by Darcy Burke
She found his gray eyes rather distracting. They seemed to possess the ability to see straight inside her, which was ridiculous. He would observe only what she wanted him to. “My father was not wealthy. He was an academic, and we lived on the support of his older brother. After my father died, my uncle took his library in exchange for a settlement for my mother. He permitted me to choose a handful of things to keep—they were all maps.”
The earl frowned. “That sounds rather unfair.”
She lifted a shoulder. “My uncle wasn’t a very caring man. I believe he saw my mother and me as a nuisance. He thought he was being kind enough by allowing us to continue to inhabit our house, which was on his estate.”
“He died recently?”
“Just before my mother passed. Thankfully, when my mother died, his son allowed me—and Mrs. Tucket, of course—to continue living there.” He’d also strongly suggested she marry, but she wouldn’t mention that for fear it would invite discussion on a topic that didn’t remotely interest her. “I was quite relieved when your father’s kind invitation for the Season arrived.” He’d apparently sent it just before he’d died, giving his son no choice but to shepherd her through a debut.
Well, she supposed the current earl could have refused and left her to rot in Bitterley. She was glad he hadn’t.
Overton uncrossed his arms. “My father didn’t tell me a thing about you until he was dying. I have no idea why our fathers were friends. He only told me they’d met at Oxford, and that, as your godfather, he’d agreed to look after you and your mother when your father died. They must have formed their friendship at Oxford. I can’t even imagine it because I can’t see my father in that way.”
“What way is that?”
It took the earl a moment to respond. When he did, he seemed uncertain. “Friendly, I suppose?”
It seemed the relationship between father and son was not close, but before she could ask about it, the butler announced the arrival of Lady Pickering.
Overton pushed away from the table. “Excellent. Please show her to the drawing room and make sure Miss Lancaster joins us.”
“And Mrs. Tucket,” Fiona said. She would not leave the beloved woman out, even if she was to have a limited role.
“Of course, yes, Mrs. Tucket.” The earl sent her a look of apology, which she appreciated.
The butler departed, and the earl offered Fiona his arm. “Shall we go upstairs?”
Fiona cast a longing look at the map.
The earl chuckled. “You may have access to the library—and the maps—whenever you choose. I’ll also have all the atlases and books with maps moved to a more accessible location. That way, you’ll be safe.” He winked at her, and once again, the warmth of embarrassment flushed through her.
She clutched his sleeve more tightly. “You have atlases? As in, several of them?”
“Yes, I believe so. I’ll dig them out later.”
She’d never felt so delighted to be anywhere in her entire life. “Thank you. Sincerely.”
He blinked, then gave her a lopsided smile. “It’s my pleasure.”
A few moments later, they entered the elegant drawing room on the first floor. Overlooking Brook Street, the rectangular room had tall windows cloaked with pale gold draperies. Several seating areas occupied the space with comfortable chaises, tables for games or refreshments, and chairs and settees for conversation. She’d first seen the room yesterday when the housekeeper had given her a tour of the house. Then and now, Fiona easily envisioned a proper London family enjoying their evenings in this room just as she saw more formal entertainments. At least, she assumed those would be commonplace. What did she really know about any of this?
“Lady Pickering, how wonderful of you to come,” Overton said as Fiona withdrew her fingertips from his arm. He strode forward to take the woman’s hand and bowed. Then he pivoted to look toward Fiona. “Allow me to present Miss Fiona Wingate.”
Lady Pickering, between fifty and sixty years with a regal bearing, stood in front of a settee. She was of average height, but the sophisticated style of her still-brown hair and the quality of her clothes made her seem imposing. Or perhaps that impression was due to the manner in which she assessed Fiona with her green-blue eyes, as if she’d seen a great many things and possessed both the experience and character to pass judgment on anyone.
“Miss Wingate, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance and to sponsor you for the Season.”
Fiona dropped into a deep curtsey. “I am honored by your attention and support, Lady Pickering.”
“You’ve started without me?” Mrs. Tucket ambled into the room, and Fiona wondered if she really wouldn’t benefit from a walking stick. She’d broach the subject later and hope the suggestion would not be greeted with disdain.
