Chapter 2 #2
“Speaking of our mother,” Mouette said very casually, “I was just thinking today of her ruby necklace. Do you remember it? It fit around her neck like a collar.” Her heart began to race.
“She never cared for it because it was incompatible with her reddish hair. Do you think she left it behind in the Grosvenor Square house?”
“Of course I remember it! But I believe Mama took all her jewels back to Connecticut.” Lindsay leaned forward in her chair, pinning Mouette with her gray eyes. “What’s wrong? You’ve gone a bit pale.”
“I forgot to eat at midday. Tea will help,” said Mouette quickly as she rose from her chair. “And some little cakes.”
“Let me help you,” exclaimed Isabella. She was beside her in an instant.
“No! My maid will prepare it. We will return in just a few moments.” Of course, there was no maid, and surely they must suspect something was amiss, but Mouette turned away and hurried blindly from the room.
Traversing the corridor, she paused to close the doors to the now-empty dining room and library.
It was a relief to reach the kitchen at the back of the house.
Shame flooded her as she remembered her mother’s necklace and the expression on Lindsay’s face when Mouette had mentioned it.
Did her sister guess that she had sunk so low she would consider selling some of their mother’s jewelry to keep a roof over the heads of her little family?
She had just filled a kettle and put it over the fire when the sound of footsteps reached her ears, accompanied by the sound of doors opening along the corridor.
“Mouette? Where are you?”
With a shock, she realized it was Isabella, following her, looking into all the rooms she had emptied of their contents in recent weeks.
Mouette’s stomach churned with panic. She wanted to open the back door and run out into the garden, but just then her best friend appeared in the doorway. Looking around the kitchen, she clearly saw that there was no maid, just as the rest of the house had been nearly bare of furnishings.
“I am worried about you,” Isabella said solemnly. “Please, let me help you.”
To Mouette’s further shame, hot tears welled up in her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. “Help me? Why, nothing is wrong.” As she spoke, her voice became a sob and she covered her face with her hands.
“Oh, darling,” exclaimed Isabella. She was beside her in an instant, gathering her near. “Whatever is troubling you, you must not be afraid to tell me.”
Mouette wept on her friend’s shoulder for a full, blessed minute before finally she could speak.
She was older than Isabella by two years and had always held the balance of power in their relationship.
Mouette’s parents, André and Devon Raveneau had taken Izzie in when she had been orphaned.
Mouette had blossomed into a swan, making an impressive marriage, while Izzie long remained a duckling, ill-at-ease with men.
Yet now the tables were turned. Isabella was a self-assured artist, married to a charming, handsome Frenchman who treated her like a princess.
It was Mouette who no longer fit in. She was six-and-thirty, for pity’s sake, with awkwardly adolescent sons.
Those impediments, combined with the lingering stench of Harry’s scandal, rendered her virtually unmarriageable.
For a woman in this world, there were few options.
Even carrying on as a respectable widow seemed virtually impossible. As an American by birth who had infiltrated London society with beauty, charm, and connections, Mouette had to realize there was no place for her now that her titled husband had died in utter disgrace.
“I perceive that you are in difficulty,” Isabella was saying, patting Mouette’s curls, “and I know that you have a great deal of pride. But pride must go out the window now, darling.”
“I’ve been trying desperately to keep up appearances,” Mouette admitted tearfully.
“I can see that.” There was an undercurrent of gentle irony in her voice. “How are the boys? Do they realize the truth of your situation?”
Mouette straightened and wiped her eyes with a napkin. “Perhaps. A bit. Especially when I began to remove their bedchamber furniture to be sold.” In spite of her misery, she laughed a little, overcome with relief to be telling someone the truth.
“Clearly you were running out of things to sell. Was your mother’s necklace going to be next?” Her tone was loving rather than judgmental.
Just then, Lindsay appeared in the doorway. “I grew tired of waiting and I confess I’m rather peckish. Where are those pretty little cakes you promised?”
Mouette’s chin began to tremble again. “Oh, Lindsay, I have no pretty cakes. Nor is there milk for your tea. Your sister is a fraud!”
