Chapter Two,

Lambert House

I've just formally completed my schooling at St. Mary's, whereupon I return to Lambert House with Charlotte. Apparently, Mrs. Audley wrote the same letter to five other girls, so six of us are to have audiences with Her Majesty the Queen. The other girls, who were also young ladies at our school, were to be Bridget Stone—a blonde-haired, blue-eyed, quiet girl who was sixteen; Katherine Andrews—a red-haired beauty who was seventeen; Mary Michaels—a poor girl with black hair who was only fourteen; and, lastly, Jane Astley—a rather loud girl with green eyes who was sixteen.

I didn't know where the other four girls were housed, but Charlotte and I remained at Lambert House with her parents, Lord James and Lady Mary. They were such kindly people that one could easily forget that you yourself were not a Lambert at all, but merely an accepted interloper into the family. It was a comfort, knowing that I had the opportunity not to always return home during the holidays, and now that school was over, I hoped that the Lamberts would continue to want to see me when times arose for it.

Lydia was due to begin St. Mary's that autumn, but remained in Ipswich with Jane and her husband, Robert, after returning from Cambridge with Lydia and their parents. Lydia was there to assist with Jane's upcoming birth. The youngest Lambert, however, was not missed much in the household, for her letters would arrive promptly at teatime twice a week. She would go on and on about the 'distant land' and society there, and though I knew Lord James and Lady Mary worried for her well-being, they knew she was sensible enough not to make a complete fool of herself.

The respite from school, now that our education was seemingly completed, was much appreciated for Charlotte and I. We would talk at length about the literature that we were required to read, whereas the books we preferred. We had even come up with some stories of our own, although putting pen to paper seemed to be more difficult than we had ever imagined. While Charlotte admired damsels in the worst of distressful situations, I much preferred independent women who could manage to get themselves out of danger. Such heroines that I admired seemed to be few and far between, and then frustration set in when I did not have many models to make my own characters with. It all came down to what was popular, and if I could not find it, it must not be. Even though the Lamberts had a lovely library—in both of their houses—it became monotonous to constantly look for something that never wanted to materialize.

After three weeks of waiting—and three weeks of failing to discover and create a worthy heroine—Charlotte whispered to me that she had heard why we were being summoned to the queen. Apparently, the queen had three positions of lady in waiting available, and we were among the chosen. I couldn't understand why six schoolgirls were to be among the participants, and yet I was sure that the best could be made of the situation. It all seemed rather shocking, to say the least, when no formal date was given on the invitation.

The three ladies that weren't chosen would be married off to a gentleman of the queen's choosing, which promptly set a lump in my throat. I quickly became fearful that the queen would not like me, and a direct copy of Miss Minchin. I felt I would be subjected to marrying an old man, old and withered enough to be my great-grandfather, who could not walk, let alone speak properly. Charlotte told me not to worry, however, for even though the queen had been a widow for many years, the queen had a romantic heart and would never subject anyone to an unfortunate match.

I debated writing George, to demand if he knew of this arrangement. I decided against it, however, because I didn't want to risk his chances of a knighthood, so soon after the proclamation had been issued. With George becoming a knight and with my vast inheritance, perhaps the queen would be prepared to be generous when it came to my marriage. Perhaps I would, in time, find love with the man she'd selected for me.

Although, of course, the small grain of hope grew in my mind that I would end up being selected by the queen. Perhaps she would like me enough to keep me in her company, and not have me married off so quickly. To serve any monarch is a great honor, I knew that, and perhaps the honor would be mine. I found myself at prayer every evening before I went to sleep, begging to be chosen by the queen. I felt a bit devilish in doing so, for even though I was within my rights, I did not wish to take the opportunity away from another girl who may need such a position.

In the days that followed, Henry came home for a respite from Cambridge. He and I really didn't say anything to one another, and I'd planned to keep it that way. My childish feelings of dread for him could not be spoken of, and I was positive that Henry had whispered to others of our kiss. Perhaps Henry had embellished it, and had not informed his friends of the fact that I'd not enjoyed it at all. Bile would rise in my throat whenever I considered that day, and I wondered if someone could absolve me of this absolute wretchedness that I felt. I caught him staring at me more than once from across the dinner table, and though it was the only time I really saw him, I prayed that I would not accidentally wander into an abandoned corridor, only to find him walking towards me.

I was in the grand library of Lambert House one afternoon, successfully finding a quiet place to finish Ida Brandt. I had nearly forgotten about finding a model for a worthy heroine, and instead, attempted to dissuade my mind against overthinking what had happened with Henry. He couldn't have been thinking overtly about it, I decided to myself, and, therefore, neither should I. Perhaps he truly didn't breathe a word of it, and perhaps it really could be forgotten.

