Summerset Abbey (6 page)

Prudence looked around and suddenly realized that her mother may have stayed in this sparse, cold chamber. She may have worked for Mrs. Harper, run up and down the servants’ stairs, and dreamed of the day when she might leave Summerset.

Certainly, she had known the Earl and Sir Philip when they were all younger. Prudence frowned, wondering once again why Sir Philip had given her mother, a common housemaid, a position as governess. While her mother was well read and clever, she was hardly as educated as most governesses.

Prudence felt a stirring of longing for her mother. If nothing else, perhaps she could find out more about her, a woman she loved dearly but whose past was shrouded in mystery. There was even the possibility she could find her real family.

Because if she ever needed a family, that time was now.

CHAPTER

FIVE

R
owena paced across the floor of her bedroom in her wrap, barely noticing the new green and gold Morris carpet that had been recently installed. The entire room had been redone since she’d last been here: green ivy wallpaper had replaced the old cabbage roses and the new furniture was all polished white pine, rather than the fussy dark antique pieces that had been here before.

But not even an elegant new room could hide the fact that she was as trapped as a fox in a hole—trapped by her responsibilities, trapped by her social status, trapped by being a woman. Her uncle possessed all of the power and she possessed none. She, Prudence, and Victoria were as helpless as Punch and Judy, completely at the whim of the puppeteer.

Victoria had stopped by on her way back to her room while Rowena was bathing and, with eyes full of reproach, told Rowena exactly what Prudence’s sleeping quarters were like. As if she could do anything about it.

As if she could do anything about anything.

Frustrated, Rowena savagely pulled her trunk open to look for something suitable for dinner. Why wasn’t it unpacked already? Where was the maid?

She stilled, a lump forming in her throat. Prudence was her maid.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered, pulling out a black silk charmeuse dress with a matching lace overskirt.

A tentative knock sounded at the door. She tossed the dress on the bed and strode to the door in her dressing gown. She wasn’t in the mood for visitors. Prudence stood on the other side, wearing a plain striped shirt that stretched across her breasts and a black skirt that hung on her slender hips. Both girls stood still for a moment. So much had changed since they’d parted from each other just that afternoon.

“May I come in?” Prudence asked. She stood erect and dignified, but her eyes were red, as if she’d been crying.

Rowena’s heart constricted and her uncertainty broke. “You goose. Get in here.” She pulled Prudence in and shut the door behind her. She wrapped her arms around Prudence. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it would be like this.”

Prudence returned her hug for a moment, then pulled away. “It won’t be forever,” she said.

Rowena nodded, even though Prudence’s voice rang false. “I’ll figure out something, I promise.” Even as she said the words, the trap tightened. “It’s just, right now, I don’t know what to do,” Rowena whispered, her arms wrapped over her chest.

Prudence moved away and nodded and Rowena heard her take a deep breath. When she turned back around, a careful smile lit Prudence’s face. “Your things are a mess. I’d definitely have a serious discussion with your maid. Good help is so hard to find.” She took a stack of Rowena’s clothes out of the trunk and began hanging them up.

Rowena smiled back, though the lump in her throat grew. “I don’t have a maid, I have a sister.”

Prudence’s fingers fumbled with the sash she was tying, but when she smiled again it seemed more genuine. “Then why don’t you let your sister put away some of your things while you dress for dinner?”

Prudence threw her a simple white cotton chemise from the trunk and Rowena let her dressing gown drop to the floor. She pulled the shift over her head and then deftly caught the silk stockings Prudence tossed.

“I’ve met your cousin,” Prudence said as she unpacked.

“What did you think of her?” Rowena drew the silk stockings deftly up her legs, first one and then the other. Then she stood while Prudence fit the stays of the lightweight corset around her. All three girls had long given up the heavier, more confining corsets, preferring the simple riding corset, as it was much easier to move in. Because most clothing would not fit without the proper corset, the Buxton girls had most of the waists on their clothing altered. They decided long ago as a group that breathing a bit easier was preferable. The corset was only lightly boned and had a long, straight busk; Prudence buttoned up the front, adjusted it a second time, and then laced it up the back.

