Page 11 of A Baron's Disguised Lady
“She was very beautiful, as her brother is handsome. They had the same complexion and the same curly hair. You couldn’t mistake them. He was so protective of her,” Daisy continued.
Lavinia now decided she would make the effort to speak to the baron about his sister. It would surely do him good to speak of her, and to share his memories. Lavinia remembered when the cook at her previous employment had lost her sister. They had talked for hours about the happy memories the cook had of their childhood, and in doing so, she had felt much better.
“I’ll talk to the baron about Gwendolene,” Lavinia said, but Daisy looked suddenly wary.
“I don’t think he likes to do so, Miss Stuart. We don’t dare mention her. Not unless it’s obvious he wants to talk about her. I don’t know… I think he lost a piece of his heart on the day she died. It’s buried in the churchyard with her. He goes there almost every day. It’s as though he just won’t accept she’s gone. The priest tried to talk to him. But there’s an anger there, too. He wants someone to blame,” she said, and Lavinia nodded.
She had to remind herself there were rules to follow, and that those of her rank and class—her new rank and new class—didnot so readily wear their hearts on their sleeves. As a maid, Lavinia had been used to sharing in the troubles and tragedies, the joys, and delights, of her fellow servants. They had been a family, but to those in the upper echelons of society, family could mean something quite different, or so she had observed. Even her grandfather had a curt formality to him, and despite his having clearly been moved by the plight of her and her mother, he had never shown any excess of emotion in his dealings with them.
“I’ll be wary. But if we’re to be here for the summer… well, I hope it won’t be all hard stares and silences,” Lavinia replied.
Daisy smiled.
“Well, perhaps you can help bring back some of the joy he’s lost, Miss Stuart,” she said, and with a curtsy, she left the room.
Lavinia was left alone, and crossing to the window, she looked out over the lush expanse of gardens. It was so quiet here, a hidden world, cut off from everything around it. She liked it, but she hoped she would not find herself entirely alone for the whole summer.
“I’ll have to clean some brass, or polish something,”she said to herself, for the thought of idling away the coming weeks was far from appealing.
Chapter 4
“Lavinia, there you are. We thought you’d got lost,” Lavinia’s mother said, as she entered the drawing room a short while later.
Lavinia had not gotten lost, but she had lost track of time, wandering through the maze of corridors, exploring the house. It was an ancient, rambling pile, filled with hidden nooks and crannies. She had seen suits of armor, imposing portraits, and room after room of fine furnishings and ornate tapestries.
There had been only one room she had not been able to get into; a room on the second floor, not far from her own, the door of which had been locked. But her explorations had led her far and wide, until the rumbling of her stomach had led her in the direction of the tea table.
“I was just looking around the house, mother. I hope you don’t mind, Your Ladyship,” Lavinia said.
She felt on safer grounds with the dowager. Her previous mistress had been addressed in such terms, and given her host did not immediately correct her, Lavinia thought maybe she had at least done one thing right. Horatia smiled at her.
“Not at all. You must treat the house as your own. Go anywhere you like,” she said, and Lavinia nodded.
“I did find one room that was locked, on the second floor,” she said.
The dowager’s expression changed, and she glanced out of the window, a sudden, wistful look coming over her face.
“Yes… we keep it locked,” she replied, but offered no further explanation.
A table by the window was set for tea, and the dowager now offered Lavinia refreshment. She and Lavinia’s mother had already taken their tea, and having poured it out for her, Horatia handed Lavinia her cup and saucer.
“Doesn’t someone pour it for you?” Lavinia asked.
Her mother glanced at her, raising her eyebrows, but Horatia smiled and shook her head.
“The servants bring in the tea things, but it’s far nicer to serve oneself informally than have a footman standing over us the whole time. I like to take tea in the drawing room, especially in the summer. The views over the gardens are simply magnificent,” she said, looking out of the window as she spoke.
The view was the same as from Lavinia’s bedroom window, the lush greenness of the lawn giving way to flower beds, appearing as an artist’s pallet with every color imaginable, and behind that the trees rising majestically into the blue sky above.
“It’s a beautiful place,” Lavinia said.
“Perhaps you’d like me to show you around,” Horatia replied, and Lavinia nodded.
“I’d like that very much, yes,” she said, finishing her tea in a hasty gulp.
As a maid, there had been little time for rest. A cup of tea had been a luxury, and it was a hasty affair, snatched between duties. Meals, too, were hardly taken at leisure. Food and drink were a necessity, not a pleasure, and Lavinia was not used to idling over dainty teacups and plates of sweet treats and savories.
Again, her mother looked at her, shaking her head, as Lavinia set down her empty cup with a clatter. But Horatia only smiled and held out her hand towards the drawing room door.
