“Mother, make her sew for me,” Serenity said. “Wallace? Surely you must insist that this girl create my goods. I told you she had done my ’broidery before.”
Wallace turned to her with that visage of boredom combined with irritation, the face I had pictured so many times after that night he left me at the inn. “Did you not say, ahem, you were not staying, Miss Talbot?”
Lady Spencer gasped at his rudeness and I saw a red flush rise above her high collar. “I have some very good claret we have all just enjoyed. Sit here, by me.”
Wallace forced his beautiful, haughty lips to smile when I joined his mother on a settee. Oswald brought me a goblet of claret. Wallace and Serenity moved to another part of the room. Mistress Roberts and her other daughters sat stoically, as if not sure what their next moves should be.
In a moment, Lady Spencer tapped my skirt with her fan and nodded so slightly I might have misunderstood, were it not for the movement of her eyes. She said, for all the room to hear, “I can see you have had the good fortune to have Johanna the dressmaker create this for you. The fit is exactly the way she creates my gowns. Johanna does not take everyone. Clever to use such light linen in this heat; even though it has rained, the room is stifling today. Perhaps you embellished that frill yourself? Well, why not? A lady may be able to do the finest embroidery and not call it huswifery. Excellent. You have a brilliant hand.”
“I made it myself, Lady Spencer,” I admitted.
She mouthed the words “I know,” then whispered, “Johanna has been busy with a newborn. Nothing like the talk of ladies’ garments to bore my son to tears. I presumed it would leave us some privacy.”
Wallace and Serenity moved from the empty fireplace to a window. The others were conversing and not watching us. I lowered my face and my voice. “I have heard of a sea captain making inquiries of me. I hope it is my brother. Even so, I have enough money now, to return to Jamaica. If you know of any who travel to the Indies and might take a companion, I should be thankful for reference.”
She whispered, “I know nothing of any sea captain. But you’d leave your house? I suppose the work done was not pleasing to you?” She appeared distressed.
Tears brimmed and fell. I dabbed them away and sipped the claret. “I thank you sincerely for the work done, but I have the feeling it is still Goody Carnegie’s house. She wishes me to stay. She is lonely. I—I do want to go home, Lady Spencer. My one wish is to see my mother. To touch her hand one more time. To lean my head upon her bosom to beg her forgiveness for it having taken so very long for her youngest child to return.”
Lady Spencer’s eyes filled also. She stared at the fireplace where Wallace had been, proud and spoiled. “When my youngest child leaves this house, I feel certain he will never return to it.”
“Is it ever thus with children? A mother cannot know if they love her until they are grown?” I thought of Patience, gone to a life that seemed to me a horror. What would Ma think of her actions when she heard?
“It is. Let that be a lesson to you. Once they begin to walk, they are no longer your babes but little men and women placed upon the earth to seek their own means.”
“Mother?” Wallace called from across the room. “Shall we have more wine, or will we be having another for supper? I will send word to the cook.”
I stood. “Let me not intrude on your happy celebration further. I bid you all a good day.”
“Call anytime,” Lady Spencer said. “And do have one of your servants send word when I may be received by you. I shall inquire for you about the other matter.”
I knew that she was aware I had no servants. I supposed she said that to make me seem elevated before Wallace and Serenity. “Lady Spencer, Mistress Roberts. Serenity. America. Portia.” I waited until I was nearly at the door, Oswald’s hand upon the pull, to say, “What was it you were to plant, Wallace? Oh, yes, some vegetable?”
He appeared stung. “Tobacco.”
“Tobacco. Very well. Best wishes for your marriage. May it be ever so long,” I said, with a face as near to Oswald’s demeanor as I could manage.
Jacob and Cullah waited on the street; Cullah sat upon a stand meant to allow gentlemen to alight their horses more easily. One of his large boots lay before him, and on that foot he pulled a new stocking and a finer boot made of soft leather. “Ah, they almost fit,” he said. “With a little lint in the toe, it will be fine.”
“Good trade, son. Ah, you’re found out. Miss Talbot, good day. And did they give you good table?”
I shook my head. “Naught but a single glass of wine.”
Cullah said, “You should have come with us to the kitchen. We had such a repast that we may never need to eat again.”
“Ah, you’re always hungry, boy. Put away them things and give the missy something to eat. That’s the good of going in the kitchen door. A few kind words to a cook and we’ve got plenty in the kit for the road.”
“I have a pie here. I think it is beef,” Cullah said.
“I cannot eat on the street.”