“She didn’t say much, though she did ask about the picture of my mother.” She pulled on the laces while Rowena held her breath.

“What did she say?” Rowena asked, clipping the suspender tags to the stockings.

“She just asked if it was my mother.” Prudence rummaged around in a small trunk before coming up with a pair of black French-heeled shoes. “It was strange, though. It’s almost as if she already knew who my mother was.”

Prudence arranged a light petticoat on the floor in a circle, while Rowena slipped the shoes on. Then she stepped into the petticoat and Prudence pulled it up around her. The girls had been helping each other dress for years and knew the routine.

“Why is that strange? Your mother worked here before she married, didn’t she? Perhaps Elaine has heard of her?” Rowena held up her arms and Prudence slipped the dress over her head. Then she did the same with the sheer lace overdress.

“That’s what is so strange,” Prudence said. “Why should Elaine have heard of a mere housemaid who worked here before she was even born?”

Rowena frowned. “I’d never thought of that, but you’re right. It’s not like at home, where we know our staff so well. Most of the time, I don’t think they’d recognize the faces of half the people who work for them.”

“That’s what I thought.” Prudence cocked her head and eyed her critically. “Do you want me to do your hair up?”

Rowena shook her head and sat at the little vanity table. “I’m just going to pull it back and put it in a low knot.” She looked at Prudence’s reflection and hesitated. “It’s so strange for you to help me get dressed and me not doing the same for you.”

Prudence gave her a half smile. “What, you don’t think they’d appreciate my dinner gown?”

She whirled around and Rowena gave a halfhearted laugh. Even a half smile lit up the planes of Prudence’s pretty features and Rowena once again wondered how someone as attractive as Prudence could be unaware of how lovely she actually was. “I think you’re beautiful no matter what you wear.”

Prudence’s smile dimmed, then disappeared from her face entirely. “But it isn’t my clothes they would object to, is it? It wouldn’t matter if I were dressed from head to toe in an original Poiret, they still wouldn’t want me sitting at their dining room table.”

Rowena fiddled with her brush to avoid Prudence’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Pru” was all she could think to say. She had never thought of her family in this light before. The extent to which her father had shielded them from the realities of life at Summerset suddenly dawned on her. And yet he had never shied away from revealing the truth to his girls about anything else, so why hide the depth of entitlement and prejudice that defined places like Summerset?
Because he loved it here,
she realized. He saw the dark cost of places like Summerset and knew they couldn’t run this way forever, but he still wanted his girls to appreciate the grace, dignity, and elegance of the home that he loved so much. She thought again of the intolerance that even her frivolous cousin Elaine would show Prudence and she winced. “I’m so sorry, Pru,” she repeated.

“I know.” An aching silence of things unsaid filled the room. “I’m going to go help Victoria dress.”

Rowena nodded and turned to her reflection. She twisted her hair and held it in place while she jabbed ivory and pearl combs haphazardly into the knot. If they didn’t like the way she wore her hair, they could jolly well sod off. Very little about this situation was her choice. She didn’t choose to have her father die, nor did she choose to have a family full of insufferable snobs.

“So why do I feel so guilty?” she asked her reflection. She took out her delicate pearl dog’s collar, considered it, and then set it aside for the simple gold locket her father had given her. Restless, she decided to go down to the drawing room, even though she would be early.

She passed Victoria’s room and heard Prudence laughing. Victoria’s high-spirited nonsense—reciting poetry and changing the words—could make anyone feel better. She almost went in but decided against it. Even though it wasn’t fair, she had a feeling both girls blamed her for their current circumstances and she didn’t want to put a pall on their fun. God knew they needed it.

Elaine was already in the drawing room when Rowena arrived.

“My, your mother has been busy, hasn’t she? This is the second room I’ve seen so far that’s been completely redecorated since I was here last.”

