A Lesson in Forgiveness Page 3

  Tabby knocked so lightly that Ginny barely heard it. Before Ginny could respond, Tabby stuck her head in and asked, “Are you alright, miss?”

  “Yes, Tabby, please come in. I need help getting dressed.”

  “Let me just run downstairs and fetch some hot water for you. I will return as quickly as possible.” Before Ginny could respond, the maid was gone. Meanwhile, Ginny could only sit on the edge of her bed and wait. She'd already used the “water closet,” a term she used in her own home, but that toilet at least flushed.

  She had no idea what to wear, what type of dress she needed for “morning.” She knew that women of this era, at this rank, changed their clothes several times a day. At home, Ginny would put on a pair of scrubs for work and would often fall asleep in them on her couch. This time period would definitely take some getting used to.

  Tabby reappeared with a large pitcher of steaming water. She filled the bowl on her wash basin and took out a washcloth and towel for her. Ginny went about washing up while Tabby got out all the various parts of her wardrobe.

  “Would you like to wear the pink muslin or your yellow dress with the flowered embroidery?”

  What, huh? she thought to herself. Ginny was never the height of fashion, often trumping style for comfort. She had no idea what Tabby just asked her. Drying off her face, she turned around and simply said, “You decide, Tabby. And from now on, just tell me what I'm wearing. Don't bother to ask.”

  The look on the little maid's face was so precious that Ginny nearly laughed out loud. It was a look between choked, terrified and appalled.

  “But you told me to never choose for you. You said I have not an eye for fashion.”

  Staring at her maid in amazement, Ginny realized that Bethany might be shy, but she really could have a bite to her. And not a bite for those who deserved it, but taking it out on the only person she had absolute control over. Bowing her head in shame, even though it certainly wasn't Ginny who made the comment, she said, “I'm sorry, Tabby. I shouldn't have said that. I have absolute faith that you know what you're doing and can keep me looking... fabulous!”

  Looking up at the maid with a big smile on her face, Tabby still had a look of horror. Sputtering, Tabby said, “But... but... but you said...”

  Wrapping her robe around her, Ginny came over to the maid and pulled her hands into her own. Knowing that she was going against years of strict training, Ginny looked into her little maid's eyes and said, “Tabby, I don't say it enough, but I really appreciate all you do for me. I respect your opinion and value your help. You are more than just a servant. You're a person, with sense and kindness and... Well, I just want you to forget everything I've said before. Oh, and thank you.”

  Tears popped into the maid's eyes. Grabbing her hands away, she wiped at the tears. “Thank you, miss.”

  “Please call me Bethany. I may have been born into a home with more money, but that doesn't make me a better person. I pay you to help me, not put up with abuse. I might be in a bad mood sometimes, but that is no reason to take it out on you. And you don't have to thank me. I should be the one thanking you.”

  Tabby looked paralyzed. Ginny began to worry that she had went too far. It looked as if her little maid could not handle being handed so much of her dignity back at once. Taking a deep breath, Ginny simply said, “So which dress do you think would make me look good as I parade in front of all those eligible bachelors?”

  Tabby's eyes flitted back and forth for a moment. She then lifted her shoulders, looked Ginny straight in the eyes and said, “The pink would bring out your complexion, I think. I could do your hair more casually, to enhance your beautiful eyes.”

  Smiling cheerfully, Ginny turned back to the wash basin. “Well, we better get to it. I have a lot of competition.” With that, Ginny went back to washing and Tabby went back to getting things ready.

  When Ginny left the room, she noticed that the halls were quiet. Making her way down the impressive staircase, she saw that there was no sign of anyone. Walking up to a footman, she asked, “Can you direct me to breakfast, please.”

  The footman looked at her as if she had two heads. What the hell? she wondered as he walked her to the breakfast room. When she entered, there was no one there, no food on the sidebar, not even any plates or silverware. Turning to the footman, she asked, “How early is it?”

  “I believe it is just nine o'clock, miss.”

