Chapter Eight
Dinner was a rather elaborate affair. Aunt Marianne had done an excellent job with the menu, ordering Cook to deliver dishes of soup, carved meat, roasted chicken, and fish pies.
Several silver-tiered trays held an array of vegetable dishes, accompanied by bowls of puddings and fruit.
It all looked quite delicious. The guests arrived and took their seats with murmurs of approval.
Bridget was relieved to see that Madam Bouffant had taken her advice and worn the green shawl, which she had pinned together using her floral, emerald and diamond brooch.
It did a decent job of covering the actress’s cleavage, and Bridget hoped it was enough to fool the other guests into thinking she was a lady—albeit an eccentric one—from France.
After all, a foreigner could get away with oddities in her dress and mannerisms that an English lady could not.
Bridget smiled at Madam Bouffant and nodded her thanks but froze when she caught Lady Eamont staring at the actress.
Lady Eamont twisted the large ring on her finger and narrowed her eyes as if she sensed something suspicious about Madam Bouffant.
Bridget’s stomach knotted as she took her seat at the table next to her aunt.
Why had she thought she could fool ladies of the ton?
James stepped forward and began to pour wine and port for each of the guests.
“This is a splendid house, Mr. Squires,” Lady Darby said, and Bridget was relieved to see Lady Eamont turn her attention away from Madam Bouffant. “I must say I am quite pleased with the view from my suite. The lake—what’s it called—”
“Lake Windermere,” Nate said.
“I concur. It is magnificent.” Lord Dodsworth, having finished his soup, dished some asparagus onto his plate, already heaped with carved meat and potatoes. “Exactly as Mr. Wordsworth describes in his guide.”
“I find it reminiscent of Montreux in Switzerland. Sir Allen, may he rest in peace, and I holidayed there shortly after our marriage.”
Nate lifted his glass of wine in a mock toast. “To Windermere. England’s Lake Geneva,” he said.
The guests raised their glasses. “To Windermere,” they parroted.
“And to the magnificent Villa De Lacey. I hope you all enjoy your stay here.”
The smiling guests sipped their wine, and Bridget’s heart almost exploded with pride. Until reality came knocking.
“Your brother did well taking this property off the original owner. It’s shameful that he could not pay his debts. But to gamble his home? Imagine being so negligent with money that you lose a treasure like this one,” Lady Darby said.
Bridget suddenly found that she could not swallow the sip of port she’d just taken. The lump in her throat was too large. Has Lady Darby no shame? How dare she continue to insult Papa!
She finally managed to swallow and was about to say something in her father’s defense when Lady Eamont chimed into the conversation.
“I couldn’t agree more, Lady Darby. And how very charitable of Mr. Squires to have taken on De Lacey’s dependents—not to mention allow them to dine with us.
Most unusual.” She turned to Nate, her soup spoon poised in midair.
“I can’t imagine what a burden it must be to a young man like yourself.
Don’t they have any family to provide for them? ”
Bridget’s blood bubbled hot in her veins. The woman had the gall to continue to talk about them as if they were not present in the room. She opened her mouth to speak, though so many responses hurtled through her mind she wasn’t sure where to start.
“Yes, in fact, we do, Lady Eamont.” Aunt Marianne put down her spoon. “I have another brother who lives in New York. He sailed there two-and-twenty years ago before Bridget was born. But he is in India now. We will be going to America when he returns in approximately six months.”
Bridget turned in surprise to look at her aunt. Everything she had said was a complete fabrication.
“What? Why didn’t you tell me of this plan—” Nate began but stopped when Bridget gave him a quelling look.
“Well, that must be a relief for you, Mr. Squires!” Lady Darby said.
“I agree,” Lady Eamont concurred. “It’s bad enough being a poor relation but having to depend on a stranger for charity is simply appalling.”
“Charity has nothing to do with it,” Nate said.
“I couldn’t even begin to manage this house without the help of Miss De Lacey and her aunt, so I can assure you that I will do my utmost to persuade them to stay here.
And as for them dining with us, they do so because this is, and always has been, their home. There is nothing unorthodox about it.”
“Don’t be so modest, Mr. Squires. You’ve taken on both the man’s aged sister and his daughter. Of course, it’s an act of charity to take on another man’s responsibilities,” Lady Eamont said.
Bridget felt her aunt tense beside her, and her chest flamed. How humiliating to be spoken about as if they were a pair of stray dogs! These people were positively horrible!
“You must realize that you cannot keep them on once you get married,” Lady Eamont continued. “Surely, your wife will want to run her own household.”