“Not at all,” Overton said brightly. “We were just making our introductions. And here is Miss Lancaster too.” He looked to Lady Pickering. “This is Mrs. Tucket, Miss Wingate’s, er, chaperone from Bitterley, and this is Miss Prudence Lancaster, her new chaperone for London.”
“How lovely to meet you both,” Lady Pickering said. “Shall we become acquainted?” She lowered herself to the settee, and the skirt of her blue and gray grown draped perfectly about her lower legs and feet without any effort whatsoever. Patting the place beside her, she looked up at Fiona. “Come and sit with me, Miss Wingate.”
Fiona attempted to sit as elegantly as Lady Pickering had but still had to adjust her skirts.
“Keep your legs pressed tight, dear, from waist to foot. Angle your knees a bit.” She surveyed Fiona’s movements and smiled softly. “There you are.”
“She knows how to sit,” Mrs. Tucket said with a touch of defensiveness.
Lady Pickering’s expression remained benign. “Yes, of course. Do you like to play cards, Mrs. Tucket? There is a wonderful game every Sunday afternoon. I’ll ensure you’re invited.”
Mrs. Tucket’s lids fluttered in surprise as she sat in a chair near Fiona’s end of the settee. “Thank you. I do like cards. I played every Saturday at the vicarage.” While Fiona scoured the vicar’s library. By the time she’d left Shropshire, she’d read everything in it—well, everything that interested her—at least twice. Sadly, the library had possessed only one map encompassing western England and Wales.
“Wonderful.” Lady Pickering turned her attention to Fiona. “Lord Overton told you about your presentation to Her Majesty, the Queen? The drawing room is next Thursday.”
That was in just a week. Fiona’s stomach took flight. “Yes. He said I am to have a court dress made.” She glanced toward him, seated near Lady Pickering’s end of the settee.
“Indeed. We will visit the modiste shortly.”
“Today?” As keen as she was to visit Bond Street or any shopping area, she was surprised at the speed with which everything was happening.
“A court dress is quite extravagant, Miss Wingate. Yards and yards of fabric, and there will be much embroidery. We will also need to select jewelry, but most of it I will loan to you for the occasion since you won’t need to wear anywhere near that much again.” She paused to smile. “And there will be feathers, of course.”
“Feathers? Where do those go on the gown?” Fiona tried to imagine and came up with a rather ghastly costume.
“In your hair,” Lady Pickering clarified with a smile. “The taller, the better. I know the perfect place to commission your headpiece.”
Goodness, this sounded terribly expensive. Again, Fiona looked toward the earl. Prudence sat in another chair between him and Mrs. Tucket. Like Lady Pickering, she sat very prettily, her hands clasped demurely in her lap. Fiona copied her.
As she checked her hand position, Fiona noticed a loose thread at the hem of her sleeve. She tugged it gently in the hope that it was simply loose. More thread came out of the sleeve, but it seemed to still be attached to the dress. Glancing up, she saw that Prudence was watching her. Blushing, Fiona squashed the thread between her fingers and st
uffed it inside her sleeve.
“What of the rest of her wardrobe?” Mrs. Tucket asked, pursing her lips. “Or is she to wear this court gown to balls too?”
Lady Pickering smiled patiently. “Goodness, no. Wearing a court gown anywhere other than the queen’s drawing room would be highly inappropriate. Miss Wingate will need many gowns. For calling, for promenading, and, of course, for evening events such as balls and the theatre.” She blinked at Fiona. “Do you ride?”
Fiona’s mind was still riveted on Lady Pickering’s response, as well as the fact that Mrs. Tucket could not have acted as a chaperone, or anything else, for the Season. Reining in her thoughts, she responded to Lady Pickering’s question. “Well enough, yes.”
“Then you shall need riding habits.”
Habits plural? Again, Fiona looked toward her guardian. He must be very wealthy indeed. She didn’t even own one riding habit. She only rode occasionally when her uncle had permitted her to use a horse from his stable.
“As well as accessories, shoes, and undergarments,” Lady Pickering went on.