  “What time do most people get up?”

  “Breakfast is usually served around eleven o'clock, miss.”

  Two hours to eat. Dear God! Ginny didn't think she would make it that long.

  Suddenly, the butler came forward and asked, “May I be of some assistance, miss?”

  “I must have woken too early, sir.”

  “Please call me Pearce, miss. I would be happy to have cook make you a plate. Please have a seat.” He turned and directed her to the large, rectangular table in the room. He immediately pulled out a chair and asked, “Would you like some coddled eggs and toast?”

  Ginny had no idea what “coddled” eggs were, but figured they couldn't be that bad. “Yes, thank you, Pearce.”

  “I believe Cook has made some blackberry jam,” Pearce said, looking at her for approval.

  “That sounds delightful.”

  “Tea, as well, miss?”

  Tea, she thought grimly. Ginny had been without coffee for months and sometimes wondered if she would ever get some again. Smiling at the butler, she simply said, “Yes, thank you.”

  With that, the butler disappeared behind a door. Looking around the room, Ginny noticed a newspaper at the head of the table. She walked over, picked it up and returned to her spot. The print was small and some of the articles were trite, but Ginny was enjoying getting a different perspective of the time period. For one thing, she was able to find out the year: 1802. Ginny doubted the paper was daily, so she wasn't sure of the actual date, except that it was July.

  She became so engrossed in an article about scandals in the ton, that she never heard him enter. When he cleared his throat to announce himself, Ginny nearly jumped out of her seat. Pulling the paper away from her face, she found Lord Whitmore standing behind her, smiling.

  “Well, Miss Hamilton, you seem to be an early riser as well.”

  “Yes, it would seem.” Just then, the butler returned with a plate of food, a pot of tea, and the necessary utensils to go with it. Arranging the plate in front of her, Ginny felt ridiculous. She could look at it like it was a restaurant, but it just felt wrong to be so waited on. She would have preferred to go to the kitchen herself and make her own meal.

  After he completed his task by pouring her some tea, the butler turned to Lord Whitmore and asked if he was ready for his breakfast. It must have been then that he realized that Ginny was holding the newspaper, because he stared at it in her hands.

  “I'm sorry. I noticed this while I was waiting.” Ginny quickly folded it back up and handed it to Lord Whitmore.

  With a smile, Whitmore took the paper from her hands and turned to the butler. “Yes, Pearce. The usual, please.”

  If looks could kill, Ginny'd be dead. Pearce, the butler, seemed quite put out by her absconding the paper from its rightful owner. Ginny felt bad, but couldn't understand why. It wasn't like she'd ruined the news by reading it.

  Sitting down across from her, instead of at the head of the table, Whitmore watched as she ate her breakfast. He noticed that Bethany tentatively ate her eggs, as if she'd never before had coddled eggs. When she discovered the jam, she cheerfully scooped up some onto her plate and dabbled it onto her toast. Paying no attention to him, she sipped her tea and continued her meal. Whitmore was intrigued.

  “Does the food meet your expectations?” he asked while she sipped her tea.

  “It's quite good, thank you. The jam is spectacular. Nothing like I've had before.” Oops, she thought squinting her eyes slightly, was that too much information?

  Before he could respond, the butler returned
with another tray. She noticed his plate was similar to hers, except his had the added bonus of some kind of undercooked looking meat. Ginny was glad it hadn't landed on her plate. What truly surprised her was the small pot that contained a liquid far darker than tea.

  “Is that coffee?” she asked, surprised and hopeful. Ginny didn't live on coffee, but she enjoyed her morning cup. Giving it up wasn't the worst of her sacrifices, but it felt good to get something familiar back.

  Whitmore quirked an eyebrow at her. “Yes, of course.”

  “I'm sorry. I didn't know that was a choice.” Looking at the butler, she asked, “May I have some coffee?”

