Chapter 4
With difficulty, Gervaise refrained from laughing at Mrs. Rose’s appalled expression.
It was damned hard to maintain that whispery creak of a voice, and laughter would betray him for certain.
So would letting her see him properly. He’d had no time to do more than rub dust all over his face and hope the hood of his cloak would suffice.
A pity, because she was delectable with her long, dark hair down her back, wispy waves of it framing her face, and a candlestick clutched like a weapon in one hand. He would far rather stare, drinking in her loveliness, her eagerness for enjoyment and life.
“How could you?” she demanded. “Stop it right now!”
Fortunately, Gervaise had signaled enough, so he obliged her by shutting the lantern.
She launched into a rant. “Those poor men, who are only trying to make a few extra shillings, will be torn from their families, hanged or transported! Have you no compassion?”
“What about the law?” he asked, avoiding her eye, trying not to smirk—unsuccessfully, judging by her expression.
“It’s a stupid law. If the government would simply lower the tariffs, smuggling would no longer be profitable. The men and their families might suffer from the lower income, but at least they would still be together.”
“You’re a kindly woman, missus,” he said. “The signal is to fool the revenue men, keep them busy while the goods are transported elsewhere.”
“Oh,” she said. “How clever.”
“Won’t work for much longer, if at all,” Gervaise said. “Been four days already. The revenuers will work out that it was a decoy.” He paused. “Your ghost gave us the idea. The house was already known to be haunted, so it fooled them for a while.”
“Fine, but I can’t allow my house to be used for illegal purposes.” She glowered. “I hope they paid you well.”
A lady of many contradictions, he thought, turning toward the door to avoid her eye. “Nothing at all, missus. Did it out of the goodness of my heart.” And boredom, if the truth were told.
Might boredom be a good sign? An indication that he was almost ready to return to society? That it might not be too painful going home again?
Or just that he was bored. Full stop.
Except that since Mrs. Rose had arrived that morning, he wasn’t bored at all.
He held the door open for her. “Shall I warm up more milk for you, Mrs. Rose?”
* * *
Thisbe slept late, woke to a bright, chilly day, and hurried down for breakfast. Mrs. Wix had already lit the fire and set the table in the dining room, which put paid to any hope she had of eating in the cozy kitchen.
She sighed, feeling rather lonely, but that was only to be expected; it was a different sort of loneliness from at home, where she disliked her father and had nothing in common with her aunt, and felt sorry for her stepmother, who wasn’t much older than she was.
Her baby half-brother was a darling, and she would miss him.
She’d not been close friends with any of the gentlewomen nearby, although she rather liked some of the villagers.
One shouldn’t impose upon the domain of a servant, or expect more than competent service from such people, and certainly not friendship. And, she asked herself, why would she want friendship from such a grumpy—and lawless—character as Mrs. Wix?
Although that brief, engaging smile last night had startled her with its astonishing warmth, and had led her to hope.
Thisbe was on the first floor, wearing a faded round gown and an apron, dusting the paintings and sweeping the gallery, when a coach and pair pulled up before the house.
After a brief panic, she realized with relief that it wasn’t her father’s coach.
She hoped he wouldn’t come to Lucky Cottage, but instead wait for her to come crawling home.
Unfortunately, one never knew what he might decide to do, but she wasn’t yet ready to defy him again.
A groom leapt down from his perch, opened the door to let down the steps, and hastened up to the house to knock. Two ladies descended from the coach, one very young and sprightly, with fair hair peeping from beneath her bonnet; the other several years older, dark-haired and more composed.
The groom knocked again, knocked a third time, and the ladies waited. Where was Mrs. Wix? Soon the ladies would assume no one was home, and drive away before Thisbe even knew who had called, and why.
A lady never answered her own door, but if Mrs. Wix didn’t come, what was she to do?
Break with custom once again, she told herself, wrenched open the casement, and cried, “I’ll be right down!”
She stripped off her apron and hurried down the stairs, to find Sergeant Dolman peering out the same window where she’d first seen Mrs. Wix.
“Open the door, for heaven’s sake!” she cried.
He turned, glowering defiantly. “I didn’t want to frighten the ladies, ma’am.” Poor man, even at this distance she could smell his fear of people’s reaction to his scar.
