“It will still cause rumors, you know,” she said, though she didn’t much care in the moment. “People will talk.”
“And so they always will. But, darling, you still haven’t answered me. Would you consider a courtship, Mattie? A real one.”
The cherished nickname bestowed on her by her father sounded so natural coming from his lips. She found she never wanted him to call her anything else, ever again.
“I have considered it,” she said softly, grateful for the little light from the carriage lamps. “And I will say yes, Oliver.”
His hands tightened around hers, and he bent to kiss her gloved fingers.
Her practical side began to assert itself, warring with her rather giddy emotions. “But—what about my parents, Oliver? My father . . .” She swallowed, hoping her parents would not disapprove of her courtship. “You will ask my father for his blessing?”
Oliver moved to sit beside her and gently put his arm around her shoulders. “My darling, I already have. The moment your carriage left for Almack’s I spoke to him.”
Mattie laughed. “He likes you a great deal.”
“Thank goodness for that.”
Mattie leaned against his shoulder and felt his kiss upon her brow. Warmth spread from her heart throughout her body. She tilted her head back to look at him through the shadows. He was so near, and he bent still closer. Mattie tilted her chin back and met his lips with hers, the soft caress of his kiss making all coherent thought leave her for several long moments. When they parted, her lips tingled, and she laid her head upon his shoulder.
A courtship with Oliver would certainly be an adventure.
Check out the next romance by Sally Britton:
Sally Britton is sixth generation Texan, received her BA in English from Brigham Young University, and reads voraciously. She started her writing journey at the tender age of fourteen on an electric typewriter, and she's never looked back.
Sally lives in Arizona with her husband, four children, and their dog. She loves researching, hiking, and eating too much chocolate.
Visit Sally online: https://www.authorsallybritton.com/
My Unfair Lady
By Elizabeth Johns
Chapter One
“What shall we play for this time?” Sutherland asked as he arranged the billiard balls.
“Bragging rights?” Deverell suggested, knowing it would fly past the ears of his friends.
“No one will play seriously for such paltry terms,” Sutherland’s brother, Lord Edward, scoffed, leaning against the edge of the oak table. Their normal wagers did tend to be outrageous, Deverell mused, such as the time he had dared Sutherland to dress the statue of King Henry in a lady’s corset, or when Lord Edward had dyed the Serpentine red, or . . .
“The Season is about to begin.” Sutherland interrupted his reflections with a gleam in his hazel eyes, which Deverell knew meant trouble.
“What has that to do with anything?” Tindal asked. “None of us have darkened the door of any ton events since we were too green to know better.”
“Nor are we welcomed at most of them,” Lord Edward said dryly. With a flourish, he tossed back the amber liquid in his glass.
No doubt they were all recalling the time he had put a live bird in Mrs. Drummond-Burrell’s coiffure, Deverell conjectured, observing his friends’ wry grins.
“What do you have in mind?” he asked lazily from his position in a leather chair. As usual, he was feeling bored. Perhaps he was growing too old for these games.
“What is the worst punishment you can think of?” Sutherland asked with a grin.
“Almack’s!” All three of them groaned simultaneously.
“Since Edward’s and my sister is making her comeout, I think the loser should have to join me at some of these tedious events,” Sutherland suggested.
Deverell and the other men groaned.
“I have just remembered, my mater needed me home for dinner,” Tindal said, making for the door. “Some bosom beau of hers is bringing his fubsy-faced daughter.”
“Get back here, Tindal. You ain’t a coward!” Sutherland snapped.
Tindal hung his head like a whipped puppy and sat back down.
“Exactly. The loser has to attend Almack’s and dance with five wallflowers.”
“That’s not fair! Deverell always wins. That means the odds are not even fifty-fifty, since you and Edward have to go anyway,” Tindal protested.
“I do not have to dance with wallflowers merely by being present.”
“True,” Tindal conceded. “Very well. Let’s hope Deverell has an off night.”
