room when the other ladies’ spiteful tongues were given permission to let loose their venom.
Michaella released the breath she’d been holding. She’d sensed it, too. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
“Alice, please show Lady Michaella to her chamber. Mrs. Stark will tell you which one, if she hasn’t already done so,” she told the maid, favoring the servant with the same bright smile she’d given her sister.
“We will have a comfortable coze later, hmm?” she told Michaella. The young lady nodded and excused herself to her mother who reluctantly let her go.
“And now,” Leandra said coldly, turning back to her unwelcome guests, “why are you here?”
The remaining ladies gasped. Who would have thought the little viper would get so above herself just because she married a duke? Her husband’s station did not change her parentage one whit.
“We are here to help you adapt, of course, my dear,” the dowager said with a hard edge to her well-modulated tones.
“Adapt?”
“Yes, of course,” Lady Schuster, Leandra’s half-sister, agreed. “How could you possibly know how to go on in a household such as this? Why, we have been here all of an hour already and you have not even offered tea.”
“And you have not curtsied as befits my station above you, so let us not quibble over the definition of proper behavior.”
They gasped again.
“You little slut!” screeched the younger Lady Harwood, wife of the current earl. She strode up to Leandra, blond curls bobbing, and stood looking down at her with a malevolent gaze. “Are you increasing, you little whore? Is that why he married you? Does he know you’re a bastard?”
“It was his primary reason for asking me, I think,” she replied calmly. “And no, I am not increasing.” Her tone was exceedingly dry.
Young Lady Harwood’s expression revealed her shock at Leandra’s denial. “You’re lying! Why would anyone willingly marry a bastard unless she’s with child?”
“Why would I lie?”
“Maybe you told your husband that you’re increasing and he doesn’t know that you are not and you want us to keep the secret.”
“Just so,” murmured Leandra. She caught the look of horrified amusement in the footman’s eyes. She winked at him surreptitiously. “Would you like tea?” she asked with a mocking curtsy directed at her stepmother.
Alas, she’d underestimated the hawklike gaze of her stepmother.
“How dare you mock me!” The dowager turned to the footman. “You, leave this room immediately. And if you show such disrespect again, you will be dismissed.”
Everyone froze. The footman glanced nervously at his mistress. Leandra looked her stepmother in the eye and said in the iciest voice she had ever used, “You will not order my servants about nor threaten them with dismissal. If I hear that you have tried during your stay here, you will be tossed out. Do I make myself clear, my lady?”
A moment of extremely tense silence passed.
“Very well,” the dowager said grudgingly. “It will be as you wish, Merri, but do not come crying to me when the lazy creatures have turned the duke’s home into a circus.”
“Please address me properly, my lady,” was all Leandra said to this comment before she swept from the room as regal as a queen.
Dinner that evening was a nightmare.
Leandra dressed in a gown of gold velvet trimmed with Brussels lace at the neckline and the wrists of the long sleeves and an overskirt of matching lace. She wore Mrs. Stark’s gold locket again since she still had nothing of her own in the way of jewelry. Her dark hair was gathered up on the side of her head and cascaded in a riot of curls over her left shoulder.
She felt terrible. Drums hammered in her head, making her tetchy. She wanted nothing more than the departure of her family. Except for Michaella, of course.
The dinner conversation was nonexistent, thank the Lord. Leandra had dinner served in the State dining room for just that
Michaella released the breath she’d been holding. She’d sensed it, too. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
“Alice, please show Lady Michaella to her chamber. Mrs. Stark will tell you which one, if she hasn’t already done so,” she told the maid, favoring the servant with the same bright smile she’d given her sister.
“We will have a comfortable coze later, hmm?” she told Michaella. The young lady nodded and excused herself to her mother who reluctantly let her go.
“And now,” Leandra said coldly, turning back to her unwelcome guests, “why are you here?”
The remaining ladies gasped. Who would have thought the little viper would get so above herself just because she married a duke? Her husband’s station did not change her parentage one whit.
“We are here to help you adapt, of course, my dear,” the dowager said with a hard edge to her well-modulated tones.
“Adapt?”
“Yes, of course,” Lady Schuster, Leandra’s half-sister, agreed. “How could you possibly know how to go on in a household such as this? Why, we have been here all of an hour already and you have not even offered tea.”
“And you have not curtsied as befits my station above you, so let us not quibble over the definition of proper behavior.”
They gasped again.
“You little slut!” screeched the younger Lady Harwood, wife of the current earl. She strode up to Leandra, blond curls bobbing, and stood looking down at her with a malevolent gaze. “Are you increasing, you little whore? Is that why he married you? Does he know you’re a bastard?”
“It was his primary reason for asking me, I think,” she replied calmly. “And no, I am not increasing.” Her tone was exceedingly dry.
Young Lady Harwood’s expression revealed her shock at Leandra’s denial. “You’re lying! Why would anyone willingly marry a bastard unless she’s with child?”
“Why would I lie?”
“Maybe you told your husband that you’re increasing and he doesn’t know that you are not and you want us to keep the secret.”
“Just so,” murmured Leandra. She caught the look of horrified amusement in the footman’s eyes. She winked at him surreptitiously. “Would you like tea?” she asked with a mocking curtsy directed at her stepmother.
Alas, she’d underestimated the hawklike gaze of her stepmother.
“How dare you mock me!” The dowager turned to the footman. “You, leave this room immediately. And if you show such disrespect again, you will be dismissed.”
Everyone froze. The footman glanced nervously at his mistress. Leandra looked her stepmother in the eye and said in the iciest voice she had ever used, “You will not order my servants about nor threaten them with dismissal. If I hear that you have tried during your stay here, you will be tossed out. Do I make myself clear, my lady?”
A moment of extremely tense silence passed.
“Very well,” the dowager said grudgingly. “It will be as you wish, Merri, but do not come crying to me when the lazy creatures have turned the duke’s home into a circus.”
“Please address me properly, my lady,” was all Leandra said to this comment before she swept from the room as regal as a queen.
Dinner that evening was a nightmare.
Leandra dressed in a gown of gold velvet trimmed with Brussels lace at the neckline and the wrists of the long sleeves and an overskirt of matching lace. She wore Mrs. Stark’s gold locket again since she still had nothing of her own in the way of jewelry. Her dark hair was gathered up on the side of her head and cascaded in a riot of curls over her left shoulder.
She felt terrible. Drums hammered in her head, making her tetchy. She wanted nothing more than the departure of her family. Except for Michaella, of course.
The dinner conversation was nonexistent, thank the Lord. Leandra had dinner served in the State dining room for just that
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