I'd just finished the last line of the last page when the door opened from behind me and Henry entered the library. To say I found myself stiffening automatically was an understatement, and I had to keep a good grip upon my book to prevent myself from losing control and dropping it. I'd not been with him on my own since that day in the gardens, and now, just after I'd turned sixteen, it was most unsuitable thing indeed. I lowered my eyes and attempted to get out of there, memorizing the old cracks in the wooden floor, counting them as I neared the door, but his arm came out and gripped mine.

My breath caught in my throat as I gasped aloud at this impropriety. "Sir, this is most improper. A gentleman should never grab a lady like this."

Henry reached out and tilted my chin up, my curiosity becoming the better of me as I raised my eyes to his. He hesitated for a moment, taking in my eyes, full of fear, and my cheeks, which were becomingly flushed. "You're beautiful."

My cheeks flamed an ugly red under his scrutiny and I wanted desperately to tear myself away from him and run from the room, so as to preserve my reputation—or what was left of it, anyway. I bit my lip to keep it from trembling, and held myself still, not wanting to give him the benefit of seeing me fearful at his impertinent gaze upon me. What he was doing was rendering me undignified, and I wholly resented him for it.

"Sir, I beg you…"

He dropped my arm and sighed. "I apologize. I shouldn't have."

I feel my face blanch white at his willingness to turn me lose so quickly, and yet I stood my ground, poised, waiting to see if he would make a worthy attempt to grab me again. "You're right," I say, stepping away. "You should not have," I continue as I manage to evade him. "Please excuse me."

Henry blinks, seeing my discomfort as he turns to follow me. "Perhaps you will join me for a turnabout the garden later, Miss Crewe?"

I raise my eyes towards the door; he is directly behind me, and while he cannot see my face, he could still hear the contempt in my voice clear as day. "No, thank you sir…" I said, through my teeth, trying and failing not to sound angered.

"Does such a thing revolt you?" Henry asked, moving about and managing to stand before me again. "Can't think why..."

"Do excuse me…" I say again.

Henry makes a grab for me again and holds me there, so as I am unable to come or go as I please. "Speak to me, Sara," he says intimately. "Why can you not bear to look at me?"

"I'll not speak to you!" I shout then, yanking away from him. "Such a thing does revolt me, sir!"

"How can it?" he asks, his voice deathly calm. "I've not seen you in quite some time... Have I offended you? You've not written me back..."

"That is because I had nothing to say," I reply firmly.

I feel the bile rise in my throat again as I managed to evade him again and wretch the door open. I dashed from the library, my book crashing from my hands as I flew through the doors, nearly tripping over it as I attempted to evade Henry at all costs. I ran down the rest of the expansive corridor and soon found Charlotte's suite of rooms, throwing open the doors to the sitting room and gasping outright at what I saw.

There, by her window, was Richard Preston, son of a minor lord, in Charlotte's arms, sunlight creeping through the clouds to shine on them, almost as if the heavens were blessing them. I remembered Richard, who was studying law with Henry at university, and I realized then that he must have returned to Lambert House with him. The pair had not noticed me, standing with my mouth unbecomingly agape in the now open doorway, and Charlotte was willingly returning Richard's kiss.

"Charlotte!" I cried out, and only then did she let out a shriek and pull away from Richard, who, to his credit, looked quite humbled. "Sir Richard, I think it would be best if you went to the library…"

"Yes, Miss Crewe," he said without hesitation, head bowed as he left the room and journeyed back down the corridor to find his friend.

I felt myself shaking, watching as Richard left. "What if your parents got wind of this?" I hissed at her in fright, shutting the doors behind Richard and advancing upon her. "They would be most angry…"

"My mother has gone to Ipswich," Charlotte replied levelly, almost as if it did not matter one way or another. "Jane is to have her baby any day now, and she'll need to be there anyway to collect Lydia."

"Well, I suppose," I said, hesitation lingering at the back of my tone. "But what about your father?"

Charlotte leaned against the back wall of her sitting room. "He has parliament this morning," she said softly, and I remembered that newly-elected Lord James sat in the House of Lords.

I sighed, placing my hands upon one of her chairs for support. "Be that as it may, we need to have a conversation about Henry," I say, crossing the room to her and pulling her into the window seat across from me.

At once, Charlotte seemed interested at the rather unexpected mention of her older brother's name. "Henry? What about my brother? Is he unwell?"

I sigh, feeling my shoulders slack as I attempted to put words to my never-ending cycle of thoughts. "He seems to have been under the impression that he can simply order me about as he pleases. Yes, he is master when your parents are gone, but I am not his to bend willingly. It was most inappropriate and abhorrent..."

"Not his to bend willingly?" Charlotte asked. "What did he ask of you?"