  Whitmore smiled. She looked absolutely desperate. When the butler returned with the coffee, she added a little sugar and cream, then smelled the aroma before sipping the hot liquid. The change to her face was noticeable. It went from anticipation to relief, like a drug addict getting his first hit of the day.

  “I do not believe I have ever seen a woman drink coffee before.”

  Ginny scrunched up her face and looked across the table. “Really,” was all she replied. She knew she had to get used to the way things were. Feminism was probably only in its beginning stages and probably not at all among her class. Women were still owned by men, never being able to hold property and with very few career choices.

  Whitmore sensed a change in her demeanor. He didn't understand it, so he went about eating his breakfast and reading the newspaper. As he read an article about Napoleon, he grunted. The problem with empires, he thought grimly, was having to deal with too many things at once.

  “Which article are you reading?” Ginny asked, curious about his grunt.

  “Napoleon conquering the Continent.” He was curt, figuring she was just as curt to him earlier.

  Ginny had a high level view of history, not entirely certain of all the details. Of course, she knew that eventually Napoleon would be defeated at Waterloo and sent to cool his heels on Elba. Skipping any details that might come out later and prove her ability to “see into the future”, she simply said, “After being defeated in Egypt, I would think England has little to fear from Napoleon.”

  Pulling down the paper, Whitmore looked back at his astute guest. She was young, but seemed not to be as frivolous as the other young ladies attending his party in the hopes of meeting a future husband. Leaning back in his chair, he regarded her somewhat differently. “It would be irresponsible for England to become complacent. The Treaty of Amiens does not ensure our safety against a man so insistent on conquering the world.”

  “I agree. England should continue to build up its resources in the event Napoleon gets any grand ideas.” Ginny had no idea what she was talking about or if her facts were even remotely accurate, but she had to admit that she sounded good.

  Turning his head slightly, he said, “You are well informed, Miss Hamilton. I imagine that comes from reading the newspaper.”

  “Also from reading anything else. I guess I was never one for embroidery.” Ginny knew from her memories that Bethany did do embroidery, but never much cared for it and wasn't very good at it. She continued to regard him to see his reactions. After their battle over “inappropriate topics,” she wondered if this might be included.

  “I find reading to be an admirable pursuit. Expanding one's mind is always beneficial.”

  Raising an eyebrow, she asked, “Even for a woman?”

  A smile played across his face. “Even for a woman.”

  “I think, perhaps, that you and I may see eye to eye on certain subjects, Lord Whitmore,” she said, smiling back at him.

  “Indeed.”

  When she had finished her breakfast, Ginny had to admit that she had no idea what she was going to do next. Normally at home, on a day off, she would plop in front of her computer and catch up on email. There were always shows recorded on her DVR to catch up with or somewhere to go hiking. But here, she was at a loss. She rose from the table, about to head back to her room, when Lord Whitmore spoke.

  “Would you care for that tour of the gardens now, Miss Hamilton?”

  Hallelujah, she thought. Something to do! “Yes, that would be lovely.” Lovely and delightful were becoming very much part of her everyday vocabulary. Goodbye to awesome and bitching!

  Whitmore stood and offered her his arm. They strolled together to the upper terrace, where he then took her down the rounded stone staircase to the lower level. He was pointing out aspects of his design, flower and tree placement and certain statuary of which he was rather proud. Ginny soon became caught up in his enthusiasm.

  “I have a maze, you know.”

  “I did not know that. Is there a secret to it?” she asked, knowing his answer before he said it.

  “It wouldn't be much of a secret if I told you, would it?” Bingo, she'd guessed right.

  “The land around your home is vast and it is a beautiful time of year. Everything is so green and lush. Perhaps I will go walking later.”

  “Do you ride, Miss Hamilton?”

  Damn, not horses again, she thought. Turns out Bethany was an adequate rider, but would that transfer to Ginny? She didn't know and was a little afraid to find out.

  “A little. I hate to admit that horses sometimes frighten me. The whole 'minds of their own' thing, I guess.”

