Tea with Rosa Gavenor

Rosa Gavenor waited for the butler to return and conduct her upstairs to the duchess who had commanded her presence. The double duchess, they called her in the ton, for she had been the wife of the Duke of Haverford for long enough that her son was a man entering his middle years when he inherited the title.

The duchess married again shortly after the end of her period of morning, becoming the Duchess of Winshire.

Rosa had been raised in isolation as the daughter of a gentleman who was librarian to a baron. She had never met even a single duchess, let alone a lady august enough to be chosen as wife by two dukes, one after the other.

This was without a doubt the most scary thing she had done during her visit to London.

She had been nervous about the visit, but determined to be a credit to her beloved husband. She had the wardrobe to look like a prosperous gentleman’s wife. She had purchased several afternoon gowns, two carriage ensembles, and a ball gown in Liverpool, at the same modiste who made her wedding gown and the other clothes that Hugh had ordered for her before they were married.

Hugh said what she had would be inadequate for a month in London, and appealed to the Countess of Ruthford, wife of Hugh’s beloved colonel, whom everyone except his wife called Lion.

Lady Ruthford agreed, and offered to take Rosa to her own modiste. Before the shopping trip was over, Rosa and Dorothea, the countess, were firm friends.

Then came the invitations. Hugh was far more popular, and have deeper connections into the upper reaches of the ton, than Rosa had realised. She had her own connection, of a sort, too. The Marquess of Raithby recognised her as a sort of a sister, since her aunt had been his father’s long-term mistress, much loved by both the marquess and his children.

Rosa very quickly found other married women she liked, and soon had invitations that did not depend on Hugh’s connections or those of the marquess. While much of the ton was as standoffish and smug as Hugh always said, he was correct, too, that people were people, no matter their status in life. She could ignore the self-centred and cruel, and enjoy those who were prepared to be friends.

What sort of a contact would the duchess prove to be? It didn’t matter. Hugh was doing business with the Duke of Haverford and with the Earl of Sutton, Winshire’s son and heir. As his wife, Rosa must make a good impression, or at the very least, not make a bad one.

Knowing how important this meeting was did not make the waiting any easier. It was only a few minutes, but it seemed like an age before the butler returned, and invited Rosa to follow him.

The elegant and expensive decor was unusual for an English house, reminding Rosa that the duke had spent many years in the east. She did not have time to examine it, though, for the butler hurried up the staircase and along a wide hallway to an elegant parlour.

As soon as she saw the duchess’s smile, Rosa knew her worries were for nothing.

“My dear Rosa… may I call you Rosa? I feel that I know you, with what my god son, dear Raithby, has said. Come and sit down, my dear. Tell me all about yourself, and how I can help you and your dear husband.”

Rosa’s love story with Hugh (aka Bear) Gavenor is in Grasp the Thorn, free this month.

The right (or the wrong) clothes on WIP Wednesday

 

People say it shouldn’t matter, but it does. When you know you are well dressed, in clothes that suit you and that are suitable for the occasion, you can relax and enjoy yourself. Clothing that gives a character confidence, or clothing that doesn’t work, is often a feature of a story, making us sympathetic to the character or showing some aspect of their personality.

So this week, I’m looking for extracts that describe what your character is wearing and how they feel about it. Mine is from House of Thorns.

As her betrothed assisted her into his chaise on Sunday morning, Rosa was conscious of two conflicting emotions. One was relief that she could leave the house for long enough to attend the church service, since the new maids had shown themselves both willing and able to look after her father in her absence. The other was trepidation. She and Bear would be the center of attention once the banns were read for the first time. The Pelmans and the Thrextons would find something to censure, made up or real, and they had their supporters in the village.

I would feel more confident if I had something suitable to wear, she thought.

Bear had dressed for the occasion, pale breeches and stockings, a dark blue coat over an embroidered waistcoat with a creamy froth of lace at neck and cuff. He didn’t favor the excesses they showed in the fashion magazines she sometimes saw at the village shop, but the materials were of the best quality and beautifully cut to fit his frame.

Rosa’s Sunday-best gown had had more than six years of use, new clothes being a luxury the Neathams could not afford after the new Lord Hurley stopped the pension the former Lord Hurley had once paid. She had tried to keep it from dirt and harm, but six years is more than 300 Sundays, even allowing for those when she could not find anyone to sit with her father and had to miss services.

Turning the back panel to move the shiny spot, carefully mending tears, and cutting off the cuffs to replace them with a band taken from another gown could not disguise the fact that her Sunday-best would be a Monday-washday gown for almost any other woman in the parish.

Next to Bear, she looked like a pauper, which was not far from the truth.