The Bumblebroth (12 page)

"Yes. It was quite delightful. I had not realized how much fun it could be."

Sadness shadowed Mattie's features, and a sudden pang smote Gilly's heart. "I think that Pamela enjoyed it, too," she said, to redirect the subject.

Mattie laughed. "Of course she did. It is just the sort of romp that would please her. And Gerald was so charming, was he not? He is such a dear boy."

Her smile faded then. Gilly could see that she was troubled.

"Is there anything else you wish to tell me?"

Mattie's eyes flew to hers. "Yes, Gilly. I have been thinking about Wil. . . about Lord Westbury."

She stumbled over his name, and again Gilly's heart felt a stab of worry. She had watched them dance, had seen his lordship's smooth performance and Mattie's glow, and a frightening possibility had leapt into her mind.

"What about his lordship, my dear?"

"It's— about Pamela." Mattie wrung her hands. "Oh, Gilly, what if I've been wrong? What if he would make the perfect husband for Pammy?"

Gilly hid her surprise as a measure of relief filled her chest. "What made you change your mind so suddenly?"

"I can't be sure. It may not even be changed. But I cannot help thinking— " Mattie took an agitated tour about the room and came to a halt in front of her. "He is so gentle, you see. So kind and considerate. To hear him speak— he spoke of making one's partner happy— which convinced me, you see, that he would be a thoughtful husband. The way he taught me how to waltz— I could tell that everything he said was meant to put me at ease. Which it did! Oh, Gilly, surely a man like that would make the greatest husband for any girl."

The seed of worry was growing bigger now, making Gilly feel weak at the knees. She could not bear to see her favourite's heart broken, which it would be if Mattie ever perceived that she'd fallen in love.

"If what you say is true— " Gilly thought rapidly— "then, yes, I can see why you would want Pamela to consider him. His age is not so much greater than hers that she would be unhappy as his wife."

A look of relief lightened Mattie's face, though a touch of sadness still remained. "It is so hard to know what is best."

Gilly put an arm about her. "True. We cannot always know. But, if you think Lord Westbury might, after all, be a proper candidate for Pamela's hand, then perhaps you should not put yourself so much in his way. You should let me act as their chaperon and give them time to know each other better."

"Of course, that would be the right thing to do."

Gilly thought, If it would be right, then why does the thought of seeing him less make you look so sad?

She hoped she had made the most constructive suggestion under the circumstances. She still believed Lord Westbury to be the wrong man for Pamela, but it was clear that Mattie should spend less time in his hypnotic company.

Her heart had never been touched before, never been given a chance to bloom as other girls' had. Gilly did not want to see it open, only to be crushed by unrequited feelings. Lord Westbury was her junior by many years, and whatever his intent, it was not likely to be directed towards Mattie.

"Then you may leave his lordship to me," Gilly said, "and not give him a second thought."

* * * *

Plans for the rout continued, and soon Mattie was surprised to find herself caught up in the excitement. Now that Lord Westbury had been admitted to the house, he often found the time to call, and offered his help as well. This made it difficult for Mattie to leave him entirely to Gilly, as Gilly had suggested, for she no sooner mentioned in William's hearing the need to engage extra servants for the party, than girls from the village began showing up on her doorstep. Soon thereafter, a caterer knocked on the door, giving by way of introduction, a recommendation from his lordship.

Before she quite knew how it had happened, Mattie had started saving all her most pressing questions for William. If he did not always know the answer, he did know the quickest way to find it out. When asked, he could tell her what games had been played at the most fashionable London parties this season, which dances would be most proper to play for a group this age, and just which decorations would be needed in the saloon.

Under his tutelage, Mattie began to think that her rout would be as fashionable as any party in London.

Caught up in the novel preoccupations of entertainments and refreshments, Mattie forgot until the last moment to order herself a new gown. She might not have remembered this at all, if William had not broached the subject himself.