Sutherland scoffed. “One more thing.”
The three of them leered at him for such an ungentlemanly act as adding conditions.
“One of the dances has to be with my sister.”
Tindal shrugged as if it was no matter, but Deverell looked up. “That should be no chore. Caro is hardly an antidote.”
“Is it truly as hard as all that to procure a voucher?” Lord Edward asked. “There is someone I had thought to bring to London for a Season.”
“Birth and fortune play little part in who the patronesses select, I hear,” Sutherland said.
“Pure whimsy,” Dev agreed. “Whoever is à la mode gets the nod.”
“If I were Deverell, they would be throwing them at my feet,” Lord Edward teased without heat.
“I did not know you had a ward.” Sutherland frowned. “I think I should know such things about my own brother.”
“She is not a ward, per se. She is the sister of one of my lieutenants from my unit and left orphaned. I promised him I would look after her when he was dying. I thought to bring her to London for a Season before she must find a position.”
“What do you know of her family?”
Lord Edward shrugged. “Her brother was a decent chap from rural Yorkshire. His father was a vicar though the girl has some little dowry left by an aunt.”
Dev could not think a small dowry enough to account for a poorly bred country miss, but he held his tongue.
“Perhaps Mother would sponsor her, since she has to take Caro,” Sutherland offered.
“That is unnaturally kind of you to offer your mother’s assistance,” Deverell said coolly.
“Perhaps we should allow you to take her on as your project,” Sutherland taunted in return.
“We know nothing of her.”
“Precisely. However, your charms are legendary as a beau. Do you doubt your ability to make a gently bred vicar’s daughter a success? It is not as though she were a Cockney-speaking ragamuffin from Seven Dials,” Sutherland argued.
Close enough, he thought to himself.
“People would accept her anyway, if he told them to,” Tindal agreed.
Dev cast his gaze heavenward. It would perhaps alleviate the boredom that had fallen over him since returning from the war. Managing estates was tedious at best. However, this was a person’s life they were considering, and he could not agree without the lady’s consent. “How would the girl feel about such an arrangement?” he asked, still lounging in the armchair. Not for a monkey would he show his hesitancy to his fellows.
“I do not know many girls who would forgo the chance of a London Season,” Sutherland countered.
They all looked at Dev, who waited for them to see reason.
“You could be saving her the ill fortune of becoming a governess or companion,” Lord Edward said.
“Well?” Sutherland asked. “Will you accept? Save this lady from her fate?”
“Just how do you think I, a confirmed bachelor, could take an orphaned vicar’s daughter into my home and bring her out?” He shook his head. “That is as good as tying a noose around my neck.”
“He has a point,” Tindal said.
“She could stay with my mother and sister, but you will guide her . . . make her the belle of the ton. All you need do is give her the proper attention and then you won’t be necessary any more.”
“Define proper attention.”
Sutherland narrowed his gaze in thought as he twirled his cue. “I have it!” He slammed his palm down on the billiards table. “Vouchers and a dance at Almack’s, since that is the rest of the wager. It should be simple enough for you to make her sufficiently presentable.”
“Very well.” Dev shrugged. “But only if I lose.”
“If you lose, you owe me a monkey, and we all go to watch.”
All four agreed. Dev could see the others did so begrudgingly by their expressions. He never lost at billiards once he touched the cue.
“Deverell goes last,” Tindal said, interrupting his thoughts.
He shrugged. It made no difference to him. He watched as Lord Edward took the first shot and sent a red ball flying into the corner pocket. His mind strayed from the game, deliberating the small matter of squiring a young girl about London. All he had to do was obtain vouchers to Almack’s. How hard could that be?
It was idle curiosity, for he had no intention of setting up his nursery in the next decade. He would, however, bestir himself to help this poor girl. Assumptions, Dev? What if she was a prudish church miss who wanted nothing to do with a London beau?
