The Earl had a daughter named Sophia by his second marriage, of whom Beatrice imagined he was fond. The girl was near Olivia’s own age, and very striking, with black hair and bright eyes. Beatrice knew her of course, though they seldom met in a social way.
Mr Roade did not often entertain, nor did he accept many invitations, but the Earl’s family were seen about the village, and Beatrice was sufficiently well acquainted with Lady Sophia to stop and speak for a few minutes whenever they met. She thought now that it was a pity her father had turned down some of the kind invitations the Earl had sent them over the years. It would have been nice for Olivia to have made a friend of Sophia Cleeve.
“My dear Olivia,” Nan said, bustling in. She was wearing a mob cap over her light brown hair, and a dusting apron protected her serviceable gown. “Forgive me for not being here to greet you. I was upstairs turning out the bedrooms. We have only the one maid, besides the kitchen wench, and it would be unfair to expect poor Lily to do everything herself.”
Olivia looked amazed at the idea of her aunt having been busy working in the bedrooms, then recollected herself, blushed and seemed awkward as she went forward to kiss Nan’s cheek.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I fear I have caused extra work for you.”
“Well, yes, I must admit that you have,” Nan said, never one to hide the truth. “However, I dare say the room needed a good turn-out—it was your mother’s, you know, and has not…”
“Nan doesn’t mean that you are a bother to us,” Beatrice said as she saw her sister’s quick flush. “The room you have been given was our mother’s private sitting-room, not her bedroom—that is where she died, of course, and I felt it might distress you to sleep there.”
“I was about to tell Olivia that,” Nan said. “We’ve been waiting for the bed to arrive—it was ordered from Northampton, but arrived only this morning on the carter’s wagon. Had we not needed to wait, your room would have been ready days ago.”
“It was time we had a new bed,” Beatrice said smoothly, with a quick frown at her aunt. “The one we have in the guest room, which is at the back of the house and depressingly dark, is broken in the struts which support the mattress. It is still there, of course, though since no one ever comes to stay, it does not matter…”
“I see I have caused a great deal of trouble,” Olivia said. “You have been put to considerable expense on my account.”
“Nothing of the sort,” replied Beatrice. “Take off your bonnet and pelisse, dearest. I shall ring for tea—unless you would like to go straight up to your room?”
Olivia looked as if she would dearly like to escape, but forced herself to smile at them.
“Tea would be very nice,” she said. “I have a few guineas left out of the allowance my…Lord Burton made me earlier in the season, but I did not care to waste them on refreshments at the inns we passed. Besides, I was in a hurry to reach you. I shall give you what money I have, Beatrice, and you may use it for expenses as you see fit.”
“Well, as to that, we shall see how we go on,” Beatrice said, and reached for the bell.
It was answered so promptly that she imagined Lily had been hovering outside in the hall—a habit her mistress disliked but not sufficiently to dismiss her. Like Bellows, Lily did not complain if her wages were late, though Beatrice paid the girl herself, and usually on time.
“Tea please, Lily.” She turned to her sister as the maid went out again. “That’s right, dearest, sit by the fire and you will soon feel better. We shall talk properly later. For now, I want you to tell me all the news from London…that is, if you can bear to? We hear so little here, you know, except when neighbours return from a visit to town.”
“You know of course that the Prince was declared Regent earlier this year?” Olivia looked at her doubtfully.
“Yes, dearest. Papa takes The Times. I am aware that trade has been bad, because of Napoleon’s blockade of Europe, and that unemployment is high. I didn’t mean that sort of news…a little gossip perhaps, something that is setting the Ton by its ears?”
Olivia gave a little giggle, her face losing some of its strain.
“Oh, that sort of news…what can I tell you? Oh yes, apart from all the usual scandals, there is something rather exciting going on at the moment…”
She had taken off her outer clothing now, revealing a pretty travelling-gown of green velvet.
“There is a new French modiste in town. She is the protégée of Madame Marie-Anne Coulanges, who was herself once apprenticed to Rose Bertin—who, you must know, was a favourite dressmaker to Queen Marie Antoinette.” Olivia paused for effect. “They say Madame Coulanges was once a friend of Madame Félice’s mama, and that is why she has taken her up—anyway, she presented her to her clients, and Madame Félice has taken the town by storm.”
Beatrice smiled as she saw the glow in her sister’s eyes. Her little ruse had worked, and Olivia had lost her shyness.
“How old is Madame Félice?”
“Oh, not more than two-and-twenty at the most, I would think. She has pretty, pale hair, but she keeps it hidden beneath a rather fetching cap most of the time, and her eyes are a greenish blue. I think she might be beautiful if she dressed in gowns as elegant as those she makes for her clientele, but of course it would not be correct for her to do so. Though no one really knows much about her…she is something of a mystery.”
“How exciting. Tell me, dearest, is she very clever at making gowns?”
“Oh, yes, very. Everyone, simply everyone, is dying to get their hands on at least one of her gowns—but she is particular about who she dresses. Would you believe it? I heard she actually turned down the Marchioness of Rossminster, because she had no style! She will dress only those women she thinks can carry off her fabulous gowns. Of course they are the most beautiful clothes you have ever seen. No one can touch her for elegance and quality.” Olivia dropped her gaze. “She was very nice to me. I have one of her gowns and she was to have made a part of my wedding trousseau…” Her cheeks fired up as she spoke. “I have the gown she made for me in my trunks. I will show it to you later, if you wish?”
“I would like very much to see it,” Beatrice said. “If it is as smart as the one you are wearing…it must be lovely.”
She had been about to say that her sister would have little opportunity to wear her beautiful clothes now, but bit the words back before she was so cruel as to remind Olivia of all that she had lost.
“We shall talk of other things later,” she said. “There is much to talk about, Olivia—but we have time enough.”
“Yes,” Olivia said, losing the sparkle she had gained when telling her sister the news about Madame Félice. “Of course, London is thin of company now. I believe the Regent is to leave London for Brighton at the end of this month…Oh, that is today, isn’t it?”
Her mouth drooped as though she were remembering that she would no longer be a part of the extravagant set that surrounded the Prince Regent and privileged society. However, the arrival of the tea-tray and the delicious cakes that Beatrice had spent the morning baking brought her out of the doldrums a little.
“These are delightful,” she said, choosing from the pretty silver cake-basket and chewing a small, nutty biscuit. “Quite as good as anything I have tasted anywhere.”
“Beatrice made those for you herself,” Nan said. “They are Bosworth Jumbles, but Beatrice adds her own special ingredients to the recipe, which some say was picked up on the battlefield at Bosworth in 1485, hence its name. Your sister will make some lucky gentleman an excellent wife one day.”
“Did you really make them?” Olivia stared at her. “You are so clever. I have never cooked anything in my life.”
“I can teach you if you like, and there