Chapter Two #3
“I think, Arabella, you must call me Mater, just as the boys and their wives do,” the dowager said.
“In public and amongst guests, of course, I will have to be Lady Lampton or the dowager or some variation on that. But amongst family, and especially when only the two of us are present, Mater will do nicely.”
Arabella could hardly imagine such a thing. “That is a very personal term for one who is here as little more than a servant.”
“Arabella.” The dowager set her hand atop hers. “You have always been and always will be far more than a servant.”
A sudden ache clutched her heart. “More than a servant” was a far cry from “part of the family,” but it sent an almost painful surge of hope through her, a desperate, aching hope. But optimism had proven ill-advised before. “Are you certain?”
“Quite. If need be, I will declare it an order, like a cantankerous old matron.”
Arabella smiled at the exaggerated tone. “Very well, Mater, though it will take some getting used to.” And yet, happiness bubbled inside at the prospect of being on such personal terms with a lady she had so long loved and admired.
The clanking of watch fobs announced Philip’s approach. “I have news, Mater.” He sauntered over to where they sat. “The Duke and Duchess of Kielder have accepted your invitation, with the caveat that they be permitted to bring little Lord Falstone.”
Mater—thinking of her by that endearment, let alone speaking it, would take time to feel at all natural—nodded. “Of course. Do the Windovers mean to bring their children as well?”
Philip expertly lobbed his quizzing glass into the small pocket on his shirtwaist designed specifically for holding it. “It is my understanding the little Windovers will be visiting an aunt for the next few weeks.”
“And the duchess’s brother and sister?” Mater pressed.
“Both coming.” Philip made a minute adjustment to his intricately tied cravat. “That was the last of your guest list. This party of yours has all the makings of a roaring success.”
Far from appearing triumphant, Mater’s expression grew immediately concerned. “If Sorrel does not choose to participate though . . .”
Sorrel was Philip’s wife and, lately, something of a recluse.
“I believe she will,” he said. “She has never been one to neglect what she sees as her duty and obligations, no matter her current preference for solitude.”
“And if she doesn’t?” Mater sounded genuinely worried at the possibility.
Arabella kept her gaze lowered, not wishing to intrude on what had become a rather personal topic. She may have been granted the right to address Mater by her boys’ name for her, but she knew hers was not that close of a connection to them.
“Let us worry over that if it proves necessary.” Most of the ridiculousness had left Philip’s tone. “I refuse to believe we have lost her so entirely.”
Arabella didn’t know what had sent the new countess into seclusion, but all the neighborhood had noticed how withdrawn she had grown.
She had not attended any of the assemblies before the family had gone to London for the Season.
She had returned before her husband, long before the social whirl would have ended in Town, and hadn’t been seen much since.
Though she still attended church on Sundays, she did so with a distant and heavy expression permanently affixed.
It was discussed often, but no one had answers.
The Jonquil family, unshakably loyal to one another, had refused to indulge anyone’s curiosity.
“I do worry a little about the wisdom of inviting the Duke of Kielder,” Mater said. “He can be harsh. Sorrel might not respond well to his abrasiveness.”
Philip took a deep, uneasy breath. “It is a calculated risk, to be sure. But I have seen the fire in her rise when faced with a difficult person. I am hopeful that His Grace’s presence will prick her into action.”
“And I am hopeful”—Mater didn’t sound entirely hopeful—“that you will be proven correct.”
This was not at all the direction Arabella had anticipated the house party planning to take.
She had come to the sitting room ready to accept any number of tasks, to carefully ascertain her place in this household.
Finding herself awkwardly pretending to not overhear so personal a conversation was decidedly uncomfortable, a firm reminder that she was very much an outsider despite a lifetime of daydreams.
“You will be pleased to know”—Philip’s voice had regained its ridiculousness—“that my tailor intends to deliver to me a newly made jacket in an extraordinary shade of blue.”
“The duke will hate it,” Mater warned.
“I know,” Lord Lampton answered with a laugh. “I look forward to it.”
Mater shook her head. “Inviting his displeasure is dangerous.”
“Which is what makes it so very entertaining.”
Mater laughed quietly, real pleasure in her expression.
She took up the topic of the coming party and the needed preparations.
Arabella was given several small tasks, which she eagerly accepted.
The family would find her to be a welcome addition to their household.
She would find a place among them and a purpose; she was absolutely determined to.
She would make the late earl proud, and she would, at last, not be alone.