Page 2 of A Lady's Curves
Oscar grins. It’s the first sign that he’s more than a grumpy earl who lost control of his birthright. “I have a niece, Louisa, who is reluctant to make her appearance in society. My sister recently wrote me detailing her woes. Perhaps you wouldn’t have to lie, Miss Wittman. If I sponsor Louisa, you could be her governess and also help me with my books.” He pauses and frowns, then looks me in the eyes again. “But perhaps I ask too much.”
“That would be acceptable, my lord.” The flutter in my stomach returns when he stares at me, but I foist away any ridiculous emotions.
Aweek later, the carriage takes me across Mayfair for my new assignment with the Earl of Kendall and his niece Louisa.
The house fills one side of the square and has flowers growing in perfect rows out front. From the outside, everything looks perfect. I imagine that’s the way Oscar Stafford likes everything.
My carriage stops in front of the gate and the Everton footman who accompanied me hands me down. “Thank you, Will.”
Once across the courtyard, I bang the knocker.
A young maid of perhaps seventeen pulls the door open. “Are you Miss Wittman?”
“I am.”
“You better come in.” She leaves the door open and runs down a hall to the left of the foyer.
Blinking, I stare after her.
Will chuckles. “Seems you’ve got your work cut out for you, Miss Ann.”
“It would seem so. Would you mind bringing my trunk around and make sure it gets in the house, Will?”
Giving me a serious look, he nods. “Of course. I’ll see to it.”
At least the foyer looks well-appointed. I step inside and close the door. Removing my bonnet and gloves, I place them on the half table to the left. A large chandelier, covered in cobwebs, hangs above two swooping staircases that rise to anelaborate landing. Aside from the dust, it looks in good condition.
Following the path of the maid who opened the door, I watch from the threshold of a front parlor where the earl is deep in an argument with a woman who shares many of his features. She is perhaps a few years younger than him and of strong voice.
“Mae, I only want to give Louisa a season where she might find a suitable husband. Is that so terrible? You wrote to me in despair that she would end a spinster.” Oscar’s voice is even, but there’s frustration in the tight line of his lips.
It takes all of my training not to gasp at how the word spinster is said as if it were a terrible disease.
“You’ll try to turn her into a hermit, and I won’t have it, Oscar. I love you, but you are not a good role model for a young, impressionable girl. All you have ever done is lock yourself away in that old hunting lodge of Papa’s and work on projects only you understand.” Mae wraps her arms around herself. She’s wearing a light coat despite the fine weather and hasn’t removed her hat or gloves, clearly not intending to stay long.
In the corner, a young woman of perhaps sixteen sits on the bench by the pianoforte and strokes the keys without producing any notes. It seems as if there’s a tune there, but she knows better than to play while her elders are arguing.
“I’m not going to go to Scotland during the season, Mae. I’m going to stay here and clean up the mess. I have an Everton Lady coming for Louisa.” He touches the mantle, then rubs his fingers together with a frown.
No doubt the parlor is as dusty as the foyer.
Clearing my throat, I cross the threshold. “Perhaps I may be of assistance.”
“Ah. Excellent timing.” Oscar rushes over and bows. “Miss Wittman, will you tell my sister that you shall not allow herdaughter to become a hermit or pick up any of my other abhorrent habits?”
It’s difficult not to laugh. “I shall do my best, but having no knowledge of your behavior, I’ll reserve my promises.” I cross to Mae and make a curtsy. “How do you do? I’m Ann Wittman from the Everton Domestic Society.”
“Lady Mae Bartholomew, Countess of Creeves. I have always heard fine things about your society. My brother thinks you will help him hide his misfortunes from the ton while also helping my daughter find a husband of worth.”
Louisa has dark hair, keeps her head down, and her attention on whatever music is in her head. She’s lovely.
“I will help him sort out his accounts. Your daughter is a beautiful young lady. It shouldn’t be difficult to find a fine gentleman to offer for her if that’s what she wishes.”
Mae snorts and it’s extremely unladylike. “My daughter would be happy to sit in a music room and never come out. Can you cure that, Miss Wittman?”
Looking up, Louisa’s eyes widen, and her hand stills.
It can’t have been easy growing up, expected to stay in the open when you want to be in hiding. I smile in hopes of reassuring Louisa. “Perhaps there’s no need for a cure, just a gentleman willing to sit and listen or even sing along.”