Bridget bit her lip. She wanted desperately to speak up in her own defense, but what could she say? Everything Lady Eamont was saying was true. She was only living a fantasy. How long would it be before Mr. Squires grew tired of her and her aunt?
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want two strangers living in my home when I am married,” Adelia Eamont said. “Nor should I want to be a charity case.” She looked pointedly at Bridget, whose chest blazed anew.
She could no longer hold her tongue. “Married?” Bridget blurted before she could stop herself. “Are you to be married soon, Miss Eamont?”
Her sister, Lydia, giggled. “Definitely not. She’s had her fourth season without any prospects.”
“And you are not far behind me with three seasons completed!” Adelia said icily. Then she peeked at Nate and fluttered her eyelashes “I’ve been saving myself for a love match. I won’t settle for anything less.”
“So, you have rejected many suitors, then?” Bridget asked.
Nate put a gentle hand on Bridget’s arm under the table, letting her know that she needed to stop and let well enough alone, but her temper had gotten the better of her.
A blue vein jutted out from under the pale skin on Adelia’s neck.
“Let me give you a piece of advice.” Lady Darby turned to Adelia. “You’d best not be too fussy. You’re not pretty enough to wait for a love match, and if you wait too long, your womb will dry up, like my nephew’s wife’s.”
Bridget shrank back, no longer wishing to partake in the conversation. These people were awful, and she’d let them rope her into their cruelty. She felt ashamed of herself.
“We don’t know that, Aunt,” Mr. Harley said. “Mrs. Harley is resting in bed as we speak, unable to eat due to nausea. There is hope yet.”
Lady Darby snorted. “Another month of false hope, I suspect. But we shall see.”
“I am a widow,” Madam Bouffant said, “and I am deliciously happy. It is wonderful to be an independent woman, free to come and go as you wish and with whom you please.”
Bridget glared at the actress. Had she been sitting beside her, she would have given her a good kick under the table.
“It is one thing to be a widow and quite another to be a spinster,” Lady Darby said as she eyed Miss Eamont.
“And just where do you come from, Madam?” Lady Eamont asked.
“Paris.” Madam Bouffant drained her glass of port and then held it out to the footman who hovered beside her with the decanter. “Fill it to the top,” she instructed the servant, who did as she bid and then moved quickly to the next guest.
“Indeed,” Lady Eamont said, giving Madam Bouffant a disapproving look. “And when were you last in Paris? That shawl you are wearing is at least four seasons old.”
Bridget bit her lip. She hadn’t thought of that.
“And I do wonder about your dress,” Lady Eamont continued. “You are not one for the latest fashions, I take it?”
“Yet that brooch of yours is quite remarkable,” Lady Darby said. “Where did you get it, I wonder?”
“It was Wordsworth’s Guide to the Lakes that brought Madam Bouffant here all the way from Paris,” Bridget said, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. “Isn’t that right, Madam?”
“Yes.” Madam Bouffant held up the guidebook, and Bridget sighed. She hadn’t meant for her to bring the book to the table.
“So many beautiful descriptions of the lakes.” Madam Bouffant waved the guidebook at Lady Darby. “I could not resist coming to see it for myself.”
“If the weather permits tomorrow, might I suggest everyone take a rowboat onto Lake Windermere?” Bridget said, trying to take the focus off Madam Bouffant. “We have several boats for guests to use.”
“I wouldn’t dare go out on my own,” Adelia said. “But, perhaps, Mr. Squires and his friends will be kind enough to accompany us and our mama, of course.”
“He’d love to,” Bridget answered for Nate. “Wouldn’t you, Mr. Squires? You can go after you give Miss Eamont a tour of the garden.”
Nate gave Bridget a hardened stare.
Bridget suppressed a smile. If Nate thought she was the only one who had to work hard to please their guests, he had another think coming.
“I am sure Lord Eamont would like to accompany his wife and daughters in the rowboat. It would be a lovely family outing. Am I right, sir?”
“Eh?” Lord Eamont, who’d been decidedly quiet, said. “Well, I—what did you say?” He appeared flustered.
“I think they are talking about rowing on the lake,” Madam Bouffant said, smiling at him.
Lord Eamont’s cheeks pinked. “Oh, well, if you like.”
“With your family,” Lady Eamont asserted.
“I’m not one for water and boats,” Lord Eamont said, and Lady Eamont’s eyebrows came together in a frown.
“I agree,” Madam Bouffant concurred. “Sailing makes me feel—how you say—queasy. A walk alongside the lake would be so much nicer.”
“Oh, yes, that does sound nice.” Lord Eamont smiled at the actress.