Fiona suddenly realized her guardian would be funding her undergarments, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Perhaps she could persuade Lady Pickering that she didn’t require new chemises or corsets. Except new outerwear would demand undergarments that complemented the fit of the clothing. Fiona knew at least that much. Her mind swam.
“What will our first event be?” Overton asked pleasantly.
Lady Pickering’s brow gently creased in a pensive expression. “It is still early in the Season, so it is likely too cold to promenade in the park for another fortnight. And of course, no Vauxhall or other outdoor entertainments. The larger balls will not be scheduled for several weeks.”
Overton looked disappointed. “That long?”
Cocking her head, Lady Pickering regarded him with curiosity. “Has so much time elapsed since you participated in the Season? I had thought it was just last year that you were…occupied.”
Having sufficiently cleared her thoughts, at least for the moment, Fiona looked toward the earl. Occupied how?
“I’m afraid I’m the worst sort of gentleman who doesn’t pay close enough attention to such things.”
“Precisely why you should seek a wife, my lord.” Lady Pickering gave him a knowing smile.
Was he looking to marry this Season? Given his age, it seemed he should. In fact, she wondered why he wasn’t wed already.
“As to upcoming events,” Lady Pickering continued, “I have procured an invitation for Miss Wingate and even for you, Overton.” Even for him? What did that mean? Why hadn’t he already been invited? Weren’t earls invited to everything? Fiona had so many questions. Or perhaps she had too many assumptions.
“Excellent,” the earl said without revealing any reaction to what Lady Pickering had said. “When is this event?”
“A smaller ball on Saturday evening hosted by Lord and Lady Edgemont.” Lady Pickering looked to Fiona. “That will be an excellent foray into Society.”
“So soon?” she asked, her insides twisting anxiously.
“Don’t fret, Fiona, you will be a grand success,” Mrs. Tucket said with a bright confidence that made Fiona feel better. Of all the people here, her opinion mattered the most because she knew Fiona. Her words would not be empty platitudes. “You won’t be alone either. You’ll have Lady Pickering and Miss Lancaster at your side.”
But not Mrs. Tucket, and it seemed her former maid knew that. Fiona felt a bit sad, but if Mrs. Tucket was all right with it, she would be too.
“That’s right,” Lady Pickering said. “And don’t worry about it being early in the Season, the Marriage Mart is still open.” She winked at Fiona, whose insides turned to ice.
Did they expect her to wed immediately? She’d only just arrived in London. She understood—vaguely—that young ladies had Seasons in order to find a husband. But weren’t there other reasons? Couldn’t a young woman have a Season to meet people and make friends? To experience new things and learn? To dance and promenade without any pressure to wed?
She wanted to ask but didn’t dare. Because she feared she already knew the answer.
Later that night, Fiona walked into the sitting room she shared with Prudence after paying a visit to Mrs. Tucket in her room. Prudence, seated in a high-backed chair near the fireplace, looked up from the book she was reading. “How is Mrs. Tucket?”
“Quite well, actually.” Fiona sat in the other chair near the hearth. “She confessed her relief to not have to accompany me to Society events. She was also pleased to learn that the card game every Sunday is not with women such as Lady Pickering.” This had been a chief concern, for Mrs. Tucket was, at heart, a country maid of all work and wasn’t interested in moving in Society circles. On the way to the modiste, Lady Pickering had clarified that the game consisted of retired housekeepers and ladies’ maids, women like Mrs. Tucket.
It seemed Mrs. Tucket was now retired, and the only question that remained was whether she would remain in London or return to Bitterley. For now, she wanted to stay here with Fiona. If she wouldn’t be her chaperone, she at least wanted to provide support—and love—as the only person who truly knew her.
“How nice,” Prudence murmured, demonstrating again that she was a woman of few words and low volume. Indeed, she’d uttered barely a handful of sentences the entire time they’d been shopping that afternoon.
Fiona regarded her for a moment. “I can’t decide if you’re shy or reserved.”
Prudence appeared confused. “Aren’t they the same thing?”