I tear my hands away from hers, my thoughts swimming in discomfort. "More time alone," I said bitterly.

Charlotte raised her eyebrows, immediately catching at my hands again. "And you do not…?"

I nod, cutting her off, the very thought revolting me to no end. "No, I most certainly do not bear strong feelings for Henry, although he would have me believe otherwise…"

"Sara?" Charlotte says quietly, proceeding to search my face. "Is something the matter?" she asks.

I sigh, biting my lip as I turn to look outside. It had not been snowing these past few weeks; rather, frost completely covered the tops of various buildings around us; the very notion that the sun had come out at all that day had been shocking to me. Gripping Charlotte's hands, I leaned forward slightly as I turned back to face her, fearing that all the walls had ears and I did not want to risk anyone hearing these next words.

"Sara?" she asked again.

I lower my eyes, fearing what her face would turn into once the truth was finally spoken. "Last summer, at Lambert Manor, Henry kissed me."

Charlotte pulled away then, gasping aloud. "That day he was on the grounds playing tennis?" she asked.

I nodded. "Yes, that very day."

"I should not have left you alone whilst I got lemonade," Charlotte says, fully prepared to admonish herself.

"I cannot drink it anymore," I reply softly. "Since that day, it leaves such a bitter taste in my mouth..."

"I am sorry for it." She shook her head and sighed. "Well, perhaps other prospects will be given to you once we meet the queen."

I shake my head. "It seems as if he knows of my displeasure… I believe someone may have informed him of it…"

Charlotte bowed her pale brown head and shook her head. "I apologize, Sara. I merely mentioned it in passing when he was leaving for school at the end of the Thanksgiving holidays. It was not a wise thing to do, and I've betrayed your confidence, and for that, I apologize."

I nod. "I understand, Charlotte. He is your brother, and should be answered when he questions you."

"I should not have betrayed your trust, Sara," she says simply.

"No matter," I reply, waving it away. A smile flits at my mouth then, and I find myself asking, "Do you love Sir Richard?"

Charlotte let out a small giggle. "I don't know…"

I immediately sense there's more to the story, and I eagerly sit forward. "Is he the only boy you've ever kissed?"

She giggled again. "Yes. You've been at my side since I was twelve, Sara, and you would know such things."

I nod, considering Richard. "His father... He could not be Lord Harold Preston, could he?"

"Yes," Charlotte replies, flushing at the notion of us discussing Richard. "Lord Preston sits in the House of Lords with Father."

I cock my head to one side, considering her mannerisms at length for a moment and find myself wondering... "Could you love him?" I ask her.

Charlotte takes a moment to answer. "Yes," she replies. "Yes, I think I could love Sir Richard until my last breath. As you despise my brother, my feelings for Sir Richard are quite the opposite."

I gasped, slightly hurt. "I never outright despised Henry, Charlotte."

She smiles. "I see how deep your feelings run, Sara. I can see your displeasure for my brother. I know it is there, despite the fact that you have not permitted yourself to say a word about it. I know you very well."

I giggle for a moment as I consider it. "Yes. I suppose I do despise Henry very much. I find him to be very ill-mannered, I'm afraid..."

Charlotte nods, considering, regarding me for a moment. "And what is it you want in a husband?"

I shake my head, for I'd never really considered such a thing, not even when I was a very little girl. "I want to be loved… I want respect, and common courtesy, and… Oh, so many things, Charlotte."

She nods, a smile flitting about her mouth as she takes in my words, and she nods in agreement. "I know."

"I do not believe Henry is the proper man for me, Charlotte," I confess in the interim, and hope that she does not hate me for it.

"I believe you're correct in that assessment," she replies.

There is a knock at the door then, and Maude, one of the maids, comes in. She hesitates for a moment in the doorway, her cheeks as pale as her white starched apron tied about her middle. "Your brother, Master Henry is coming in, Miss Lambert, Miss Crewe. I've got a letter to you from your mother."

Charlotte's eyes widen as she immediately gets to her feet and darts quickly towards Maude, thanking her profusely and getting the letter just as Henry and Sir Richard come in. "It is from our mother," she tells Henry shortly before opening the letter, her dark eyes reading its contents quickly. "God be praised!" she whispers as she looks up at her brother. "Lord be thanked! You and I have got a nephew!" she cries.

"Jane's had a son?" Henry asks, grinning.

"A fine boy!" Charlotte cries, looking at the letter again and scanning it as quickly as possible—for she always was a fast reader. "He's to be christened Robert John Matthews at the end of the month."

"God be praised," I whisper, crossing myself, and I notice that Henry turns to look on me for a moment, before marching across the room towards me.