He frowned, uncertain whether his reputation would help or hinder her. He knew he was much sought after, but not necessarily for reasons a virtuous miss would think desirable.
“Are you going to take your turn this century, Dev?” Lord Edward asked. Dev started a little, not realizing he had drifted so far away from his surroundings.
Taking his cue, he slowly lined it up with his cue ball. He hit it and deftly pocketed the red ball across the table, followed by it ricocheting off the side cushion and also pocketing both remaining cue balls, neatly winning the game. He sat back down with no little satisfaction as his friends still stared at the table.
“Impossible!” Lord Edward groaned.
“Best two out of three?” Tindal asked weakly.
“I have nowhere else to be,” he drawled. “But only for different stakes. I quite fancy seeing you prancing through a quadrille.”
Tindal cued off first for the next game. Sutherland refilled everyone’s glasses and watched as Tindal had a rare run of luck. When he pocketed the winning shot, he looked up in disbelief and smiled the most childish grin of delight. Lord Edward chuckled.
“That had nothing to do with me,” Deverell pointed out.
“I know. Isn’t it grand?”
“It all comes down to this last game,” Sutherland said as he positioned the balls again. “Who will be the lucky devil who goes to Almack’s with me?”
Tindal flexed his fingers, cracking his knuckles, and danced around as though he were about to go a few rounds in the ring with Gentlemen Jackson.
Deverell shook his head and smiled. “You may go first again, Tindal. I will not have it said I took advantage.”
Tindal looked at him suspiciously. Even Sutherland raised an eyebrow.
“Luck never holds. If your skill is that good, then I will gladly accept defeat.”
“Very well,” Tindal said with a burst of confidence, holding his head higher.
Deverell had never seen him play so well before and did not think his friend could freeze him out two games in a row. He was wrong. Tindal cleared the table.
“You have improved greatly since we last played,” Deverell murmured.
Sutherland slapped him on the back. “Better polish your dancing slippers, my friend.”
“Not quite; I have not lost to you. Tindal and Lord Edward are off the hook, but this is not over yet.”
“Fair enough,” Sutherland agreed good-naturedly. “Shall we play billiards again or something else?”
“I want to know what the forfeit is if Sutherland loses,” Lord Edward put in.
“Perhaps he should have to dance with five ladies of my choice,” Dev said lazily, looking at his fingernails. “I will even let you choose which sport.”
“I am not sure it matters. You usually beat me at everything.”
“You could have luck tonight, like Tindal did.”
“Devil take it, I am going to have to go now, just to watch!” Tindal declared, looking very put out. “I don’t even own knee breeches or dancing pumps.”
“When one suffers, we all suffer, my friend.”
“But will I be allowed through the door?”
“I will tell Aunt Emily to put us all on the list. How can she refuse four eligible lords?” Sutherland drawled, his eyes crinkling at the corners with what Dev considered to be unnecessary enjoyment.
***
Rua Postlethwaite had cursed the fates when her brother was killed at Waterloo. She had cursed her luck when her parents died from the influenza last winter. She was not quite certain what to curse when she read the letter from a complete stranger.
“One would hardly know you for a vicar’s daughter, Rua,” her friend Jane remarked as she heard the muttered oaths, which were decidedly not fit for a fine lady.
“I beg your pardon, Jane. It is this letter.”
“Are you going to enlighten me?” Jane placed another stitch in the stocking she was darning. “Have they found someone to replace your father?”
“No, I am not being evicted yet.” Rua began to pace about the parlour, a frown creasing her face. Feeling its ache, she recalled her mother’s strictures on ruining her looks and was forced to swallow fitfully.
“Well?” Jane put her darning down and looked irritated.
“I have been invited to London!” She threw up her hands in exasperation and had to ignore another maternal criticism.
“Oh, how lovely! I always dreamed of a London Season!” Jane exclaimed. “I did not realize you had any connections in Town.”