They were sitting in the morning room. William, as he had several times before, had made the mistake of calling when Pamela and Gerald were on their ride. Mattie had invited him to wait until the others returned, knowing how disappointed he would be to miss seeing Pamela.

When the subject of the rout was raised, he desired to know which colours she and Pamela would be wearing so that he and Gerald might send flowers to match their gowns.

His request threw Mattie into a fluster, which was heightened even more by the rush of pleasure she instantly felt.

No other man had ever offered to send her flowers, especially not flowers to match her gown. Mattie was groping for a composed response when she suddenly remembered that she had made no plans at all for her dress, and the confidence which had been slowly building inside her at the ease with which all the arrangements were being made exploded in a gasp.

"Our gowns! Oh, good Lord, I forgot all about them!"

William's lips twitched, and she felt her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She had been so pleased with her efficiency, and for William to see what a dunderhead she really was . . . .

"If you have forgotten to pick them up from the modiste, I should be only too happy to fetch them for you. Just give me her address, and it will be done."

"You are most obliging— but I— It was very foolish of me, but— " His kind expression prompted her to confess, "I am afraid I forgot to order a new gown either for Pamela or for myself. I don't know how I could have been such a dolt."

"You are not a dolt, and I should not worry at all if I were you. There is still plenty of time for someone to make you up something new."

"But you don't understand! Turner— my dresser, that is— would find it impossible to sew that fast. Her joints are swollen, you see, and I could not ask it of her."

Mattie sighed, and tried to think which of her gowns could serve the purpose with perhaps a change of trimming or some new ribbons.

"Wouldn't it be possible," William suggested in a cautious tone, "to use the modiste in the village? She is quite good, from what my mother tells me. I don't know her name, but Mama could send you her card. I am certain she would be happy to do so."

"Oh! But I couldn't impose upon Lady Westbury." The thought alone made her tremble.

"Nonsense. It would increase her image enormously to have it known that the beautiful Duchess of Upavon and she use the same dressmaker. She would not hesitate for a minute to supply it."

"But I don't even know what I want." William was so kind to call her beautiful, she told herself to keep from blushing. He always showed such consideration of ladies' feelings.

William spoke in a patient voice, but his eyes danced. "I am not that familiar with the process of ordering feminine apparel, but from what I understand, the modiste will have pictures to choose from. She can advise you on the latest styles, and the most suitable colours."

"Really?" Mattie began, almost, to feel hopeful. If ordering drinks and hors d'oeuvres were as easy as she had found, then buying a dress from someone other than Turner might not be as frightening an experience as she imagined.

In fact, just the prospect of ordering a dress from a woman who, theoretically, would like to sell one, rather than coaxing another one out of Turner seemed very exciting. Mattie's heart picked up its pace as she contemplated the possibility of buying more than one.

"But," William continued, "if I might make the suggestion, I should tell the dressmaker to make Pamela's in white. White is still generally considered most suitable for ingenues."

"Yes, thank you for that advice. I certainly shall." Mattie peered up at him and shyly asked, "But what about me? I suppose that for a woman of my age appearing in white would seem quite foolish?"

"Foolish? No. But it would be a terrible waste when you would look so much more fetching in colours. For you— " William studied her and, as he looked, the lines of his face softened, making her pulse beat queerly— "either blue to match your eyes or a pale pink."

"Pink?" Mattie heard her voice squeak and cleared it. She didn't know why it had chosen to desert her just then, but she was not used to such close scrutiny.

"Yes." He smiled, and, with a pang, she thought again how lucky Pamela would be if this man loved her. "You must have pink to match your roses."

This reference, as she supposed, to his Great Lie made her laugh, and her fluttering subsided. Then the others came in, and Mattie rose to let Pamela sit near William.

She listened with one ear to Gerald's excited account of the fox cubs they had discovered on their ride and his and Pamela's plans for a hunt the next year, while she observed the other two as discreetly as she could. Her anxiety was mounting, for she had never yet seen any sign to suggest that William was in love with Pamela. He might be the most splendid catch for any girl, but she could not be happy unless he loved her daughter, too.

