Rosalind flinched. “No,” she stammered in horror, “I merely meant to point out that—”
“There is nothing prestigious about my daughter and her thirty thousand pounds marrying some country nobody,” the woman plowed on, fury bringing splotches of color to her normally pale cheeks. “He has no position, no respect among the ton. He is barely gentry.”
“I would think being a landowner is highly respected. And she will be very happy with him, as in love with him as she is. I know he is not an earl, but surely you must see that he is the best possible thing for her.”
“You know nothing, nothing at all, of the world we live in,” Mrs. Gladstow bit out. “Position is everything. You have seen for yourself that being some unimportant landowner does not come with any security, any prestige. Look where such a life has gotten you. Your own father, minor gentry as he was, was a wastrel and a drunk, who lost everything on a single hand of cards. It is a blessing the rest of your family died, that they do not pollute the land with more small people with small ideals and no honor to speak of.”
Fury exploded in Rosalind’s veins. She took a menacing step toward Mrs. Gladstow. “Don’t you ever speak of my family in such a manner again,” she spat. “Regardless of our lack of fortune, despite how far I have fallen in the world, my family was a sight better than you. And much better than that horrible reprobate you had planned on selling your own daughter to. I, for one, am overjoyed she escaped him.”
Mrs. Gladstow gaped. “You dare to disparage me? You dare to disparage Lord Ullerton, an earl, a peer of the realm?”
“I do dare it,” Rosalind shot back. “Earl or not, he is a horrible man. Your daughter is well rid of him. And that you were willing to sell her to him, all for a title, reflects poorly on you, madam.”
Mrs. Gladstow gaped at her. “How dare you talk to me in such a way?”
“I dare very well, thank you,” Rosalind replied, feeling the return of her spine now that her tongue had been given free rein. “You should be happy for your daughter. She is kind, and wonderful, and deserves every happiness in the world. She is in love and had the very great luck to fall in love with a man who adores her as well. Yes, she may never claim the status of a countess. She may never have a gilt carriage, or castles spread across Britain, or people fawning over her. But she will be loved, and she will be happy. You, with your small mind, cannot see that. You choose to lash out at me, a paid companion, because I did not somehow see into the future, to see into their hearts and prevent them from coming together. I will tell you, here and now, if I had seen what joy it would bring your daughter, I would have pushed for the match myself, you and your lauded ideas of status be damned.”
Mrs. Gladstow turned fuchsia. Rosalind thought she might keel over on the spot.
“You will get out of my home this instant,” the older woman hissed.
She was glad of it, Rosalind told herself fiercely. She could not stand to stay under this woman’s roof one moment longer. She could not wait to be free of her and her cruelty.
Even so, Rosalind felt her world tilt on its axis. For, despite her brave thoughts, utter helplessness seeped through her bones, and a fear so potent she could taste it.
But she would be damned if she would let Mrs. Gladstow see how it affected her. Drawing on every ounce of pride she possessed, she straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. “With pleasure,” she pronounced, and turned for the door.
Before she could reach it, however, it opened. The housekeeper stood there, her face a blank mask. In her hands was Rosalind’s bag.
“Miss Merriweather’s things,” the woman mumbled, “as you requested, ma’am.”
Rosalind turned to Mrs. Gladstow, who looked as if she’d swallowed a lemon. “You have had my things fetched,” Rosalind murmured, sarcasm heavy in her voice. “How kind of you, for you have saved me a trip. Please do extend my farewell and good wishes to your daughter. I’m sure she will understand my abrupt leave-taking. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall see myself out.”
Without another look at her employer she marched for the door, stopping only to take her bag from the housekeeper. Before she could quite understand what was happening she was on the street, the door slamming behind her with a dark finality.
There was a horrible moment of true panic then. What had she done? Why couldn’t she have shut her mouth, dropped to her knees, and begged forgiveness? But she silenced those poisonous thoughts with brutal will, drawing on that small part of her that was still perfectly lucid, the voice of reason she had drawn on in the most difficult times of her life. Mrs. Gladstow had chosen her to blame, had already made the decision to cast her out. The outcome had been set in stone before Rosalind had even opened her eyes that morning. Drawing her shredded pride around her like a cloak, she pulled her shoulders back, gripped her bag all the tighter, and strode forward down the busy Mayfair street. The household might very well be watching her departure; she would give them nothing to gossip about. Or, at least, nothing more than they already had.
She drew in a shaky breath to relieve the tightness in her chest, hefting her bag higher in her arms. First thing first, she should head to the registry office. The sooner she put her name down as available to work, the sooner she would find a position to support herself. Governess, lady’s maid, even chamber maid, she didn’t really care at this point, as long as she had a roof over her head and food in her belly.
Which meant, of course, she would have to hail a hansom cab. Something that would require her to dip into the meager funds she had managed to squirrel away over the years.
A cold feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Even as she turned the corner, her steps faltered. What if, in the packing of her belongings, the housekeeper had “conveniently” forgotten to pack her savings? It would not be the first time she had been stolen from, and she doubted it would be the last. Even so, before she got too far she’d best take a look in her bag.
Heaving a disgusted sigh, she propped her bag on an obliging fence and opened it, rummaging through the hastily packed items, her only belongings in the world. She found the bag she kept her funds in, the one usually hidden at the bottom of her unmentionables. A quick shake of the purse told her coins were present. Even so, she yanked it open, taking a quick peek inside to determine all was as it should be.
Relief flowed through her. It appeared all was in order. Even so, she could not be too careful. She would see to it that the coins in her reticule had not been disturbed, either. For in her dire straits, every penny counted.
The small embroidered reticule, one of her mother’s things she had been able to salvage after her father had lost even the clothes on their backs, was at the very bottom of the bag. She dragged it through the tangle of stockings and dresses and chemises, pulled at the drawstring opening, reached inside.
Yes, the coins were there, clinking merrily in the bottom. But as she extracted her hand, her fingers brushed against something hard. Frowning, she reached for the unknown object, pulling it out of bag. It was a small ivory card, covered in elegant script.
Grace, Lady Belham.
Ah, yes. The woman from the ball the night before.