“Good morning, ladies,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “Your uncle has gone to the manor to direct the work there, and breakfast is ready.” She took another deep breath. “Lady Janet, there are letters to finish. Lady Lucinda, you and your brother may wish to begin polishing some silver below stairs. Excuse me please while I dress.”
It took all the dignity she could muster to retreat to the dressing room, throw on her clothes, and then pull that comb through her recalcitrant curls. When she came into the chamber again, Lucinda and Janet were making the bed. She almost smiled. The pupils at Mrs. Dupree’s all did their own tidying, but Janet was obviously not acquainted with such hard service. Her eyes downcast, her lips tight together, she thumped her pillow down and yanked up the coverlet on her side of the bed. Lucy took a look at her sister and scurried into the dressing room. Cecilia stood by the door, not ready to face Janet, either. Her hand was on the knob when the young lady spoke.
“I am sorry, Miss Ambrose.”
She turned around, wishing that her stomach did not churn at the words that sounded as if they were pulled from Janet’s throat with tongs. “I know your uncle Trevor meant well, Lady Janet, but I know I am a stranger to you, and perhaps someone you are not accustomed to seeing.”
“That doesn’t mean I should be rude,” Janet said, her voice quiet. “It seems like there is so much to think of right now, so many plans to make . . .” She looked up then, and her expression was shy, almost tentative. “Lucy tells me you are a wonderful artist.”
“She is the one with great talent,” Cecilia replied, happy to turn the compliment. She returned Janet’s glance. “I hope Lord Trevor was not too hard on you.”
Janet turned to the bed and smoothed out a nonexistent wrinkle. She shook her head. “I know I will feel better when Lysander arrives.”
Well, that is hopeful, Cecilia thought as she went to the next room, woke Davy, then went to the breakfast room. By the time the children came into the room, chose their food, and sat down, her equilibrium had righted itself. Janet said nothing, but Lucinda, after several glances at her sister, began a conversation.
It was interrupted by the housekeeper, who brought a letter on a silver platter. Janet’s eyes lighted up. She took it, cast a triumphant glance at the other diners, excused herself, and left the room, her head up.
“I hope Sir Lysander swoops down and carries her away,” Davy said.
“Do you not call him just Lysander?” Cecilia asked, curious. “He is going to be your brother in February, is he not?”
Davy rolled his eyes, and Lucinda giggled. “Miss Ambrose, we have been informed that he is Sir Lysander to us,” Lucinda said. She sighed then. “I hope she stays, Davy.”
“Then you are probably the only one at the table with that wish!” her brother retorted. He blushed, and looked at his plate. “I don’t mean to embarrass you, Miss Ambrose.”
“You don’t,” she said, and touched his arm. “In fact, I think—”
What she thought left her head before the words were out. A loud scream came from the sitting room, and then noisy tears bordering on the hysterical. Lucinda’s eyes opened wide, and Davy lay back in his chair and lolled his head, as though all hope was gone.
“Oh, dear,” Cecilia whispered. “I fear that Sir Lysander did not meet Lady Janet’s expectations. She’s your sister, and you know her well. Should we do anything?”
“I could prop a chair under the door, so she can’t get in here,” Davy suggested helpfully.
“David, you know that is not what Miss Ambrose means!” Lucinda scolded. She looked at Cecilia. “Usually we make ourselves scarce when Janet is in full feather.” She stood up. “Davy, I have a craving to go tramping over to the south orchard. There is holly there, and greenery that would look good on the mantelpiece. Would you like to join us, Miss Ambrose?” She had to raise her voice to compete with the storm of tears from the sitting room across the hall, which was now accompanied by what sounded like someone drumming her feet on the floor.
“I think not,” Cecilia said. She finished her now-cold tea. “Bundle up warm, children, and take the footman along. You might ask him to stop at the manor and inform your uncle.”
Lucinda nodded. She opened the breakfast room door and peeked into the hall. “We don’t really want to leave you here alone, Miss Ambrose.”
“It is only just a temper tantrum, my dear,” Cecilia said, using her most firm educator’s voice. “I can manage.” I think I can manage, she told herself as the children gave her doubtful glances, then scurried up the stairs to get their coats and mittens. She sat at the table until they left the dower house with the footman. The last person Janet wants to see is me, especially when we have just begun to be on speaking terms, she thought.