Etiquette and Envy

Arabella

Rose entered my chamber just as the first light crept across the floorboards, her arms full with a fresh pitcher and a porcelain basin. The scent of lavender drifted ahead of her, mingling with the cool air.
“Good morning, miss,” she said, setting the basin on the washstand. “I thought you might like a bit of lavender water today. The dew is still on the grass.”

“Thank you, Rose. It is perfect,” I replied, slipping from the warmth of my bed. She poured the water, steam rising in delicate curls, and handed me a soft linen cloth.

I washed my face and hands, savoring the gentle fragrance. Rose brushed out my hair, her fingers deft and gentle, then tucked it beneath a simple linen cap. She helped me into a fresh shift and a loose morning gown of pale muslin, tying the sash with practiced care. A light shawl settled over my shoulders, and I slipped my feet into soft slippers.

“You look as fresh as the morning, miss,” Rose said, smoothing the folds of my gown. “If I may say so, I believe Lieutenant  Ashcombe thought the same last night. I have never seen a gentleman so taken.”

I felt warmth rise in my cheeks. “Rose, you must not tease.”

She smiled, her eyes kind. “It is not teasing if it is true. He scarcely looked away from you all evening.”

I tried to hide my smile as I glanced toward the window. “He is very charming.”

Rose handed me a pair of light gloves. “Charming, yes, but I think it is more than that. He watched you as if you were the only soul in the room.”

I pressed my lips together, uncertain how to answer. My heart fluttered at the memory of his laughter, the way his eyes had lingered on mine.

“Go on, miss,” Rose urged, opening the door. “The garden is yours this morning.”

I stepped into the corridor, the hush of the house broken only by the distant sounds of servants beginning their day. The garden awaited, bright with dew and the promise of sunlight. As I wandered among the roses, I looked up and caught sight of Lieutenant Ashcombe at an upstairs window, his gaze fixed on me with unmistakable admiration.

For a moment, the world seemed to pause. I smiled, and he inclined his head in silent greeting.

I wondered, not for the first time, why a man admired across Europe and the Americas would be so interested in me. There were countless women who would gladly have his company and full attention. Yet he had chosen to spend his evening with me, and I found myself drawn to him in ways I had never imagined. Even in my daydreams about romance, I had not prepared for the feeling that took hold when he spoke. I hung on to every word, amused and enchanted, and the memory of his laughter lingered in my heart.

The day had only just begun, yet already my spirit felt impossibly light.

The morning air was crisp as I returned from the garden, dew clinging to the hem of my muslin gown. Rose met me at the door, her hands full with a fresh shawl and a gentle smile. “Breakfast is served, miss. The house is bustling already.”

“Thank you, Rose,” I said, accepting the shawl as she draped it over my shoulders. “It seems there is hardly a quiet corner left.”

She grinned, tucking a stray curl beneath my cap. “There will be even less by this evening. The kitchen is in a state, and your stepmother has not sat down since dawn.”

I entered the breakfast room, where the sideboard was already laden with fresh bread, butter, preserves, cakes, eggs, and cold meats. The aroma of tea and coffee mingled with the scent of warm rolls. Footmen moved quietly about, refilling cups and arranging platters, while the kitchen staff could be heard in the distance preparing for the ball.

My stepmother sat at the table, her brow furrowed as she reviewed a list of tasks. Edmund stood near the window, speaking with my father, while Robert entered just behind them. He wore a tailored coat of deep blue, a crisp linen shirt, and pale breeches. His attire was elegant but not military, and I found him handsome in a way that seemed both effortless and expected for a man of his status.

Prudence was already seated, her posture perfect, her hands folded in her lap. Miss Finch stood just behind her, silent and watchful as always. Prudence’s gaze flickered to me, then to Robert, before she looked away with a practiced air of indifference.

“Good morning, Arabella,” Edmund called, waving me over. “You have perfect timing. We were just discussing the day’s plans.”

I took my seat, glancing at Robert as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “And what have you decided?” I asked, reaching for a slice of bread.

My father looked up from his newspaper. “Edmund intends to show Lieutenant Ashcombe the estate. A ride across the grounds, then perhaps a game of chess if the weather turns.”

Robert smiled, meeting my gaze. “I must also catch up with my correspondence. There are business matters from London that require attention.”

Edmund grinned, buttering a roll. “You will not escape a match with me, Ashcombe. I have improved since last we played.”

“I look forward to the challenge,” Robert replied, his eyes lingering on mine for a moment longer than necessary.

Prudence spoke, her tone measured as she reached for her tea. “I hope you will find the estate to your liking, Lieutenant  Ashcombe. The stables are well kept, and the gardens are considered quite fine.”

Robert inclined his head politely. “I am certain I shall, Miss Hawthorne. I have already admired the roses this morning.”

