Page 22 of A Match Made in London
As she crossed the street, dodging a fast-moving carriage, the creeping thought intruded that perhaps the woman would not welcome her begging at her door for a position. Mayhap she had read the woman wrong. Perhaps Lady Belham had been in her cups the evening before and regretted now that she had ever asked someone as low as Rosalind to visit her.
But she couldn’t think of that. She had to take this chance. For she had nothing to lose and everything to gain.
Even if she was humiliated in the process.
In no time she turned the corner at Grosvenor Square and into Upper Grosvenor Street. She waited for an elegant town coach and four beautifully matched bays to pass before hurrying across the street to the townhouse indicated on the card.
She purposely ignored the elegant surroundings, the size of the house, the way it fairly reeked of old wealth and grandeur even to where she stood on the pavement. If she concentrated on these things, she would never find the courage to approach. Hers had been a life of genteel poverty up until that point, and until the Gladstows she had worked for women who had been no better off than her father before he’d lost it all and had the bad sense to die and leave his daughter a pauper. Even with the Gladstows, there had been something gaudy about their wealth, as if the sheer amount of gilded objects in their homes could take away from the fact that theirs was a new fortune, something Mrs. Gladstow seemed to find the worst kind of embarrassment.
But this was something altogether different. It spoke of blue blood, and elegance, and a deep-seated belonging. It reminded her of those homes she had gone to with the Gladstows where she had been afraid to even brush against a wall for fear of ruining something. Thus, she would focus on the door, and the knocker, and assure her expression was confident enough that even the most discerning butler would not question her appearance.
It appeared, however, that was not something she had to worry about. For as she reached for the knocker the door swung open to reveal Lady Belham herself. The woman was adjusting her gloves, dressed for an outing in an elegant deep blue walking gown and wide-brimmed bonnet, when she looked up and spotted Rosalind.
“Miss Merriweather? Is that you?” She smiled in delight. “Ah yes, I can see it is. How lovely to see you. I admit, when I issued my invitation, I did not expect you to take me up on it. But Miss Merriweather,” she continued, her expression sobering as she took Rosalind in, “is something amiss?”
Rosalind raised her chin, holding her bag to her chest, knowing she must look odd standing on the woman’s doorstep with all of her belongings and not even a cloak or bonnet on.
“I wonder, my lady,” she said with as much confidence as she could muster, “if you would be opposed to sitting with me a moment while I propose a business venture?”
Lady Belham blinked in surprise. “But of course. Danielson,” she said to the butler that was hovering in the shadows inside the door, “my walk will be delayed this morning. Please see to it that a tray is brought into the drawing room.”
“Of course, my lady.”
Lady Belham led the way through the front hall, up the sweeping staircase. Rosalind did her best to appear unfazed by the surroundings. But though she kept her gaze fixed to the other woman’s back,she could not fail to be aware of the soaring, hand-painted ceilings, the gleaming marble floor, the intricately-carved railing beneath her hand. She had thought the outside impressive. Yet it was nothing to the splendor of the interior.
What kind of person was Lady Belham’s cousin? Rosalind darted quick glances to the walls, hoping for some insight into the woman. Yet there were no portraits at all. Not one. She frowned, wondering at the complete lack of personal paintings. Didn’t people of rank like to showcase their long, prestigious lines? Didn’t they like to flaunt their histories? Yet there was not a single portrait in the place.
They entered the drawing room then, and Lady Belham sat, indicating a comfortable chair close by for Rosalind. “Now,” she said with a kind smile as Rosalind settled herself, “what was this about a business proposition?”
Despite not having practiced what she would say to this woman when the time came to ask for a position as her companion, Rosalind had no doubts she could make a case for herself.
Now, however, the strain of the past hour caught up with her. She held her bag tight to her chest, feeling like, if she let it go, she might very well unravel.
Lady Belham seemed to sense her troubled thoughts. She tilted her head in concern. “First, though, perhaps you’d best tell me what has you so out of sorts.”
Rosalind gave a short bark of surprised laughter. “Do you know me so well then that you know what I’m like when I’minsorts?”
The woman’s lips quirked. “You’re right on that score. I can hardly claim to know you well after a five minute conversation at a ball. Though I think that, any time a person comes to my doorstep carrying what looks to be the entirety of their possessions, there is something wrong. Now tell me, does this have anything to do with Miss Gladstow’s engagement last night?”
Sudden exhaustion laid waste to Rosalind’s hard-won poise. She slumped back in her seat, eyeing Lady Belham wearily. “You are quick, aren’t you?” she muttered. When the woman merely waitedpatiently, she sighed. “I’m afraid Mrs. Gladstow was not pleased with the outcome of the evening.”
One perfectly manicured brow rose high up Lady Belham’s forehead. “One of those women, is she?”
“Oh no, I’m quite certain Mrs. Gladstow is an original,” Rosalind said, bitterness coloring the words.
“Don’t be fooled, darling,” Lady Belham drawled. “Sadly enough, women like her are not rare in society. Though I cannot understand why she would let you go, simply because her daughter is marrying a man not of her choosing.”
Rosalind shrugged, beyond trying to make sense of what her life had become. She would like nothing better than to reverse time to yesterday morning, to have never stepped foot outside her bedchamber. She would still have been miserable in her position as companion to the unhappiest woman in creation. But at least she would not now be wondering where she would find her next meal.
As if to underscore that last point, her stomach gave a mighty growl, reminding her she had not made it to the breakfast room before Mrs. Gladstow’s tirade. She flushed, pressing a fist to her traitorous stomach to quiet its rumblings.
Lady Belham gave her an amused look. “Well then, we’d best get you something to eat. But first, we must locate you a room.”
Rosalind looked at her uncomprehendingly. “A room?”
“Certainly. It is why you came here, wasn’t it? To secure a position?”
The woman rose. Rosalind scrambled to her feet, flushing under the woman’s kind gaze. “I know this is most unusual. And I would not dream of imposing. Only you appeared so lonely last night, and I assumed perhaps you might benefit from a companion.” Her skin heated all the more. “That is, you looked like you could use a friend. Not that you don’t have any friends. And your cousin, of course, who you mentioned you live with. And so you cannot be completely devoid of companionship. Yet I remember you said you are new to town, and it is never easy making new acquaintances, and we seemed to get along so wonderfully. So I thought I would give it a try, and see if you would hire me on.” She smiled, a sickly thing that must have been more grimace than anything. “And so here I am.”
Lady Belham laughed, a throaty sound that was nevertheless pure delight. “And I am so very glad you came. For I did not realize how much I would like a companion until you showed up at my door. Now, about that room.”
In a daze Rosalind followed Lady Belham as she went in search of the butler. She must be dreaming. It could not be this easy to obtain a position. She shifted her bag, took the skin of one arm in between her fingers, and gave a vicious pinch.
To her utter shock she remained where she was. There was no sudden awakening in the narrow bed and dingy room at Mrs. Gladstow’s, no crashing back to sad reality. No, she was still here, with Lady Belham, in the elegant townhouse in Upper Grosvenor Street. She had done it, she thought with mounting excitement. She had started a new life for herself, a better life.
But even as hope burned like a newly kindled flame in Rosalind’s breast, a small voice of reason whispered in her ear.
Warning her that her luck, ever capricious, could not possibly hold.
