Pride & Passion. Charlotte Featherstone
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owing to the pale colored walls, and the enormous domed window that filled the ceiling. At the end of the hall was a glass conservatory that looked out onto the back gardens. Tall green palms and brilliantly colored hothouse flowers drew her eye, making her think of a warm summer day, although, behind the crimson petals were rain soaked windows and a bleak gunmetal-gray sky.
Still, what a lovely spot it would be in the spring, when the grass was green, and the trees newly leafed out. Hyacinths would be particularly pretty in that room, giving it a rich, feminine floral scent. Hyacinths always reminded her of a warm spring day. She gave the conservatory one last longing glance before turning the corner. She had always wanted a conservatory, but Papa had never been one to be pleased by gardening. He was even less pleased by the prospect of improving a house that was part of an entailment. Even though, that entailment might very well one day come to her own son, and his grandson.
“There now,” Elizabeth murmured as she allowed the spaniel to nudge her gently away from a chair that stood directly in her path. “Is this not nice? I can almost feel the sunshine.”
Indeed it was. The sitting room was bright and cheery; small, but warm, and with the fire that crackled in the marble hearth it was rather cozy. It was also very feminine and Lucy could easily get lost in the comfort of the room. Lemon-yellow walls with ornate white plaster cornices and mullions gave the room a light, but aristocratic flare. The curtains were a billowing concoction of white silk, edged with the palest of green fringe. The furniture was light and delicate, upholstered in shades of yellow and pink and pale green, with chintz pillows, and a thick carpet. Lucy could not help but imagine the imposing duke sitting down on the delicate rosewood settee that was patterned with big pink cabbage roses, sipping away at his tea. She could imagine what it must be like for a visitor to sit opposite him, to have those mysterious brooding eyes watching for faux pas, while he systematically stripped each layer away in his search for imperfections.
Those eyes … a woman could either be intimidated or besotted by those gray eyes. Thank heavens, Lucy was neither.
“Thank you, Maggie,” Elizabeth murmured as her companion, who seemed to come out of the ethers, took her by the hand and helped her to lower onto the very settee that only seconds ago Lucy had been imagining the duke sitting upon.
“Will there be anything else, my lady?” the portly but kind companion inquired while Elizabeth settled herself and arranged her skirts. With a gentle pat on the cushion beside her, she called her dog up, and Lucy could not help but grin at the sight of the very pregnant Rosie struggling to get her hind legs up onto the settee. Once the spaniel was settled and curled up by Elizabeth, she and Isabella took the chairs opposite their host.
“Thank you, Maggie. I believe we shan’t stand on ceremony and all the little rules to tea today.” She smiled, and her gray eyes began to shine with mirth. “I am quite certain that my companions will see to it that I do not take it into my head to play hostess and pour.”
Maggie sent Elizabeth a scowl, while Lizzy patted the companion’s hand. “Truly, Maggie, I am fine. Take the afternoon with my blessing. Lady Lucy shall act as hostess today.”
Surprised, Lucy straightened her spine just a fraction. She expected Isabella to have been given the honors. After all, she was married now—to an earl—and was the only married lady at the table.
“Will that do, Lady Lucy?” Elizabeth asked.
“I would be honored, of course.”
“Well, if I might dispense a measure of advice, Lady Lucy, it would be to watch that one,” Maggie said while pointing to Elizabeth who sat grinning. “Far too stubborn for her own good. Right then, I shall be on my way, but I won’t leave the house. Call if you need me.”
“She’s right, you know.” Elizabeth sighed as the salon door clicked quietly closed behind Maggie. Settling back onto the cushions, Elizabeth allowed her hand to rest affectionately on Rosie’s pregnant side. “I am far too stubborn. But I shall not repeat my performance of yesterday. I nearly scalded poor Sussex. My brother—” Her words were whispered as she smiled fondly. “What he won’t do to make his blind sister happy. Even make her believe she could play hostess and pour tea.”
There was warmth and a true sense of affection in Isabella’s voice when she spoke. “His grace seems so very nice. I cannot tell you how welcoming he has been to me since marrying Black.”
“He wasn’t always so indulgent,” Lizzy said. “He was rather spoiled and selfish as a child—quite mean, as well. In truth, I didn’t really like him, and he was horrid to Mama. Like me, she was afflicted with dwindling sight, and I think Sussex feared it might happen to him … he hid that fear by belittling her—a trait he learned from my father.”
“How horrible, Lizzy. To see you both together, one would never know the troubles between you. The duke seems, well, quite the perfect model as a brother,” Isabella observed.
“No, I agree. Sussex is an ideal brother. I don’t know what caused his change—one day he was insufferable, and then he fell ill and was removed from London to an estate that Papa rarely frequented in Wales. It was above a year, I think, before I saw him again—Papa wouldn’t allow me, you see. I was kept away for fear of my own health. When we next saw each other I was completely blind, but I could tell he had changed. His voice was softer, his pattern of speech slower, more defined. In all, he was quiet. Composed … given to contemplation and silence—so unlike his prior proclivities.”
“I suppose he became a man in that time spent away from you,” Isabella offered. “Little brothers, I should think, have a terrible tendency to grow up into men.”
Lizzy smiled. “Indeed they do. And Sussex’s transformation was quite welcomed. My mother, you see, had just died before he took ill, and I think it might have had a lot to do with the change in him. I know from experience when one is confined to bed, one has a great many things to think about—to ask forgiveness for.” Lizzy straightened then shrugged a little. “Well, then, enough about my brother, let us have some tea.”
Lucy reached for the teapot. “It’s milk and sugar, isn’t it?” she asked Elizabeth.
“Yes, please. And one of Cook’s lemon scones, with extra lemon curd. There’s no unearthly reason why we should let her delicious lemon curd go to waste. Slather it on, if you will, Lucy, and I shall instruct my maid to tighten my corset laces.”
“Oh, how I loathe tight lacing,” Isabella said with a shudder. “How does one take a proper breath?”
“I’ve never found any assistance from it,” Lucy murmured as she tipped the teapot and watched the amber liquid spill into the delicate cups. “One needs something of a bosom for tight lacing to be effective.”
Elizabeth tutted. “Well, when one possesses a figure like mine, tight lacing only makes you look like a sausage casing filled with too much meat!”
“Scandalous!” Isabella laughed.
“But true,” Lizzy said with a smile. “I can have enough bosom showing without the aid of tight lacing, thank you very much.”
Smiling, Lucy watched Lizzy and marveled at how composed and at ease she was. She was a beautiful woman, with long shining black hair and the most lovely gray eyes she had ever seen. Lizzy was blessed with pale, smooth skin that reminded her of moonstone. And her figure … Well, Elizabeth York was rounded in all the right places, and possessed a bosom that Lucy felt quite envious of. Nothing ever spilled out of her own necklines, despite the fact she had taken to making her own clothes.
Once the tea was poured, and the scones cut and swathed in lemon curd and clotted cream, they sat back with a collective sigh and kicked off their shoes, while assuming positions of comfort that no lady of gentle breeding would dare consider during an afternoon call to tea.
“I adore it when the house is devoid of men,” Elizabeth said on a sigh as she bit into her scone. “One can eat as much as they desire without speculation, and sit in the most unseemly positions. Do put your feet up, ladies, if you’re so inclined.”