“Of course, Miss Rowland,” the modiste said quickly, looking up at her not unkindly, her dark eyes crinkled at the edges with slight, fine wrinkles. “I need to unpin the back of the gown before I can let you step down. If you could wait a moment?”
“Of course,” Bernadette whispered. She had been standing there for an hour, wishing she could escape. A few minutes were no trouble at all.
She stood still, holding back her tears while the modiste unpinned the back of the gown, wishing that the woman could move just a bit faster. She could feel the cool air on her back and the whisper of silk around her that suggested the gown was becoming looser. She wore a light linen shift under it that reached to the middle of her calves.
“There you are, miss,” the modiste said kindly, unpinning the back entirely. “Now, just a second and I’ll help you step out of the dress.”
“Thank you,” Bernadette whispered.
She stepped off the stool, feeling terribly self-conscious. She was sure Lady Lockwood disapproved of her request to be excused, but at that moment, she didn’t have time to care. If she didn’t get out of there soon, she would burst out crying and how much would Lady Lockwood complain about that?
She hurried behind a screen to grab her clothes, then hastily tugged them on. She buttoned the dress behind her hastily and burst out into the hallway. As soon as she reached her bedroom door, she shut it behind her, then sank down on the bed. She finally had time to cry. She sobbed, letting all her sorrow and confusion wash from her in her tears.
“Milady?” Judy called from outside the door. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, Judy,” she sniffed, not wanting any intrusion. “I’m quite fine.”
“Very well, milady.” She heard Judy’s footsteps in the hallway and then the sound of the door to the room beside her own, where her clothes were stored. She took a deep breath, feeling relieved. She needed time to think.
And she needed someone to talk to.
***
At three o’ clock, she was in the coach, the coachman driving steadily across town to Penning House. Bernadette alighted, holding her bonnet and cape close in the wind that tugged at them. Her bonnet was white, decorated with lilac ribbons to match her gown, and her cape was white like her outdoor boots. She tapped on the door and the butler answered it almost at once.
“Miss Rowland. Welcome. Miss Penning is waiting for you in the drawing room.”
“Thank you,” Bernadette murmured. She removed her bonnet and cape and passed them to the butler, then walked swiftly up the stairs, her shoes hollow on the stone stairway. Penning House was on the far edge of Kensington; the architecture older than that of Rothendale House and much more eccentric. The family had redecorated several times, and the old details like the mosaic floor and the stone columns from previous eras, set beside the newer white plastered walls and marble tiling, made the place unique and different.
“Viola!” Bernadette greeted her friend as she walked into the drawing room. Viola was seated in a wingback chair by the window, mending a sleeve and reading a novel seemingly at the same time. Bernadette hurried over as her friend stood up, taking her hands. “I’m so pleased to see you.”
“I’m so glad to see you too!” Viola greeted her warmly. “Please, come and sit down, do.” She gestured to the tea-table, where plates and cups were already set out, along with some delicacies to eat.
“Thank you, Viola,” Bernadette said softly, drawing back her chair and sitting down. Her stomach grumbled with hunger—she'd felt so sick after the tense morning that she’d not eaten much at lunchtime. Now, at the sight of the delicate sandwiches and slices of cake, she felt her appetite abruptly returning.
“Did you have a pleasant day thus far?” Viola asked, reaching for the teapot that the butler brought in for them and pouring Bernadette some tea.
“I wish I could answer that I had,” she said simply. Here, with Viola opposite her, brown eyes caring and heart ready tounderstand, it was so hard to hold back from crying.
“My dear, what happened?” Viola asked caringly, reaching for her hand, her brow furrowed with worry.
“I just...I just don’t understand anything anymore,” Bernadette whispered, feeling unable even to express what was tormenting her so.
“What is it?” Viola asked gently. “Is it that horrid countess you told me about? Is it her?”
Bernadette sniffed, smiling despite her sadness. “It isn’t. She is horrid, you’re right, and she upset me a great deal. But it wasn’t her. It wasn’t just her,” she corrected swiftly.
“What then?”
“Nicholas. I don’t understand him at all,” Bernadette exclaimed sadly. “He just...I know he can’t be interested in me. He’s so different. He comes from another world. His grandmother insists on making us know that every second.”
“You’re the daughter of a baron, dear,” Viola reminded her gently. “As noble as she is.”
“Not quite,” Bernadette reminded her with a wry smile. “I’m just The Honorable Miss Rowland. She’s Lady Lockwood. And besides,” she added sadly, “she’s part of theTonand I am not...I’ve always been on the edge of it.”
“The best place to be, quite frankly,” Viola said, an expression of distaste on her face.
Bernadette giggled, feeling a little more lighthearted. “Mayhap it is,” she said, nodding slowly.
