The Nightingale Girls

CHAPTER Eighteen



‘CECILY RIDGEMONT’S FINALLY managed to get herself engaged to Viscount Tarlington, I see.’ The Dowager Countess of Rettingham scanned the Announcements column of The Times with an expression Millie had come to dread. ‘I dare say her mother will be utterly insufferable now.’ She peered at Millie over the top of the newspaper. ‘You do realise that could have been you, Amelia, if only you’d tried harder?’

Millie sighed. ‘Granny, I only ever met Freddie Tarlington once, and he was completely mad.’

‘Don’t exaggerate, child.’

‘I’m not. Don’t you remember, he threw his shoes out of the window at the Grosvenor House Ball, then spent the evening sobbing behind a curtain?’

‘That was nothing more than high spirits,’ her grandmother dismissed.

‘He was taken away in a private ambulance, and not seen for the rest of the Season.’

Lady Rettingham’s mouth tightened. ‘I admit he is a rather – unfortunate young man,’ she conceded. ‘But when he stands to inherit an estate half the size of Somerset, one can surely overlook a little eccentricity. Cecily Ridgemont certainly can, it seems.’

Millie caught her father’s eye across the breakfast table and smiled.

‘I’m glad you two can find humour in the situation,’ her grandmother snapped. ‘I sometimes feel as if I’m the only one who takes Amelia’s prospects seriously.’ She laid aside her newspaper and frowned at her granddaughter as she rose from her seat and headed for the sideboard. ‘Another helping? Really, Amelia, do you have to eat so much? It’s most unbecoming.’

‘Sorry, Granny.’ Millie served herself more scrambled eggs and devilled kidneys from the silver chafing dishes. ‘But I really am starving.’

‘Doesn’t that wretched institution feed you at all?’ Her grandmother made a face of disgust as Millie returned to the table with a laden plate.

‘Barely.’

‘Well, it’s too bad.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with having a healthy appetite.’ Millie’s father winked at her.

‘It’s not just her appetite. Look at her, Henry. Look at her hair, look at her hands. They belong to a housemaid, not a lady.’

Millie looked down at her work-roughened hands. It was difficult to keep them white and soft when they were in water and disinfectant all day.

‘That’s what comes of putting them to better use than flower arranging, I expect,’ her father said.

The Dowager Countess sighed. ‘Really, Henry, I would have thought I could count on you for your support. It’s bad enough that you’ve allowed her to stay here over the New Year, rather than insisting she goes to the house party at Lyford.’

Millie rolled her eyes. Her grandmother hadn’t stopped talking about the fact that Millie had turned down an invitation to a country house party given by the Duke and Duchess of Claremont. ‘Granny, I didn’t want to go. I’d rather stay at home than spend three days shooting.’

‘That’s as may be, but one doesn’t turn down an invitation from the Claremonts. Especially not when there will be so many eligible young men in attendance.’

‘Perhaps you should have gone in my place, then?’ Millie suggested crossly. ‘You could have picked one out for me.’

‘I have already selected several. Much good it has done me, since you continue to show a wilful lack of interest in your future.’

‘I’ve already decided what my future is going to be, Granny,’ Millie reminded her. ‘I’m going to be a nurse.’

‘Pshh!’ Her grandmother curled her lip.

‘Please, can we stop arguing?’ Henry Rettingham intervened. ‘Amelia has agreed to go to the Claremonts’ New Year’s Eve Ball with us, Mother. I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunity for her to find her Prince Charming there.’

Or another chance to be paraded around in front of potential suitors like a prize cow at a meat market, Millie thought, spearing a mushroom in disgust.

At least her friend Sophia, the Claremonts’ daughter, would be there. They had been at boarding school together, and jointly endured the London Season – although with more success for Sophia, who had managed to fall in love with the Duke of Cleveland’s son and heir.

Millie was also looking forward to seeing Sophia’s brother Sebastian. He had initially escorted his sister to many of the Season’s endless events. But since Sophia had proved so immediately popular, he had gallantly offered to squire Millie instead.

