Mrs. Pomfrey tapped the place next to her. “Sit, Mrs. Martin. Sit.”
“Yes, please sit, Mrs. Martin,” Mirabel said, a smile on her face and a plea in her eyes.
Thea took pity on her friend and seated herself at the table.
Mirabel poured tea. There was a moment of silence while everyone took a sip and smiled at each other and Thea wondered why the mavens had called. Mirabel looked just as curious.
Mrs. Pomfrey did not waste time enlightening them. “I understand, Mrs. Martin, that Lord Lyon has been seeking your advice on a matter of much importance.”
Thea wondered where she had heard that. Her question must have shown on her face, because Lady Montvale explained, “You were seen dining with him several days ago. Many of us know of your particular talents.”
“Talents?” A bit uncertain, Thea looked at Mirabel, who realized first what the ladies were saying. She jumped into the fray.
“Yes, Lord Lyon is consulting with Mrs. Martin in his quest for a wife. He’s decided the time has come.”
Thea kicked Mirabel under the table. What was she doing?
“Ow,” Mirabel had the ill grace to say. She frowned at Thea. “Why hide the fact? That these gentlewomen are here is proof enough that the word is all over town.”
“Well, not all over,” Mrs. Pomfrey said, “but we’ve heard. Then again, we’ve all been waiting. I was saying to Mr. Pomfrey just last week that if I had my pick of all the suitable gentlemen in London to marry my Susanne, it would be Lord Lyon.”
Lady Montvale turned to Thea, giving her good friend her back. “My daughter Cynthia is of marriageable age and the leading debutante this year. They call her the Nonpareil of the season.”
“How nice for her,” Thea said.
“I don’t want to brag—,” Lady Montvale said, leaning in to Thea as if to share confidences, until Mrs. Pomfrey placed her arm in front of her as to block any movement.
“You already have been bragging,” Mrs. Pomfrey interjected bluntly. “A very unattractive habit it is.”
Lady Montvale ignored her, continuing, “But Princess Caroline complimented Cynthia on her voice. Said she’d heard Italian singers who paled in comparison to my Cynthia. Of course, we’ve seen that she’s had the finest teachers. Lord Montvale and I have poured everything we have into our daughter. Talent such as hers should not be ignored.”
“Well,” Mrs. Pomfrey said, setting down her teacup, “singing is fine, but anyone can sing. It’s God given, after all. Open your mouth; let noise come out . . . However, my Susanne plays the pianoforte. That takes talent! The first time Prinny heard her play, he gave her a standing ovation. The Prince adores music. He said Susanne could play for him any day.”
Lady Montvale’s smile grew tighter. “Prinny acclaims my Cynthia’s dancing. He says she is lighter than air.”
“How interesting,” Mrs. Pomfrey said, unimpressed. “He said the same of my Susanne. Furthermore, my husband’s family has excellent bloodlines. He is descended from the Conqueror.”
“As is my husband’s,” Lady Montvale returned, and Thea put her hands up to stop the conversation before it became too heated.
“Please, my ladies, I understand. You would like to have your daughters introduced to Lord Lyon.”
“Of course we do,” Lady Montvale said. “Why else would we track you down?”
Mirabel’s gaze met Thea’s over her teacup. Thea suspected Mirabel was hiding her laughter.
Mrs. Pomfrey began waxing on, “You must pardon our being forward, but Lord Lyon would be such an excellent husband for Susanne—”
“Or Cynthia,” Lady Montvale added.
“—and he is so reclusive,” Mrs. Pomfrey continued, “that we must resort to any means necessary to catch his attention. So tell me, how are you going to go about introducing him to my daughter? My husband and I would be very pleased to host a dinner—”
“No, it should be at Montvale House,” her ladyship said. “In fact, I should have a house party in the country. That way there will be no distractions to keep him from acquainting himself with my daughter—”
“And mine,” Mrs. Pomfrey said.
“We shall see,” her ladyship replied breezily. “I haven’t decided the guest list.”
“You would cut Susanne out? Your own goddaughter?” Mrs. Pomfrey demanded. She didn’t wait for an answer but turned to Thea. “If it is a house party, then we should go to our family estate at Trumbull. It’s closer to London and twice the size of Lady Montvale’s.”
“People would be lost in a house that size,” Lady Montvale returned.
“It would be a pity if the person lost was your daughter” was Mrs. Pomfrey’s tart reply.
“That was unkind—,” Lady Montvale started, but her friend wagged a finger at her.
“This is competition for high stakes, my dear. Friendship can’t be considered.”
“Then perhaps it’s best I not invite you when Lord Lyon comes to Wavertree for my house party.”
“You needn’t worry, my dear. He’ll most certainly prefer being at mine.”
“And to think I valued your friendship,” Lady Montvale spit out, coming to her feet.
