“What was I thinking to send you to that Broadmoor Academy?” Her mother practically gulped from her glass of wine. “The four of you were inseparable in your studies and in mischief. It appears now you will all face ruination together.”
“Really, Mother, you make it sound as if—”
Mother wheeled around, shaking her finger at Moira. “Do not interrupt me. You have no idea the embarrassment I faced tonight to learn that my daughter intends to compromise a gentleman.”
“It was made in gest,” Moira mumbled.
“When will you ever learn that even the slightest remark that can be taken as scandalous is the only thing society hears? Your sister never behaved this way. She was the perfect, dutiful daughter.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“Well, at least you didn’t fall as far as Lady Philippa.” Her mother shuddered. “That gel will be lucky if any true gentleman actually considers her this Season.”
Moira opened her mouth to point out that one particular gentleman did seem to take interest but thought it wiser to hold her tongue.
“And you had the perfect opportunity to make a good impression on Lord Lydell this evening, but the gentleman couldn’t get away from you quick enough after you spoke.”
“Mother.” Moira stood. “He was the other subject of the bet. He only sought me out because he is broke and needs an heiress.”
“There is nothing wrong with marrying for those reasons.” Her mother poured another glass of wine. “In fact, it is far better to marry on those terms than for a silly emotion.”
“What is wrong with marrying for love?”
Her mother looked up at her, a wave of pity flashed across her face. “Oh, Moira, please do not tell me you are holding out for love.”
Moira sat back down and played with the fringe on her shawl. “What is so wrong if I wish that there be some affection?”
“Oh, dear.” Her mother settled on the seat beside Moira and picked up her hand. “Be happy with your role of providing an heir and a spare and tuck your heart away. It will only be broken.”
That was the same advice Mother had given Beth, Moira’s older sister. Beth seemed quite content, living in the country, producing a child approximately ten months after her husband bothered to visit. Even now Moira’s brother-in-law was in Town while her sister was not. It was what Moira expected for herself, but not what she wanted. Her sister wanted a marquess and a quiet home in the country. She had her home, and one day her husband would hold the title. Moira wanted someone to care for her, though she knew the chance of such a union was unlikely, especially given that her brother was an earl and her dowry was embarrassingly large.
Her mother set the half-empty glass of Madeira on the table. “First thing tomorrow, we begin work.”
“On what?” Moira stilled herself for the answer. It could be anything from a day of needlework to a new wardrobe.
“Your hair first. That ghastly color will not attract any gentleman, especially after the shame you have brought to this family.”
Not my hair again. “I don’t know what you would have me do. Dip my head in tar?”
“Don’t be cheeky.” Mother finished off her second glass of Madeira. She never had more than one glass in an evening.
“There are a number of remedies, and we will try one after the other until we get it right.”
“If you wish.”
“And those freckles. I’ll visit the apothecary for a salve.”
There weren’t that many, a couple dozen or so, and they were small. Why couldn’t her mother just leave them alone? Hopefully whatever salve her mother found would smell better than the others she’d tried. “Lastly, we are going to bind your breasts.”
Moira sat up. “What?”
“They attract far too much attention. The wrong kind of attention.” Her mother lifted her eyebrows in a knowing manner, which was lost on Moira. “If you want a gentleman, you can’t have those—” she gestured to Moira’s chest “—distracting them. True gentlemen prefer dainty women. Perhaps we should bind your hips as well.”
Her mother had now moved beyond any reason.
“We will discuss the rest tomorrow. Off to bed.”
Thank goodness. Moira stood to make her exit.
“And one more thing.”
Moira stopped without turning around.
“Do not expect to leave the house for a few days, or longer. Not until this scandal dies.”
Days trapped in the house with her mother? Lord Lydell was beginning to hold some promise. At least he would leave her alone.
Lord Alston bets Mr. Fiske three hundred pounds that Mr. Garson,
who does not have an estate near Bath, will allow himself to be
compromised by Lady Moira Kirkwood and hie off to Scotland within a fortnight.
~ April 20, 1813
Gideon stared at open page of the betting book. Who the bloody hell was Mr. Garson? Two gentlemen behind him were in a heated discussion over a Miss Vandercourt, and Gideon stepped out of the way so they could write their own bet. Hopefully the one involving Lady Moira would be buried within the pages soon enough.
White’s was overly crowded this evening. No doubt because they all had invitations to the Davenports’ and preferred to be here instead. Still, it wasn’t as though it was the only ball in Town. So why the crush?
He shrugged, not overly concerned, and scanned the room for a place to sit. Coming toward him was a young gentleman barely old enough to be out of Harrow. Round face, boyish grin, and a cravat tied so high and tight it could be used as a noose. Gideon stepped out of the way, but the man halted in front of him.
“Lord Ainsely, I am Mr. Garson.” He stuck out his hand.
Well, that answered one of his questions.
“Mr. Garson.” Gideon nodded in introduction. He really didn’t want to encourage a conversation with the stranger.
“Lydell suggested you could help me.”
“How is that?”
“By way of an introduction to Lady Moira Kirkwood.”
Gideon looked past Garson for Lydell, who was coming up from behind.
