by Darcy Burke
“That makes no sense,” Fiona said. “Unless he isn’t the only owner.”
Cassandra sucked in a breath and turned to face Fiona. “I hadn’t considered that. Perhaps we could find out if there’s a secret, silent co-owner and use that information to extort invitations to the assemblies.”
Fiona inhaled sharply, echoing Cassandra, her eyes widening as she pivoted on the settee. “You wouldn’t do that to your own brother.”
“Of course not. Unfortunately, my mind tends to come up with rather devious plans. I do try very hard not to launch any of them. Only when needs are critical.” She paused and looked Fiona in the eye. “I would say our needs are now critical.”
Feeling slightly puzzled, Fiona asked, “What needs are those exactly?”
“How we’ll obtain a sponsor so we may go to the assemblies.”
Right. “I did ask Overton why he couldn’t just sponsor me, and why your brother couldn’t sponsor you. They’re members, and we’re family. Well, you’re family, and I’m sort of like family.”
“Brilliant. What did he say to that?”
“He indicated he’d speak with Lord Lucien. Did your brother say nothing to you?”
“No, and he just called late this morning. Perhaps the membership committee wasn’t in favor of that either.”
“Are they in charge of all the rules in addition to membership?”
Cassandra wiped her hand across her forehead but didn’t rub it this time. “I have no idea. I am beginning to lose hope that we’ll attend an assembly. I would wonder if my father wasn’t behind this, except Lucien typically ignores Papa’s edicts. On the other hand, when it comes to me, Lucien doesn’t push too hard. Damn, I really wanted to see that bacchanalia painting.”
“And I want to see the Circe one,” Fiona murmured.
“When we first met, you suggested that we steal inside,” Cassandra said slowly, as if she were testing to see how it sounded out loud.
“I was jesting.” Had she been? “Sort of.”
“I think I may have a plan.” Excitement sparked in her gaze.
Fiona was simultaneously thrilled and hesitant. “Didn’t you just say your plans are devious?”
“I also said I only launch them when absolutely necessary.”
“What’s your plan?”
“We’ll dress up as gentlemen and steal into the men’s side of the club.”
Fiona gaped at her. “What?”
“That’s an awful idea.” Prudence stood just inside the doorway with a tray of cakes and lemonade.
“Why are you bringing refreshments?” Fiona was still confused by the hierarchy of households. Prudence was not a servant and yet she did things that were similar to a servant.
“Because I was hungry and thought you might be too.” She set the tray on a table near the windows that overlooked Brook Street. “Also, I didn’t want to trouble anyone,” she murmured.
Fiona understood that sentiment. If she wanted something late at night, she never rang for assistance. Indeed, she had trouble ringing for assistance at any time. The fact that she had a maid dedicated to helping her dress and taking care of her things seemed utterly excessive. However, Fiona completely understood—and appreciated—her maid’s expert help with dressing for a ball, not that she needed that again anytime soon.
Fiona and Cassandra joined Prudence at the table where she was sipping lemonade but hadn’t taken a seat.
“Aren’t you staying?” Fiona asked, reaching for a biscuit.
Prudence eyed her and Cassandra guardedly. “That depends on whether you’re actually planning to dress up like gentlemen and steal into the Phoenix Club.”
“Do you have a better idea?” There was an eagerness to Cassandra’s question and a glint in her eye that said she rather hoped Prudence did.
Setting her glass down on the table, Prudence perched on one of the four chairs. “Why are you trying to get inside?”
Cassandra sat across from Prudence. “Because it doesn’t look as though we’ll be able to attend the assemblies. And it will be incredibly diverting.”
Prudence pursed her lips and gave them a disapproving look. “Those don’t seem like very good reasons to take such a risk. I shouldn’t listen to this conversation,” she murmured, starting to rise.
“No, you shouldn’t,” Fiona said firmly. She truly didn’t want to get Prudence into any trouble.
