Page 5 of The Viscount in her Bedroom
“It wasn’t a very long journey by train,” Louisa said, smiling.
“Goodness, of course. I haven’t managed to ride one yet. They seem so loud. Do you need to rest, or would you like to meet the family? They are gathered in the drawing room for the afternoon.”
The family? Louisa opened her mouth, unsure of how to reply. Was Lord Wade there? And she had just come in from the rain; the cloak over her arm still dripped, and her shoes—
“You look fine,” Mrs. Calbert said, as if reading her mind. “I’ll take your cloak and bonnet and show you in.”
Louisa found herself swept up in the older woman’s orderly speed. She trailed her through the hall, and then down a long corridor lined with Greek statues that stood on guard.
When they reached the threshold of an open doorway, Mrs. Calbert curtsied and said, “Miss Louisa Shelby.”
She stepped back to allow Louisa to proceed her into a drawing room decorated in the warm colors of green and cream. Tall windows with sheer curtains before them let in the last light of the afternoon. But except for a few pieces of furniture and the paintings on the wall, the room was strangely bare of the decorative items a woman usually collected. No carpets covered the marble floor where the sofa and chairs were grouped.
Two ladies rose as she entered, both of them lowering their embroidery hoops to stare at her frankly.
To her disappointment, Lord Wade was not in attendance.
Louisa did not usually mind being stared at. Although she was not vain about her appearance, she knew that her features were never found wanting. But for some reason, she felt nervous about their stares, as if she had to pass a test—a test she wanted to pass, she realized with determination.
The dowager viscountess was a small, trim woman whose white hair was pulled back simply from her face. She had risen easily, belying her age. Her skin was lined with her years, but she smiled at Louisa in so friendly a way that Louisa could only smile back as she curtsied.
“I am Lady Wade, Miss Shelby. This is my granddaughter, Miss Georgiana Wade.”
Louisa and Miss Wade curtsied to one another. The girl was plump and attractive, but without great beauty. Her gown was an…unusual shade of purple. It clashed with her skin, and made her figure less appealing than it could be. Her hair color was somewhere between blond and brown, and her eyes were the same green as her brother’s. As Miss Wade began to smile, the family dimples winked in her cheeks. She seemed like a good-natured young lady who would not abandon her grandmother to loneliness. So why would Lady Wade need a companion? Unless the granddaughter was only visiting briefly.
“It is so good of you to accept my offer of employment, Miss Shelby,” Lady Wade said.
“It was kind of you to ask me, my lady.”
“You received Lady Ralston’s highest recommendation.”
Louisa dipped her head. “That is generous of her,” she said softly. “Is she still as I left her last year?”
“She is still confined to her bed, poor dear. But her letters, though dictated to her companion now, are as lively as ever.”
“And her granddaughter is well?”
“Happily married, and it’s thanks to you, from what I understand.” Lady Wade glanced at her own granddaughter.
Miss Wade inhaled deeply, her expression full of forbearance, but said nothing.
“Miss Ralston attracted her husband through her own good nature,” Louisa said smoothly. “I but coaxed her into showing the world. She was needlessly worried about her first Season.”
She thought she heard Miss Wade mumble, “Needlessly?”
Lady Wade heaved a sigh and smiled at Louisa once again. “Do sit down, Miss Shelby. I’ve rung for refreshments, and while we wait you can tell us about yourself. You have sisters, if I remember correctly.”
“I do, my lady. My eldest sister Victoria is newly the Viscountess Thurlow, and my youngest sister Meriel is now Mrs. Richard O’Neill.”
“Ah yes, Mr. O’Neill is the young Duke of Thanet’s uncle and guardian. I understand he saved the little boy’s life.”
“He did, my lady, although he will hear no praise for his actions.”
“You’ll have to tell me the story someday. Your parents are well?”
This was the part Louisa hated—lying to people. But she and her sisters had sworn an oath to their hysterical mother to tell no one that their father had died by his own hand. Mama had wanted him buried in the church graveyard, his memory unsullied. “My mother is well, my lady, but my father passed on two years ago.”
“I am sorry. I have lived long enough to accept that death will take us all one day.”
