Page 62 of Pride & Petticoats

“Mmm,” Lady Dewhurst said noncommittally. Charlotte craned her head to the side to see the baroness, but with a swish of her plum skirt, the older woman moved quickly out of sight. Before Charlotte could press any further, there was a hesitant tap on her door.

“Come,” Lady Dewhurst answered for her.

It was Hester. “Your Ladyship, pardon me, but would you like me to straighten up now and gather your washing, or should I come back later?” The plump maid bobbed her head up and down as she spoke.

“You may begin your duties now,” Freddie’s mother commanded before Charlotte could even open her mouth.

Hester bobbed her head and addressed Charlotte again. “I don’t want to be in the way, my lady.”

Charlotte smiled. She was really beginning to like Hester. “You won’t be in our way, Hester. We are going down to breakfast just now anyway.”

Once in the dining room, she and Lady Dewhurst gathered a few morsels from the sideboard and seated themselves. Mrs. Pots bustled about fetching various items for Freddie’s mother before the housekeeper took her leave. As she exited through the butler’s pantry, she paused and said to Charlotte, “I left copies of the menus for today and tomorrow on the desk in the morning room, my lady. If you have a free moment, please look it over and instruct me as to any changes you would like made. I am, of course, always ready to serve.” And then she smiled.

Charlotte gasped. Never—never—had she seen Mrs. Pots smile. The woman’s mouth was as immobile as a slab of granite. And always ready to serve? When had that ever been the case? And when had Charlotte ever seen a copy of the menu, despite asking for one every day?

Charlotte shook her head and blinked. Something was definitely different this morning, and it was more than just her relationship with her husband.

As an afterthought, Charlotte called out, “Mrs. Pots!” She didn’t really expect the housekeeper to return—she’d never responded to any of Charlotte’s summonses before—but the housekeeper opened the servants’ door almost immediately.

“Yes, my lady?”

Charlotte stared, then mumbled, “Addy. Have you seen her this morning?”

“Of course, madam. She’s in the kitchen with Monsieur Julian. When you look at the menu, you will see that we plan to make sweet potatoes and cornbread again tomorrow night, and this time Monsieur wants them to be perfect.”

“He does?”

“Of course, madam. That is why he has requested Mrs. Addy’s help and advice. Would you like me to fetch her for you?”

“No. No, that will not be necessary,” Charlotte answered, her head spinning. “I was just . . . wondering.”

Charlotte’s eyes flicked to her mother-in-law, who was contentedly sipping her coffee and staring out the window behind Charlotte. She didn’t really want to ask this question, and especially not in front of Freddie’s mother, but she had to know.

“There is just one more thing, Mrs. Pots.” She hadn’t even asked yet, and Charlotte could already feel her cheeks burning and a small trickle of sweat running from the neck of her gown to edge of her stays. “Is Lord Dewhurst at home?”

Lady Dewhurst’s head snapped to regard her, but Mrs. Pots seemed nonplussed. “No, madam. He left quite early this morning.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Pots,” Charlotte said quickly. The housekeeper had looked as though she wanted to give more information, but there was no need for everyone—Freddie’s mother, rather—to understand how little Charlotte was involved in the life of her husband.

Mrs. Pots smiled again—again!—and disappeared behind the door.

Charlotte dared not move lest she awaken from what must be a dream of the perfect household staff, and it was only Lady Dewhurst’s raised voice that finally got her attention.

“Did you hear me, Charlotte?”

“No, I’m sorry. I beg your pardon.” She tore her gaze from the servants’ door and gave it to the woman seated across the mahogany table.

“I said that you have done a wonderful job with your servants. I was worried that they might not respect you at first, being that you are an American and that they had little time to adjust to the idea of my son taking you as a bride, but I see now that I should never have worried. You obviously know what you are about.” With a delicate gesture, Lady Dewhurst placed a piece of apple tart into her mouth.

After breakfast Charlotte and Freddie’s mother retired to the drawing room. Madam Vivienne arrived on time, and Charlotte was soon wrapped up in choices of lace and fabrics. To her surprise, the gowns that had been ordered suited her perfectly. The colors and the styles and the fit complimented her in every way. Swirling around in a copper satin ball gown, she felt as light as spun glass. “I don’t remember discussing this gown,” she said. “It’s lovely.”

“Ah, but of course!” Madam Vivienne replied. “Monseigneur Dewhurst has the best taste, and his selections are always recherche´. N’est-ce pas?”

“Dewhurst—I mean, my husband gave instructions for this gown? But I don’t remember—”

Madam Vivienne shrugged in that delicate, neat French way. “He stopped by my shop and suggested a few additions.”

Charlotte blinked away her surprise. “But how did you finish the gowns so quickly?”

---