The Duke Wrote Ten Rules for the Wife He Would Choose — She Broke Every One Before the Hunt Ball
Chapter 9
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She folded the copy of the trust account very small and put it into the bodice of her gray silk gown. Then she went down to the estate office, because the last book was not yet finished, and she had been paid for every book in the room.The hunt ball began at 9:00. The ballroom at Raxford smelled of beeswax, hothouse lilies, and 200 people waiting for something to happen. The hunt had come in from three counties: the men in scarlet, the women in white and primrose and blue. Chandeliers burned overhead, 400 candles each, and the long mirrors gave them back twice over.Rosamund wore the gray silk; it was the only gown she had. She had not reached the third pillar before her aunt found her. Lady Sedgwick had Mrs. Wexford on one side and Miss Wexford on the other, and a little crowd of mothers had gathered at the edge of the floor to watch."You are not dancing tonight, Rosamund," said her aunt, not quietly. "You are going up to pack.""Is Miss Penrose leaving us?" asked Miss Wexford, all sympathy."Miss Penrose has been earning her bread in His Grace's estate office," said Lady Sedgwick. "For money, like a clerk. I could not keep her under the same roof as my daughter a day longer if I wished it. She goes to Harrogate in the morning."The music had not yet begun. Everybody within 20 feet had heard. Rosamund watched the faces turn. She had expected this; she had expected it from the moment she read the letter. She had not expected to feel so calm."That is quite true, Aunt," she said. "His Grace paid me 40 guineas to find £1,300 that his bailiff had stolen. I found it. I think it was a better bargain than anybody else in this room has made this season."Silence. It spread from the pillar outward across the floor.Miss Wexford tried once more: "A lady does not take wages, Miss Penrose.""No," said Rosamund. "A lady takes an allowance from her niece's trust every quarter day for eight years, and tells her niece what she costs."She did not raise her voice; she did not need to. She drew the folded paper from her bodice and held it out to her aunt."£480, Aunt," she said. "I was allowed one candle."Lady Sedgwick did not take the paper. She looked at it, and then her face did a thing Rosamund had never seen it do in eight years: it came apart—not in tears, in arithmetic.Rosamund watched her aunt understand, quarter by quarter, sum by sum, that the account had been read and could not be unread, and that it had been read aloud in a ballroom.She did not cry. She had spent the only tears she meant to spend in that house the night before in the library."I believe the musicians are waiting," said Rosamund.And they were. The leader of the band had his bow raised, watching the head of the room where the Dowager Duchess sat in purple velvet. The Dowager was watching the Duke.