Page 37 of A Sense of Misgiving
The countess peered up at Mrs Arnold and her disdainful expression made it clear that she didn’t much care for what she saw. Flora couldn’t exactly blame her for that. She thought her own gown to be revealing but it was positively modest in comparison to Mrs Arnold’s bodice, which was cut so low that it scarcely covered her nipples.
‘This is Mary’s friend, Mrs Lucy Arnold, ma’am,’ Flora said, well aware that her charge knew precisely who she was.
‘You would remember me as Lucy Redfern, ma’am.’ Mrs Arnold’s tone was clipped, and her cheeks heated with embarrassment. ‘Our families were intimate when I was younger and I came here often.’
‘Ah, there is Mrs Pearson.’ The countess deftly dealt Lucy Arnold the cut direct and waved at the approaching matron, a lady whom Flora had met once before, and of whom the countess actually approved. ‘I suppose you have brought your wretched granddaughter with you,’ she said, when that lady approached them, ‘and she hopes to attract my grandson’s attention. I wish her luck with that endeavour. The wretched boy seems to be in no hurry at all to find himself a wife.’
Mrs Pearson smiled at Flora and took the chair beside the dowager. ‘Yes, the child is here but I haven’t the slightest intention of encouraging her interest in any of your grandsons. I cannot abide matchmaking matrons. No good ever comes of interfering in young gels’ romantic aspirations, I find. Best leave them to make up their own minds, then when they get it wrong, one can’t be blamed for coercion.’
The countess sniffed. ‘I enjoy a bit of meddling. There has to be some pleasure in growing old.’
‘True, my dear.’ Mrs Pearson folded her hands in her lap, settling in for a good natter. The countess continued to ignore Mrs Arnold, who still hovered and was starting to look ridiculous.
‘Circulate, Flora,’ the countess said, dismissing her with a wave of one hand. ‘Mrs Pearson and I will be comfortable enough here and our conversation is not for your prudish ears. Come and get me when dinner is announced.’
‘Behave yourself,’ Flora chided.
‘What mischief can I possibly make, you annoying child?’
Flora smiled, and strolled away.
Lucy Arnold excused herself and went off ahead of her, trying to pretend that she had not been offended by the countess’s behaviour. If Flora had liked the woman more, she might find it in herself to feel sorry for her. Indeed, if she liked her at all, she would have intervened and ensured that the countess remained civil. But her charge, Flora knew, was a shrewd judge of character, presumably because she had dealt with sycophants and fortune-seekers her entire life. She simply had a unique—some might argue uncivil—way of putting them in their place.
Mrs Arnold headed straight for Mary, and Flora deliberately lingered within earshot, curious to know how she would make up lost ground, or if she would even attempt to do so. Lucy’s desire to cultivate Mary’s good opinion would tell Flora a great deal about her brother’s intentions. Despite the Berengers being the principal family in the district, Lucy Arnold had good connections in her own right, considered herself almost their equal, and was not the type to take being cut in her stride.
A dangerous enemy, Flora’s senses told her. She caught a brief glimpse of the woman’s thunderous expression as she walked away from the countess and shuddered. Remus hadn’t bothered to put in an appearance, but Flora didn’t need him to tell her that Mrs Arnold was a fiercely determined woman who was disappointed by the way her life had turned out and desperate to improve her lot. Her early attempts to support her brother’s cause and make a favourable impression on Luke had not gone well. But Mrs Arnold was not the type to admit defeat, Flora sensed, graciously or otherwise.
Captain Redfern had attached himself to Mary, making her smile with his anecdotes. Paul, Flora noticed, kept looking over at them and scowling. Mary glanced away from the captain when Lucy joined them and smiled at her friend.
‘The countess is her usual contrary self,’ Lucy said, her voice artificially bright. ‘I declare I have missed her forthright attitude.’
‘Grandmamma is very much a law unto herself.’
‘I am surprised to see her companion so finely dressed,’ Lucy remarked, sending assessing looks in Flora’s direction. Flora didn’t pretend not to have overheard her, and merely smiled, enjoying being provocative.
Mary beamed. ‘Doesn’t she look delightful?’
‘Absolutely,’ the captain agreed, earning a scowl from his sister.
‘But she is a paid companion, my dear.’ Lucy lowered her voice, but Flora still easily overheard her. ‘And would be best advised to remember her place.’
‘Flora’s place is here at the Court. She is almost a member of the family and I do not know how we managed without her. Grandmamma adores her.’
‘What will she do when the countess is no more?’ Lucy asked, her voice sweetly solicitous. ‘It is typical of your family’s generosity to treat a servant as one of your own, but she will not find it as easy when she is obliged to take up a position with another family who are not so liberally-minded.’
‘Don’t talk like that.’ Mary flapped a hand. ‘I cannot bear to think of the day when I must part with Grandmamma, or with Flora, either. Let us talk of jollier things.’
Flora smiled to herself, resisting the urge to applaud Mary’s entirely instinctive response. Mary was such a dear, but sometimes she was rather dangerously naïve. Clearly she hadn’t seen through her friend’s supposed concerns for Flora’s welfare and recognised the spitefulness and jealousy that lurked just below the surface. Flora moved away before Mary drew her into their conversation. She’d had quite enough of Mrs Arnold for the time being, and left her to glance frequently at Luke whilst pretending to have no interest in him. Flora observed Charlie’s wife Miranda in conversation with Lord Felsham and joined them.
‘Ah, Miss Latimer.’ His lordship sent her an approving look, his warm eyes conveying a sense of approval and mischief. Lord Felsham, she already knew, was enormous fun, and made light of his disabilities. Still roguishly handsome, she could easily imagine him cutting a very fine figure indeed in his younger days and suspected that being crippled had probably not curtailed some of his less outlandish pleasures entirely. ‘Pray, excuse me if I don’t get up.’
‘Please remain seated, Lord Felsham. Miranda, good evening. How are you?’
‘Exceedingly well. You look lovely.’
‘The countess spoils me. I barely recognise myself nowadays.’
‘She is lucky to have you, and has the good sense to realise it,’ Miranda replied. ‘Who is the man clinging to Mary?’
