in a stylish claret velvet coat that made her look like a miniature of a fashionable lady.
But what struck Jewel most about the child was how very unchildlike she seemed. She didn’t laugh, or run, or shout as a little girl might be expected to do when she reached the freedom of the outdoors. She merely walked along in silence, her hand in her nursemaid’s, looking neither to the left nor the right until the pair rounded a privet hedge and disappeared from sight. Jewel stared after them for a moment, then shrugged. The earl’s daughter was none of her concern. No more than the earl was.
She had not seen him at all since the day they arrived. When she had asked for him timidly the first morning, she had been told by a pokerfaced Johnson that he was “out.” And “out” or “busy” he had remained until finally she stopped asking. Once she had gotten a glimpse of him riding from the stables as if the hounds of hell were on his heels, but other than that she had not set eyes on him, and his apparent lack of interest in her well-being both angered and, oddly, hurt her. He had left instructions that she was to be provided with a wardrobe, and the first morning a seamstress had arrived at the house. She had proceeded to push and pull Jewel until she was ready to scream.
But the first of her new dresses was to arrive that very day. Jewel, though she hated to admit it, was excited. In her whole life she had never had a dress made especially for her. Jewel was sure the dresses would be beautiful; anything would be an improvement on the scratchy black wool. Although she now wore some of the proper underclothes—she flatly refused to wear stays, they made her feel like she couldn’t breathe—the dress still itched. Only now she knew enough to only scratch when she was alone.
Except for the seamstress Jewel had seen no one from outside the house. She passed the time exploring the house and grounds, trying her best to stay out of everyone’s way. There was a veritable army of servants: stillroom maids and laundry maids, parlor maids and upstairs maids, footmen and under-footmen, gardeners and under-gardeners, in addition to Chloe’s nursemaid, Leister, the earl’s valet, and Johnson and Mrs. Johnson. Each one of them curtsied every time they saw her, which made Jewel extremely uncomfortable. She had no idea how to acknowledge such a salutation. Should she curtsy back, or smile, or say thanks, or ignore the whole business? Confused as she was, she took the latter course and then wondered if that was why the servants never spoke to her. Or perhaps they weren’t supposed to speak to her?
Being one of the gentry was more complicated than she had ever guessed. Even eating was an ordeal. After one try at eating a meal in the grand dining room, alone at a table vast enough to seat fifty people, she had vowed never to repeat the experience. Two footmen had served her meal while Johnson supervised. There was enough food to feed at least ten people, and the table was awash with glittering crystal, silver, and china, most of which Jewel hadn’t the least notion what to do with.
Ever since, she had been eating from a tray in her room. But she was getting tired of having no one to talk to. Certainly being rich was not quite as much fun as she had expected. She was lonely, ill at ease, and felt more and more like a fish out of water. For the first time in her life she was at leisure, and she decided she had never been so well to pass and yet so heartily bored in her life.
So when Emily knocked on the door of her room after luncheon on the fifth day with the announcement that her new clothes had arrived, Jewel welcomed the diversion with open arms. For such a vast order—it was not every day that someone asked Miss Soames to provide them with a complete wardrobe—the seamstress had come again herself instead of having the garments sent as was her custom.
“Here you are, Mrs. Stratham. And I hope you enjoy them,” Miss Soames
But what struck Jewel most about the child was how very unchildlike she seemed. She didn’t laugh, or run, or shout as a little girl might be expected to do when she reached the freedom of the outdoors. She merely walked along in silence, her hand in her nursemaid’s, looking neither to the left nor the right until the pair rounded a privet hedge and disappeared from sight. Jewel stared after them for a moment, then shrugged. The earl’s daughter was none of her concern. No more than the earl was.
She had not seen him at all since the day they arrived. When she had asked for him timidly the first morning, she had been told by a pokerfaced Johnson that he was “out.” And “out” or “busy” he had remained until finally she stopped asking. Once she had gotten a glimpse of him riding from the stables as if the hounds of hell were on his heels, but other than that she had not set eyes on him, and his apparent lack of interest in her well-being both angered and, oddly, hurt her. He had left instructions that she was to be provided with a wardrobe, and the first morning a seamstress had arrived at the house. She had proceeded to push and pull Jewel until she was ready to scream.
But the first of her new dresses was to arrive that very day. Jewel, though she hated to admit it, was excited. In her whole life she had never had a dress made especially for her. Jewel was sure the dresses would be beautiful; anything would be an improvement on the scratchy black wool. Although she now wore some of the proper underclothes—she flatly refused to wear stays, they made her feel like she couldn’t breathe—the dress still itched. Only now she knew enough to only scratch when she was alone.
Except for the seamstress Jewel had seen no one from outside the house. She passed the time exploring the house and grounds, trying her best to stay out of everyone’s way. There was a veritable army of servants: stillroom maids and laundry maids, parlor maids and upstairs maids, footmen and under-footmen, gardeners and under-gardeners, in addition to Chloe’s nursemaid, Leister, the earl’s valet, and Johnson and Mrs. Johnson. Each one of them curtsied every time they saw her, which made Jewel extremely uncomfortable. She had no idea how to acknowledge such a salutation. Should she curtsy back, or smile, or say thanks, or ignore the whole business? Confused as she was, she took the latter course and then wondered if that was why the servants never spoke to her. Or perhaps they weren’t supposed to speak to her?
Being one of the gentry was more complicated than she had ever guessed. Even eating was an ordeal. After one try at eating a meal in the grand dining room, alone at a table vast enough to seat fifty people, she had vowed never to repeat the experience. Two footmen had served her meal while Johnson supervised. There was enough food to feed at least ten people, and the table was awash with glittering crystal, silver, and china, most of which Jewel hadn’t the least notion what to do with.
Ever since, she had been eating from a tray in her room. But she was getting tired of having no one to talk to. Certainly being rich was not quite as much fun as she had expected. She was lonely, ill at ease, and felt more and more like a fish out of water. For the first time in her life she was at leisure, and she decided she had never been so well to pass and yet so heartily bored in her life.
So when Emily knocked on the door of her room after luncheon on the fifth day with the announcement that her new clothes had arrived, Jewel welcomed the diversion with open arms. For such a vast order—it was not every day that someone asked Miss Soames to provide them with a complete wardrobe—the seamstress had come again herself instead of having the garments sent as was her custom.
“Here you are, Mrs. Stratham. And I hope you enjoy them,” Miss Soames
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