The gentlemen departed soon after this, William giving as his excuse the fact that Gerald smelled of the stable and should change out of his riding clothes, but Mattie wished he had appeared more reluctant to leave Pamela. Pamela, too, had not seemed to care about William's departure. She was spending so much time with Gerald in all her favourite pursuits that she scarcely knew William any better than she had when they'd first met.

Mattie tried not to let such worries disturb her. The date of her rout was approaching, and she could do nothing to stop it even though its original purpose no longer existed. She had hoped that it would show William that Pamela was too young to make him happy, but that was something she no longer desired.

If William came to that conclusion as a result of the rout or of anything else, then he would surely return to London and stop calling on them. Mattie knew that for her own sake, as well as her daughter's, that would not make her happy. Since they had met him, their whole lives had changed. No two days were ever alike. Each morning had the promise that something exciting could happen, and Mattie had discovered that she liked surprises.

What if William abandoned them, and they were left once again to their own devices?

That very afternoon, as promised, a card was sent over from Norton Abbey giving the name and direction of Lady Westbury's modiste. Before she could forget to do so again, Mattie ordered up the carriage and took Pamela to call upon the woman directly.

She had planned to make an appointment only, and perhaps to see some of the dressmaker's patterns, but she and Pamela were warmly greeted at the door, and Madame Riviere, as the modiste was called, insisted she could see them at once.

Then Mattie had no time to be confused or flustered, for Madame Riviere took her firmly in hand. She saw that her customers were comfortably seated, supplied them with tea and biscuits, and brought out the books of patterns to choose from.

Mattie was so delighted with what she saw, and so surprised to see how the fashions had changed since she had last bothered to look, she knew that one dress apiece would not be nearly enough. Very firmly, she ordered six gowns for each of them— two morning gowns, one walking dress and one new riding habit, as well as two that would be appropriate for evening— and gave instructions to have them delivered at intervals.

Money was no object, of course, but she did not want Turner's feelings to be hurt, and this way, with the deliveries coming a week or two apart, she would gradually become accustomed to the idea of being assisted with her work. Mattie made a note to herself to send Gilly down for some new dresses, too.

Mattie left Madame Riviere's with the feeling of someone who had just discovered the secret of life. The sense of oppression under which she had suffered whenever she'd thought of Pamela's London season, had now been lifted to the extent that she could contemplate its prospect without complete terror. Every day she had spent learning how to cope outside her self-imposed exile had brought a piece of a major revelation: that living in the world might not be so very bad after all.

A sense of excitement accompanied this discovery. Mattie knew that she was looking forward to her rout, not with dread, but with a trembling anticipation, as nothing else in her life had yet inspired.

But this was all brought to an end when Mrs. Puckeridge delivered her dreadful news.

That lady, unbeknownst to Mattie, had been suffering from a profound sense of injustice. On the duchess's behalf, she had called upon Mr. Jones, the caterer, only to be told— very politely to be sure, for no one would wish to offend the rector's wife— that Mr. Jones had already presented his services to Her Grace upon the request of Lord Westbury himself.

She had encountered a similar story from each tradesman in the village. Lord Westbury had sent down his card to each of the men she had planned to recommend with the request that they call upon the duchess with regard to her rout. He had stolen a march on her, and the fact that the gentleman in question knew nothing of his sins did not weigh with her in the least. It was she who was supposed to be the duchess's right-hand friend and confidante. Not his lordship.

The only comfort she could derive from finding herself useless to the impending event was to resort to a tactic she told herself that she abhorred. But she could not let Her Grace of Upavon be so shamefully used. His lordship was playing a devious game, and so the duchess should be told.

Mattie received Mrs. Puckeridge as warmly as she could, despite the fact that she could not quite like her. Mattie could see that the woman was operating under a sense of ill-use, though she did not know why.