The Bridal Season (10 page)

He regarded her closely a moment before relaxing. “But I do.
The only thing that has kept me from being perfectly content is the fear that
someday someone will find out that the very proper butler Cabot was once
Sam-Sam, The Spaniel-Faced Boy.”

“Snobs, are they?” Letty said knowingly.

“Something terrible,” Cabot confirmed.

Of course they were, Letty thought. The Bigglesworths were
blue bloods, even if they didn’t have a title. Just because Eglantyne had
seemed so down-to-earth didn’t mean that she couldn’t toss her nose as high as
the next aristocrat.

Letty knew the type well. She remembered one stage-door
Johnnie particularly well. He’d had lovely manners and respectful ways, until a
lady of his acquaintance showed up at the restaurant where he’d taken Letty for
lunch. Then he’d not only forgotten Letty’s name, it seemed he didn’t even know
how they happened to be dining together. After that, Letty had declined any
more gracious offers to dine and stuck with her own kind. Still, it was a bit
of a disappointment. She’d thought just maybe the Bigglesworths were different.
Ah, well.

“To blazes with them,” she told Cabot. “And good riddance.”

“Easy to say,” Cabot answered with a sigh. “You don’t have to
work with them.”

“Work
with
them? My, that’s a nice democratic way of
putting it.”

“I try,” Cabot said, “to encourage by example. If I treat them
as equals, I hope eventually they will learn to deal with others in the same
way. Especially that harridan of a cook, Grace Poole—”

“Grace Poole? What are you talking about?” Letty asked in
bewilderment.

“The staff,” Cabot said. “Who else?”

“The
staff
are snobs?” Letty asked in amazement. “Not
the Bigglesworths?”

“The Bigglesworths are the most fair-minded and generous
people I have ever known,” Cabot said. “Their staff, however, is another
matter. They are magnificent in their snobbery.” He smiled. “And speaking of
snobbery, you’ve the way of a grande dame down pat, Letty. You’ve quite taken
everyone in, I don’t mind telling you.”

“Really?” Letty asked, flattered.

“Oh, yes. But you always did have a knack for an
impersonation. It’s a shame you squandered your talents in Nick Sparkle’s
scams.”

Letty’s smile faded. “I thought we’d agreed that subject—”

“I suppose I haven’t any right to judge,” Cabot broke in. “But
you were a nice kid, Letty. Tough as nails, but good-hearted.”

“I’m still good-hearted,” Letty declared.

“Then don’t mention to the staff anything about my former
career. I’d never live it down.”

“Not I,” Letty vowed, and then, “if you don’t tell anyone
about
my
little secret.”

“That,” Cabot answered slowly, “I cannot promise. I owe the
Bigglesworths gratitude as well as loyalty, Letty. They assume people are
decent. So, you see, I have to look after their best interests, Letty, since
they refuse to do it for themselves.”

“Well,” Letty said, “they won’t be harmed by me.”

Cabot didn’t look overly reassured. “I trust your word, Letty,
but what about Nick Sparkle?”

“I
swear
to you, Nick has no part in this. No part at
all,” she vowed, hesitating a moment before going on. She would have gone into
the details about her split with Nick Sparkle, but time was flying. Soon
Eglantyne and Angela would be back. But she had to tell him something to
reassure him.

“I was in a bit of a spot in London, Sammy, er, Cabot. So I
went to St. Pancras even though I didn’t have much money and I didn’t have
anywhere to go. I was just hoping something would turn up. And it did! While I
was sitting there I saw the real Lady Agatha throw away her train ticket. So I
picked it up.”

“And came here,” Cabot said.

Letty nodded. “I didn’t even
mean
to impersonate Lady
Agatha, I was just taking advantage of a spot of good luck. I’m only here for a
day or so, then I’m off. When I go I’ll take some of Lady Agatha’s things, I
won’t lie to you about that, but I promise I won’t take anything that belongs
to the Bigglesworths.”

Cabot eyed her closely a minute. “Where
is
Lady
Agatha?”

“On her honeymoon.” Letty leaned back in her chair and smiled
ruefully at Cabot’s amazed expression. “That’s why she dropped her ticket. Her
husband-to-be chased her to ground at St. Pancras Station. Quite romantic.
‘Leave everything behind and come with me now or never, Agatha!’ “

Cabot shook his head. “The poor Bigglesworths.”