Miss Finch leaned in to whisper something to Prudence, who nodded without looking up. I caught the exchange and wondered, not for the first time, what secrets passed between them.

My stepmother set down her list with a sigh. “If you gentlemen require anything for your ride, speak to the stable master. The rest of us will be occupied with preparations.”

Rose entered quietly, pouring tea into my cup. “The gardeners are already at work, miss. The roses will be at their best for the ball.”

“Thank you, Rose,” I said, smiling at her. “I hope the weather holds.”

Edmund glanced at me, a playful glint in his eye. “Arabella, will you join us for the ride?”

I shook my head, returning his smile. “Not this morning. I promised to help with the flowers.”

Prudence lifted her chin, her voice cool. “I shall be in the drawing room after breakfast. Miss Finch, you may bring my embroidery.”

Miss Finch murmured, “Yes, miss,” and remained standing behind her chair.

Robert reached for another roll, his gaze drifting to me once more. “I hope you will save a dance for me at the ball, Miss Wycliffe.”

I felt my cheeks warm. “I should be very pleased, Lieutenant Ashcombe.”

Throughout breakfast, I found myself glancing at Robert, and more than once I caught him watching me. When our eyes met, a smile flickered between us, a silent exchange that felt as intimate as any whispered conversation. I was amused and delighted by his attention, and the warmth of it lingered long after the meal had ended.

After breakfast, the household dissolved into purposeful motion. Footmen hurried through the corridors with armfuls of linens, and the scent of beeswax and fresh flowers drifted from the drawing room. I excused myself and made my way to the morning parlor, where Rose was already unpacking baskets of roses, peonies, and sweet peas for the vases.

“Let us begin with the mantelpiece, Rose,” I said, selecting a pale pink bloom. “The guests will notice it first.”

Rose nodded, her hands gentle as she trimmed the stems. “It will be beautiful, miss. The house has not looked so fine in years.”

I smiled, arranging the flowers with care. The quiet was soon broken by the soft click of slippers on the polished floor. Prudence entered, Miss Finch trailing behind her as always.
Prudence paused by the table, her gaze cool. “You seem very industrious this morning, Arabella.”

I kept my tone light. “There is much to be done before the ball.”

She watched me for a moment, then set her embroidery basket on a nearby chair. “You must be quite pleased with yourself. It is not every day a gentleman of Lieutenant  Ashcombe’s standing devotes so much attention to a single lady.”

I looked up, surprised by the sharpness in her voice. “I do not know what you mean.”

Prudence’s lips pressed together. “You know precisely what I mean. You hung on his every word last night. It was as if you wished the entire house to see how taken you were.”

Heat rose in my cheeks, but I forced myself to remain calm. “I did nothing of the sort. Lieutenant  Ashcombe was polite, and I was merely being civil.”

She gave a small, dismissive laugh. “Civil? You were positively radiant. I suppose you think yourself quite accomplished, to have captured his notice so quickly.”

I set a vase firmly on the table. “You are mistaken, Prudence. I have no intention of throwing myself at anyone’s feet. If Lieutenant  Ashcombe wished for my company, it was his own choice.”

Prudence’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing more. She turned on her heel and swept from the room, Miss Finch following in her wake.

Rose glanced at me, her expression sympathetic. “Pay her no mind, miss. Jealous tongues wag the loudest.”

I let out a slow breath, returning my attention to the flowers. “Thank you, Rose. I would rather think of the ball than quarrel over imagined slights.”

As I arranged the last of the peonies, I caught a glimpse of Robert passing by the doorway, his gaze lingering on me for a heartbeat before he continued down the hall. The memory of his smile steadied me, and I resolved not to let Prudence’s words trouble the happiness I felt.

Rose watched me for a moment, then spoke softly as she arranged a cluster of sweet peas. “You must remember, Arabella, that real life is not like the love stories in your novels. Romance is rarely so simple. You are young, and it is easy to be swept away by a handsome gentleman’s attention. But you must be mature, and not naive. Keep your heart open to the idea of other suitors. Sometimes the best match is not the one that seems most enchanting at first.”

My stepmother’s voice echoed from the corridor, and she scolded the staff with sharp words. “If the guests see dust, it will be a disgrace. I expect perfection, not excuses.”

Rose leaned toward me and her eyes twinkled as she whispered, “She has the grace of a startled goose.”

I pressed my lips together and fought a smile. “She means well,” I said, though my sympathy was thin.

Rose shook her head and replied, “Meaning well is not the same as behaving well, miss.”

We carried our baskets into the morning parlor and sunlight spilled across the floor. Prudence and her maid stood in the corner and their heads were bent together as they whispered. Miss Finch glanced at us and her expression was wary.

