Page 40 of Claiming the Tower
“You say the sweetest things.” Hereswith was glowing now. “My other goal is to be seen. I have been sufficiently seen, so we may do whatever you wish regarding Madam Judson and depart whenever makes sense. Better to leave people wanting, in this case, honestly.” Then she turned her palm up, two fingers together, before she began gesturing, creating a line. “On the one end, we ignore her. The cut direct. Easily done, but it presumes she has the wits to notice. You did say she was getting rather nearsighted.”
“She is. And she would not recognise me in this dress, not without some assistance.” Bess was sure of that. “The other end?”
“We engage her in conversation, and I make it entirely clear how many ways your consideration excels every expectation.” Hereswith considered, lowering her voice. “Though it is perhaps useful in that case that I need leave out only your kisses and your shoulders in my catalogue of your virtues. As the list grows longer, I suspect the temptation to discuss more private matters may become stronger.”
That, now, made Bess blush. They had not, in fact, gone further than more kisses. Not yet. Not until— until. Until the matter of the Council was settled one way or another, probably. Hereswith had said she enjoyed what they had done in bed. But it was hard to have privacy without worrying about the maids. More to the point, Hereswith had been out so much in the evenings.
Bess did not begrudge it, not now she was more certain there would be more to come. She was rather enjoying not rushing through the early steps. Every touch was new and should be enjoyed for what it was, not as a precursor to something else. “And in between?” She got her thoughts together.
“We sail by, on our way to talk to someone else more important— I see Lady Sidney over there, or Lady Winslow. She’s lovely to talk to, you ought to meet her, anyway. Excellent eye for gardens, and she loves telling what they’re focusing on here.”
Bess considered the options as presented. “I would like some great fuss, the sort that would leave her gaping. But I shouldn’t. That is indulging my worse impulses. And it might make difficulty for you, if not now, later. You’re the one saying that we don’t know what’s around the corner.”
“I would enjoy expounding on your virtues with all the points at my disposal, but you are perhaps right.” Hereswith nodded. “Right. Shall we go once more into the fray? Deposit our glasses with one of the staff. We’ll go across that path. Then I can introduce you to Lady Winslow, and we can chat with Marcus and William. Perhaps we might pose decoratively in front of those lovely flowers.”
“Let’s.” Bess stood, taking both glasses, one in each hand, to give Hereswith time to let her skirts shift into place. They set off at a measured pace, giving Bess a chance to leave the glasses. They were chatting amiably about the weather, the flowers, how well the garden looked, as they came up to Madam Judson and her daughters-in-law. “Madam Judson. Mistress Elaine Judson, Mistress Sophronia Judson.” Hereswith’s voice was crisp. The trio of women got a curt little nod.
“So formal, Mistress Rowan?” That was Sophronia, who— now Bess thought of it— might well be have overlapped with Hereswith at Schola. Sophronia was not the most clever woman Bess had ever met, though she was pleasant enough if one stayed on her better side.
“Courtesy and good manners are always in season, don’t you think?” Hereswith said it almost blithely. “Oh, and I believe you know Mistress Marley. Companion to dear Papa these days, and quite able to keep up to his standards in all things. Including his research, of course. But she’s been a joy to have in the house. I just know everything will be seen to sensibly and competently.”
Those were rather closer to duelling words than Bess would have chosen, but they were utterly polite. Madam Judson had an expression like a rather stunned ox, lifting her glasses to peer through them. “That’s not.”
“Oh, it is.” Hereswith was utterly blithe. Some other woman in this situation might have commented on Bess’s frock. Or the fact that a bit of hair oil from Hereswith’s collection of ointments had done wonders, as well as a month of far better and certainly more copious food. “Oh, I beg your pardon, I simply must have a word with Lady Winslow. She asked if I would. So many conversations, I hope you’ve been generous with the Temple. They’ve so many needs.” With that, she swept off with Bess half a step behind her. They were a good twenty feet down the path, before Hereswith murmured, “I’m only managing not to look back because I’m sure Marcus will tell me about their faces in a few minutes.”
