Page 92 of The Secret Daughter
The rest of the journey passed in silence. From the faint, reminiscent smile on Clarissa’s face, Zoë guessed she was recalling her own wedding night. Or maybe not. She was holding her swollen belly, stroking it as if the baby inside could feel it. Her sister Izzy was smiling fondly at her.
Zoë felt suddenly emotional. These were her sisters, her family. Their loving bonds were visible—and she was now part of them. It was such a gift for a girl who, from the age of twelve, had thought herself alone in the world. And their generosity wasn’t only reserved for family. Despite Milly’s constant irritation and ingratitude, they had stepped forward without hesitation and were helping her. She was so proud of them.
They arrived back at Lady Scattergood’s to the news that Milly’s maid, Lizzie, had been dismissed. “But why?” Milly asked.
Betty, the source of the news, explained, “Your ma blamed poor Lizzie for your disappearance, miss. She said Lizzie shoulda kept a better eye on you, and that she oughter’ve known what you was up to and where you were. She sent her packing then and there, miss. Dismissed without a character.”
All eyes turned to Milly.
“Well, what can I do?” she said.
“You owe that girl,” Zoë told her. “She’s been a loyal friend to you, and you cannot let her be punished this way.”
“How can I stop it? You think Mama will listen—not that I’m going to speak to her—but when Mama makes up her mind she won’t listen to anyone. Besides, I have no money—you know that—so what could I do? I…I’ll do something for her once Thaddeus and I are married. Write her a character or something.”
On that note she sat down to write to Thaddeus about the dress she was getting for the wedding.
Julian stood on the front steps of Lord and Lady Randall’s house and pulled out his pocket watch. Not quite ten thirty. He’d been invited to call on Miss Benoît at eleven. Impolite to arrive early, but he’d been on tenterhooks all morning.
Two days since he’d last spoken to Vita.Zoë.He must remember to call her that. No, it would have to be Miss Benoît now. Oh, hang it all, he wasn’t going to loiter in the street any longer. He pulled the doorbell, and a moment later, the door opened.
“Lord Foxton to see Lady Randall,” he told the butler. “She is expecting me.” If not quite so early. The invitation to call had come from her, not Zoë, but he knew Zoë would be there, and he knew better than to ask for an unmarried girl.
The butler showed him to an elegant sitting room where a fire was burning brightly. He offered Julian refreshments, which he refused. “Lady Randall will be with you directly,” the butler said, and left.
Julian paced around, ostensibly looking at the paintings on the walls, the ornaments displayed, but really, he took in very little. Eventually he forced himself to stand in front of the fire and wait, giving an illusion, at least, of patience. Where was she?
Ten or fifteen minutes later Lady Randall hurried in, looking a little flustered. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, Lord Foxton. I was in the middle of a tricky process with some ointment and couldn’t leave it.” She waved him to a seat, saying, “My cousin will join us directly. In the meantime, did Hobbs offer you any refreshment?”
He assured her he had, but that he’d declined. Heapologized for arriving early, for which he was not sorry at all. She gave him a warm smile and assured him he was very welcome. She didn’t have the beauty of her sister Lady Salcott, but she had a sweetness of expression that more than made up for it.
“Ointment?” It sparked a thought.
“Yes, I make herbal lotions and suchlike. It is an interest of mine.”
“I believe Miss Benoît used one of your ointments on an injury my dog sustained.”
“Very likely.” She glanced again at the door. “She shouldn’t be long.”
“It was most efficacious.”
She beamed at him. “I’m so glad. Ah, here is my cousin now.”
Zoë entered, wearing a bronze dress with a paisley shawl in greens and cream that brought out the color of those glorious eyes. Her hair was loose, as it had been in France. She saw the way he looked at it and put a self-conscious hand to it. “I thought we were meeting at eleven. I didn’t have time for my maid to finish doing my hair,” she said with a look that skewered him and made it clear she did not approve of men who arrived early.
Ah, that was his Vita, outspoken and direct, unlike the smoothly polite Miss Benoît.
After greetings had been exchanged and Julian had made another insincere apology for arriving early, Lady Randall rose and said to Julian, “I, er, just need to pop out to see to something, Lord Foxton.” To Zoë she said, “I’ll send in some refreshments in fifteen minutes, but if you’d like them earlier, just ring for Hobbs.” She gave her “cousin” a meaningful look and hurried out. Julian repressed a smile.
“Lady Randall is very sweet, but a very poor schemer,” he commented when she had gone.
Zoë stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“It was your sister’s ointment you used on Hamish’s neck, wasn’t it?”
“Y— No. What do you mean ‘my sister’? Clarissa is my cousin.”
“I should have said ‘half sister.’ As is Lady Salcott, I assume. Oh, don’t bother to deny it. Apart from your uncanny resemblance to Lady Salcott, I remember when you first produced that ointment you said, ‘I have some very good ointment that my sist— I mean a girl I know made.’ ”
