why the two of them had overdressed for a midday meal, but Brilliance was too polite to mention it.
Lady Twitchard appeared, and they set off on their excursion in their host’s closed traveling coach. Despite the sunny skies, it was prudent not to rely on them staying that way. Plus, they would arrive in a far less dusty state.
Discussion among the four females turned to fashion fairly quickly. They had all seen the magazines from Paris, and how the skirts were predicted to grow fuller, even more bell-shaped with layer upon layer of fringes by the following spring. And wide horizontal stripes on rows of ruffles would be seen on the streets of London.
“I sometimes wish we could go back to the simpler gowns of our grandmothers, with the high waist and a single petticoat,” Miss Newton said. “I have four on today, and my gown is still wilting.”
Lady Twitchard, who was at least fifteen years older than any of them, laughed. “As one ages, the many layers, not to mention the shape of our current fashion, serve to hide multiple flaws, including too many helpings of syllabub and sponge cake with cream.”
“While I have no trouble keeping my slender figure,” Lady Georgiana remarked, “I agree it would be easier to enjoy a warm summer day such as today with a loosely flowing gossamer gown and a roomier bodice.” She slid her hands over her layered, blue cotton bodice.
Brilliance did, in fact, admire the high waistline and loose drape of the dresses from the beginning of the century. But she thought the current style was preferable. “At least we don’t have to wear the farthingale and hip pads from our great-grandmother’s time. And their tall wigs seemed most uncomfortable and liable to make one’s head hot.”
The others nodded in agreement.
“Given our current form-fitting fashion,” Miss Newton said, “perhaps we shall be fortunate if Lord Hewitt has a terrible cook.”
Lady Twitchard chuckled. “I cannot attest to my cousin’s staff, but I believe he hired a new female cook last year. Tight waistline or not, let us hope she knows her way around the kitchen.”
“She probably does,” Brilliance said, “or she would hardly be considered a cook.”
When Lady Georgiana and Miss Newton started to laugh, Brilliance merely shrugged. What had got into them?
“It is simply a figure of speech,” Lady Twitchard said. “I am certain Lord Hewitt’s cook is a real cook.”
Brilliance felt her cheeks warm. Were the others laughing at her?
She was well aware that occasionally she got the wrong end of the walking stick, but there was no excuse for the other ladies’ rudeness. Fortunately, the trip was short, as Lord Hewitt had promised, and Lady Twitchard soon announced they were nearly there.
Brilliance started looking out the window, ignoring the chatter, especially when they went through an adorable village and then turned off the passable road onto a tended gravel drive.
“With this special treat,” Lady Georgiana said, “I am almost grateful for the cholera.”
Brilliance exchanged a shocked look with Lady Twitchard while Miss Newton giggled but declared, “That’s wicked!”
And then they rocked to a halt before a manorial residence of Georgian brick under a tiled roof, with two stories of windows seeming to wink in the midday sun.
“It’s lovely,” Lady Georgiana said. “Any woman would be proud to be its mistress.”
“I cannot wait to see the grounds,” Miss Newton added. “I do so enjoy a fine rose garden. Not that there could be any finer than yours, my lady.” She sent a glance to their hostess.
And then a footman opened the door. Lady Twitchard descended first, followed by the other two.
When Brilliance came blinking out of the carriage into the sunlight, she paused. She didn’t much care about the fineness of Lord Hewitt’s house or his gardens. But she couldn’t wait to see the man again.
Thus, when his front door opened and he came out, she felt a strange lightening of spirit. Even in this new place, seeing him gave her a feeling of peacefulness and familiarity.
“Greetings, ladies, welcome to Joyden’s Wood and to my home, Mirabel Manor.” His gray-green eyes took them all in.
Brilliance hoped his gaze would linger a little longer upon her person, but she was unsure whether it did.
“Mirabel,” repeated Lady Georgiana softly. “Why, that’s the prettiest name I ever heard for a house, and it suits your home perfectly.”
Brilliance would agree if she could take her gaze from Lord Hewitt.
He greeted each of them in turn, almost as if they were strangers. Lord Hewitt bowed, they curtsied.
Brilliance’s pleasure would be very great indeed, if only Lady Georgiana hadn’t somehow been the one in front, taking the arm he offered as he led the way into his home.