They had had so much fun, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all as they stumbled and blundered their way around the dance floors of Mayfair and Belgravia. As a mere second son, Seb had been spared much unwelcome attention from ambitious debutantes and their mothers. And he had done a good job of protecting Millie from the few unwelcome suitors who came her way, too.

But the idea of a ball was simply too exhausting. It was the first time she had been home to Billinghurst in months, and she had been looking forward to exploring the estate and getting to know her old home again.

‘We shall have to prepare,’ her grandmother said briskly. ‘We must decide on a suitable dress this morning, and then we shall have to try to do something with your hair . . .’

‘Actually, Mother, I was planning to take Amelia out with me,’ her father said. ‘I have to see a few of the tenants, and I know she will benefit from some fresh air after being in London for so long. That is, if you can bear to spend a couple of hours with your dull old father?’ He smiled questioningly at her.

‘Oh, yes, please!’ Relief flooded through her at the chance to escape.

‘As long as it is only a couple of hours.’ Lady Rettingham looked askance at her granddaughter’s hair. ‘I can see already we have a great deal to do.’

‘In other words, she wants to dress me up like a doll in a shop window,’ Millie said as she and her father rode out of the stableyard together, she on her favourite roan Mischief, and her father on Samson, his hunter.

‘You are her hobby, Amelia. Everyone must have an interest,’ he pointed out mildly.

Out of the stableyard, she dug her heels into Mischief’s plump flanks and took off down the lane, her blonde curls flying. Samson thundered behind her, easily keeping pace.

Further down the lane she turned off and galloped up the ridge of hill that looked over Billinghurst.

Millie took a deep breath of clean, fresh country air. How she’d missed it in the sooty grime of London.

She loved the hustle and bustle of the city, and the freedom from her grandmother’s watchful eye. But sometimes the narrow streets and dirty buildings seemed to close in on her. Then she longed to be back here, where the sky was so vast above them, like a great cloudless blue canopy, with fields and trees stretching as far as she could see.

From the top of the ridge, she had a wonderful view down over Billinghurst. It sat square and solid, straight out of an Arthurian fantasy with its crenellations and mullioned windows, its thick stone walls burnished golden by the wintry sunshine.

Her father sent her a sidelong glance as they sat side by side, looking down on the magnificent house. ‘Do you miss it?’ he asked.

‘Very much,’ Millie admitted with a sigh.

‘You don’t have to go back, you know.’

Just for a moment, she was desperately tempted. It would be so easy to sink back into her old life. No more rising at dawn to queue up in freezing bathrooms, no more being shouted at or coming home to find Sister Sutton had upended her bed again.

But no hope of having any life of her own either.

‘Do you want me to come home?’ she asked.

‘Only if that’s what you really want.’

‘I don’t have much choice, do I? Grandmother is right, I have to marry for the sake of Billinghurst.’

‘You always have a choice, Amelia.’ Her father was silent for a moment, gazing out over the estate. ‘I admit, I would like to think of you here one day with a husband and a happy family of your own. But at the end of the day it’s just a house. Bricks and mortar are not what’s important in life. What’s truly important is having someone to love and grow old with.’

She looked across at his strong, handsome profile and knew he was thinking about her mother. Even after nearly twenty years, his sadness still lay heavy on him.

Her mother, Charlotte, Countess of Rettingham, had died of fever two days after Millie was born. It had broken her father’s heart and even now he found it difficult to talk about her. Millie had found out nearly all she knew of her mother from talking to her grandmother and the servants. According to them, Charlotte Rettingham was beautiful and graceful, a gifted artist and musician. So far as she could tell, Millie’s only resemblance to her mother was her curly blonde hair and blue eyes.

Despite being alone for so many years, her father had never considered remarrying. But that didn’t stop him being the target for many ambitious women. Millie wasn’t surprised. As well as being one of the wealthiest landowners in the county, Henry Rettingham was still a very handsome man.

‘I don’t think Grandmother sees it that way!’ she said.

‘You have to make allowances for her. Things were very different in her day. Making a good marriage was the ultimate goal for girls of your age. Which is why she’s so determined to help you.’

