Page 4 of The Lady's Companion
“It is not a la mode,” said the dressmaker, gathering up her swatches. She glanced at Susan, who was watching the pageant before her as she worked her way through Louisa’s darning. “Now this one, with her dark hair, would fairly glow in jonquil.” She took Susan’s chin in practiced hands and turned her head this way and that. “And with brown eyes! Madame, hearts will break!”
“They will mend with amazing speed when their owners discover I have no dowry,” Susan said, her amusement genuine.
The dressmaker let out a great gust of a sigh and released Susan. “Men are pigs,” she declared. With her martyr’s air, well developed through some twenty Seasons, she shook her head at Emily’s wispy blondness. “I shall find some blue from somewhere, but I do not think you can hope for more than a second son.”
Louisa did not flinch from the dressmaker’s hard-eyed pronouncement. “I would even settle for a clergyman for that one,” she whispered, her eyes on her daughter, “although I am sure Emily does not know Genesis from Ecclesiastes.”
“Most clergymen don’t either,” Susan added, her eyes lively.
The dressmaker put her hand to her bosom. “La, my dear, what a treasure this one is! Her face is this Season’s face, she has a sense of humor, and her figure is just enough without being too much—although, my dear, I think you should lace tighter. I would say an earl at least. Perhaps a marquis.”
“And she is quite twenty-five,” stated Louisa, delivering the final blow. “Madam Soileau, we will concentrate on Emily. Susan, you may put away that darning now.”
I know when I’ve been dismissed, Susan told herself as shedutifully folded up the darning, dodged around Emily and her books, and made her own graceful exit from the room. I do not think Aunt Louisa will want me tagging along at any of this Season’s events. It was not a reflection that caused her any pain, but she did pause in front of the mirror at the top of the landing to admire herself for a moment. How nice to know that I have this Season’s face, she told herself. Some eligible marquis will never know what he is missing.
The thought made her giggle. She was still smiling over the absurdity of it during dinner. Her amusement lasted into the drawing room as Aunt Louisa signaled for the footman to set up her embroidery frame. Sir Rodney, hands clasped behind him, traveled to and from the windows, peering out, looked back at Susan, and repeated the circuit.
Susan watched him, her good cheer gone. I know the signs, she thought as she threaded her darning needle. If he had any money, he would tell me now that he is going to White’s, and give me that pugnacious stare, daring me to say no.
But he had no money. With a sigh. Sir Rodney collapsed onto the sofa next to his sister, who looked at him over the spectacles she wore for close work.
“Rodney, you are a flibbertigibbet,” she said, her tone querulous. Obviously the afternoon’s plain speaking from the modiste about Emily’s prospects still rankled. Susan tried to make herself small in her corner of the sofa, wondering already how soon she could decently say good night to them both.
“I suppose I am, sister,” he agreed, ever the complacent one.
Susan jabbed at the darning in her hand, embarrassed for her father.
“Rodney, I want you to know that there is no way I can finance a come out for Susan,” Louisa said, her eyes on the canvas before her.
“Oh, Aunt, I never…”
“I know you have not, my dear,” she said to Susan, all the while keeping her eyes fixed on her brother. “I want your father to understand my situation. Rodney, Susan is your responsibility. If you have some little fraction remaining of your dear wife’s expectancies, it might be enough to find Susan a clergyman, or perhaps a widower who is not disgusted by her age. Rodney, speak to me plainly: can you provide anything for your daughter?”
Sir Rodney stared back at his sister, the astonishment evident in his face. “Of course I can!” he declared, glaring at his sister with indignation.
“When?”
It was a little word, but it hung on the heated air of the drawing room like a vulture over carrion. Louisa was looking at her brother now, her hands idle in her lap. “When?” she repeated, more softly this time.
Sir Rodney leaped to his feet, his face red. “As soon as I can, Louisa!” He looked at Susan. “Just ask Susan! She knows that I have great plans for her come out. Tell her, Susan.”
I wish I could, Papa, she thought as she stared back at him, then lowered her eyes to her darning again.
“Susan!”
“It is much as I thought, Rodney,” Louisa said as she selected a skein of thread. “More shame to you.”
He went to the doorway and stood staring from one to the other. Susan looked at him once and cringed at the pleading expression in his eyes.
“Susan, will you fetch my embroidery scissors from the breakfast room?” Louisa asked.
“Of course, Aunt.” She rose and went to the door. “Is there anything else you would like?”
It was a simple sentence, but when she said it, Susan knew that their relationship had changed. From now on, if she stayed inthat house, she would be the one to fetch and carry. Papa could do nothing for her, and his sister would not, beyond providing for her and using her for errands, interventions with the cook, and contact with the tradesmen. The years would pass and she would gradually become Louisa’s almost-maid.
“Just the scissors, my dear.”
“Very well.”