Prudence plucked a biscuit from the tray. “I’ll leave you to your plans.” She glanced toward the door, then lowered her voice. “If it were me, I’d dress up as one of the maids and steal into the women’s side one morning—just act as if I’m going about my work. The maids wear a distinct costume of a gray gown with a dark green apron. And a white cap, of course.” She took a bite of biscuit before turning and departing the drawing room.
Fiona wanted to ask how Prudence knew so much. Also, she still hadn’t inquired as to how Prudence was acquainted with Lord Lucien.
Cassandra sat back in her chair, grinning. “You are so fortunate to have Prudence. What I wouldn’t give for a companion like her. Or any companion,” she added with a sigh.
Was she lonely? Fiona hated to think she might be. She knew how that felt, not that she’d realized that was what she’d been experiencing in Shropshire until she’d come here. Going from a small household, where it was just her and Mrs. Tucket, along with Mr. Woodson who came round regularly to help with things, to this grand house in Mayfair with its large complement of servants, plus Prudence, was just as much of a change as participating in Society.
No, she wouldn’t go back to Bitterley—not now. And if that meant marrying, then she’d find someone tolerable.
In the meantime, Fiona was going to enjoy her freedom. “Where do you suppose we can find dark green aprons?”
Cassandra blinked in surprise. “Do you truly want to do it?”
“Your brother owns the club. If we were discovered, would there be any harm? Besides, if we go in the morning, no one will see us there, save the employees of the club. We’ll just need to keep our heads down. Perhaps we need extra large caps to pull them down over our brow.”
“Oh yes,” Cassandra said with a warm laugh. “I think perhaps it’s time for our shopping trip to Cheapside. I’ll arrange for Aunt Christina to take us tomorrow.”
“Will she be available on such short notice?”
Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “She owes me a favor after all but abandoning me the other night at the ball. If I told my father, he’d cut off her allowance.”
“Your father gives her an allowance?”
“He compensates her for acting as my chaperone.”
Fiona kept the next question to herself—why would family need to be compensated for helping and supporting one another? She feared the answer as well as how it might make Cassandra feel. Fiona was beginning to realize things about her friend. She seemed so fortunate on the outside, with her family, wealth, and privilege. But if she was lonely and her family was as cold as Fiona was beginning to grasp, it was no wonder Cassandra had grasped on to Fiona and looked for entertainment. Again, Fiona wondered about Cassandra’s mother, whom she now knew had died, but Cassandra never wanted to talk about her.
“Then I suppose she’ll have to escort us to Cheapside,” Fiona said with a smile. “I will not invite Prudence. That way she has absolutely nothing to do with this.” Fiona froze, and she stared at Cassandra. “Are we actually going to do this?”
Eyes dancing, Cassandra faced Fiona. “I think so. You were right—no one will see us and even if they did, what harm would be done? We’ll go on our merry way.”
It sounded marvelous. Like an adventure. And hadn’t the queen herself urged Fiona to enjoy her adventure? “I hope it’s not our only visit. I do plan to ask Overton if he’s spoken to your brother about my idea of changing the rules so that men can bring their unwed family members.”
“I will speak to Lucien myself,” Cassandra said. “Where is the earl today? I hope he’s not l
urking about eavesdropping.” She laughed softly as she picked up a glass of lemonade.
“He’s out paying calls.”
Cassandra took a sip. “On prospective brides?”
“Probably.” Fiona hadn’t considered that, but it made sense.
“I wonder who he’s considering? I hope she’s pleasant and fun—you’ll be living with her, after all.”
Fiona hadn’t thought of that. But if he wed soon, that’s precisely what would happen. How would his countess feel about having to share her house with her new husband and his ward? The pressure for Fiona to wed would grow apace. “I’ll settle for pleasant.” And patient, for what if she didn’t wed? What if his new countess hated having his ward here and insisted he send her back to Shropshire?
She would hope he didn’t find a wife soon.