Prudence straightened her skirts and she crossed the room with careful steps. Her gaze was fixed on Edmund and Robert, who were settling at the chess table.
“Edmund, I should like to watch your match,” Prudence said, and her voice was bright and almost too eager.

Edmund’s jaw tightened and he replied, “You may, if you promise not to distract us.”

Robert arranged the chess pieces and he said, “Chess requires concentration, Miss Hawthorne.”

Prudence took a seat beside Robert and she leaned in while her laughter was soft and her gaze lingered on him.

Lucy was arranging roses beside me and she shook her head. “Prudence has no regard for manners,” she whispered. “Nor for her mother’s nerves. She ought to help, not flirt.”

I glanced toward my stepmother and she paced the hall while wringing her hands. “She is panicking over everything under the sun,” I said quietly. “Prudence could ease her burden, but she prefers to chase attention.”

Edmund moved a pawn and his tone was clipped. “Prudence, perhaps you might assist your mother. She could use your help more than I need your advice on chess.”

Prudence’s smile faltered and she replied, “I am sure Mother is quite capable.”

Edmund’s eyes narrowed and he said, “Then let me concentrate.”
Prudence rose and her composure slipped as she swept from the room with Miss Finch trailing behind. The air felt lighter.

Rose grinned and she said, “That was well done.”
Rose placed the last peony in the vase and her expression was gentle. “Some people are best suited to watching, not helping.”

I smiled and I felt grateful for the quiet company of those who understood the difference.

I had just finished arranging the last of the flowers when a maid appeared at the doorway and announced that tea and cakes were being served in the drawing room. Rose was needed in the kitchen, so she pressed my hand and hurried away, her arms already full with linens.

I made my way to the drawing room, where sunlight fell in golden stripes across the carpet. Lady Wycliffe sat near the window, her posture composed as always, and Prudence was already in her place, her back straight and her expression unreadable. Lady Wycliffe’s maid moved quietly between us, offering delicate cups of tea and a plate of sweetmeats.

Prudence waited until the maid had stepped away, then spoke in a voice that carried just enough to be heard. “Mother, I do not understand why Arabella’s behavior around Lieutenant  Ashcombe is excused. If I were to act so freely, I am certain you would not be so forgiving.”

Lady Wycliffe set her cup down and regarded Prudence with a measured look. “I have not observed any inappropriate behavior, Prudence. Arabella has conducted herself with the decorum I expect from any young lady in this house.”

Prudence’s lips pressed together. “You never seem to notice when it is her.”

Her mother’s gaze did not waver. “I learned early in my marriage that I was not to intrude or act as if I am Arabella’s mother. Lord Wycliffe insisted I mind my own children, and that Miss Abernethy would serve as Arabella’s guide and companion. I have respected his wishes.”

Prudence looked away, her fingers tightening around her cup. The silence that followed was filled with the soft sounds of spoons against china and the distant hum of preparations elsewhere in the house.

I sipped my tea and glanced at the empty doorway, grateful for Rose’s quiet strength and the way she had always stood beside me, even when the house felt divided by invisible lines.

Prudence broke the silence, her voice sharper than before. “It is plain that Lord Wycliffe prefers Miss Abernethy to his own wife. He trusts her with Arabella and the household, while you are left to mind your own children.”

Lady Wycliffe’s expression did not change. “Miss Abernethy was the first Lady Wycliffe’s closest childhood friend, the daughter of her mother’s lady’s maid. Lord Wycliffe simply feels she would raise his older children as his first wife wished. He is trying to avoid any kind of jealousy, Prudence, by allowing me to devote my time solely to you, your brother, and your younger sister. In this, Lord Wycliffe has been wise.”

Prudence’s cheeks colored, and she looked down at her tea. “I am the better match for Lieutenant Ashcombe. He would do well to choose me.”

Lady Wycliffe’s tone remained calm. “There is no marriage market for you until Lord Wycliffe’s daughter is married first. Your time will come, Prudence. You must be patient.”

Prudence’s fingers tightened around her cup, and she spoke in a low, pointed voice. “Perhaps Lord Wycliffe prefers Miss Abernethy to his own wife. I would not be surprised if he sneaks about with her behind your back.”

Lady Wycliffe’s composure faltered for the first time. She set her cup down with a decisive click and fixed Prudence with a cold stare. “You will not speak so in my presence. I will not tolerate such disrespect, nor will I allow you to slander Lord Wycliffe or Miss Abernethy. I have never seen cause to doubt my husband’s honor, and I will not indulge in idle gossip or jealousy. You would do well to remember your place and show respect to those who have earned it.”

She drew a steady breath and continued, her voice softer but no less firm. “It is not uncommon for men of our station to form attachments outside marriage, but a wife’s dignity is found in her conduct, not in chasing shadows. I have chosen to trust my husband and to keep my household in order. You will do the same.”

