Chapter Eleven
‘And which letter is “M” as in milk, your favourite drink?’ Hattie asked, smiling at her young charge as she sat on the small reading-room floor rug upstairs. They stared down at the written alphabet ‘map’ they had constructed full of pretty images and the large capital letters of the alphabet.
Each day they added pictures to it and reviewed it like a trivia game in the afternoon before Millie’s nap. Hattie was impressed by how quickly Millie had taken to it. Seeing her progress each day was breathtaking and its own reward.
Millie looked at the map, walking around it thoughtfully and searching. Once she saw the letter she sought, she smiled, bent down, and pressed her index finger on the ‘M’ before gazing up at Hattie for approval.
Hattie clapped in excitement. ‘Yes! And what else in this room starts with the “M” sound?’
Millie laughed and pointed to herself.
‘Wonderful!’ a female voice from behind them called out.
Hattie turned in surprise to see Lady Buchanan standing in the doorway watching them. Blast. Hattie flushed and scrambled to stand to properly greet her.
‘No, no, my dear, let me join you both. It looks like glorious fun!’ She smiled and set aside the reticule and gift she had in her hand on a nearby table.
Millie rushed to the woman’s side and flounced into her lap as soon as Lady Buchanan was sitting on the rug with them. Millie hugged her and giggled in happiness.
‘What an intriguing way to review one’s letters,’ Lady Buchanan said, studying the large sprawling parchment before them. ‘I am impressed by how taken my niece is with you, Miss Potts.’
Hattie smiled. ‘Thank you so much for your kind words, Lady Buchanan. I have loved my time with Lady Millie. I find I am learning as much as she.’ It was true.
Each day, Hattie learned so much about how to teach and how Millie learned and adjusted her plans accordingly.
‘Some days what I plan does not work, but she loves her letters. I think she may be a lover of books like her grandfather, the late Duke of Wimberley.’
Millie hugged Lady Buchanan’s neck and the woman returned the little girl’s hug. ‘And the late Duke would be thrilled. He loved to read and learn. And he was incredibly kind, just like His Grace, my cousin.’
Hattie nodded and dropped her gaze. ‘Yes. His Grace is kind. Much more so than I expected, if I am honest.’ She lifted her head and smiled as she fidgeted with her hands in her lap.
‘Then why did you look so pained when I said it?’ Lady Buchanan asked with a smirk. She ran a hand down Millie’s hair.
‘I fear I will disappoint him with our ruse,’ she replied, her stomach clenching as she admitted her fears aloud. ‘I know nothing of being a proper lady.’
‘But that is why I am here!’ Lady Buchanan said, smiling.
Just then, Millie’s nurse came to gather her for her afternoon nap.
‘Perfect timing, Miss Bellows,’ Lady Buchanan offered, righting herself to standing. ‘Miss Potts and I were just about to begin.’
She pressed a kiss to Millie’s cheek and Millie waved goodbye to Hattie before she clutched Miss Bellows’s hand to go down for her afternoon rest.
‘Now, come with me, Miss Potts, and let us begin. We do not have a moment to waste.’
Hattie accepted her outstretched hand. ‘Thank you, Lady Buchanan. Where shall we begin?’
‘You can begin by calling me Daphne,’ she said with a grin and wink.
‘Only if you call me Hattie, my lady.’
‘Done. Now, let us begin with greetings,’ she said, tucking Hattie’s arm within hers as they travelled down the hallway. ‘Then we have fittings to attend to. The Mademoiselle should be arriving soon. I cannot wait to see what she has created for you.’
William peeked into Millie’s room. She was fast asleep, cuddling her favourite teddy bear.
The afternoon sun beamed in her windows and the glow of the rays gave her a little halo above her head and on her pillow.
He smiled and eased her chamber door shut quietly.
The chatter of muffled female voices carried down the hallway from Miss Potts’s chamber.
His pulse picked up speed as he stared at the closed door.
He knew he shouldn’t, but he wanted to see how the preparations for Lady Penelope’s wardrobe were coming along.
They had been hard at work since the Mademoiselle and her assistants, as she called them, had arrived and shuffled Miss Potts and his cousin into her chambers.
He glanced down the hallway. No one was about.
It wouldn’t hurt to listen to how things were going.
He was paying for everything after all. Despite having no interest at all in what his late wife had commissioned for her gowns, he felt an odd, vested interest in Miss Potts’s new wardrobe.
How she looked might well impact how well their plan was received and whether it took root as truth at all.
He rubbed his neck, gave in to his urges and walked towards the chamber door, pausing to listen.
‘I do not think it low enough,’ Daphne said. ‘A woman of such confidence would show her decolletage, not hide it.’ She huffed and Mademoiselle muttered a curse in French which made William smile.
‘Perhaps a compromise?’ Miss Potts offered. ‘The neckline could rest between where you both would like it to be and it could dip a bit further in the back?’
‘That could work,’ the dressmaker purred in her French accent. ‘You have a fine swanlike neck, Miss Potts. With the right jewelllery, it will be quite stunning.’
‘And if we wrap your hair just so,’ Daphne said. ‘Yes, yes, that would be perfect.’
William smiled at the way Miss Potts was managing the strong personalities.
‘Is there anything you have need of, Your Grace?’
He froze and cringed before lifting his head to face Mrs Chisholm, who stood furrowing her brow at him from down the hallway. Then he cleared his throat before heading away from the door. He reached her and tucked his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘Ah, no, Mrs Chisholm.’
She smirked at him. ‘Are you sure, Your Grace?’
He sighed and looked heavenwards. ‘I was merely…listening to the progress.’
‘Would it help if I sneaked in and reported back to you?’ she asked innocently.
‘Yes,’ he replied.
‘Then, consider it done.’
He sighed in relief. ‘Thank you.’
She headed down the hallway, knocking on the door before entering. She gifted him a nod before she disappeared within the chamber.
After a longer conversation than William anticipated, Mrs Chisholm emerged.
William glanced greedily through the open crack of the door, hungry for a glance at the progress being made in creating Lady Penelope.
All he could see was a splash of the wine-coloured fabric and a bit of Miss Potts’s fine-looking bare shoulder before Mrs Chisholm sealed the chamber door again.
He clenched his fist by his side in frustration before attempting to neutralise his face.
Mrs Chisholm clapped her hands together and smiled. ‘It is coming along beautifully, Your Grace. You will be pleased. Mademoiselle Dashiell is working her magic with the fabric and cut, and Miss Potts is doing well in managing the situation.’
‘And do you think…?’ He paused. The question was on his tongue, but he hesitated to ask.
His fear overpowered his hesitation, and he hurried out what he wanted to know.
‘Do you think people will believe our ruse? That she is a lady?’ he asked in a low tone.
‘It is not too late to abandon our endeavour.’
Truth be told, he was nervous, far more so than he wished anyone to know.
A great deal was at stake. He could ruin the reputation of his cousin, that of Miss Potts and his own.
What had appeared a grand idea earlier in the week now threatened to be his very downfall as the ball celebrating his succession drew closer.
Her eyes softened. ‘When you look at her on Saturday, you will believe just as everyone else will.’
‘May I see her?’
‘While the ladies do not agree on all this afternoon, they are adamant that you do not see Miss Potts in her gown before the ball. They wish for you to be surprised, when she is announced to everyone…to add to the believability. You will be pleasantly surprised. I assure you, Your Grace.’
Perhaps it made sense. It would capture his true reaction and feelings. He hoped they would be good ones. Everything was riding on how believable Miss Potts would be as his fictional creation, Lady Penelope Denning.