“I think shy is something you can’t help, and reserved is something you do. Perhaps because you’re shy.” Fiona laughed, and Prudence smiled in response.
“Then I am reserved.”
“Splendid. I am not.”
Prudence elevated her brows in a thoroughly wry fashion. “No, I wouldn’t say you are. However, you are also not completely forthcoming.”
Fiona rested her elbow on the arm of the chair. “No?”
“When are you going to tell his lordship that you don’t wish to wed?”
Sucking in a sharp breath, Fiona made a face as she looked toward the fireplace. “Why do you think that?”
Prudence surprised her by laughing softly. “Are you really going to deny it? After that reaction? No, you aren’t shy or reserved, nor are you adept at hiding your thoughts and emotions. At least, not completely.”
Exhaling, Fiona leaned back in the chair. “Very well. No, I don’t want to get married. Not immediately anyway. I only just left Bitterley, where I had no choices about my life.”
“We’re women. Choice is not something we are typically afforded. Especially when you are lucky enough to have a Season.” Her tone was matter-of-fact but without any bitterness or envy. She was merely stating the truth—Fiona was lucky.
Fiona drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. “So I am learning. I had no idea there would be expectations.” She’d been foolish to think otherwise, but how was she to know? She no longer had a mother, and Mrs. Tucket had demonstrated her complete lack of knowledge about such matters. Indeed, the only advice Fiona’s mother had ever imparted was to be wary of who she wed, that it was the most important decision she would ever make and, once committed to, could never be undone. The counsel wasn’t necessarily earth-shaking, but the earnest manner in which her mother had delivered it had always stuck with Fiona.
“There are always expectations,” Prudence said with a touch of darkness. “You should tell his lordship soon.”
“Perhaps he’ll change his mind and send me back to Bitterley.” The thought of that made her want to weep.
“Or not.” Prudence lifted a shoulder. “I shan’t tell him.”
Fiona looked at her in surprise. “But you work for him. Surely you feel a sense of loyalty to your employer.”
“Yes, but my duty is to you. My loyalty is to you.”
The sense of solidarity sank into Fiona, f
illing her with a gladness she hadn’t felt in some time. “Thank you. I have just decided you are the very best thing about coming to London.”
Prudence smiled. “I think I’ll go to bed.” She started to rise, but Fiona lifted her hand.
“Wait, one moment, if you please. Would you be up for an early morning jaunt tomorrow?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I am desperate to go to Hyde Park. It’s not that far. We can walk, can’t we?”
“Yes, but ladies don’t go to the park in the early morning. Are you hoping to see a duel?”
Fiona shot forward to the edge of her seat. “A duel?”
“They are typically fought in the park at dawn.”
“How horrible. I don’t think I’d want to see that.”
Prudence wrinkled her nose. “Neither would I. Particularly when we can observe men being idiots just about anywhere.”
Fiona laughed. “Oh, I do like you. I only wanted to see the park. But if you think we should not—”
“I didn’t say that. We’ll just go for a brisk walk that happens to take us into the park,” she said airily as she stood.
Staring up at her chaperone, Fiona felt a renewed surge of excitement for the Season. “You have quite shocked me this evening, Prudence. You are not at all what you seem.”
Prudence’s eyes glimmered with something indescribable. “See you in the morning.”
Fiona could hardly wait.
Chapter 4
Tobias walked into Lord and Lady Edgemont’s house near Berkeley Square, trailing his ward and her chaperone and sponsor. Miss Wingate looked lovely this evening, dressed in an ivory ballgown trimmed in pale green and gold. Her dark red hair was expertly styled, proving her new lady’s maid, recommended by Lady Pickering, was a welcome addition to the household. Tobias didn’t want to think about how much money his ward was costing him. It didn’t bear consideration because his father had set aside a rather large sum for precisely this purpose.
Why his father was so willing to invest in this young woman was baffling. Tobias supposed it was simply because of the affection he bore Miss Wingate’s father, but since Tobias had never witnessed any sort of warm feeling from him—toward anyone—it was hard to believe. Or perhaps it was only difficult to accept that he’d apparently liked his friend from Oxford better than his own family.
