by Darcy Burke
Since she was closer to the floor than not, her body simply collapsed into a heap of ivory and yellow disaster. In that moment, she truly hoped the gown was large—and monstrous—enough to swallow her whole.
Alas, it was not. Nor did it prevent the sounds of people gasping from reaching Fiona’s ears. Almost instantly, Overton’s hands were on her, helping her, or more accurately, pulling her to her feet. He said nothing, but a quick glance toward his face said he was concerned.
Lady Pickering touched her arm. “We beg your pardon, Your Majesty. Miss Wingate was feeling a trifle overheated before she was summoned. Please accept our deepest apologies.”
A heavy silence fell over the throne room as the queen surveyed Fiona. She kept her gaze averted just enough so that she wasn’t looking directly at the queen. But the queen was definitely staring straight at her.
“Are you well, Miss Wingate?” the queen asked in faintly German-accented English.
Fiona clutched at Overton’s arm, grateful for his presence. Lady Pickering’s explanation, that Fiona was overheated, was certainly true at the moment. Still, she answered with a pleasant, “I am. Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Come forward,” the queen said softly. Since she was only looking at Fiona, who was now returning her gaze, Fiona felt she should approach on her own.
She glanced toward the earl and gave him a determined look before taking her hand from his arm. Moving slowly, she approached the queen. “Your Majesty,” she said, bowing her head and wondering if she should have attempted another curtsey. They hadn’t practiced for this!
“Where are you from, Miss Wingate?”
“Shropshire, Your Majesty.” Fiona was in awe of the queen’s regal beauty. She wore a tall white wig, and her gown was made from a gorgeous blue brocade. Court dress looked absolutely lovely on her.
“And how long have you been an orphan?”
“Two years.”
“Am I correct in estimating that you were not raised to expect a London Season?”
Was she that transparent? “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“You are very brave to come here today. You’ve acquitted yourself well. I’m sure your parents would be proud. Do not be disappointed if you return to Shropshire unwed, for this will be the adventure of a lifetime.” Her dark eyes gleamed with warmth and perhaps a tinge of excitement.
Fiona didn’t know what to say. What had started as a nervous occasion and deteriorated into calamity was now culminating in something she could only describe as joyous relief. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I am thrilled to be in London and plan to make the most of my time here.”
“Brilliant. You do just that.” She turned her head and spoke to one of her ladies in a low tone so that Fiona couldn’t hear what was said.
Clear that she’d been dismissed, Fiona did her best to turn as elegantly as she’d seen Miss Nethergate do in the antechamber. She was pleased when her skirt only wobbled slightly. Perhaps she would master this just in time for it all to be over.
The queen’s words echoed in her mind as they made their way to stand on the side of the room so they could become spectators instead of the show.
The adventure of a lifetime.
Yes, this London Season was precisely that, and Fiona wasn’t going to waste a moment worrying about being marriageable. She didn’t mean to run headlong into ruin, but she wasn’t going to be cowed into not enjoying things that other young ladies did, such as making small wagers in a perfectly acceptable gaming room. Of course, to do that, she needed funds. Why didn’t she have an allowance?
She looked askance at the earl, who stood to her right. He looked different in his court costume of dark grey velvet, with a silver-embroidered green waistcoat, and an intricately tied cravat with lace. Lace. He should have looked effeminate, but the entirety somehow made his masculinity stand out even more. Rather, more than she’d noticed. Not that she hadn’t noticed he was a man. But today was different. Today, he looked like the men who’d expressed interest in her. Which was preposterous because he hadn’t demonstrated that at all.
No, but he’d shown care and concern here as he’d helped her up from the floor. As if he could read her thoughts, he looked in her direction, his eyes silently querying if she was all right.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For saving me.”
“It was my pleasure. I will gladly do it again. I am your ally, Miss Wingate.”
She hoped so, for she far preferred him in that role than as a foe. If she’d learned anything since coming to town, it was that having more people in her life was a good thing.
It was also just a little bit complicated.
Tobias reached for one last sheaf of papers to read before going to the Phoenix Club. Glancing at the clock, he wondered if he should go now. Or not go at all. It was getting late, and it had already been a long day with the queen’s drawing room.
He’d thought of Miss Wingate’s topple countless times. She’d seemed mortified, but by the time they’d reached the coach afterward, she was already laughing about it. He admired her sense of humor and ability to not take things—or herself—too seriously. It was a good reminder, for life with Tobias’s father had been nothing but serious.
Probably because the former earl had spent the bulk of his time immersed in his duties in the Lords. Tobias was finding it interesting so far, but he didn’t see himself becoming consumed by any of it. For better or worse, he enjoyed taking time for amusement and relaxation, which was why he’d go to the club tonight.
A gentle knock on the half-open door to his study caused him to look up.
Miss Wingate peeked her head past the edge of the door. “Am I troubling you?”
“Not at all, come in.” He stood from the desk and went to the hearth where a cheerful fire burned. “Shall we sit?”
“Oh, certainly, thank you.” She seemed mildly surprised.
“You look far more comfortable than earlier.” He hadn’t seen her since they’d returned from the drawing room. He’d taken dinner at Brooks’s with a few other gentlemen from one of his committees.
