Chapter 16

Sixteen

“ W here are your thoughts, dear?” Lady Cecelia looked up from her embroidery inquisitively.

The two were sitting in Lady Cecelia’s chambers, a suggestion that Ruth had made earlier in the day to avoid running into Lord Darnley. She was still uncomfortable after their conversation the day before, and wanted to put off seeing him.

His words ran over and over in Ruth’s head. What do you know of family heartbreak? It was a cruel thing to say, and entirely unlike the kind and gentle man Ruth had come to know. She wondered what he had been thinking about, and what had driven him to speak so.

“I…was thinking of the summer season,” she said, rather lamely. She could think of nothing convincing. “How beautiful it is this time of year.”

“I enjoy the out of doors,” the Duchess said with a shrug. “I have walked around the gardens daily since the dew warmed on the grass.”

“I noticed,” Ruth said with a weak smile.

“And is it the summer weather that makes your face so sad and wistful?” Lady Cecelia said.

Ruth looked at her sharply. It was an intuitive thing to notice, and she would hardly have expected it of the old woman. The Duchess, however, was looking at her embroidery as she spoke, her attention apparently garnered entirely by the work at her fingertips.

“I am not sad,” Ruth said after a long pause. “And wistfulness implies a hope for future events, my Lady. I only think of the present. It is the way of someone in my position in society.”

“I do not think you are being quite honest,” the Duchess said, her eyes still on her needlework. “I think you are ruminating on my young Stephen.”

Ruth’s fingers slipped, and she stabbed herself gently with the needle. She gave a quick cry of surprise and wrapped the wound in a handkerchief .

Lady Cecelia looked up imperiously. “You ought to be more careful,” she said blithely.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Ruth said.

“About the needle?”

“About Stephen — I mean, about Lord Darnley,” Ruth said. “Why would I be thinking about him?” She felt a hot blush creeping up her cheeks.

“I’m not sure,” Lady Cecelia said coyly. “Why indeed?”

Ruth released the pressure on her finger and examined the prick. It was small and inconsequential.

Lady Cecelia looked up at last from her needlework. “I am not a blind old woman,” she said. “Just a little dotty in the head, my dear. I can see affection growing between you and Stephen. There is a kinship between you both that I have rarely seen between two people.”

Ruth did not know what to say. She was horrified that her own feelings had been so transparent, and doubted that Stephen had reciprocal affection for her. But what if she’s right? What if he really does care for me? She thought of the way he had looked at her the night they danced together, and blushed again.

“That’s it, dear,” the Duchess said, quite suddenly changing the subject and leaping to hear feet with alarming alacrity. Her needlework tumbled to the floor. “I am quite ready to dress for the ball, if you will help me.”

In this conversation, Ruth thought drily, I am actually grateful for the Duchess’ mood swings. Thankful that the topic had switched away from her attachment to Stephen, she played along with Lady Cecelia’s imagination.

“Of course I will help you,” she said, standing and helping the Duchess over to the wardrobe. “Let us look at your gowns and choose one fitting for the occasion. Will it be an evening dance?”

“Yes, yes,” the Duchess said, waving her hand dismissively. “There are rarely daytime dances anymore — such things are reserved for garden parties and the like. This ball is, as you can imagine, a far more elegant affair.”

“Naturally,” Ruth said.

“And you must find a dress too, my dear.” The Duchess helped unlatch the wardrobe and began running her hands along the stunning silks within. “Perhaps something pale blue to set off your hair, or a cream. It is always good to look particularly bride-like at such occasions. It helps the gentleman keep matters of matrimony in mind.” Her face fell a bit. “That is what my mother always used to say.”

Ruth thought of what she had learned about the Duchess’ parents and the pressure they’d put upon her to find a husband. She forced a smile and clasped the older woman’s hand.

“Are you telling me that I am to accompany you to the ball, my Lady?” she asked.

“Yes, yes,” the older woman’s face lit again. “A pretty little thing like you ought to be going to the assembly rooms every chance she gets. I’m sure you will have admirers lined up from here to the seaside by the end of the Season.”

Lady Cecelia’s fingers stopped, hovering over a deep red silk. Ruth took the cue and reached forward, bringing the gown carefully out of the wardrobe and shaking out the folds so they fell beautifully to the ground. The garment was a little out of style, although Ruth was hardly an expert on such things, but truly ornate nonetheless. The hem was done up in a fine gold thread and accompanied by gold tassels. The sleeves were elbow-length and fitted, and the bodice dipped down and held its shape with some old-fashioned boning.

“This will look lovely on you,” Ruth said with a smile. “Your hair is such a fine shade, and will be set off brilliantly against the red.”

