Chapter 11
MADELEINE
“You look so lovely in this blue evening gown,” Lydia told me as I stood before a looking glass, sure that the young lady staring back at me was someone else.
Anyone but me.
The gown had been a bit too large for my smaller form, but Lydia was a deft hand with sewing, and with a few alterations, it now looked as if it had been commissioned for me alone.
Lydia had expertly plaited my hair into a circular braid, leaving a few curls free to frame my face.
I wore a new pair of slippers that were so fine they felt as if they were fashioned of clouds.
I had dabbed some lilac scent I had made myself and brought with me from Cliffwood on my wrists and throat.
“I don’t look like myself,” I said, still awed by the transformation that had occurred ever since I had arrived at Wheaton.
Having Lydia and Geraldine here pleased me greatly. Over the course of the last few days, I had settled into a comfortable, familiar routine. I no longer felt quite as much like a stranger or a usurper at Wheaton. I no longer woke each morning thinking I was in a dream.
It was real, as real as my reflection staring back at me was.
I wasn’t a maid, beneath my father’s thumb, forced to do his bidding. Instead, I was the next Marchioness of Wheaton.
“You look as you were always meant to look,” Lydia corrected me gently. “You are a lady, Maddie. You were born a lady, and Lord Barnett stole that from you when he forced you to serve as a maid. Soon, I shall be calling you Lady Wheaton.”
I spun away from my reflection. “You’ll do no such thing. You are to call me Maddie always. We are friends.”
“I am your lady’s maid.”
“You are like a sister to me.”
Lydia smiled, shaking her head. “You’ve a heart of pure gold, Maddie, that you do. I’m just thankful that his lordship is willing to offer me this situation. It’s far more than I could have hoped for at Cliffwood.”
“The marquess is a kind and generous man,” I said, feeling my cheeks go warm as I thought of the man I would soon be marrying.
Our days had been filled with getting to know each other. The more I learned, the more I respected and admired him. He was everything I had supposed him to be—and more.
“Edward tells me that the marquess is a fine and honorable gentleman, that you could not hope for a better husband.”
I took note of the familiar way Lydia spoke of the marquess’s steward at once.
“Edward?”
A pink flush tinged Lydia’s cheeks. “Mr. Warwick, that is. Forgive me. I should not have been so bold.”
I wondered if I would be losing my friend as my lady’s maid so soon after she had been granted the position.
Selfishly, I hoped not. Having Lydia at my side had been a much-needed reassurance.
I missed our time in the garret room, though not the inferior lack of comfort.
Still, I would never stand in the way of my dear friend’s happiness.
A sudden, unpleasant thought occurred to me then. While I had begun to trust the marquess, I knew almost nothing of his steward.
“Lydia, Mr. Warwick was not unseemly, was he? He didn’t behave in an improper manner toward you when you were at the coaching inn, did he?”
“Of course not,” she reassured me. “Mr. Warwick has been a true gentleman to Geraldine and myself both. We were grateful for his escort. You mustn’t think ill of him because of my own mistake.”
There was a protectiveness in her voice that I had only heard previously when she had been taking my side in battles with Mrs. Wells back at Cliffwood.
I stared at my friend, thinking that this was an interesting development indeed.
It was plain to see that she had burgeoning feelings for Mr. Warwick.
But I wouldn’t poke my nose into the matter further for now.
There would be time aplenty for that later.
I had a dinner to attend.
“I don’t think ill of him,” I promised. “Now tell me, have you finished turning this sow’s ear into a silk purse? I should hate to be late for dinner, what with his lordship’s guests in attendance.”
“You are not, nor have you ever resembled, anything close to a sow’s ear,” Lydia told me, smiling. “You’re beautiful, Maddie.”
“You flatter me because you are my friend.”
“No, I tell you the truth because I am your friend.” Her smile deepened. “Moreover, have you ever smelled a sow’s ear? I can assure you that you smell nothing like one.”
I laughed, grateful for the levity. “I should hope not.”
Lydia chuckled. “I’ll just tend to a few things here. Go on. Off to dinner with you.”
I hesitated, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from my skirts. “What if the marquess’s friends disapprove of me?”
Earlier this afternoon, the house had been abuzz with the unexpected arrival of Lord and Lady Beckett, good friends of his lordship.
