Chapter Four

Carlotta glanced about her room, still shocked that it had been assigned to someone under employ. The large bed boasted the softest feather mattress and the light blue of the walls gave the room a relaxing atmosphere. How strange, she thought, to feel so at ease in a duke’s private residence. She almost laughed out loud, if not for the tiny fear that someone might hear. She walked to the dressing table and sat. In short work, she unbound and re-twisted her hair into a respectable and much tidier knot at the back of her head. A wave of sadness crashed over her at the remembrance that there would be no season for her, no beautiful gowns, no gentlemen asking for dances, no stolen kisses. But at least she wouldn’t go hungry, and with any luck, Mr. Burrows would find a tenant for Garden Gate. No, she would be thankful for small blessings, for the small blessings added up into large ones. Indeed, things could be far worse.

A knock on her door brought her head up and she rose. “Yes?”

“It is I, Mrs. Pott, dear. Your belongings just arrived,” the housekeeper answered as she let herself into the room.

“Thank you.”

“I, er…” Mrs. Pott stuttered, her cheerful face slightly pinched in concern. “I’m afraid some of your clothes were, shall we say, damaged, in some sort.”

“Yes, I’m aware. It was why I was hesitant for you to collect them. You see, on my way to London, my trunk fell and opened on impact. My dresses and—other things—didn’t manage too well against the mud on the road.” Carlotta felt her face flush with humiliation.

“You poor dear! How wretched! I’ll have them laundered and pressed at once. Whatever can’t be salvaged we shall discard and I’ll endeavor to have new dresses made to replace them.”

“There’s no need, I’m sure what I have will suffice.” The last thing she wanted was to be an imposition.

“Oh fustian! Remember, my dear, your employer is the duke. We cannot have you looking like you work for anyone less.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought—”

“Not to worry, dear. You’ll get used to it. Now, shall I introduce you to the girls?”

“Yes.” Carlotta exhaled a sigh of relief.

“Very well, follow me and I’ll take to you them.”

Carlotta followed Mrs. Pott’s plump figure down the hall and to the left. It was oddly quiet for there being three children about. She expected Mrs. Pott to lead her to another floor, but rather, she paused in front of a large wooden door and knocked softly. Carlotta watched her expression soften. “Girls? I’ve your new governess with me.”

The door cracked open slightly. Two very large brown eyes glanced out warily.

“Yes m’um.” The door continued to open.

Mrs. Pott cut a glance to Carlotta, speaking volumes. She would need to tread carefully.

They entered a large salon decorated in a cream color. A cheery fire danced in the hearth, but the tone, the overall feeling of the room was one of despair. Carlotta focused on the two other girls sitting together on the settee, holding hands. The third girl joined them shortly. Clearly older, she placed a protective arm around the other two as she watched their approach with careful consideration.

It was apparent they were all sisters. Three pairs of chocolate colored eyes were all framed in dark feathery eyelashes. Wide lips were thinned in a wary line and their chestnut hair was plaited neatly and in a similar fashion. In all truth, they looked like the very same girl but in different stages of life. The youngest couldn’t be older than seven and the middle one looked to be about ten or eleven. The oldest was perhaps fourteen but that was uncertain. She was in the first bloom of a young lady but her eyes seemed older, wiser. Pained.

“Beatrix, Bethanny, Roberta? This is Miss Standhope. She is to be your governess,” said Mrs. Pott by way of introduction.

“Berty, my name is Berty,” the youngest corrected with a scowl before being hushed by her older sister.

“Yes, well.” Mrs. Pott tried to hide a grin.

“Hello, sweet girls. I’m pleased to meet you.” Carlotta spoke quietly. Then on impulse, she took a few steps to get closer. Crouching down, she met them at eye level. “Truly, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. You’re all entirely lovely and I’m sure we’ll get along quite well.”

Berty, the youngest, smiled, revealing a missing front tooth. However, the older two simply nodded, their expressions inscrutable.

“I’ll leave you to get acquainted. Dinner will be shortly.” Mrs. Pott left, closing the door behind her.

“Now then, can you please tell me which of you is Beatrix and which one is Bethanny?” Carlotta asked, standing.

“I’m Beatrix,” the middle girl stated, her voice was deeper than Carlotta expected, a true mezzo.

“I’m Bethanny,” the oldest spoke next, her voice clear and pure.

“I’m Carlotta but you must call me Lottie. It’s ever so much easier than Carlotta,” she said with a grin.

“I like you,” Berty stated.