The silence that followed was heavy, and I kept my gaze on my cup, the taste of tea lingering as the room settled into uneasy quiet.

Prudence’s maid, Miss Finch, stood behind her with narrowed eyes fixed on Lady Wycliffe. There was something in the woman’s gaze that unsettled me, and I found myself studying her as the silence stretched between us. My younger siblings had once tried to convince me that Miss Finch was a witch, though they had whispered the word with a mixture of fear and fascination. I had laughed at them then, but as I watched Miss Finch’s expression, I saw what they meant.

Her hair was the color of flame, wild and untamed beneath her cap, and her eyes were so pale a blue that at times I wondered if she had any irises at all. She had the look of an old blind woman, though she seemed to see everything with unnerving clarity. She wore only the darkest black, her dress severe and unadorned, as if she were a widow in perpetual mourning.
When Miss Finch’s eyes flickered toward me, I looked away quickly, my heart beating faster. There was something nearly evil in her presence, something that pressed at the edges of the room and made the air feel colder. I doubted she even had a soul, and if she did, it was as dark as night.

The silence lingered until Lady Wycliffe turned her gaze sharply to Prudence. “You have not conducted yourself with proper decorum around Lieutenant  Ashcombe, Prudence. I have observed your behavior, and it does not reflect well on you or this household.”

Prudence’s lips parted in protest, but her mother continued, her tone unwavering. “A young lady must remember her place, especially at a ball. You are to wait for a gentleman to request your hand for a dance, not seek his attention or linger at his side. Your conversation should be modest and pleasant, never forward or insistent. You must not single out one gentleman above the others, nor allow yourself to be seen as overly eager. Your reputation, and by extension the reputation of this family, depends on your restraint and your grace.”

Lady Wycliffe’s eyes flickered to Miss Finch, who stood behind Prudence with her hands folded and her expression unreadable. “And you, Miss Finch, would do well to remember your own station. I have noticed your influence, and I do not find it beneficial. Prudence would be better served by the example of a true lady, not by whispered encouragement to disregard the rules of polite society.”

Miss Finch’s pale eyes did not waver, but the air in the room seemed to grow colder.

Lady Wycliffe returned her attention to Prudence. “You will remember what I have said, and you will conduct yourself accordingly at the ball. I will not tolerate any further breaches of etiquette. It would be to your advantage to spend more time in Arabella’s company. You might observe what is required of a young lady of quality.”

A flush crept up Prudence’s cheeks, and she set her cup down with a trembling hand. “You are always inclined to favor her above your own children. It is plain to all. She is not even your daughter.”

Prudence then turned to me, her tone measured but her eyes bright with resentment. “Arabella, I would ask, for the sake of our sisterly bond, that you relinquish whatever hold you possess over Lieutenant Ashcombe.”

I met Prudence’s gaze with composure. “I assure you, Prudence, I have placed no hold upon Lieutenant Ashcombe. Any partiality he may display is of his own inclination. I shall not refuse his invitation to dance, but neither shall I make him my sole concern among the gentlemen present.”

Prudence’s lips pressed together. “He is interested only in your dowry.”

Lady Wycliffe’s reply was swift and cool. “Lieutenant  Ashcombe is of a family whose standing surpasses our own. If he sought a fortune, he would find it elsewhere, and with greater ease. A union between Lieutenant  Ashcombe and Arabella would bring distinction and advantage to this family. You will conduct yourself with restraint, Prudence, and permit matters to unfold as Providence intends.”

Prudence’s voice wavered. “My own portion is meager by comparison. I am not so worthy.”

Lady Wycliffe’s tone grew sharper. “You are not to trouble yourself with such matters. It is unseemly for a young lady to concern herself with finances. Attend instead to your conduct and your accomplishments, for these are the true measure of your worth.”

Prudence’s color deepened, and she looked away, her jaw set in silent defiance. The room settled into a brittle quiet, the tension lingering like a shadow across the tea table.

Miss Finch stepped forward, her presence as silent and unsettling as ever. Lady Wycliffe set her teacup down with a gentle clink and rose from her seat.

“It is time we prepare ourselves for the ball,” she announced, her voice composed and steady. She paused at the doorway and turned to me. “Arabella, you have shown admirable patience with your sister. I am grateful for your composure.”

Rose entered the room, her hands folded and her expression gentle. Lady Wycliffe offered her a nod. “Thank you, Miss Abernethy, for your assistance in preparing the house. I am grateful to you both for your help.”

With that, Lady Wycliffe swept from the room, her posture unyielding and her authority unquestioned. Rose stepped to my side, and together we left the drawing room, ready to retire to my quarters and begin preparations for the evening ahead.

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