Page 15 of A Baron's Disguised Lady
But Lavinia shook her head. She had merely been curious about Gwendolene, and given neither the baron nor his mother seemed inclined to talk about her, she had taken it on herself to investigate the matter further. She was sorry if she had caused offense, but she was not about to be cowed from asking questions.
“I was merely curious, that’s all. I feel so terribly sorry for you, and your poor mother. I do know what it’s like to lose someone close to you,” Lavinia replied, thinking of her father.
She knew her grief had not played out with the same intensity as his, but nonetheless, she had every right to compare herself, even as the look on his face suggested differently.
“You couldn’t possibly understand,” he said, his voice distant, as though talking both to Lavinia and to himself.
Lavinia glared at him. He was the one being rude, and to dismiss her own feelings so casually suggested a lack of compassion on his part. He felt sorry for himself, and he expected others to feel the same.
“Well, if that’s what you think…” she said, as the footmen stepped forward to clear away the empty soup bowls.
“I do think so, yes. You’ve no right to mention my sister, nor to go sneaking around in search of… whatever it is you’re searching for. I don’t know how it is with you, but here, we show decorum in our behavior,” he said.
Lavinia drew a sharp intake of breath at this fresh insult, and she wondered how much more of his judgement she could take. He had judged her from the moment she had arrived at Sarum Lacy House, and the thought of remaining there any longer filled her with dread.
Lavinia knew she made mistakes, and she knew she had a lot to learn, but nothing she had done or said had been done or said with a view to spite. She felt genuinely sorry for him, and was only trying to show some sense of empathy as to his sorrow.
“Decorum? And what’s that supposed to mean? Because I don’t know which piece of cutlery to use, or which glass to drink from?” she snapped.
Her mother and the dowager were continuing their conversation, oblivious to the argument going on next to them. But Lavinia had had enough, and tossing aside her napkin, she rose to her feet. Her mother looked up at her and furrowed her brow.
“Lavinia?” she asked, and Lavinia returned her mother’s gaze defiantly.
“I’ve got a headache, mother. May I be excused?” Lavinia said, and her mother looked embarrassed.
“Well…” she began, but the dowager interrupted her.
“Oh, you poor thing. If you’re not feeling well, you must go and lie down. I’ll have Daisy bring you something up,” she said, and Lavinia nodded, thanking her host, before leaving the dining room.
As she closed the door behind her, she caught Archie’s eye. He looked embarrassed, regretful, even, at having spoken to her like that. But his words had upset her, even as she had tried her best to be understanding towards him.
He was just being rude,she thought, glad of the peace of the drawing room, into which she now stepped.
Despite the summer evening, it felt cold, and with the fire unlit, Lavinia went to light it, kneeling to put logs from the basket into the hearth, just as she had done so many times as a maid. It came naturally to her, and she was not about to make more work for the servants by calling one of them to light it for her.
Striking a flint from a tinder box on the mantelpiece, Lavinia soon had a fire going, and holding out her hands she warmed them over the crackling wood, wondering if the baron would persist in his rudeness towards her as the days went on.
Chapter 6
Archie had been surprised at Lavinia’s reaction to his pointing out her faults. He had not done so to be malicious, though he realized now he had perhaps been a little short with her. He was a stickler for order, always ensuring his place setting was just so, and his clothes neat and tidy.
The current state of his study made him feel quite anxious, and had his mother not insisted on his joining them for dinner, he would have spent the evening bringing order to chaos. But the sight of Lavinia stretching across the table for the wine bottle and picking up the wrong spoon to eat her soup had been too much for him.
Perhaps I was a little harsh towards her,he thought, after Lavinia had left the room.
Archie knew he had upset her, and he felt a certain guilt at having done so, even as her mother now apologized for her.
“I’m sorry about Lavinia. She’s just not used to these things yet; sitting formally, and dining in such grand surroundings,” she said, shaking her head.
“Oh, we quite understand. It’s a pleasure to have the two of you here, it really is,” Archie’s mother replied.
The main course—a rib of beef—was now being served, and Archie watched as Hargreaves expertly carved thin slices from the roast, placing them on plates on the sideboard before the footmen brought them to the table. The thought of doing it himself, of serving himself, was remarkable, though Lavinia’s actions had made him question why he should think so.
He had never known anything but life with servants at his beck and call, and while he hoped he was a benevolent employer, the thought of doing these things for himself, of insisting on doing them for himself, was positively amusing.
“Lavinia just needs… time,” her mother said.
“Oh, but I do feel sorry for her upstairs by herself. Hargreaves, will you take something up for Lavinia, please? Put it on a tray for her,” the dowager said.