“I don’t see why Lydell can’t perform the service himself.”
“How would that look?” The man questioned. “Lady Moira rejected him tonight. Should a gentleman be expected to introduce the lady in question to his replacement?”
How young was this pup?
“Besides, I won’t talk to that simpleton again,” Lydell added as he drew up beside them.
Gideon arched an eyebrow. Lydell apparently did not take rejection well.
“Bath,” Lydell muttered as he passed Gideon and exited White’s.
“Will you do it, Lord Ainsely?”
Though every instinct warned Gideon to advise young Garson to speak with Hearne, he didn’t. “The next time the three of us are at the same function, I will endeavor to arrange an introduction.”
The man sighed and grinned. His eyes lit as if someone had just given him a treat. “Oh, thank you, Lord Ainsely. You will not regret this.”
Gideon simply nodded, moving past the young man, already regretting the offer. When did I turn into a blasted matchmaker?
“Where is Mother?” Nyle asked as he entered the morning room.
Moira looked up from her book. “She has gone to the apothecary.”
A look of worry flashed over his features. “Is she ill?”
“No.” Moira laughed. “She is in search of something to rid me of my freckles.”
Nyle rolled his eyes and settled in the chair across from Moira. “Is this her punishment because of the betting book?”
“She’s convinced once we’ve taken care of my ghastly appearance, no one will remember.” Moira blinked back tears. She normally didn’t allow her mother’s words to upset her so. Why was she so sensitive today?
Nyle leaned forward and looked Moira in the eye. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with your appearance. In fact, you are rather pretty.”
<
br /> “You’re my brother and are required to say nice things, on occasion.” Though, when they were children such had not been the case. She smiled at the fond memories of a much more pleasant and less complicated time.
“I know your value. And—” he straightened “—I can assure you there is not one gentleman in society who would ever consider you ghastly, but rather attractive.”
“Thank you.” Moira smiled and looked down. It was nice to hear, but she didn’t truly believe him. When she married it would be because the gentleman had an estate in Scotland and needed her wealth. Such gentlemen in need of a settlement usually didn’t have the option of marrying a diamond of the first water.
“Why did you stop by? It isn’t like you to be here so early, and looking for Mother. Is something wrong?”
“I am not looking for Mother and hoped she was still abed.”
“Why?”
“Ainsely came to see me this morning.”
Moira’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of his name. Oh, why wasn’t he Scottish?
“Apparently there is a new bet in the books.”
Moira sat straight. She did not need this. Not now. “Why? Who?”
“As you rejected Lydell simply because his estate is Bath, a bet was wagered with regard to a new gentleman who does not have an estate near Bath. A Mr. Garson, or so I understand.”
“Do you know him?”
“No.” Nyle pushed his fingers through his hair. “What is your objection to Bath?”
Moira pursed her lips. How much do I tell him? “It is a lovely place to visit, but I do not wish to live there.” She shrugged. It was better not to tell her brother of her plans just in case he wished to object. He would be the one making the marriage contract on her behalf. Only if it became necessary would she divulge her reasoning. Apparently Alvina hadn’t told him either, or he wouldn’t ask. At least her sister-in-law could keep a secret from Nyle when it was begged of her.
“Well, you can’t discount a gentleman simply because of where he lives.”
“I won’t, if the gentleman is worth considering.” And a gentleman wasn’t worth considering if he didn’t live in Scotland.
The front door opened and closed, and Moira could hear her mother. “Please don’t tell her,” she begged in a whisper.
“And ruin my own day?”
“Nyle, what a pleasant surprise,” her mother exclaimed as she walked into the room carrying a bag.
Her brother stood. “You do have servants to do your shopping and carry your things.”
“Oh, I couldn’t trust these purchases to just anyone.” She put the bag on the floor and settled onto the settee as Nyle resumed his seat.
Mother reached into the bag and began withdrawing items. “Rose-water and borax.” She set the bottles on the table. “It is for the complexion.” Then she removed two more items. “Ammonia and muriatic acid for the hair.”
Nyle frowned. “Mother, your hair is a lovely shade without even a hint of gray or white as so many women suffer at your age.”
“I know, dear.” She patted her chignon. “These are for Moira. If we cannot make it blonde with these, I have ingredients for a walnut dye to make it brown.” She looked over at her daughter. “Anything is better than that red.”
“Mother, there is nothing wrong with Moira’s hair color.”
“What do you know?” she dismissed him. “You are a man.”
“It is a gentleman who will be choosing her as his wife,” Nyle pointed out, bringing a smile to Moira’s lips.
“I also purchased blistering liquid.”
Moira sat forward. “What is that for?”
“Freckles,” her mother answered matter-of-factly. “Once the blister dries, the skin is lifted away and the spot will go with it.”
Moira’s hands went to her face. Her mother wanted to purposefully cause blisters.
“Are you insane?” Nyle demanded.
“I hear it works wonders,” their mother defended.
“That, I highly doubt.” Nyle leaned back and folded his arms over his chest. “Several ladies who have tried that so-called cure for freckles have been left scarred. Do you really wish to leave Moira looking as if she suffered a horrible case of small pox on account of freckles?”