Every piece of furniture in the room had been swathed in a hectic rose and cream print fabric. In contrast, the plush rug beneath her feet was a plain dark red. Gold patterned wallpaper adorned the walls and in the center of the room hung the focal point, an enormous crystal chandelier suspended from a ceiling of such intricate plasterwork, it looked as if it had been carved from stone.

Elaine snickered. “Well, really, what else does she have to do?” She moved over to a serving table. “Would you like to try an American cocktail before my parents come down?”

Rowena raised a brow. “What are you drinking?”

“Have you tried a gin sling?”

Rowena shook her head.

“Colin taught me how to make one last time he came up from Oxford. They’re quite good and will make you silly in a very pleasant kind of way.”

“Oh, why not?” Rowena thought she could use a little silly right now. She watched as Elaine expertly mixed the contents of several cut-glass decanters together. Obviously, she’d done this before. “How is Colin, anyway?”

Elaine grinned at her, and once again Rowena was struck by how much her cousin had changed in the last year. Her skin glowed alabaster against the black silk of her gown and the added inches from her French heels made her look voluptuous rather than pudgy. “Do you want the parental version or do you want the truth?” Elaine asked.

Rowena took the glass Elaine handed her. “I always prefer the truth.”

“He hates university almost as much as he hates being here. Oh, don’t get me wrong. He loves Summerset, we all do, but he doesn’t want his whole life to be the price of wheat, wool, and rents. He’d much rather just fiddle with his motors, but who ever heard of the Earl of Engines?”

Rowena took a careful sip of the drink and then shuddered as it burned its way down her throat. “So what is he going to do?”

Elaine shrugged. “What else can he do? What can any of us do? Exactly what’s expected of us, of course.”

Warmth spread through Rowena’s chest and the tension in her neck and shoulders eased. She took another appreciative sip. “So he gives up being a mechanic to be an earl?”

“Who’s giving up being a mechanic?” Victoria came into the room behind them.

“King George,” Elaine answered quickly, giving Rowena a look.

Victoria threw herself onto the chaise. “Now you’re being silly, but go ahead, keep your little secrets. I have some of my own.”

“And what would those be?” Rowena finished her drink and handed Elaine her glass. Elaine finished as well and then secreted the glasses behind a marble statue of Artemis.

Victoria waved her hand. “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough.”

“Girls! My poor darling nieces. How are you bearing up under the tragic loss of your dear father?”

Rowena shivered at the sound of her aunt’s cool, cultured voice. “I can’t speak for Victoria, of course, but I am doing as well as can be expected,” she said.

“I’m perfectly wretched, Auntie.” Victoria rose from the chaise and clasped her hands in front of her. “I feel just like that poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

“I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless,

That only men incredulous of despair,

Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air

Beat upward to God’s throne in loud access

Of shrieking and reproach. . . .”

“I can just imagine, poor dear,” Aunt Charlotte interrupted. Victoria took the hint and went and kissed her cheek without treating them to the final lines.

Rowena took a deep breath and followed her.

Aunt Charlotte had been the most beautiful debutante of her season, perhaps during the entire eighties. Dowagers still spoke of her beauty and the exceptional ease with which she comported herself at such a young age, even among the Prince of Wales’s smart set. She’d capped off her stunningly successful season with a brilliant match and was soon giving glittering parties attended by the cream of English society. For years she had been applauded for both her beauty and wit, and even now it was only up close that one could see the slight melting of her lovely features, as if she were one of last season’s leftover apples. The renowned wit seemed perennially missing.

Aunt Charlotte suffered through Victoria’s kiss, then turned to Rowena. “I’m sorry for your loss, my dear. I know poor Conrad is desolate. Your father was a wonderful man.”

Rowena knew that her aunt and her father had a mutual avoidance pact. But then, if the roles were reversed, he would be offering the same polite, empty words. “Thank you, Aunt Charlotte. How are you feeling? I’m sorry you couldn’t make it to the service.” She leaned in close to kiss her aunt’s cheek and then realized her mistake when her aunt started sniffing. She must reek of gin.