“Nor did I. It seems a Captain Lord Edward Parker was with Ewan in the Greys. He says it would be his honour to invite me to stay in London for the Season and be brought out with his sister, Lady Caroline. He says it is just what Ewan would have wished.”
“How splendid for you,” her friend said, a wistful look in her eye.
“Splendid? This is a disaster!” Rua exclaimed. “I cannot indebt myself to some . . . some”—she flipped over the letter to examine the franking—“son of a marquess who feels obliged to honour some deathbed promise made to Ewan. I will be a laughing-stock! You have heard the way Lady Trewlaney and Mrs. Merriweather speak of the ‘upstarts’ and ‘country bumpkins’ when they return from Town. Who am I to them? I shall be no better than a poor relation or an object of charity. The fact is, I have no money and possess no Town bronze, and I rather prefer it that way.”
Her friend stared at her. Jane was unaccustomed to seeing Rua in such a case, yet she was still clearly unconvinced. “But Rua, this could secure your future! You could meet a fine gentleman and not be obliged to marry ol’ man Everett.”
“I will find a position first.” Rua scowled, heedless of the consequences. Possessed of a modest dowry of a mere thousand pounds and living off the per cents, she had no more than twenty-five pounds per annum to live on. Since such a sum was barely enough for necessities, she would certainly have to marry or find a position. Two of her brothers yet lived, but neither could afford to take her in, even though the one who was not a soldier had offered. Somehow, joining his small vicarage household, with four children and a domineering wife, did not appeal to her one little bit.
“Your time is running out. The new vicar will be arriving soon to take his place and house. Perhaps this is a gift from God.”
“Like my red hair and unruly tongue,” Rua muttered. She could not but be reminded of those defects every day since she was named for her fiery hair.
“Your manners are as fine as a duchess when you so choose.”
Rua scoffed, unconvinced.
“It was what your mother always hoped for you,” Jane added softly, twisting the knife in so very deep. She stood up and gathered together her belongings. “I must return for dinner with Richard. Do sleep on this before making a hasty dec
ision.”
“Ha! It seems they could not countenance my refusal. A carriage will arrive one week hence to take me there.”
“See. It is meant to be.” Jane kissed her cheek and winked mischievously before hurrying down the tulip and daffodil-lined path to the white fence which enclosed the vicarage garden.
Rua spent several hours vacillating between sending a polite letter of regret and wondering what London would be like. While she was no traditional miss, she did have a great sense of adventure (having grown up with three brothers) and could not help wondering what it would be like to dress in finery and dance the night away. Not that she had any finery beyond her mama’s pearl earrings, or had ever danced anywhere more exciting than the York Assembly Rooms.
First, she fretted over what she would wear if she went to Town. “It does no good to have a Season if one looks shabby at best,” she murmured to herself, fingering her worn kerseymere which had seen four winters. The sad truth was she had none any better that had not been dyed black. She had two gowns fine enough for local assemblies, a green silk and a lavender muslin. “They are still not fine enough for London,” she muttered again, recalling images in the Lady’s Magazine Jane shared with her when she had a copy. Her mother’s possessions had been long packed in trunks, but Rua went to the attic and began to rummage through anything that might be of use. If Rua’s dresses were out of fashion, then her mother’s hoops and powdered wigs would have her laughed back to Yorkshire. There was a fine sable muff and a cream-coloured scarf of Norwich silk which had been a wedding gift from her father. Rua had packed it away, feeling sentimental, but now saw the necessity and usefulness of the item.
Making her way back down the stairs with these few finds, she did not see any way not to look as provincial as she was. Sitting at her father’s old desk, in his study, she pulled out a sheet of paper on which to write her regrets. After she had penned a very pretty note declining the great condescension they had shown her, she sanded and sealed the letter to be posted the next day. Overcome by despair, she went to bed knowing she had made the right decision, yet in deep melancholy nonetheless.
An Evening at Almack's Page 9
