Page 8 of A Baron's Disguised Lady
But sadly, there had never been a chance of romance for Gwendolene, and she had died never knowing what it was to fall in love.
“No, she wouldn’t. And it sounds like our guest won’t, either,” Archie replied.
His mother smiled.
“No, it’ll be interesting to meet her. If she’s anything like her mother, she’ll be good company. Oh, this must be them now,” his mother said, pointing out of the drawing room window along the drive.
A carriage was approaching, drawn by two chestnut horses, the sound of their hooves clip-clopping on the gravel breaking the peaceful silence of the gardens.
“Have they come far?” Archie asked, as he and his mother made their way out into the hallway, where Hargreaves had already opened the front door for them.
“From Wimborne in Dorset. That’s where Octavia’s father lives, in a house called Tall Chimneys. I went there once. It’s very pretty. I hope they won’t be bored here. We’re so far from anything. It can feel quite cut off at times. But in the summer, it’s different, I suppose. Here they are,” the dowager said, and the two of them stood on the top step, watching as the carriage drew up.
The driver jumped down to open the compartment door, but before he could do so, it was opened by a red headed young woman with a pretty face, wearing a blue dress, with a shawl draped over her shoulders, and a matching bonnet on her head.
She was strikingly beautiful, with freckles on her nose and large red lips. Archie was somewhat taken aback by the look of her, and she smiled at him, as her mother—the mirror image of her daughter—appeared behind her.
Chapter 3
Lavinia was impressed by her first look at Sarum Lacy House, with its gables and turrets, the red brick covered in ivy, and the numerous windows, all of which created the impression of a house with a long history waiting to be explored. She had caught sight of it on the approach down the drive, and as they had pulled up on the forecourt, her mother had turned to her and smiled.
“I think you’ll enjoy being here,” she had said, and Lavinia had nodded, watching as two figures, a younger man and an older woman emerged from the house.
“Is that the earl?” Lavinia had asked, and her mother smiled.
“He’s not an earl, he’s a baron; The Baron Sarum. And that’s his mother, the dowager, Horatia,” her mother had said.
“Yes, and I call him “Your Grace,” don’t I?” Lavinia had said.
Her mother had shaken her head.
“No, you can call him ‘My Lord.’ But that sounds rather formal. Call him that first, then let him guide you. I’m sure it’ll be very relaxed,” her mother had replied.
Now, Lavinia was standing in the open doorway of the carriage, smiling at the baron, whom was she was pleasantly surprised to find was not an ancient, white-haired old man, but a young, handsome man; tall and lanky, with curly black hair, and tanned skin.
“Octavia, how wonderful to see you. Welcome to Sarum Lacy House once again. It’s been far too long,” the dowager said, smiling as she and the baron stepped forward to greet their guests.
Lavinia had not waited for the carriage driver to open the compartment door, nor did she wait for the wooden steps to be brought so that she and her mother might descend gracefully to greet their hosts. Instead, stepped down without help, her dress getting caught up under her feet, and with a cry, she fell, landing on the gravel, her bonnet falling off her head, as the sound of tearing material spelled disaster for her dress.
“Oh, Lavinia,” her mother exclaimed, as Lavinia looked up with an embarrassed expression on her face.
She was not hurt, but she felt foolish for having made a terrible first impression. The baron hurried forward, offering her his hand, and as he helped her up, she tried to curtsy, just as grandfather had taught her to do. But as she did so, the heel on her shoe turned sideways, and what had been intended as a graceful movement turned into another fall.
“Careful now,” the baron said, helping Lavinia to steady herself.
“Forgive me, Your Grace. I’m so pleased to be here, My Lord, and thank you… Your Grace,” Lavinia stammered, looking up into the baron’s face and blushing.
He looked at her with a sympathetic look as now his mother stepped forward to greet her.
“Are you all right, Lavinia, dear? You took quite a tumble,” she said, as Lavinia looked down at her torn dress, covered in scuff marks.
It was ruined. And turning to her mother, Lavinia felt an utter fool.
“I’m sure we can mend it,” her mother said, and Lavinia nodded.
When it came to such practicalities as sewing and repairs, Lavinia was an expert. As a maid, she had sat for hours repairing holes in the garments of the other servants or of her master and mistress.
“Oh, yes, I know how to sew, don’t I?” she said, looking back at the baron and laughing.