She glanced down, her hand smoothing over the spring-green skirt of her gown. “A thousand times more comfortable, yes.” She laughed softly before sitting in one of the armed chairs situated near the hearth. “It’s a shame to spend all that money on the court dress only to never wear it again.”
Tobias sat in the other chair opposite hers. “Unless you go to court again.”
Letting out a stark laugh, she shook her head. “I can’t imagine it.”
“Someday you may need to present your daughter.”
“I doubt that, but if that comes to pass, I shall hope the costume will have evolved into something far less dangerous.”
“You can at least wear the headdress again this Season,” Tobias noted. Or so Lady Pickering had indicated.
“Yes, I’m to remove one feather so it’s slightly different. I’m glad for that economy at least.” She straightened and again smoothed her hand over the skirt of her gown, skimming her lap.
Tobias hadn’t ever noted how long and slender her fingers were. “Did you ever play the pianoforte?”
“No, we didn’t have one.”
“Would you like to learn?”
She blinked at him. “I never considered it.”
“There isn’t one here, but I could have one brought from Deane Hall if that would please you.”
“Perhaps I ought to try playing one before you go to the trouble.”
“That’s probably a good idea. I’ll ask Lady Pickering if she has one.”
Miss Wingate nodded. “I wanted to thank you for the book on Ptolemy. I’ve only just started it, but I’m already fascinated.”
Tobias grinned, glad she was finding it interesting. “Wonderful. I look forward to discussing it with you.” He thought of Lord Gregory and how they would likely suit. Then she’d discuss Ptolemy with him. For some reason, Tobias found that mildly disappointing.
“I would
like that.” She fidgeted with her gown, her fingers pinching the fabric on the side of her knee. “I wondered if I might, ah, ask you about an allowance.”
Surprised by her question, Tobias didn’t immediately respond. He supposed he should have thought of that. “Is this so you can make your own wagers?”
Miss Wingate’s eyes widened briefly, and dots of pink appeared in her cheeks. “No. I mean, perhaps. Don’t young ladies receive allowances?”
He’d meant it in jest, but since they’d argued about it, he realized he perhaps should not have. “Pin money, yes. I will determine a fair amount and see that you receive it tomorrow.”
She smiled as her shoulders dipped with relief. “I deeply appreciate your generosity. Truly.”
“It was my father’s intent that you enjoy the best Season possible. And that you marry well, of course.”
“I will always wonder as to the source of your father’s largesse. My impression from you is that he was not a kind man.”
“I am baffled by it too, and I admit a part of me could have very easily ignored his wishes just to spite him. However, I shouldn’t want you to suffer because of the enmity between my father and me.”
“Why were you at odds?”
Tobias exhaled and pressed his back against the chair. “I was always closer to my mother. She spent most of her time at Horethorne, her grandmother’s house in south Somerset. Before I went to school, that is where I spent most of my time as well.” He closed his eyes for a moment and saw the swing that hung from the oak in the park, smelled the grass and summer flowers, felt the rush of warm air as he flew through the air, and heard his mother’s laughter as she pushed him higher.
“You’re remembering something,” she noted softly.
He opened his eyes to find her watching him intently. “Yes. I miss my mother very much. Perhaps the closeness of our relationship was a stark contrast to what I shared—or didn’t share—with my father. He was unflinchingly stern and demanding.”
“How long ago did you lose your mother?”
“When I was sixteen.” So long ago. “Nearly twelve years has passed.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m sure she was brilliant, since you loved her so much.”
“She was indeed. And how was your mother? You’ve already indicated your father wasn’t terribly fatherly, for lack of a better word. Seems our fathers had that in common.”
Tobias had a sudden thought. They were close friends and had remained that way since their Oxford days. That they’d been friends at all was surprising, given their backgrounds. He wondered what else they’d had in common. Perhaps their friendship had been very deep indeed. That might explain his father’s puzzling dedication to Miss Wingate, the only child of his close friend.
“Yes, it seems so. No wonder they were dear friends,” she said with a shake of her head. “My mother was caring, but she was also distracted. She was never quite…content. I’m not sure how to describe it. She always made sure our home was warm and comfortable and that I was happy. When I think back, it seems she didn’t have much of a life of her own and that makes me a bit sad.”
Tobias’s heart went out to her. He’d hate to think of his mother not having her own life. She’d had Horethorne and him, and that had truly seemed to bring her an excess of satisfaction and joy. “I should think so.”
“I suppose that’s why I’m so very grateful for this opportunity you’ve given me—the ability to see things I never would have. To experience an adventure.” Her mouth quirked into a brief, wide smile. “That’s what the queen said to me today.”
Tobias leaned forward. “I’d meant to ask you what she said when she asked you to approach. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to share.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t mind. She said this was the adventure of a lifetime and that I should enjoy it. I felt such relief when she said that. I’d begun to despair that a London Season is really no more than a business transaction. A young lady receives clothing and experiences, and in return, she must marry to the best of her ability.”
