Page 36 of The Bastard's Iberian Bride
Lady Hackwell’s eyes swept over her. “Dressed just as you are would be appropriate in our home, Miss Heardwyn. We do have a few guests, but no one so high in the instep they would worry about a pretty young woman’s gown after a long day of travel.” She took Paulette’s hand and squeezed it. “We are dining tonight with one other lady, and three of my husband’s parliamentary associates. We are all out of balance. Do join us.” The door shut on the last male servant, and Mrs. Bradley ushered all but one maid out of the room.
Her ladyship beckoned the maid. “Jenny, come and get me when Miss Heardwyn is ready so she and I can go down together. I will be in the nursery.” She squeezed Paulette’s hand once more, and left.
“Oh, she was very nice,” Mabel whispered.
The young servant smiled. “’Elp you with your baff, miss?”
“Excuse me?”Help you with your bath. “Oh. Yes. Jenny, is it?”
The girl nodded.
“Shall I shake out the blue dress, Pol…miss?” Mabel asked. “Or do you wish to wear the brown for mourning Lord Shaldon?”
The blue dress was her finest, though it had been made over from one of her mother’s for her visit to Cransdall years earlier.
She wouldn’t wear her newest dress, the brown she’d made last spring from Mrs. Everly’s left-over yardage. Nor would she mourn for Lord Shaldon, the insufferable man.
“The blue will have to do.” She reached around, fumbling for her gown’s ties, and Mabel came over to help.
Mabel was right—Lady Hackwell was all friendliness and welcome. This chamber was just as warm and cheerful, all of it shining bright and spanking clean. It needed an abundance of servants to keep a place of this sort.
She took in a breath. And to have such a finely-clad steward. Hackwell must be quite wealthy. Mr. Gibson didn’t wish to leave, so perhaps he knew something about the Earl’s promised Little Norwick. It wouldn’t be as grand as this. Perhaps no grander than Ferndale Cottage.
And perhaps he wished to remain because Lord Hackwell was as congenial as his lady.
Yes, indeed, Mr. Gibson’s situation here was good. No wonder he didn’t want to trade this for a living that perhaps needed more care than four thousand a year could provide.
While Mabel slipped out of the room to press the blue gown, Jenny helped Paulette settle into the bone-soothing water.
“Shall I brush out yer ‘air, miss?”
“Yes, thank you, Jenny.” She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth for the hair pulling to come, but the girl’s first strokes were gentle, tentative.
“Just give it a good tug,” Paulette said. “Else we’ll be here all night with my rat’s nest.”
“No, miss, yer curls are lovely.”
“And require firmness. Don’t worry, Mabel bashes me every night with that brush all the while complaining how heavy it is.”
Jenny chuckled. “T’is a lovely hairbrush.”
“My mother’s.” Another thing rescued by Mr. Gibson.
“Lucky you are to ‘ave it,” Jenny said.
The hint of wistfulness made Paulette turn. “Jenny, your accent is not from this area, is it?”
The girl’s hand paused. “I’m from town, miss.”
“From London? However did you wind up in the country?”
“Her ladyship. She 'elped me. There are a bunch of us ‘ere she ‘elped, though I been with her the longest, almost a year now.”
“She hired you?”
“Not right off. She found me and brought me home. She was Miss ‘Arris then. And then Lady Cathmore took me to the house in Sussex.”
“You worked for Lady Cathmore?”
