Page 27 of Miss Dramatic
The implication, that Rose had come undone in private, was surely not intentional. Rose surveyed herself in the vanity’s folding mirror and silently pronounced her appearance above reproach. Demure, widowly, boring.
She stood and took her bottle of lemon scent to the window. “Perhaps Mr. DeWitt does not know that traveling players are to join the house party.”
“He knows,” Timmens muttered, tidying up the vanity and extracting a gold bracelet from Rose’s jewelry box. “If I can believe the housekeeper, who had it from the Lark’s Nest housekeeper, who had it from Lord Phillip’s Frenchie valet, Lord Tavistock has hired the self-same bunch Mr. DeWitt went off with when he left home two years ago. Dryden’s Players. I hoped to never see that lot again.”
Drysdale’sPlayers. One didn’t correct Timmens over trivialities when she was sharing intelligence from belowstairs.
“I wasn’t aware the acting troupe had given offense among the servants.” Rose dabbed scent on her wrists and, because she was feeling a bit defiant, applied a touch behind her ears as well. She had also hoped never to see Drysdale’s Players again, but how did Gavin feel about this development?
“They get above theirselves, actors do. Don’t argue with me on that score, ma’am. Little better than strolling strumpets, I always said. You’ll want this bracelet to give that dress a bit of color. Aubergine is so somber, though the color flatters you.”
Aubergine had been Rose’s first step beyond mourning, a substantial, pretty shade that could stand up to black or go nicely with cream and gold.
“If I’m to wear the bracelet, I should probably wear the locket as well,” Rose said, though the locket—small and heart-shaped—was nearly girlish in its simplicity.
“Sorry, ma’am,” Timmens said, holding the bracelet open between two hands. “I wasn’t able to find that particular bauble. I’m sure it will turn up once we’re back at Colforth Hall.”
“I dearly hope so.” Rose held still while Timmens fastened the bracelet around her wrist. The bracelet had been a gift from her departed mother, the locket—complete with a miniature of Dane’s profile—had been another one of his peace offerings. The two items didn’t match exactly, but Rose wore them as a set anyway.
Mama had doted on Dane, and he’d flattered her shamelessly.
“Your shawl,” Timmens said, stepping back and retrieving a black lace article Rose hadn’t asked to have packed.
“Let’s have the cream instead,” Rose said. “For a summer evening, with gold jewelry, the lighter color appeals.”
Timmens wrinkled her nose. “You’re sure? That Mrs. Booker is a widow too. She might like to know she’s not the only one who lost the love of her life.”
Dane had not been the love of Rose’s life, but Timmens was loyal to his memory. “Mrs. Booker’s spouse died at least five years ago. I haven’t seen her in anything approaching weeds since we arrived. The cream shawl, please.”
“Aye, ma’am.” Timmens draped the requested article around Rose’s shoulders. “You stay up with the ladies as late as you like. I’ll be waiting.”
“No need for you to go short of sleep. I can undress without assistance, one of the beauties of this ensemble. You are to seek your bed and enjoy a pleasant night’s rest. I’ll ring in the morning when I arise.”
Timmens made a great production out of refolding the black shawl. “If you say so, ma’am.” A world of judgment lay behind that seeming politesse. In Derbyshire, Rose had all but forbidden Timmens to leave the servants’ hall, the better for Rose to enjoy privacy with Gavin DeWitt. Timmens had repaid Rose with months of baleful lamentations.
If only you hadn’t gone so peculiar on me, ma’am.
If only you hadn’t taken such odd notions, missus.
If only you’d let me give that actor fella a piece of my mind.
“Timmens, Gavin DeWitt doesn’t even bide here.”
“A man can get up to very great mischief indeed when off his home turf.” Timmens disappeared into the dressing closet on that parting shot, and Rose let her go. Scolding a maid for loyalty and protectiveness was bad form, and Timmens would simply retaliate with silent recriminations and forced good cheer.
She does a good job. She’s loyal.Dane’s defenses of Timmens still rang in Rose’s ears, and in this case, Dane had been right. Somewhat right.
Not entirely wrong.
Rose made her way down to the terrace, where guests were assembling prior to supper, which was being served under a long white tent set up in the park beneath the formal parterres.
“Punch, ma’am?” The footman was older than his London counterparts, and homelier, and his smile was friendlier too.
“Is this Lady Phillip’s signature raspberry recipe?”
“Champagne with some raspberry cordial, I believe. We’re certainly enjoying our portion in the hall.”
Rose took a glass. “If you come across my lady’s maid, Timmens, please exhort her to try some. I vow raspberries were never put to a better use.”