“Well I like you as well.” Carlotta reached out and patted the girl’s shoulder tenderly. “So, why don’t you tell me a little about yourselves? Bethanny? Would you start please?”

“Well, I’m sixteen. I’m fond of reading and have done quite well with my embroidery.”

“How ladylike.”

“Thank you. Momma—”

She stopped, her eyes darting to her lap as she bit her lower lip. The two other girls took similar postures.

“Your mother? Was embroidery important to her?” Carlotta went out on a limb, hoping she wasn’t hurting their fragile relationship.

“Yes,” came a low whisper.

“You know, I lost my parents as well when I was about your age, Bethanny,” said Carlotta, keeping her voice gentle.

All three girls gave her their rapt attention, pain and understanding clear on their faces.

“Really?” Beatrix asked.

“Yes, they took ill. My mother died of pneumonia and my father took to his bed shortly after. I think perhaps, he didn’t know how to live without my mother. He died about a month after her. “

“That’s horrid.” said Berty.

“It was indeed.”

“What did you do?” asked Beatrix.

“I wept…a lot. Tears clean your soul, you know. They help wash away the pain. And with time, the pain becomes less and less. You forget how sad you are and remember how happy you were when they were alive.”

“I miss Momma and my father too,” Berty confided.

“I’m sure you do.” Carlotta reached up and smoothed a stray lock of chestnut hair on the child’s head. “But you’re not truly alone. You have your sisters. And together you can all remember all the lovely things about your parents that made them so special. And as you get older, you can share the most delicious secrets together, and encourage one another.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Bethanny said, a thoughtful expression flitting across her beautiful face.

“It is true.”

“Do you have sisters, Miss Lottie?” Beatrix asked.

“No. I always wished I did. So you see how lucky you are?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. Now. Tell me about yourself, Beatrix.” Carlotta coaxed.

“I’m eleven, and I hate to read. I’d much rather be outside. I love riding but…” She leaned forward as if to impart some great secret.

Carlotta leaned in, an indulgent smile tickling her lips.

“I hate sidesaddle. Father let me ride astride, like a boy!”

“Heavens!” Carlotta feigned shock, her lips spreading into a grin.

“Truly! But he always said as I grew older I’d need to learn sidesaddle.” She pouted.

“That’s wise.”

Beatrix regarded Carlotta with a curious expression. “Do you ride sidesaddle?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then you can teach me.” She nodded.

“I’m sure there will be a great many things we’ll learn from each other.” Carlotta replied. “Now then, little Berty, your full name is Roberta, correct?”

“Yes, but I hate it. Roberta.” She said the name in a whine. “It’s just a boy’s name with an ‘a’ at the end. Honestly, couldn’t Mother think of a proper girl’s name for me? They said they were glad I was a girl but I think they wanted a boy. You know, to name him Robert. They were stuck with me so they just added an ‘a’ to the end.”

“My.” Carlotta blinked, not quite sure how to address such a statement. “I’m sure your parents were thrilled to have another girl. And, I’ll have you know, Roberta is quite a popular name for a girl. You’re parents didn’t just make it up on a whim.”

“That’s what I keep telling her.” Bethanny rolled her eyes.

“I still don’t like it. Call me Berty, please.”

“Fine, Miss Berty. You know, you even look like a Berty, now that I think of it.”

“I always thought so too.” The seven-year-old nodded sagely.

“Now then, shall I tell you about myself?” Carlotta asked the girls.

“Yes!” Berty shouted while the other two nodded.

“Well, I’m a bit older than your oldest sister, so I’ll have plenty to teach you. I’m versed in Latin, French, and all the other studies you’ll need to learn. But also of equal importance, I’ll be teaching you how to be ladies of quality. Was your father titled?”

“Yes, he was a baron,” Bethanny said.

“So was my father,” Carlotta spoke before thinking.

“Then why—” Bethanny’s expression was confused.

“It’s not important. You are now the wards of a very powerful and influential duke. You’ll need to be properly trained in the ways of the London elite.”

“Will we go to balls?” Beatrix asked, her eyes alight.

“I’m sure you will.”

“And drink champagne?” Berty said enthusiastically.

“When you’re much older. So you see, you have so many wonderful things to look forward to.”

“I suppose.” Bethanny nodded with a thoughtful expression.

A knock sounded at the door. “Yes?” Carlotta answered.

Murray entered. “Dinner is served.”

“Lovely. Thank you.” Carlotta stood, her charges mimicking her movements.

“Let’s follow Mr. Murray while he escorts us to dinner.”