Chapter Seven
Bridget arrived outside in time to see an elaborate burgundy coach followed by a second smaller carriage ascending the pathway toward Villa De Lacey.
“I am sorry to have taken so long, Aunt.”
“Oh, never mind me. What have you done about that awful woman?”
“We’ve come to an understanding.” Bridget glanced at her aunt.
“She has agreed to go by the name Madam Bouffant and tell the other guests that she is a widow who traveled from Paris to visit the Lake District after being inspired by Mr. Wordsworth’s guidebook.
She speaks fluent French, and she’s an actress. No one will discover the truth.”
“No one will believe that story,” Aunt Marianne snorted. “A lady would never travel from France on her own. At the very least, she’d come with a lady’s maid.”
Bridget sighed. She hadn’t thought of that. “I suppose we shall have to say that her lady’s maid became ill and had to return home, so Eliza is acting as her lady’s maid while she is here.”
“Eliza is our lady’s maid.”
Bridget shrugged. “I shall make do on my own, if necessary. The most important thing is that our guests are not made to feel uncomfortable by Lord Frederick’s thoughtlessness. This is a family inn, after all.”
“I cannot believe you put that woman in your father’s room. It’s a disgrace to his memory.”
“I had no choice. I’m simply doing the best I can to help us survive.”
Aunt Marianne pursed her lips as though she’d held something distasteful in her mouth.
Bridget sighed. Her aunt looked tired. While all this activity was helping Bridget cope with her loss, she worried that it was too much for her aunt.
“Why don’t you give me that list and go upstairs and take a rest? I can stay here and greet the guests.”
“I cannot leave you alone.” Aunt Marianne shook her head. “Mr. Squires should be here, helping us greet our guests. But I suppose he is upstairs enjoying your father’s brandy while we are relegated to servants in our own home,” she said bitterly.
“Don’t say such things and upset yourself so, Aunt.
You know that Mr. Squires cannot play the role of innkeeper.
His reputation would be ruined, and his brother would withdraw his allowance, which he will need until the inn is able to support itself.
I am the hostess; therefore, I am the one who should be greeting the guests.
I enjoy doing it, truly. Now, please go and get some rest. There are plenty of servants available to help me if I’m in need. ”
“Those silly little village fools we hired? They are not capable of much.”
“They will learn, and in the meantime, you can send Eliza outside to help me.”
“Very well.” Aunt Marianne handed the list to Bridget. “I suppose a little rest before dinner will do me good.”
Bridget smiled and kissed her aunt. “I do miss Papa so much, Aunt. You mustn’t think all this hullaballoo changes that. It’s only a distraction, that’s all. And I know he would have wanted us to remain in the house.”
“I’m sure you’re right, my dear.” Aunt Marianne patted Bridget reassuringly on the arm and then went back inside.
Guilt niggled at Bridget as she watched her aunt depart.
Not only had her aunt lost the brother she’d adored, but she’d lost the peacefulness of her home.
And although Bridget’s heart ached for want of her papa, the rebirth of Villa De Lacey excited her.
Despite her agonizing loss, she’d never felt more alive.
*
“Lady Darby,” the driver of the crested black coach announced before opening the carriage door.
Bridget was even more grateful that she’d convinced Aunt Marianne to make her escape the minute the scowling Lady Darby stepped out of her carriage, leaning on her walking stick and followed by her lady’s maid.
“Lady Darby,” Bridget said. “Welcome to Villa De Lacey. I’m Bridget De Lacey.”
Lady Darby was a cantankerous woman with a head of faded red curls, streaked white with age, blue eyes under which loose skin gathered in folds and thin lips. She scowled in response to Bridget’s greeting.
“Where is that blasted nephew of mine?” Lady Darby said, peering down the carriageway. “He was supposed to be following directly behind me with the luggage.”
“I’m here, Aunt.” A man with bright copper curls poked his head out of the much smaller carriage parked directly behind Lady Darby’s coach. “Right behind you, as promised.”
“What’s taking you so long to exit your carriage? I want to go inside. It’s been a hellish journey, and I’m tired.”
“Mrs. Harley is feeling a little unwell,” he said as he pushed open the carriage door.
“Unwell?” Lady Darby appeared almost gleeful. “In what way? Is she experiencing nausea?”