Discordant notes from a pianoforte greeted Tobias as he entered his house and handed his hat and gloves to Carrin. “I hear it has arrived.”
“Indeed, my lord. It has been placed in the sitting room as you directed. However, it will need to be arranged in a more pleasing fashion.”
“Excellent.” Smiling, Tobias veered left into the sitting room that faced the street. The small pianoforte stood in the corner, awkwardly situated between other pieces of furniture.
Miss Wingate stood in front of it, her fingers picking randomly across the keys.
“A lovely melody already,” he said, drawing a gasp from his ward as she abruptly pivoted toward him. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I didn’t hear you enter over the noise I was making. A melody?” Her lips curved with amusement. “You’re very kind, particularly after I cringed at your humming.”
Tobias laughed. “True, I am quite magnanimous. Shall I hire a teacher for you then?”
“Surely I’m too old to learn.” She glanced back at the instrument. “I didn’t really think you were going to get one. And certainly not this fast.”
He shrugged. “Lucien had an extra.”
Her brows drew together. “Just a surplus pianoforte lying around?”
“Or something. Lucien is quite good at solving problems.”
“Was not having a pianoforte a problem?”
“Of course not, but when I mentioned I wanted to get one for you, he said he could have one delivered today.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“It was a surprise. I’ll inquire about a teacher tomorrow.”
“Do you play?”
“Only superficially. My mother was quite skilled. We used to make up silly ditties when I was a boy.” He hadn’t thought of those in years.
Miss Wingate smiled broadly. “About what?”
The words of one came back to him. “Frogs are slimy, and they eat flies. Birds are downy, and they just fly.”
She laughed, her eyes alight with mirth. “You were a true poet.”
“Why lie about such a thing when you were unflinchingly brutal about my abysmal humming?”
“Did I say it was abysmal?”
“You said something was abysmal, and since you compared me to a cat in heat, I think that’s probably accurate.”
“I did not say a cat in heat.” She held up her finger to make her point. “I said a cat in mourning.”
“I can’t decide which is more flattering.”
“Definitely the bereaved cat.” She turned back to the pianoforte and plucked out a few more notes. “Perhaps we can put on a musicale.”
“For those who can’t hear, I hope.”
She grinned. “We’ll make it for some indistinct future date. After we are wed.” She clasped her hands and faced him once more. “Did you make good progress on that front?”
Her comment about them both being married jolted him, for his initial interpretation was them married to each other. As if his reputation wasn’t bad enough. What would the ton say if he wed his ward?
It didn’t bear consideration.
“Yes, I think so,” he managed, directing his mind to the question she’d posed. “I called on Miss Goodfellow, and we had a nice visit.”
Miss Wingate ran her slender fingers over the top of the pianoforte. “Does she play?”
“I don’t know. That topic didn’t come up. We mostly discussed the absurd war we just lost in America.”
“Did you? What an odd thing for a young lady to discuss with a suitor. Or so I’ve been led to believe.”
He snapped his gaze to hers. “Who told you that? It’s terrible advice. Don’t rely on the Fs for conversation.” He shuddered.
“The Fs?”
“Fashion, food, and flowers. It’s all most young ladies talk about. And the weather.”
“You won’t catch me discussing fashion. I can, however, wax rather effusively about Shropshire flowers. I tended a garden back home. What used to be home, anyway.”
Used to be. “You don’t think of it as home anymore?”
She exhaled and moved away from the pianoforte. “It’s difficult to think of a place as home when you don’t have family, and nothing really belongs to you. Home is solid and secure—permanent. I have felt rather transient in recent years. I suppose I still am.”
Tobias realized Horethorne was the place he recognized as home. He lived here and at Deane Hall, but his mother’s house, where he spent Yuletide and a few weeks in late summer, was where things felt most secure and…permanent. Which was why he’d never let it go.