No one could doubt the Dowager Countess had done her best, Millie thought. She had been well educated, sent to finishing school in Switzerland, where she had been taught to dance and arrange flowers. Before the Season, she had taken endless lessons in how to curtsey at Madam Vacani’s school in Kensington.

And yet, despite all her new-found talents, she still hadn’t managed to find a husband.

‘I don’t understand it,’ her grandmother had said. ‘It’s not as if you’re a pauper. You would think someone would want to marry you for your money, if nothing else.’

‘I must be a great disappointment to her,’ Millie said ruefully now.

‘You’re certainly not a disappointment to me.’ Her father reached across and took her gloved hand in his. ‘You’re a fine young woman, Amelia. I’m very proud of you, and I know your mother would have been proud too.’

Millie’s smile trembled as she squeezed his hand. She wished more than anything she could have known her mother. It would have meant everything to her to see her face for herself, instead of having to make do with just a few old photographs and a portrait hanging over the fireplace in the great hall.

‘Anyway,’ her father said, brightening. ‘I’m not planning to drop dead just yet. You’ve got plenty of years to carry on nursing before you have to think about providing a son and heir for Billinghurst!’ He pulled at Samson’s head to turn him around. ‘Now let’s go and take a look around the estate, shall we? If we’re not back for luncheon I feel sure your grandmother will not be very happy with me.’

Millie was enjoying herself so much, she was very reluctant to head back to the house, knowing what lay in store for her. Sure enough, as soon as luncheon was over, her grandmother ushered her up to her room to start getting ready for the Claremonts’ New Year’s Eve Ball.

Millie wasn’t looking forward to the preparations but she was looking forward to spending time with her maid Polly and catching up on all the gossip below stairs. So she was disappointed when she found her grandmother’s maid Louise waiting for her instead.

Louise was in her fifties, French and very proper. She had been with the Dowager Countess since she was a girl, and now fancied herself almost as grand as the old lady herself.

‘Where’s Polly?’ Millie asked.

‘Drawing a bath for you, my lady. Her ladyship thought that you might both benefit from my experience in the matter of preparing for this evening.’

Millie found Polly in the bathroom, looking resentful as she filled the tub with steaming water.

‘Her ladyship doesn’t trust me,’ she grumbled.

‘No, Polly, I’m afraid it’s me she doesn’t trust.’ Her grandmother clearly wasn’t taking any chances on Millie making it through the evening without disaster.

Louise was as tyrannical as her mistress. She bullied them both mercilessly, sending Polly scurrying here and there while she tutted and fussed over Millie at the dressing table with powder and lipstick and hairpins.

‘What have you done to your hair?’ she demanded, dragging an ivory-handled brush through what was left of Millie’s curls.

‘I didn’t have time to go to the salon, so I cut it myself.’ Millie enjoyed seeing the shock on both their faces, reflected in her dressing-table mirror. ‘It was terribly easy, I just chopped a bit off here and there so I could get it all under my cap. It’s an awful nuisance otherwise.’

Millie hoped she might at least have some say in what she wore for the evening, but Louise had already consulted Grandmother on the matter. She couldn’t fault their choice. Her dress was heavy crêpe, cut fashionably on the bias. The blush-pink colour flattered her pearly skin and blonde hair perfectly.

Millie twirled in front of the cheval glass. It was a long time since she’d worn anything vaguely becoming, let alone pretty. Her kid shoes were so light after the stout, sensible black shoes she usually wore, she felt as if she could dance all night.

Meanwhile Louise continued to tut and fuss over her appearance. Her hair was still all wrong, she didn’t hold herself like a lady, and how was her diamond necklace supposed to look right with those awful red marks around her neck?

‘It’s where my collar rubs all day,’ Millie explained. ‘I’ve tried putting Vaseline on my skin, but it didn’t really help.’

She saw the shocked looks Louise and Polly exchanged, and knew exactly what they were thinking. She was treated worse than her father’s staff.

Her grandmother came in just as Louise was rearranging her hair for the third time.

‘Well? Will I do, Granny?’ Millie waited anxiously for her approval.

The Dowager Countess’s gaze swept over her. ‘Louise has done a good job, I suppose,’ she conceded stiffly. ‘Now hurry along, or the year will have ended before we get there.’