“Well, I hadn’t really thought—”
“No, you didn’t,” he cut her off and reached forward, grabbing Moira’s hand and pointed to the small scar on her wrist. “This is from a blister she received from hot water. I don’t want to imagine what that stuff would do to her face.”
Moira glanced down and the scar. It wasn’t that large, no bigger than the tip of her pinky, and didn’t bother her since it was covered in gloves whenever she was out of the house.
“Very well,” her mother sighed. “The apothecary also suggested a mixture of mustard powder, lemon juice, and oil of almonds twice a day.”
“Much safer,” Nyle agreed. “Though still unnecessary. There is nothing wrong with Moira’s appearance.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” her mother insisted before turning to Moira. “Now, up to your room. We have a lot to do before you are ready to be seen in public again.”
Moira grimaced and stood. By the time her mother was finished with her, she wasn’t certain she would ever want to go out in public again.
Gideon nodded to various acquaintances as he strolled along the grand walk of Vauxhall. This evening he was sharing a supper box with Jordan Trent and a widow whose name escaped him. Gideon felt out of place in their company and decided to take a walk, leaving Jordan and his current ladylove alone. They wouldn’t even know he was gone and would probably disappear down one of the dark walks before he returned. Lydell was to have joined them, but Lydell was no longer on speaking terms with Gideon, as though it was Gideon’s fault Lady Moira didn’t want to live in Bath.
As though summoned by his thoughts, Lady Moira appeared, walking in his direction, along with her brother and sister-in-law. Now all he needed was for Mr. Garson to make an appearance. Then his role as matchmaker could be completed, and he would be free to seek out his own entertainment. Perhaps he should take Jordan’s advice and get a ladylove to keep him company during his stay in London.
“Good evening, Lady Moira, Lady Hearne. You both look lovely this evening.” Well, he assumed Lady Moira looked lovely. On the few occasions they’d had the opportunity to meet, she had always looked quite fetching with her grey eyes, sprinkle of freckles, and shimmering red hair. However, tonight she wore a wide-brimmed hat that shaded most of her face from the torches throughout the gardens. All he could see was her chin, which appeared to have developed a rash. Not that he would remark on such a blemish.
“Good evening, Lord Ainsely,” Lady Hearne greeted. Lady Moira, however, remained silent and kept her head down. At least he assumed she was Lady Moira. The more he studied the young woman, the more he began to question himself. Usually, Lady Moira wasn’t so quiet and her breasts had seemed larger on previous occasions.
“My pardon. I mistook this young woman for Lady Moira.”
“Oh, it is Moira.” Hearne snorted.
Lady Hearne struck him in the ribs with her elbow.
Gideon squinted to see Lady Moira more clearly, but she kept away from the light and seemed to draw into herself. Nothing like the lady with whom he’d made a previous acquaintance.
As Lady Moira was doing her best to ignore him, Gideon said to Hearne, “I haven’t seen your brothers in Town. Are they remaining in the country with their wives? Or will they be joining the Season soon?”
Lady Hearne stiffened as her husband answered, “They won’t be joining us this year.”
Gideon got the distinct impression his question had upset Hearne’s wife, especially when tears welled up in her eyes.
“They cannot go into society,” Lady Hearne announced.
Hearne put an arm around his wife. “Excuse us for a moment.”
Gideon nodded. Hearne pulled his wife down a darkened pa
th, leaving Gideon alone with Lady Moira. Her face was no longer shaded as she watched her brother and Lady Hearne walk away. The sadness in her eyes and downturn of her mouth pulled at him. This was clearly a family situation, and he felt like an intruder.
“Poor Alvina,” Lady Moira uttered.
“I hope it isn’t anything I said.”
A sad smile came to her face, and Lady Moira looked up at him. It took all of Gideon’s effort to school his features once the light of the lamp shone on the young woman. Red blotches, hives, covered her face. She must be miserable, and why was she out of the house? “Before we stopped to speak with you, Alvina just learned two of her friends are in a delicate condition. Coupled with our enceinte sisters-in-law, and my mother’s recent lectures on duty to the Hearne title, I am afraid it was too much for her.”
This was not the type of discussion he ever thought to have with an innocent young woman. “How long have she and Hearne been married?”
“Five years.” Lady Moira grimaced.
He could well understand why the woman was upset, given she was married to the earl and expected to produce the heir and a spare. If she had not done so already, no doubt she feared her ability. Not that Gideon uttered a word. It was not his place, and it was certainly not a topic he was comfortable discussing with an innocent such as Lady Moira.
She continued as if his participation wasn’t necessary. “My brother doesn’t care. Well, he cares.” She shrugged. “But not in the way most gentlemen would. He has two younger brothers, who will have children, so there is no concern of the title becoming extinct, or being left to a distant cousin of sorts.”
Unlike himself. Gideon was the last male of his line. Given the circumstances, he should find and settle on a wife sooner rather than later, and hopefully he wouldn’t encounter the same difficulties as Hearne.
Mr. Garson sidled up to them. “I say, good evening, Ainsely.”
Landing a Laird (Novella) Page 4
