Turning in a circle, Charlotte studied the gown from all angles. “I believe it is just perfect,” she said. But Madame Hortense went over and gave the dress a final inspection.
“It is beee-u-ti-ful,” she rhapsodized. “Yes, perfect.”
Judith turned to Betsy and scowled. “Now, are you not sorry you did not get a new gown too?”
Betsy shrugged. “No one cares what I look like. I know I certainly do not.”
Judith scolded, “Oh, Betsy, you will ruin us all with your lackadaisical attitude. Do you not want to find a husband?”
“Perhaps one day. But what is the rush?”
“The rush is that you are eight and twenty and not getting any younger. Before long there will be other eligible young ladies coming along and looking for husbands who are younger and prettier than you are.”
“Then let them dance their dance. I shall care not.”
Judith threw her hand up in the air. “Why am I so cursed?”
* * *
The Duchess was in a quandary. She needed Lucy to be with her at the ball to look after her, but she also did not want Lucy to be a distraction from her daughters, and, unfortunately, she knew that would be the case if Lucy were present. Maybe she could convince Lucy to wear a veil. But to do that she would need a hat, and as one did not wear hats to a ball these days, it would probably draw even greater attention to her. The only solution she could come up with was to make sure that Lucy wore the plainest possible dress, and put her out of sight, and call upon her only if she was urgently needed.
“Turn around,” Judith instructed Lucy, inspecting the dress she was wearing. Lucy did so. “No, no, that will not do. Simpler, much simpler.”
“But, Your Grace, it is a ball. I cannot attend to you looking like a scullery maid. What will people think? It might reflect poorly on the house.”
“Hmm.” Judith went to her window and gazed down at the tranquil landscape. “Well, we cannot have that, can we?”
“Perhaps you can explain to me what you hope to achieve, and then I might come up with a solution,” Lucy suggested.
Judith could not tell her the truth. How would that look?—admitting that one’s daughters were not nearly as lovely as one’s personal attendant—and the daughter of a tenant farmer as well.
“It is just that Mrs. Mead will need your assistance for the evening, but I might need your services occasionally as well. You see my quandary.”
“Then perhaps I might stay in the kitchen, but if you need me you can send for me and I will come right up.”
“Or, I could just rely on Flossy for the evening.” The girl was as plain as a dirt fence and no competition for her daughters, Judith admitted to herself. Perfect for the situation.
“As you wish.”
Lucy had been holding off, but now she needed to ask. “Your Grace, since I have been attending to you these past few years, I was wondering if it might be possible to get a letter of reference from you for the work I have done.”
Judith did not comprehend. “A letter of reference? Whatever for?”
Lucy did not waver but presented her request forcefully. “There is a position in London I have been suggested for, and I think it would improve my chances if I had such a letter. I assume you would give me a good reference, would you not?”
Judith was completely dumbfounded. “You are thinking of leaving me?”
“Well, not you personally, but certainly the Manor. I think it is time I strike out for myself. And… well, it pays a very handsome wage.”
Again, Judith was flummoxed. “But you…” Then she realized she had no idea what sort of salary Lucy was receiving. “We do pay you, do we not?”
“No, Your Grace.” This was no time to accuse or elaborate.
“Oh…”
“However, I have been receiving some remuneration for the sitting I do for George’s portraits.”
“Well, then. There you are. Youarereceiving a salary then. There should be no need for you to leave me.”