I had only briefly made their acquaintances, for the efficient Mrs. Dougall had instantly sent the viscount and viscountess off to their chambers after their arduous day of travel from London.
I was nervous to be seated with them at dinner.
What would I have in common with an accomplished lady who was accustomed to the haut ton?
“Why should they disapprove?” Lydia asked, frowning. “You are a credit to his lordship in every way—lovely, intelligent, kindhearted, considerate.”
“I have none of the polish expected of a genteel lady,” I fretted, giving voice to the worries that had been assailing me ever since I had curtsied to Lord and Lady Beckett.
What a handsome pair they had made, both undoubtedly dressed in the height of fashion. Even in their travel garments, they had been elegant and refined.
“And what is the polish that’s expected? I confess, I wouldn’t know, and I’m likely the better for it.”
“I’m not sure I know either. Dancing, watercolors, playing the pianoforte…”
“None of which you will be asked to do at dinner,” Lydia pointed out. “Lord and Lady Beckett are friends of the marquess. I cannot imagine he would keep company with anyone who is uncharitable enough to judge you for lacking the refinement your father denied you.”
Lydia was right, and I had been telling myself the same. But somehow, hearing her affirmation quelled my concerns in a way that nothing else could.
“You are right, of course, my dear friend. I am sure they will be most kind.”
“Of course they will, and if they aren’t, I’ll sneak into their chambers and hide frogs under their beds,” Lydia teased.
I laughed and impulsively reached for my friend, taking her hands in mine. I wore my customary kid gloves, and I had not as yet determined how I would avoid removing them at the table. I would somehow muddle through.
“I am so happy you are here with me, Lydia,” I told her. “I couldn’t do this without you.”
Lydia gave my fingers a reassuring squeeze. “Of course you could. But I am glad to be here with you too, and far from the reach of the odious Mrs. Wells.”
“As am I.” I took a deep breath. “I suppose it’s off to dinner with me.”
“Just be yourself, Maddie. They’ll love you just like everyone who has come to know you does.”
I took my leave of the chamber, Lydia’s words echoing in my mind with each step.
Not everyone loved me, but I had left my father and Cliffwood behind forever.
It was time to turn my mind toward the future awaiting me, a future that was filled with more hope than I ever could have fathomed not long ago.
“I hope you don’t mind a few unexpected guests for your wedding,” Lady Beckett told me in conspiratorial fashion in the drawing room after we left the marquess and viscount to their port following dinner.
Thanks to my tête-à-tête with Lydia earlier, I had entered the dining room with tentative confidence that had bloomed over the course of the meal.
“Of course not, my lady,” I reassured her. “You honor us with your presence.”
The viscountess beamed back at me. “Please, you must call me Constance. We are to be dear friends, I can already tell, and I refuse to stand on ceremony.”
“Then you must also call me Maddie,” I invited, still feeling a bit shy.
Our shared meal had gone a long way to ease my concerns.
It had been clear that Lord Beckett held the marquess in high regard and that the feeling was mutual.
Lady Beckett—Constance—had been welcoming and warm.
The four of us had fallen into an easy pattern of conversation, discussing everything from London to the weather to Lord Wheaton’s latest property acquisition.
“It would please me greatly to do so,” the viscountess said. “You are a dear heart to be so understanding about our arrival. When Wheaton wrote to my husband with news of your impending nuptials, I decided that we simply had to be here to join you.”
“I hadn’t realized he wrote you.”
What had he said about me? Had he mentioned the unusual circumstances surrounding our betrothal? I rather hoped he hadn’t.
“You mustn’t be cross with Wheaton for doing so,” Constance said.
“He wrote to ask for my aid in sending a gown from London that you might wear on your wedding day. My modiste is a godsend, and she offered up a gown that I hope you will find more than suitable. I didn’t dare entrust it to a servant, however.
What if it were to become lost or dirtied?
No, I knew that I needed to deliver the gown myself. ”
“You needn’t have gone to such efforts on my behalf. Mrs. Dougall was able to secure a handful of dresses from the village that would have served me.”
The moment the words left me, I realized that I had revealed too much. No ordinary lady would require a housekeeper to find gowns for her in the village. She would already have a wardrobe of her own. Embarrassed heat scalded my cheeks.
But if she took note of my error, the viscountess graciously chose not to comment upon it.