The older woman turned, holding the gown against herself, and walked to the mirror to inspect her image. She reached up one hand, still grasping the gown with the other, and tugged gently at her loose white hair. She smiled softly.

“I never could wear this shade before,” she said. “I always thought it clashed with my red hair. I had hair as brilliant as Stephen’s.” She tilted her head to the side and smiled whimsically. “Now the white will look quite fine, I think.”

Ruth’s heart warmed. For all her pretension and confusion, she really is a delightful person, she thought.

“I agree,” she said. “It is the fashion now to put a ribbon in the hair. We might do that as well.”

“I couldn’t,” the woman retorted. “I am a widow now, and a widow wears a proper cap.”

“Not to a ball,” Ruth explained. She had never been to a ball herself, but she knew enough of the custom to defend her opinion. “I have seen widows arrive to events at Thurcross Manor with more stylish coverings — hats, feathers, and ribbons all seem to suffice.”

Lady Cecelia closed her eyes and swayed back and forth, the heavy skirts of the dress swishing around her ankles. “In my day,” she said, “I wore my hair up and studded with jewels. I remember the dances as if I was there in the room as we speak.”

She turned in a slow circle, and then opened her eyes and looked at Ruth.

“I can see the gentlemen now,” she said, “lining up to take my hand. I was a fine sight then — not nearly so tired and frail as I am now. Papa had a good allotment too — we were well-spoken-of in the ton.”

“I am sure,” Ruth said demurely.

“There is no feeling like it,” Lady Cecelia said with a smile. “There was a power there that I rarely felt elsewhere. A smile or nod of acknowledgment from me could bring young men from across the room, and the whole evening I would be dancing — twirling in and out under the sparkling lights.”

She laid the dress aside and picked up her own skirts, doing a few short dance steps on the floor before her. Ruth came to stand opposite her, trying to seem very tall and gentlemanly. In an imitation of a deep voice she said, “My Lady Cecelia, may I have this dance?”

Lady Cecelia looked down her nose at Ruth, apparently engaging in the farce with complete sincerity. She extended her hand, letting it droop gracefully from her frail wrist.

“Yes, good sir.”

They began to dance, Ruth humming a classic little tune to accompany their movements, Lady Cecelia keeping her head high and aloof; clear pleasure in her lined face. When they drew the dance to a close, Ruth bowed stiffly from the waist and Lady Cecelia dropped into a deep curtsy.

She hesitated at the base of the curtsy, frozen as though a thought had suddenly come to her. Then she stood, her face white and drawn.

“Is everything well, my Lady?” Ruth asked, concerned.

“It’s not real,” Lady Cecelia said, waving her hand before her as though dispelling some phantom. “None of it is real. No one is there at the end of the dance.”

“It was just me,” Ruth said, worried that playing along with the older woman’s whims had led to more harm than good this time. “I was dancing with you for the fun of it.”

Lady Cecelia’s eyes fell on the scarlet dress hanging over the edge of the chair. “Put that away,” she said, turning and walking back to her chair and sitting disconsolately in the corner. “I have no time for that nonsense.”

Ruth put the dress away quietly, then came to sit by Lady Cecelia. She reached over, risking impertinence, and took the old lady’s hand in her own.

“My Lady,” she said. “Something has grieved you. I can see it. Please, tell me what is the matter.”

Lady Cecelia looked up, and Ruth saw with a start that the other woman’s eyes were filled with unshed tears. “It is nothing,” she said breathlessly. “I was only thinking that the magic of those balls is an illusion. It will fade, in time. Even the evenings I shared on those dance floors of old were only evenings. After the party is over, we all must ride home in our separate carriages, alone.”

She must be thinking of the gentleman she once loved, Ruth thought. We all must ride home alone.

“You are not alone now, my Lady,” she said, pressing the woman’s hand again. “I am here with you.”

Lady Cecelia pulled her hand away.

“I think I am a little too weary to continue with my embroidery at present,” she said, passing her hand over her face. “Dear, will you help me to my bed? I would like to rest a little.”

Ruth hesitated. The last thing she wanted to do was leave the Duchess alone in her grief.

“I can sit here with you and read to you,” she ventured.

“No,” the Duchess said firmly. “I will be sleeping. I am in no need of companionship whilst sleeping.”

Ruth sighed and gathered the woman up, helping support her arm on her way to the bed. The formerly bright and energetic Duchess now seemed limp and exhausted, as though the sad memory had taken all the life from her.

“Miss Selwyn?” the Duchess asked.

“Yes, my Lady?”

“Will you tell the servants not to disturb me?”

“I will,” Ruth said, closing the door behind herself with a heavy heart.