  Laughing out loud, he remarked, “Miss Hamilton. I am surprised. You seem so confident in other areas that to admit this weakness seems unimaginable.”

  Smiling in return, enjoying their banter, she replied, “We can't all be good at everything. I'm afraid I'm only good at almost everything.”

  Stopping, he turned to her, looking into her eyes and said rather seriously, “I am sure you are.” The smile was gone, but he didn't seem unhappy to Ginny. If anything, she thought he might kiss her. He stared at her like she was the main course on his dinner plate.

  Turning her eyes away first, not sure the reason for her sudden shyness, she pointed out some pretty pink flowers and asked what they were. They continued walking around the garden, discussing different varieties of roses and tulips. Their conversation continued, but they kept to safe topics. Once they reached the end of the garden proper, Whitmore showed Ginny some of the walking and riding trails that traversed the countryside, but were still considered his property.

  “I shall take you riding tomorrow. We will leave after breakfast.”

  Trying to ignore his pushiness, she said, “Would that be proper, my lord. We'll be unchaperoned.”

  He seemed to consider this for a moment. “Would your mother join us?”

  “Not at that time of the morning.” Ginny realized that her parents were only now rising. By the time they returned to the house, everyone else would be having breakfast.

  “Yes, it would be improper. However, if we stay along the trail, in highly visible places, I do not see any issue with it.”

  Raising her eyebrow, she said, “Doesn't bother me if it doesn't bother you.”

  They turned and walked back to the house. Ginny was beginning to wonder if Clarendon was the one she was here to fall in love with after all. Could it be Whitmore instead? Most of the novels she read were pretty transparent. The hero and heroine were obvious, although sometimes there were subplots that involved lesser characters. It wasn't like she always knew who was going to get it on with whom. Still enjoying the gentle breeze and captivating gardens, Ginny would have to keep an open mind.

  Chapter 4

  The afternoon was spent playing silly games that the unmarried, pure girls came up with. Outdoor pursuits included lawn bowling and archery. Indoor games featured charades and cards. All in all, Ginny kept to herself to avoid the giggles and sighs of those trying to make good matches.

  Late in the afternoon, she found herself in the library, looking over the books Lord Whitmore and his family had collected over the past decades. The room smelled like an old used bookstore: glue, leather and dust. Walking past the volumes on every possible subject: horticulture, farming, seamanship, etc..., she came up
on some fiction.

  Selecting a book based solely on the title, she found a big, leather armchair located near the window. Ginny sat down and opened the book, only to find herself preoccupied by the view out the window. It was moments like this that Ginny was lost to the surrealness of the moment. She was in 1802, with relative strangers, trying to flirt her way into a marriage that she didn't want. It was these quiet times, when she wanted to go home, visit her parents house and have her mom's pot roast.

  So involved in her own thoughts, Ginny didn't hear him enter. “What has your attention so completely, Miss Hamilton?” His beautiful eyes and his perfect smile stared at her while she continued to stare out the window.

  “Head in the clouds, I guess, Lord Clarendon. What brings you to the library, when there are so many activities to be enjoyed?”

  “You.” His frankness finally drew her out of her reverie. “I had hoped you would take a turn around the gardens with me. Your mother has agreed to walk with us.”

  “My mother agreed to allow you to walk with me? Really?”

  “I may have an over-exaggerated reputation, Miss Hamilton, but I am still quite rich and quite titled. It does have a tendency to open certain avenues that might have once been thought closed.”

  He really was too cute for his own good. “I would be delighted to walk with you, my lord.” Ginny stood and placed the book back where it belonged. Clarendon looked as if he was going to say something, but then refrained. Ginny wondered if he was curious as to why she would clean up after herself.

  Offering his arm, Ginny placed her hand, once again, into the crook. His muscled were taunt, as if he were nervous. They walked to the terrace in silence, stopping in front of Bethany's mother. Her mother was so engaged in a conversation of gossip, that she didn't even notice them walk up.