Isabella and Lindsay put Mouette in a chair as they made tea. Upon discovering some eggs in the larder, Isabella cooked them with a little cheese. Once Mouette had eaten, the two women led her into the sitting room and all three of them sat together on the beautiful blue-and-gold striped settee.
Mouette felt surrounded, yet it was a relief to be forced to address her problems head-on. She had no more energy for grappling with them alone.
“I don’t really understand why you are struggling this way,” said Lindsay. “You know that our parents will provide a home for you and the boys, forever if necessary.”
Mouette frowned. “You don’t understand. We spent three years living with Mama and Papa in Connecticut.
At first, it felt wonderful to be safely in their care, given all that had happened – with Harry, you know.
” It hurt just to say his name. “But as time passed, I realized I had to make a life for myself. A future!”
“I see.” Lindsay nodded slowly. “And I can imagine that it would be daunting to be in the company of our parents every day. They are so much in love, even after all these years…”
“Yes! In truth, I gave up long ago on any dream of achieving that sort of marriage for myself. If I could make my own way in the world, I would be quite content to manage without a husband. In fact, after Harry, I would prefer it.”
Isabella was staring off into space. “There must be a way for you to support yourself, without selling your possessions…”
“Or Mama’s jewels,” Lindsay interjected.
Mouette felt her cheeks flame. Did they have to sit so close to her, watching her every reaction? “I only thought of it in passing since Mama was never fond of rubies.” When Lindsay did not reply, she admitted, “But of course, you are quite right. I suppose I have become desperate.”
“It is a shame you don’t have a talent,” said Isabella. “Like painting.”
“Or teaching,” added Lindsay, who had been a schoolteacher in Connecticut before coming to England four years ago.
“I have been making a list of possible professions,” Mouette told them a trifle defensively.
“Our friend Natalya Beauvisage became a successful author,” said Lindsay. “Even now, as Lady Hartford, she continues to write. Her novels are nearly as popular as those of Jane Austen!”
“I’m quite sure I haven’t any talent for writing, and even if I did, the thought of turning my imagination toward romance makes me feel ill.” Sinking back against the graceful settee, Mouette added with a sigh, “The only talent I have is for furnishing a home.”
After a long moment of silence, Isabella sat up straight, her eyes sparkling. “Of course! That’s it! Why can you not offer your services to wealthy aristocrats who need help with artistic home decoration?”
“Izzie, you may have hit on a solution,” Lindsay said, tapping a finger to her cheek.
“It’s very far-fetched.” Even as she resisted, Mouette felt a little twinge of excitement. “How could I do such a thing? Knock on all the doors of the very people who have shunned me since my return to London? They would surely scoff at me.”
“Wait.” Isabella held up a silencing hand, smiling warmly.
“I have a wonderful idea! Come home with me to Cornwall for a few weeks. I know you have always found it dreadfully provincial, but it is also a place of peace and beauty where you can rest and recover from this ordeal. We can go for long walks and make better plans for your new endeavor, and when you and the boys return to London, you’ll be ready to plunge right in! ”
Mouette’s heart spun like a top as she remembered her last journey to Cornwall, on the occasion of Isabella & Gabriel’s wedding a decade ago. An unexpected wave of anxiety swept over her. Although her friend’s plan sounded inviting, she wasn’t a bit sure she could bear to return.
Just then, through the wide bow window, Mouette saw Charles and Anthony walking across Bedford Square, accompanied by their fencing master who doubtless expected to be paid.
The sight of her sons made her straighten her shoulders.
More and more often, she had regrets about the sort of mother she’d been.
She wanted her boys to have a proper future, to be educated as gentlemen, and to be proud of their mother.
It came to her that she couldn’t go on this way. She must put her own reservations aside and do what was best for them.
“Yes.” She looked first toward her concerned younger sister and then met Isabella’s eyes. “I shall come with you to Cornwall and devise a new plan going forward. I owe it to my boys to do everything in my power to make a new life.”