I go numb then, and there seems to be a moment before he hesitates, before making up his mind fully. Henry then gently takes my arm and takes me out of there, despite Maude's protests of propriety, and takes me down the stairs to the landing and then across to the drawing room. I've never been in there before and wander to the window to look outside at this part of London down as he shuts the doors behind us.

"I must speak to you, Sara."

I turn back to him, knowing that I must strive to be polite and well-mannered in all things, although it pained me to do so. "Sir, please excuse me for my rude exit from the library," I said, not meaning a word of it. "My manners were put to the test, and I am humiliated to admit that I failed." I sigh, shaking my head. "I wanted to inform you that I…"

"Only my well-meaning sister decided to tell me for you." He sighs, moving to stand opposite me upon the step before reaching outwards and taking my hands. "I stand to inherit this place, although unfortunately the country house will go to William, as the eldest child." He hesitates for a moment, allowing his fingers to caress my knuckles. "That country house has such a distinct meaning to me, as it was where you and I…" He lets out a nervous chuckle then, and I see then that he is treating carefully. "Well, we shall not speak of that, and I want you to know that I do not blame you."

"Thank you," I reply, wanting more than anything to snatch my hands away from his and to dash away once more.

He smiles at my apparent gratitude, not releasing my hands. "I think very highly of you, Sara, and I don't want you to think otherwise. To be honest, I've never met another lady more worthy of being a Lady Lambert after my mother."

I smile at that. "I thank you, but I could not be Lady Lambert, unless I was given in marriage to your brother William." I drop his hands. "However, I am not looking for someone merely to think highly of me, Master Henry."

"Whatever more could you ever want?" he asks, as if I am an imbecile.

I smile up at him, truly thinking that he is the imbecile for not understanding me at all. "Don't you know?"

He shakes his head. "No, I'm afraid not."

I nod to myself. "Well, then I am afraid that you and I no longer have anything to discuss. Until or unless you ever know what I am speaking of, then you and I shall keep our relationship a strictly professional one," I say firmly, withdrawing my hands from him. "I am merely the boon companion of your sister. That is all I should ever be to you, Master Henry; no more, no less."

I withdraw from the staircase, wanting very much to yell at Henry and to demand why on earth he would even consider a marriage proposal. Perhaps to give him the answer, he could come to it more quickly. However, if I did give it to him, he would always learn that you could get what you wanted out of life by simply allowing the women around you to give you the answer. However much I despised Henry, it simply did not matter. He probably never understood that a woman could despise a man, from the time he was a very little boy. Perhaps if some fair maiden came along, she would be fully equipped to accept someone—a husband, even—like Henry who merely thought very highly of her.

The very thought of someone else marrying Henry sent relief through me. I sent Charlotte word that I was ill and that I would remain in my rooms for the rest of the day. Supper was sent up to me, but I merely picked at the suckling pig, and much preferred to stand up on my window seat to see the roof of Buckingham Palace beyond. Lights came in from the town and reflected off of its magnificent brilliance, and I wondered when I would be permitted to walk through those doors as a member of the queen's inner circle.

. . .

Lord James returned for summer that night, all-smiles once Charlotte had informed him that Jane had been delivered of a fine son. Lord James was someone anyone could want in a father—or, in my case, a fatherly figure. He had jet-black hair and kind, deep blue eyes, resembling his eldest son, William, in that regard. It was his eyes that not only boated kindness, but generosity, consideration, and intelligence as well, which made him a worthy adversary to the House of Lords.

"Any word from the queen?" Charlotte asked, buttering herself a piece of bread and turning her full attention to her father.

"Busy planning the jubilee," Lord James replied patiently, cutting into his roast and inhaling the steam which greeted his nostrils. "I'm afraid we didn't speak much of her this afternoon, I'm afraid."

Charlotte slumped in her seat a little petulantly before returning to her bread. "I realize the importance of the celebration, Father, but why must Sara and I await this for so long? It's absolutely wretched and hopeless..."

"There's plenty to do, Charlotte," I said softly, and detected Lord James's smile in my direction at my sympathy for his daughter's plight, and yet I was fully prepared not to give in to her likely temper tantrum. "Come now—we even found things to do when we were in school. We had such fun when we weren't working—you know that as well as I do."

Charlotte nods. "I know. I just wish we knew how much time we had to prepare to meet the queen..."

"What's to prepare?" Lord James asked.

"Does she make you prepare something?" Henry asked.

"Even I didn't know that," Richard put in.

"We just need to make sure our eloquence and diction is well-timed and go from there," I said, shooting Charlotte a smile. "As for the rest..." I shrugged. "As for the rest, I am sure the queen will be well-satisfied with us."

Charlotte crumbled her buttered bread in her hands. "One can hope," she said softly, wiping her buttered fingers upon her napkin.