Letty frowned in exasperation. “I told you, I won’t—”

“I’m not speaking of you, Letty. I’m talking about Lady
Agatha. She couldn’t pick a worse time to elope. The Bigglesworths were
counting on her to see that Miss Angela’s wedding comes off properly.”

“Well, that’s not my problem, is it?” Letty said defensively.
“In the final tally, whether I’m here or not won’t make a bit of difference to
the Bigglesworths.”

“Maybe they’d have time to find someone else if they knew Lady
Agatha had failed them.”

“Two days isn’t going to make that much of a difference.” She
stared at him imploringly.

“All right, Letty,” Cabot finally said heavily, “as long as
you don’t nip off with any of the Bigglesworths’ belongings, I won’t say
anything. Probably serves Lady Agatha right for being so cavalier with Miss
Angela’s fate. But if you’re here three days from now, I’m going to Sir
Elliot.”

“You do what you have to.”

He did not reply.

“What does Cabot have to do?” Eglantyne asked.

Letty swung around to find Eglantyne and Angela standing in
the doorway. She smoothed her face to a bland expression. “Find me some fresh
strawberries. Apparently your cook’s hoarding them.”

“Oh.” Eglantyne nudged Angela into the room. “Cabot, please
find Lady Agatha some strawberries.”

“At once, madam.” Cabot inclined his head and withdrew.

Eglantyne twisted the watch pinned to her bodice. “Oh. My.
Look at the time,” she said. “Our guests shall be arriving soon and there’s
still so much to do. Angela, won’t you keep Lady Agatha company while I see
that the croquet field is properly set up?”

Letty held back a smile. As a means of throwing the two of
them together, Eglantyne could have been more subtle. Poor Angela blushed as
Eglantyne fled the room.

“I’m so sorry if this is an imposition,” Angela said.

“Not at all, Miss Bigglesworth,” Letty said. “Won’t you join
me?”

Angela took a seat, looking as happy as if she’d just been
asked to answer a few questions for the Inquisition. Fine lines framed her
mouth, and sleeplessness had bruised the area beneath her eyes. Eglantyne was
right: Something was definitely amiss with the bride-to-be.

“I hope your rooms are in order,” Angela finally broke the
silence.

“Everything is lovely. Thank you.” They smiled at each other
uncertainly.

“Here you go, ma’am.” Grace Poole came bustling into the room
wheeling a cart piled with a bowl of strawberries, clotted cream, scones, and a
pot of coffee.

Letty’s mouth watered. She hadn’t eaten since early yesterday
morning and that a greasy bit of fish from a street vendor.

“I’m eager to see the materials to which you referred in your
letters,” Angela said.

“Urn,” she said, nodding enthusiastically when Gracie pointed
at the berries and cocked a brow inquiringly.

“I only wish I didn’t have to wear a white gown. I have never
felt very attractive in white.”

Letty held up three fingers in response to Grace’s silent
inquiry as to how many sugar lumps she wanted in her coffee, then gave her
attention to Angela’s words. Anyone in the theatre understood the importance of
color in stage design. And what was a wedding anyway but a production, only
with the audience seated in pews? “Not every white looks the same on every
complexion, Miss Angela.”

“Really?” Angela asked hopefully

“Really.” She studied the girl. Angela’s self-assessment was
right. A bleached blue-white would make her look pasty, and dull her soft blond
hair. “A pinky-white for you, Miss Angela,” she mused, an image of the shatoosh
silk she’d unpacked last night springing to mind. It had a breath of delicate
abalone-shell pink beneath its glowing surface. Body without stiffness.
Virginal yet stylish.

Warning bells went off in her head. She didn’t stop to heed
them, she simply plowed ahead. “I have just the thing up in my room.”

“You do?” Angela’s face was a study in hopefulness.

“Hm.” She reached for a scone and took a bite. Delicious! Her
eyes rolled back in her head and she directed some sort of yummy sound in
Grace’s general vicinity. Grace accepted the accolade with equanimity and
retreated from the room.

It took Letty a few minutes to realize that while she was
methodically tucking away every bit of food on her plate, Angela was watching
her in surprise.

“A healthy appetite is indicative of a generous nature,” Letty
said, dredging up a maxim.