“I understand your hesitation, although they are fools to be frightened by a scar. However, why didn’t Mrs. Wix come?” She flapped a hand. “Don’t fret, Sergeant. I’ll speak to her about it. You’d best get back to work.” She opened the door and put on a welcoming smile.
“So sorry, ladies, to keep you waiting, but I arrived only yesterday and have no servants to speak of. Well, except that the housekeeper is quite a good cook.” And would shortly hear Thisbe’s opinion of her gross dereliction of duty. “Do please come in!”
The ladies trod up the steps, apologizing for the intrusion. “I’m Lady Best and this is Lily Transom.”
Transom? thought Thisbe, startled, but Lady Best kept on talking. “You must be Mrs. Rose. We heard you were here and simply had to drop by to welcome you.”
“Heard?” Thisbe asked, immediately anxious. “From whom?”
“My husband told me,” Lady Best said. “He’s the JP, you know—Sir Simon Best. I expect he heard it from a servant. They always have the news before anyone else.”
“So true,” Thisbe said, a little less uneasy. The solicitor had certainly mentioned Sir Simon as the man to ask for assistance with getting settled in. Which she’d hoped not to have to do, because for all she knew, he would report right back to her father.
She ushered them indoors. “How very kind of you to come.”
“Not at all. It was on our way,” Lady Best said. “I knew Eddie Rose as a boy. Such a sweet lad, and a valiant soldier. You must miss him dreadfully.”
“Yes, he was a wonderful man,” Thisbe said, while Eddie’s ghost swept off his shako and bowed invisibly to her guests.
“How courageous of you to take on Lucky Cottage all on your own. No servants, you said?”
Thisbe glanced into the chilly drawing room and said, “Let’s sit in the dining room.
There’s already a fire there.” She ushered the ladies in and said, “Two servants were here when I arrived. One is a man of all work with far too much to do, and the housekeeper is an eccentric with little concept of proper respect. Do sit down, and I’ll see if I can persuade her to provide us with tea. ”
“Oh, we mustn’t stay,” Lady Best said. “In fact, we came by to see if you would like to ride into Brighton with us. Just a little shopping trip, you know.”
Temptation assailed her. She’d only been sweeping for half an hour, and she already had blisters on her thumbs. However did servants manage? And yet, the work must be done.
But…here was someone named Transom! She had to learn more—although maybe she was a fool to want to.
Just because she had relived that astonishing kiss in daydreams, she didn’t seriously expect to meet that man again.
He had probably died on the Continent. But what if he were alive? “I’m not dressed for—”
“Surely that can be remedied,” Lady Best said.
The lively young lady named Transom added, “Do please come, Mrs. Rose. There will be an assembly on this side of Brighton tomorrow evening. We shall have such fun choosing fresh trim for our gowns. Oh! Would you like to come to the assembly, too, Mrs. Rose?”
The girl was probably from an entirely different Transom family, and much as Thisbe enjoyed social occasions, she should probably start as she meant to continue. What was the point of attending an assembly? She wasn’t looking for a husband. “I don’t think—”
“Don’t say no just yet,” Lady Best said. “Think it over; it’s a good way to get to know people in the area. We’ll take you there and bring you home afterwards.”
Even if Lily Transom were related to that charming man, Thisbe knew better now—that a kiss didn’t get one with child, but kissing could easily lead to what did, and the last thing she wanted was to take that sort of risk.
Best to stay away from charming men—not that she expected to meet anyone as wonderful as the Transom who had kissed her. “You’re most kind,” Thisbe said, “but—”
“A lady alone needs friends,” Lady Best said. “Do at least come with us today.”
Thisbe gave in. “I should love to,” she said, and hastened away to change her clothes.
At least I am well-dressed, thought Thisbe as she hurried downstairs in her blue wool walking dress with the matching pelisse and bonnet. She even had an evening gown that might do for an assembly, if she could summon the courage to go.
She had sufficient fashionable clothing for now, thanks to Lord Wrapton’s obsession with appearances.
His daughter, however much he despised her, must be well turned-out or it affected his status.
Not that she gave a feather for his status, but being out from under his thumb meant she would not be able to afford anything new for ages.
Would people be willing to befriend an impoverished gentlewoman?
It didn’t matter. It was far better to be alone and poor than obliged to marry one of Lord Wrapton’s friends. The instant her year of mourning was over, he’d begun looking for someone to palm her off onto, with the legacy from Eddie as an inducement.