Page 8 of A Foreign Crown
Julia waved her hand. “Oh, tosh. Forgive me, my lady, but we shall be very well. Your father is better every day. We shall be happy thinking of you in the comforts you deserve. Your mother would be proud; I can feel her smiling from heaven right now.”
“Oh, I’d best remember her book.” Aribella’s mother had written detailed instructions, including the likes and dislikes of many of the royal family, particularly Queen Charlotte. “And her clothes.” She shook her head. “I didn’t think the summons would truly come. I should have prepared better.”
“You’ve been preparing since you were a young girl,” Julia said as they hurried through the portrait gallery, where all the women in her family line seemed to smile down upon Aribella. Then they rounded the corridor to her mother’s room. “It is a great honor for the House of Sumter that you can serve at this time once per annum.”
“You sound like my father.”
“I’ve been helping your mother all these years, now, haven’t I?”
“You sound like my mother, then.”
They moved quietly into her mother’s room. Everything was just as the duchess had left it. If either Aribella or her father picked up any article, they always replaced it at precisely the same angle, in the exact location they’d found the item. She slowed her pace even though they were in the greatest hurry. “Remind me, Julia, what do I most need from her?”
Julia waved her into the closet. “You will be needing everything in this box, here.” She indicated a fabric-wrapped box, which Aribella took down from the shelf and carried gently to the bed.
Julia called from the closet. “And I’ll be gathering all the dresses and clothes and things of hers you’ll need. Then, of course, your own ball gowns as well.”
Aribella nodded, only partly hearing as she gently lifted the lid on her mother’s most treasured box. She leaned down and breathed in the smells, and she at once felt close to her mother, felt her near, could almost feel her arms around her shoulders.
“Oh, Mother, help.”
Aribella made sure the book was inside, and the other lists and things, as well as her gloves and the hair adornments Queen Charlotte preferred she wear. Then she closed the lid and breathed deeply. “I can do this.” She closed her eyes. “I can do this.” She must. She had no choice, not really. And for some reason, a tiny ping of relief warmed her, relief that she could avoid Lord Bartholomew and his generous, kind offer a little longer.
When she was all packed in an amazingly short amount of time, she went to her own room to ensure she had any last items she would need. Her father soon came to join her and sat on her bed beside her. “I cannot lie and say you will not be missed.” His eyes welled with tears.
“Oh, Father.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him as close as she could. He still felt too frail, his shoulders too boney. “Will you be well?”
He nodded against her. “The only way I can give you up for four months in a year is knowing your mother planned for this, that she would want you to help meet our obligation, our privilege, to serve the Crown.”
“I go for the same reason.” She pulled back and looked deeply into her father’s face. “Do you think I shall be wise enough to survive the gossip at court? I’m not very good at the ways of women, their conniving.”
“And that iswhyyou shall excel in all the ways of court. Think the best of people. Serve the Queen well, and come back to us.”
“I will, Papa.” She memorized the kind lines by his eyes, the turn of his smile, the thick set of his hair. “I will make you proud.”
He raised a hand to her cheek. “I already am.”
They finalized the packing of her things, and soon, before she was quite ready, she and her father stood outside the front door, awaiting the royal carriage.
Lord Bartholomew approached. “Your father knows of my desires. I will await your further thoughts on the matter.”
“Oh, my lord, I’m sorry for the timing of my summons. As far as my answer... I’m truly at a loss to think of such things at the moment.” She hoped he would understand. In all fairness, she had only just met the man.
“Say no more. We have time.”
He was all kindness, and she warmed toward him.
She stepped closer to her father, and they chatted of pleasant memories, joking as before, as if she weren’t waiting for the carriage to arrive at their front door. And then the inevitable happened, and she was whisked away in the royal carriage of the King of England. The royal crest decorated the side in gilded design. The horses pranced, and the coachman and footmen were dressed in the palace’s red livery. Everything about the equipage spoke of wealth and importance, but instead of feeling comforted, Aribella felt rather small by comparison.
As she turned to watch her castle as the carriage moved away, her father and Lord Bartholomew stood on the front step with Marzelle, Julia, and James. Was Lord Bartholomew to be her future? Why could she not believe it to be so? She shook her head and turned forward in her seat.
A woman with a lovely though simple gown smiled at her. Her light-brown hair was pulled back in a low bun at the back of her head. With a steady hand, she offered another letter to Aribella—again in the Queen’s hand, sealed with the royal crest.
Aribella broke the seal and opened it.
Dear Lady Aribella,
I must first offer my deepest condolences on the passing of your dear mother. Thank you for accepting the summons to come serve me as a lady-in-waiting. I am in the most desperate need and await your arrival with the greatest yearning to have someone close to me of my own choosing, who supports me and my desires. Your mother was such a person and a dear friend besides. I trust she passed along all of her knowledge to you.
