When the sermon, which Georgette thought to have been delivered in a most dreary fashion, finally ended, she busied herself with standing the girls up and straightening their little gowns. Not knowing quite how the Duke and his aunt might get along in the next few moments was unsettling her greatly, and Georgette truly hoped, for her sake as well as the children’s, that they were not about to reignite the little argument that had threatened to burst forth before the service had begun.
It was a tremendous relief to Georgette when Lady Lyndon began to speak in rather an easy and friendly tone to the Duke.
“I wonder if you shall be able to escape the fervent attentions of Reverend Merrydown on your way out of the church, Hamilton.”
“I have to say I really rather doubt it.” When he turned to look at his aunt, Georgette was surprised to see how much warmth his countenance seemed to contain.
She could hardly believe that the two of them had been at such great odds just an hour before; much less the dreadful look he had given his aunt with which to silence her.
“But I have spied Edward Camden and really must speak to him. Perhaps I ought to approach him with purpose, Aunt Cynthia.” The Duke gave rather an easy sort of a laugh which took Georgette entirely by surprise. “Although I might have to hurry, for I see that my steward is himself making haste.”
“Then perhaps you should let him go, Hamilton. After all, I rather think that Lady Louisa would be keen to have a few words with you.”
“Do you indeed?” The Duke said, although there was no hint of animosity in his voice.
Rather it seemed to Georgette that he had become indulgent. It was an indulgence of the type which men often used with older female relatives with a penchant for interference.
“I would say that she seems most keen,” Lady Cynthia said enthusiastically.
“Either way, I daresay we ought to take our leave,” the Duke said and stood back to allow his aunt, Georgette, and the children to pass him.
As the little party made their way out of church, the Duke rather firmly keeping his attention away from the Reverend Merrydown, Georgette found herself wondering quite who Lady Louisa was. Undoubtedly, Lady Lyndon had been referring to the young lady who had made so in-depth a study of the Duke throughout the final hymn.
When they finally reached the little churchyard, Georgette thought the air smelled so sweet. There was the scent of newly cut grass which she had not noticed on her way in, and she rather wondered if it was not her own gratitude at being released from the uncomfortable situation which had made her just a little more attuned to her surroundings.
“Ah, Lady Louisa, how very well you look, my dear,” Lady Lyndon said in warm and enthusiastic tones.
“How very kind of you, Lady Lyndon. And I do hope that you are well?” The young woman spoke confidently, and Georgette could see that she was even more beautiful close-up than she had been from across the church.
Lady Louisa was young, with clear and faultless skin and large round blue eyes. Her blonde ringlets seemed to gleam in the summer sunshine, and her immaculate ivory gown with pale green embroidery seemed to speak of youth and gaiety.
“Indeed, I am well, Lady Louisa.” Lady Lyndon turned to look at the Duke. “Does Lady Louisa not look extremely well this morning, Nephew?”
It rather struck Georgette that Lady Lyndon was most determined in her efforts to draw her nephew into the conversation. It seemed equally clear to Georgette that the Duke himself was not entirely keen to do so. He had been looking all about him in a most distracted way, and Georgette rather suspected him of seeking out his steward as a means of providing himself with a most legitimate excuse for taking his leave.
“Oh yes, of course,” he said, giving the young woman a brief smile before looking away again.
It rather seemed to Georgette that there would be nothing he would do that day which would please her, and his casual dismissal of the beautiful young woman was very much in keeping with the mood of the morning.
For a moment, Georgette felt a little dismayed that she herself had not been introduced to the young woman. And then, as if she had been struck by lightning, she remembered that she held no place in this society anymore. The introductions which she had taken for granted all her life were now no longer hers to expect. She was a governess; a servant by any other name.
She was no longer a woman of any substance and could not expect to come into anybody’s notice. And the young lady before her, Lady Louisa, would not notice her either. She had simply ignored her quite thoroughly, paying her no more heed than she would have paid to the Duke’s driver or one of his footmen.