It made Bess smile, broadly, the sort of delight that Madam Judson would absolutely hate. Five more steps, and they were up beside Lady Winslow. She was a women some fifteen years older than Bess, who promptly turned to them and welcomed Hereswith warmly with a kiss on each cheek. Then she launched into a glorious story about a recent calamity in her own garden. She brought Bess into the conversation as easily as Hereswith.
Chapter 27
August 1st at Verdant Court, in the library
“When do you expect your friend back?” Papa looked up from his desk, taking a minute to stretch. “And would you pour me a glass of brandy, my dear?”
“Of course, Papa.” Hereswith stood up from where she’d been reading companionably on the sofa to go to the decanter. It was Tuesday, which meant Bess had gone into Trellech for an afternoon at the Field. And then to another gathering. “Some friends invited her for the evening. A small celebration for the first harvest, some people around her year at Schola.”
Hereswith herself would be going out in an hour for the White Horse celebration. Some future time, she might bring Bess. It wasn’t impossible or even entirely uncommon, especially the gatherings like Lammas that were about people coming together to turn the wheel to the harvest in the quieter ways.
“Ah.” Papa nodded once, which made Hereswith certain he had more to say. She had not been his daughter for nearly forty years without having a sense of that. She took her time pouring the brandy, then one for herself, before bringing the glass to him and setting it where he could reach it without effort. It wasn’t until she sat down that Papa spoke again. “I like your friend.”
“I’m glad, since Mistress Marley is keeping you so much company.” Honestly, Papa was dancing around something. The question was what.
“And you like her as well.” That was not a question, and Hereswith just raised an eyebrow. Papa’s eyesight was not what it had been, but she was close enough the attitude and angle of her head would carry it.
“Papa.” Hereswith added the comment when he said nothing further.
“You smile, these days. Like your mother used to smile when she was happiest. The deep contentment.” Papa turned his hand palm up. “You haven’t before. Not in years.” Then he reached for his glass, taking a sip and savouring it. His Healer had advised him to be cautious about alcohol, which meant he drank lightly, but what he liked best. Hereswith was certainly not going to tell him no, especially when he was moderate compared to so many.
“Do I?” She supposed it would show. Not that Hereswith didn’t have friends, she did. However, she had admittedly few people she felt she could relax around. Marcus and William, when they were in private. But of course, she and Marcus saw plenty of each other in the service of their work. Other friends, it depended on her obligations, and theirs. And most of them had children of an age to need time and attention when Hereswith was more likely to be free for a call.
“Oh, yes. Keep on doing it.” He then made what appeared to be a change of topic, and Hereswith rather thought he was making a particular point. “Mistress Marley is quick on the uptake. That is a great deal of why I have resisted someone, of course. I can’t be wasting my time explaining things three times. I’ve rather a lot of books to read before I die. Can’t have the wrong sort of person looming.”
“A long time from now, Papa, I hope,” Hereswith considered. “And still so formal?”
“She said she would be content with whatever I chose. Tell me why she makes you smile, and I will consider greater informality. Give her a pleasant surprise tomorrow.” Papa made it into a negotiation, and Hereswith snorted. He’d done that all her life. He was where she’d begun to learn the diplomatic dance of proposal and counter, in aid of everyone getting something they wanted.
It meant that Hereswith considered what to say. She honestly did not know what Papa would say if he knew it was more than friendship. Or at least, that Hereswith was actively sorting out what she felt. There was precious little in her life to compare it to. She’d not had the experience of seeing her parents as a married couple as an adult, as most people did. Her brothers were happy enough, she supposed, but in particular modes, neither of which she wanted to emulate.
“It’s a pleasure to make Bess happy.” Hereswith could start there. “She’s had such a hard time of it. No big awful thing, other than the deaths of her parents, though that is certainly a significant loss. But since then, she has, she has been a plant in poor ground, no one offering much in the way of sustenance. I like to see her flourishing.” She risked, then, “You like to see me smile. I like to see her smile, it turns out. Or to share some pleasure. It was a delight to go to the Crystal Palace with her. All good company and better conversation. Far more enjoyable than going on my own, but also more enjoyable than it would have been with many friends.”