The uncomfortable truth of her assessment pierced straight into Tobias, making him shift in his seat. “I suppose it really is just that,” he said a bit hesitantly, as if not agreeing with her would make it less true.
Her gaze met his, and she didn’t blink. “As I told you, I don’t wish to marry, at least not right now. However, I also don’t want to return to Bitterley. I fear my life might turn out like my mother’s.”
Another direct hit. Tobias pressed back against the chair and scrubbed his forehead. It occurred to him that he was forcing something upon her that she didn’t want, not now anyway. He was no better than his father. Damn if that didn’t sting worse than anything she’d said to him.
Before he could come up with a thing to say, she continued. “I will wed, however. Because I don’t want to return to Bitterley. All I’m asking for is some time to enjoy the Season and my, er, freedom. It is my hope that in time I will meet someone with whom I will suit.”
How could he argue with such a sensible plan? “You must forgive me, Miss Wingate. I fear I’ve been rather wrapped up in my own problems, and I failed to recognize what a drastic change this is for you. Yes, please take time to adjust. I was actually thinking that you might benefit from a respite from the demands of the Season. We have the ball tomorrow night, but after that, we’ll decline your invitations for the next week or two so you may become more comfortable.”
Her brow furrowed, and she rested her elbow on the arm of her chair. “I was rather enjoying the events of the Season. Even today’s drawing room.”
He smiled. “I’m glad. I’m not asking you to become a hermit. We just won’t attend any more invitations until March. You’re welcome to visit with Lady Cassandra and take outings together. Weren’t you planning to go to Gunter’s soon?”
Her brow was still creased, and he suspected she didn’t like what he was suggesting. “Yes, we are still planning that as well as a few other things.” Fiona drew a breath. “Lord Overton, is this some sort of punishment for—”
He sat forward in his chair. “Not at all. I thought you wanted time to adjust. This seemed like a good solution.” Except she seemed to be enjoying her Season just fine, even if he thought she needed more tutelage. “It’s only for a short period.” Besides, with her safe at home, he could focus on finding his bride.
Her features finally relaxed, the lines in her forehead smoothing until they disappeared. “You mentioned you had problems. Is there any way I can help?”
He glanced toward the fire. “I, ah, need to marry this Season.”
“‘Need’ to? Is there a reason for your urgency?”
He didn’t want to reveal his father’s dying edict. It was one thing for people to conclude that he was countess-hunting given his reentry into Society and his improved behavior. However, to share his father’s machinations and the fact that he was manipulating Tobias from the grave was far more than he wanted to acknowledge.
“Now that I’ve inherited the title, it’s time,” he said. “I thought I could see you wed and then focus on my own marriage hunt.”
“I see.” She pressed her lips together and turned her head toward the fire.
Was she angry with him? Why wouldn’t she be? He’d treated her as an afterthought and had all but admitted it just then. “I apologize, Miss Wingate, for thinking of you as a task and not a person. It is important to me that you enjoy your Season. And your freedom.”
She looked back at him with a slight smile. “I realize this is also new for you and not something you expected. I am grateful you heeded your father’s wishes and gave me this astonishing opportunity. And for my expanding exposure to maps.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “I shall keep an open mind regarding marriage, particularly if I meet a gentleman who isn’t put off by my background or interests. It may be that no one in London will want me.” She laughed softly.
“That won’t happen,” Tobias said with fi
rm certainty. “You’re beautiful, intelligent, witty. Why, any gentleman would want you. If you actively sought a husband, I predict you’d be betrothed within a fortnight.”
Her eyes rounded, and her face lost most of its color.
He rushed to alleviate her distress. “Only if you wanted to. We are agreed that you will take your time. I will focus my energies on myself.” He was the one who needed to be betrothed within a fortnight! Less than that now. “It’s good that you will keep an open mind, just in case you meet the man of your dreams.”
Laughing, she tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “I don’t have a man of my dreams.”
“Then you should think of one.”
“Do you have one?” she asked. “A woman of your dreams, that is.”
“I do, actually.” He cast his head back and looked at the ceiling. “She’s smart and funny. She’s mature so that she knows what she wants and is not easily swayed. I suppose she’s also strong and confident.” He lowered his gaze and met hers once more to find she was staring at him.
“You’ve thought about this.”
Because he’d made a mistake two years ago, and he wouldn’t repeat it. “I have to. I’m an earl. It has always been my duty to wed and have an heir. That I didn’t do so sooner was a thorn in my father’s side. What if I died without issue?” He slapped his palms to his cheeks and gaped at her.
She giggled. “We shouldn’t be joking about death.”
“Why not? It happens to all of us. If we can’t laugh at life—and death—what point is there?”
She grew serious, returning her elbow to the arm of the chair and resting her chin on her hand. “You make a compelling argument. I’d rather laugh. Take today’s debacle, for instance. I was so wound up with anxiety and fear that I almost forgot to have a good time. I met the queen, for heaven’s sake! And yes, I fell on my arse, but—” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry.”
Laughter erupted from him, and once he started, he couldn’t stop. It was the combination of the horror on her face from saying “arse” and the memory of the horror on her face when she’d collapsed in front of the bloody Queen of England.