“I am sure that your appetite must be quite large, then.”
Angela frowned as if her words hadn’t quite come out right, colored, and
continued. “I mean, you are most generous in giving up all your High-Society
endeavors to come to us in Little Bidewell.”

“My dear Miss Angela,” Letty said, “what Society could
possibly be higher than a marquis’s?”

Angela’s face crumpled.

“Why, m’dear, what’s wrong? You don’t look very happy.”

“Oh, I am,” Angela said quickly. “I wish to wed Hughie above
all things! I love him so! It’s just that, well, things would be so much
simpler if he
weren’t
a marquis.

“You can’t imagine what it’s like, Lady Agatha. Whenever I’m
with his family I go in terror that I might make some unforgivable faux pas and
be revealed as the insignificant creature I am.”

“Oh, believe me,” Letty murmured, “I understand.”

“I’m just not comfortable pretending to be something that I’m
not,” Angela said.

Finally, a subject Letty knew something about. She waved her
fork instructively. “First and most important, you must
believe
yourself
into the role. When push comes to shove, simple self-confidence can mask any
little missteps.”

“I can’t believe
you
have ever misstepped, Lady
Agatha.”

“Well,” Letty lowered her eyes modestly, “I’m sure I must have
made
some
mistake at some time or other.”

“I’m just not going to be any good at being a great lady.
There’s all these rules and codes and dictums ...” Angela said.

“Just be guided by your own good sense and, of course, a
discreet observation of those whom you would emulate, and you will succeed.”

“I’ve been studying this.” Angela said, reaching into her
skirt pocket and withdrawing a well-thumbed, softbound book. She handed it to
Letty.
Our Decorum: Etiquette and Manners for Ladies of Breeding.
“But I
see now that your advice is the best. I shall simply watch how you do things
and comport myself accordingly.”

Only supreme self-control enabled Letty to keep from choking.
“Now, Miss Angela, that isn’t what I meant,” she croaked. Dear God! If she
ended up being responsible for breaking this girl’s engagement, she’d never
forgive herself. “I am quite sure you could find more suitable people to
pattern your manners after. After all, I am sure my deportment has ...” she
cast about, “has suffered through the necessity of my having to work for a
living.”

“Never,” Angela said staunchly.

Letty smiled weakly. “Besides, you are already as admirable
and well-bred a girl as any man could wish to wed. Sheffield is lucky to make
you his wife.”

Angela stared at her in stricken silence, as if a friend had
suddenly turned on her.

“Angela? What is it?” she asked in alarm. The girl’s face was
pale and her lips trembled.

“Nothing,” Angela said hastily, turning her head. “It’s just
that I’m not as good as you... or... or Hughie think I am.” Her breath caught
on her betrothed’s name and she blinked rapidly.

There was more here than Letty had first thought. But Angela
wasn’t ready to confide in Letty. Not yet, but—Letty gave herself a sharp,
mental slap. What was she thinking, ‘not yet’?! If she was lucky, not ever.

But then, it wouldn’t hurt to give the poppet a spot of joy,
would it? It certainly wasn’t because of maudlin sentimentality or some
misplaced desire to be a do-gooder that she decided to show Angela the shatoosh
upstairs; it was only out of artistic curiosity. To see if she still had as
good an eye as her mother had once claimed.

“I know,” she said. “Before the guests arrive for your aunt’s
picnic, why don’t we nip upstairs and take a look-see at that material I was
talking about?”

The suggestion worked like a charm. What woman could resist
the pleasure of sorting through fabrics and poring over patterns? Ten minutes
later they were in Letty’s room, Angela’s eyes dry as the desert and bright as
the stars as she sorted through all the wonderful things Letty showed her.

Kindness costs nothing.

THE AFTERNOON WAS FINE. ONLY A FEW clouds disturbed the
porcelain-blue tranquility overhead. A freshening breeze had earlier flirted
with the ladies’ picture hats, but even this subsided as the afternoon drew on.

The croquet field had been set up on the back lawn and along
one side of it the servants had raised several open-sided marquees. Beneath the
striped awnings, tables and chairs waited invitingly, while rugs had been
spread beneath the open sky. At each place waited a wicker picnic basket
overflowing with cold meat pies and fruit, jellies and flaky scones, fresh
cheese and the promised piece de resistance, a mouthwatering strawberry trifle.
Sweating tin canisters stood beside these, filled with lemonade for those who
chose not to imbibe and ale for those who did.