“I am a little nauseous, yes,” Mrs. Harley said as her husband helped her from the carriage. She was an exceedingly pale and thin woman with light-brown curls, a snub nose, and downturned blue eyes.
“That is something. Mayhap, you might finally provide my nephew with an heir. Heaven knows you’ve taken long enough.”
Bridget stepped back, alarmed by Lady Darby’s aggressive tone and rude manner.
“Perhaps.” Mrs. Harley offered a weak smile.
“Don’t just stand there. Go and lie down immediately. If such a miracle has occurred and your inadequate womb has managed to produce something, we cannot take any risks.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Mr. Harley said, “but I agree that resting is a good idea.”
“Conclusions are all I have!” Lady Darby snapped. Then she turned to Bridget. “Show us to our rooms, girl.”
Bridget bit back a retort to the woman’s rudeness and summoned Eliza and James, the footman.
“I say, why is everyone dressed in mourning clothes? Is it for Mad King George? He’s been dead for months already,” Lady Darby said as Eliza approached, wearing her black crepe dress.
She’d insisted on wearing full mourning attire since Mr. De Lacey’s death, which, although odd, Bridget found enduring.
“It’s for my father, Mr. De Lacey,” Bridget said.
“Oh, yes. The felo de se who gambled away his fortune.” She looked Bridget up and down. “You are an unfortunate creature, aren’t you?”
Bridget gave the woman a tight smile. But she would have liked to shake her.
How dare she speak about her papa in that callous way?
Had her circumstances been different, she would not have held her tongue.
But how could she bear such insults for a whole month?
These guests had traveled many miles to reach Villa De Lacey, and all had planned a long and relaxing stay.
Lady Darby then turned her eyes to Eliza. “What is her reason for wearing full mourning? Is she also a relation?”
“Eliza has been working at Villa De Lacey for years, since before I was born. She feels Mr. De Lacey’s loss very deeply.”
Lady Darby pulled her mouth down at the corners. “Nonetheless, a servant is not family. A black ribbon would suffice, but full mourning attire like a widow—it’s unnatural.”
Bridget responded to Lady Darby with another tight smile but made a mental note to ask Eliza to change her dress.
Much as she disliked Lady Darby, she had to admit that the lady had a point.
With so many people dressed in black, Villa De Lacey looked more like a morgue than an exclusive inn near the shores of England’s most beautiful and serene lake.
A flicker of anger flashed in Eliza’s dark eyes, but to her credit, she kept quiet, squaring her shoulders and responding with silent dignity to Lady Darby’s rudeness.
Bridget did the same but found it maddeningly difficult.
She’d desperately wanted to give that nasty curmudgeon a piece of her mind.
Bridget exhaled her relief as she watched Eliza lead Lady Darby’s party and their servants to their respective rooms. I hope the remaining guests are not as difficult as her.
“Are you out here all on your lonesome?” Nate’s voice sounded behind Bridget, bringing a smile to her face. It never failed to surprise her how his presence lifted her spirits.
“I am. My aunt has gone upstairs to get some much-needed rest, and Eliza is showing Lady Darby and Mr. and Mrs. Harley to their rooms.”
“Lady Darby, indeed. She’s a charmer, isn’t she?”
Bridget giggled. “I do feel sorry for her nephew and his wife.”
“Yes, poor old Harley lives at her mercy, and I know a bit what that’s like. Having to constantly please a wealthy relative is a painful existence.” Nate’s jaw tightened.
“Dear me! He puts up with all that nastiness toward himself and his wife because of money?”
“You’d be surprised what people will do for money.” Nate put his hands in his pockets and gazed at the horizon. “It’s easy to forget when submerged in this beautiful landscape, but it’s a cruel world out there for the destitute.”
An agonizing image of her broken papa holding his pistol to his temple flashed in Bridget’s mind, and she gasped out loud, shocked by the pain it engendered within her chest.
“I’m sorry.” Nate put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “That was insensitive of me. I wasn’t thinking.”
Bridget nodded. “I know. It’s not your fault—it’s only that your words ring so true. I’ve been sheltered my whole life, living in this wonderful little bubble while poor Papa struggled all on his own.”
“What could you have done?”