style="font-size:15px;"> The major limped forward, worry creasing his forehead. “Mother, forgive me, but when I read your letter about Miss Peel’s demise, I knew you would be searching for a new companion. This young lady is a vicar’s daughter and—”
“How dare you?” The viscountess turned her quizzing glass toward him with a fierce glare. “Do you think you can just snatch up some dowdy creature from the roadside and bring her through my front door into my drawing room to be my companion?” Her angry stare returned to Anna.
“You.” She sneered as if Anna smelled bad, and stepped back as one would from a victim of the plague. “Take your servant and get out.”
Chapter Four
“Wait.” Edmond leaned on Matthews’s arm and limped after Mother. “Madam, I beg your indulgence. This is no stranger from the side of the road.” He swallowed hard, wondering how much longer he could remain on his feet. “Miss Newfield’s brother saved my life and died in the process.” He glanced at the young woman, who winced at his words. He despised dashing her hopes that her brother might yet live. But Mother would respond better to a brave soldier’s death than to one who simply remained missing. In the corner of his eye, he noticed the outrage on Mrs. Brown’s plump face. If the woman spoke up to her betters, all would be lost.
He hastened to fill in the silence as Mother’s stare continued to rake the young woman up and down through her quizzing glass. “As I said, she is a vicar’s daughter of flawless reputation.”
Mother’s head snapped toward Edmond and then back toward Miss Newfield. “Indeed.”
“Yes, madam.” He sent Miss Newfield and her companion a warning frown indicating that he would speak for them. “And Mrs. Brown is a renowned and much-in-demand seamstress in her town, yet she took time from her work to accompany her friend for propriety’s sake.” At the compliment, Mrs. Brown’s angry flush softened to a pleased blush.
“Hmm.” Mother’s slender eyebrows, always an indicator of her mood, lowered from their aristocratic arch. She tapped her quizzing glass against her chin, then circled Miss Newfield as a man might circle a horse he was appraising. “Hmm,” she repeated. “Do you read, gel?”
Miss Newfield executed a perfect curtsey. “Yes, Lady Greystone. English, French and Latin.” For the first time in their brief acquaintance, Edmond noticed her flawless diction. Where had she learned to speak so well?
Mother’s eyebrows arched again, this time in surprise. “Indeed?” She harrumphed. “Educated by your father, I suppose.”
Ah, yes. Edmond recalled the incident with the vicar’s Bible brought from Oxford, where all Greystone sons had attended school. Another connection with the Newfield family formed in his mind, but he would wait to mention that to Mother.
“Yes, my lady.” Miss Newfield’s demeanor was everything proper in tone and posture, at once both confident and deferential.
Edmond felt a surge of pride, as if she were one of his soldiers who had met the approval of a superior. Pride, and perhaps a hint of affection such as he felt for Matthews.
“Are you a bluestocking?” Mother’s contempt for those women was evident in her haughty tone.
“I—I…” Miss Newfield glanced at Edmond, her head tilted in a pretty, questioning pose.
“Mother, I doubt the Bluestocking Literary Society meets in such a small village as Blandon.”
Understanding filled Miss Newfield’s eyes, and she gave Edmond a grateful smile. A strange feeling filled his chest. Once again he had found a way to help the young lady, and it gave him every bit as much satisfaction as winning a battle.
“Humph.” Mother came close to sneering. “Who are your people?”
Miss Newfield’s poise remained intact. “My lady, my father was the second son of a gentleman whose grandfather was knighted by Her Majesty Queen Anne.”
“And your father chose to bury himself in a remote village? Could he not obtain a better living through influential friends?”
“I do not know, my lady. But his people loved him.”
Mrs. Brown mumbled her agreement, but Mother appeared not to hear her and continued to stare at Miss Newfield.
“Well.” She shot a glance at Edmond. “We shall see if she suits.” She turned toward him. “I will forgive you for bringing servants into my drawing room because of these unusual circumstances. This one may help you.” She waved a hand at Matthews. “But only as long as you require his assistance. That one—” a sniff toward Mrs. Brown “—renowned seamstress or not, will remain in the servants’ quarters.” She strode to the bell pull beside the marble hearth and gave it a yank. “You will be in your old chambers. Mrs. Dobbins will assign a room to Miss Newman…Newmarket—”
“Newfield.” Edmond recognized his mother’s method of putting people in their places. That was her way, as if she alone guarded the social order of England. Clearly, she thought the great-granddaughter of a knight, whose descendants received no title or lands, did not warrant any amount of attention or respect.
“Yes,” she drawled. “I shall grant Newfield a time of trial. Should she prove inadequate, she will be sent away. Should she attempt to raise herself above her station, she will be turned out.”
Edmond saw alarm flicker in the young woman’s eyes, followed by a glint of courage as she recovered by force of will. The sight heartened him. She would need that strength in this house. “And her pay?”
Mother sniffed. “Pay? Humph. Her needs will be met. That is sufficient.”
Edmond ground his teeth at her stinginess. Nothing ever changed here. One would think he had gone out the front door just this morning and been in America for only a day.
Miss Newfield, however, curtseyed to his mother again. “Thank you, my lady. I am grateful.”
Mother reached out and lifted Miss Newfield’s chin. “Hmm. Your eyes are clear, your posture acceptable. Perhaps your youthful energies will be a welcome diversion. Peel never had energy. Do you ride, gel?”
“No, my lady.” Her tone held even.
Once again, Edmond’s approval soared. This gentlewoman was not easily intimidated.
“You will learn. Greystone’s groom will teach you,” Mother pronounced, then peered over her shoulder at Edmond.
He gave her his best smile. Unfortunately, it felt more like a grimace.
“Oh, do retire, Edmond, before you drop on my drawing room floor. I shall have supper sent up.”
“If you do not mind, madam, I should like to see Greystone.” Somehow he would manage to hold on if his eldest brother was about the manor house.
“He is out seeing to his tenants. I do not expect him back soon.”
“Permit me, sir.” Matthews nudged Edmond toward the door.
“Very well. In the morning, then.”
