Page 3 of A Gentleman's Kiss
“This is your room. I will be assisting you for now. A maid for your personal use has yet to be arranged.”
Lillian followed Mrs. Rowe into a charming room, decorated in the lightest shade of lavender. The smell in the room was fresh, with a hint of jasmine. She sighed with a smile and walked to look out the window.
A picturesque view of the gardens in the back of the house greeted her. She turned and smiled at the housekeeper only to be greeted, yet again, with a stone face.
“Madame DeBourg will join you presently to outfit you in a wardrobe. You, no doubt, are not suitably equipped with the proper items necessary for a London Season.”
“Thank you,” Lillian replied with grace, again brushing aside the woman’s deplorable attitude.
Despite her rigidness, she was helping Lillian to become accustomed to her new surroundings. Although she sincerely hoped the rest of London was not as unpleasant as the housekeeper.
Mrs. Rowe left silently and Lillian breathed a sigh of relief, glad to be left alone.
She wasn’t sure how she offended the housekeeper and hoped she wouldn’t offend her aunt and uncle in the same way. Shrugging her shoulders to no one, she turned to examine her new bedroom. All the things she needed to know, she would learn in time. Until then, she hoped she wouldn’t commit too many more blunders.
*****
After Madame DeBourg left, who was a might kinder than the housekeeper, Lillian descended to the main floor in search of a library where she could occupy her time until her new family arrived home. She’d thought to remain in her bedchamber until called to dinner—and in doing so avoiding Mrs. Rowe—but soon grew bored of staring at the busy street and the occasional bird that flew by her window. One could only straighten their coverlet and fluff their pillows so many times.
Her nerves had her hands trembling, and her lip sore from biting it. She was most anxious to meet her family, and couldn’t sit still. Mrs. Rowe would probably berate her for wearing threads in the carpet with her pacing.
On her way down the stairs, the front door burst open, and in walked two graceful young women linked arm in arm, laughing and smiling. Jaunty bonnets upon their heads, covered in feathers and artificial flowers and tied with colorful ribbons tied beneath their chins. Pastel dresses, one in peach and one in blue. Behind them came a regal woman and man, dressed much more sedate. Their backs so rigid, if they bent they’d snap.
Pausing mid-step, Lillian chewed nervously on her lower lip, now unable to think. Her perfectly planned speech for when she was reunited with her father’s family left her. She struggled a moment with her thoughts and then rushed forward to make a curtsy.
“Your Grace,” she said, with a nod in her uncle’s direction and then again in her aunt’s.
Despite his rigid bearing her uncle broke out into a wide smile and held his arms out. “No need for formality, my dear. You may call me Uncle. Come, stand, and let me look at you.”
She reluctantly came to stand in front of Uncle Luke keeping her gaze lowered only daring to peek through her lashes.
“You are angelic,” he said softly. “Quite the replica of your mother.”
“Thank you.” Heat rushed to her cheeks.
She raised her gaze only enough to see the trio behind her uncle scowling at her. Her aunt held a look of scorn on her face, which was mirrored in her two cousins.
“This of course is your Aunt Georgiana, and your cousins, Tamara and Susannah.” Uncle Luke stepped aside so she could get a full view of her female relations.
She could now see where Mrs. Rowe obtained her identity, for these three mirrored the housekeeper’s countenance perfectly. Lillian kept her thoughts to herself however, and used what will she had left to keep her expression from showing how their slight made her feel. Instead she offered a wan smile.
“I am so grateful for your hospitality. I dearly look forward to our time together,” Lillian said, curtsying toward her aunt and cousins.
Aunt Georgiana said nothing, but stared down the tip of her nose for the longest time. Her eyes were cold and unwelcoming. Would she not speak? Did she disdain her so much she could not even offer a greeting? Lillian swallowed hard. She prayed that the rest of London did not receive her thusly. Marriage to a simple man was looking all the more appetizing. Her cousins giggled—obviously at Lillian’s expense—into perfectly manicured hands, exchanging glances with one another.
“Yes, of course you’re grateful,” the duchess finally said, before whisking past her, only to call from behind, “Dinner is at seven o’clock sharp. Do not be a second late or you will not be allowed into the dining room.”
Lillian watched with dismay as her cousins followed in their mother’s wake. They did not even bother to say a word to her. She had hoped to talk with them, get to know them better. But it appeared they did have an interest—or else they were only following in their mother’s footsteps. Perhaps if she got them alone they would open up more. She looked down at her gown—rough in caparison to theirs, not even the same style. The fabric was drab after being washed in salty water for several weeks as that was the only wash water available for clothes on The Elizabeth. The salt water did a dreadful number to the vibrant yellow her gown had once been. The gown hung from her body after her sickness aboard ship, and looked rather sack-like instead of hugging her curves as it had originally. But she suspected her relations still would have pooh-poohed her dress as being several seasons old. It appeared that in America they wore older fashions than was the style in London.
“Don’t mind them, my dear. They see you as another beauty to steal the bachelor’s attentions. Soon they will see you as you are, kin.” The duke smiled, a distant look crossing his features. He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. “Well then, are you settled?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Her uncle stepped away, glancing down the hall. He looked as though he wanted to escape, and she couldn’t blame him. The entire first meeting had been a blunder. Her heart sank. She felt doubly inadequate since she’d arrived. She could not even greet her relations properly. Tears stung her eyes, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from sobbing allowed. She blinked rapidly, keeping her gaze lowered, pretending to be extremely interested in the woven carpet, so her uncle would not see she would soon be a blubbering mess.
“I shall see you at dinner. If you are in need of anything, Mrs. Rowe will be at your service.” Then he too walked away.
She was alone—again. What good was it coming to London if she would be just as utterly alone as she would have been at home in New York?
Lillian wasn’t sure what to make of her new home and the people who lived in it. She tried not to be too disappointed. They were probably just as unsettled as she was. Her mind tired, she headed in the direction of where she thought the library might be. A book sure did sound good. She could escape to another time. Another place. She could be someone else for a little while.
At least the characters in the book wouldn’t judge or abandon her.