He pivoted toward where she’d gone. “That’s a beautiful sentiment, albeit sad. I want you to feel at home here.”
She summoned a half smile. “I am as comfortable as I could possibly be. But this is temporary.”
“You do have family—your cousin and his wife. And Mrs. Tucket is somewhat like family, isn’t she?” The former maid had begun to assert herself as a kind of assistant housekeeper, much to Mrs. Smythe’s chagrin. If she didn’t stand down, Tobias was going to have to intervene. In fact, he should probably say something to Miss Wingate. Perhaps she could help.
“Yes, she is,” Miss Wingate answered. “My cousin and his wife, however, are not. We have never been close. Actually, I’ve only met his wife three, maybe four times in the three years they’ve been married.”
Tobias found that shocking. And horrible. Why didn’t they regularly invite Fiona to dinner at their house? He couldn’t send her back to Bitterley, knowing what she’d return to.
“It sounds as if things are going well with Miss Goodfellow then?” It seemed Miss Wingate didn’t wish to continue speaking of her cousin, and Tobias would respect that.
“I believe so, yes.”
“Did you call on anyone else?” Miss Wingate went to the settee where she gracefully sat at one end and arranged her skirt. She’d learned a great deal in the almost fortnight she’d been here. Perhaps she didn’t need a break from Society after all.
“Not today.” He deposited himself in the chair angled near her position, stretching his legs out.
“That’s probably well and good,” she said. “Best to take your time with finding the right countess.” She smiled serenely. “When more people come to town, you’ll have an even wider selection of potential brides.”
He didn’t disagree, but he didn’t have the benefit of time. Nor did he like the idea of the Marriage Mart where he browsed young ladies like horses at Tattersall’s. Furthermore, he’d done that two years ago, and the results had been disastrous.
“I’m not sure I care to participate in the full-fledged Marriage Mart. Better to settle on someone soon, I think.”
“Settle? My lord, that doesn’t sound romantic at all. Surely you wish to feel something for your wife? Another reason to take your time, to allow emotion to root and bloom and flourish.”
He nearly laughed at her word choice, even as her perspective hit him square in the chest. He didn’t love Miss Goodfellow. Not yet anyway. “You’re using a flower analogy.”
“Oh dear, does that count as an F?” she asked in mock horror.
/> “I’ll allow it. And you’ll have to tell me about your Shropshire flowers some time.”
“Fritillaries, oh blast, another F, are my favorite. I love the checkered pattern on the blooms. They bloom in April and May. If you wait to get married until then, I could have some brought here for your bride’s bouquet.”
Was she trying to get him to put off his marriage? Why would she do that? Unless…
No, she couldn’t know about his father’s will. The only people who knew she stood to inherit Horethorne if Tobias didn’t marry within three months of his father’s death were his closest friends and his father’s secretary. Who was now Tobias’s secretary. Tobias had asked him if Miss Wingate would be notified of her potential inheritance, but Dyer had assured him she would not unless the three months elapsed before Tobias wed.
Tobias brought his legs up, bending them at the knee, and rested his elbow on the arm of the chair. “Why are you so interested in my marriage all of a sudden?”
“It’s important to you, and it does affect me.”
Tensing, he probed further. “In what way?”
“Your new countess will take command of this household, as she should. I am a member of this household. For the time being.”
He stared at her as if by looking long and hard enough, he’d be able to divine what else she might be thinking. Alas, that was impossible.
“Cassandra visited earlier.” Miss Wingate moved closer to the end of the settee. Closer to him. “Have you spoken to Lord Lucien about my idea to change the rules so you can bring me to the assemblies as your guest?”
“I haven’t had a chance.” He didn’t really understand why this was so important to her. It was just another ball. That wasn’t exactly true. It was a coveted invitation, like Almack’s but so much better. If he were young and new to London, he’d probably want to go too. Hell, he was neither, and if he wasn’t a member of the club, he’d be trying everything possible to garner an invitation.