“As if you would show off my daughter under your roof,” Mrs. Pomfrey returned. “I know what you plan to do. It is what you do whenever a prettier girl is in the room with Cynthia. You scheme to shut her out.”
“I do not,” Lady Montvale said, very insulted, “because there isn’t a prettier young woman in London than Cynthia.”
“That’s not what people say behind your back—,” Mrs. Pomfrey returned. Thea had to cut in before they came to fisticuffs.
“Please,” she said, reaching out to come between the two women. “This isn’t necessary. Lord Lyon will make up his own mind.”
“Then our daughters are to meet him?” Mrs. Pomfrey said.
“Yes,” Thea said. “I believe he should.” If the daughters were anything like the bickering, haughty mothers, then she couldn’t imagine Lyon in danger of falling in love with either of them. Certainly they knew how to give their children every advantage, something that would be passed down to the grandchildren as well. Lyon wanted his children doted upon.
“However,” Mirabel said, setting down her teacup and commanding everyone’s attention, “the house party will be at my estate, Bennington Abbey. Neutral ground,” she explained to the arguing friends.
For a second, Mrs. Pomfrey appeared ready to protest, but then seemed to change her mind. “That seems fair. Is it fair to you, Lady Montvale?”
Lady Montvale made a great show of considering the matter. Her eyes scanned the ceiling for a moment, as if she’d been searching for an answer there. Her chin came down. “Fair enough.”
“Good,” Thea said. “Lady Palmer, when will you be ready to receive guests?”
“We could plan for Thursday next?” Mirabel suggested.
Thea looked to the Lady Montvale and Mrs. Pomfrey for confirmation. They both nodded their assent.
“Very well,” Thea said. “We shall make plans for that date.”
Mirabel clapped her hands. “I adore house parties, and this one should prove to be very interesting.”
“Are our daughters to be the only ones there?” Mrs. Pomfrey asked.
“Oh, now,” Thea said, “that wouldn’t be very sporting.”
Neither lady appeared happy with her answer, but Mirabel was. She could now claim to have hostessed London’s most hoity-toity society mavens, and Thea could tell by the grin on her friend’s face she was going to enjoy every moment of it.
After Lady Montvale and Mrs. Pomfrey left, Thea penned a note to Lady Lila Corkindale inviting her to the house party. She did not mention the purpose behind the event. Mirabel had it sent off to be hand delivered by a servant, which was very kind of her.
But
what was interesting was that even before Thea could gather up the boys to go home, the servant had returned with Lady Lila’s acceptance and a hastily penned note.
I am looking forward to meeting Lord Lyon.
“See? Everyone knows,” Mirabel said. “There are no secrets in London.”
“Which is a bit unnerving,” Thea said.
“Except when it works to your benefit,” Mirabel answered. “Meanwhile, I shall be hosting a house party that will be the talk of the season because everyone will be anxious to discover who the Lyon chooses.”
“As I will be,” Thea threw out, becoming more preoccupied with collecting her things and her children than Mirabel’s social success.
It was a good evening for a walk. The summer air was clear and velvety soft without heavy humidity.
Tonight, after spending a good portion of the day chasing each other around Mirabel’s garden, the boys didn’t need a trip to a park. They were happy to return to their new home.
“I like it here,” Jonathan announced as Thea opened their front door.
“I like it here,” Christopher echoed.
“I like it here, too,” Thea agreed stoutly. “Now let us wash up and prepare for bed. I believe there is still water upstairs in the bowl. I’ll read a story to you if you are speedy.”
She didn’t have to ask twice. Her sons liked a good tale, and they dashed up the stairs like rabbits, each trying to reach the top before the other, even if that meant some good-natured jostling.
Thea watched them, her heart filled with love. If she stopped too long and thought about their futures, she’d be frightened. They lived on an edge, where a misstep one way or the other could throw them into the streets . . . but so far she’d managed—and she would keep going. She loved her boys with a fierce passion.
She understood why Neal would want children.
Thea turned to close the door and was startled to realize they had a visitor.
A statuesque, raven-haired woman stood on her step. Her features could have been chiseled from marble, they were so even and perfect. Her dress was of the very finest stuff, a muslin lawn so light and well woven it seemed to float around her, and it boasted an ivory lace inset around her neckline that was a work of art. She had to be of Thea’s age, or perhaps a few years younger, given the smoothness of her skin.
She also seemed somewhat familiar to Thea.
“May I help you?” Thea said.
“Yes, you may help me, Mrs. Martin. I’m Lady Margaret Chattan. Lord Lyon is my brother. I’m here to ask you to leave him alone.”
Chapter Six
“I beg your pardon?” Thea said, a bit startled by the request.
Lady Margaret took advantage of the moment and walked right into the house. “You heard what I said,” she replied. “If you value Lyon at all, if you care about him, you will walk away.”
“Is this about his requesting my assistance to find a wife?” Thea demanded. “Or is it about the curse?” She was tired, and her tone cynical.
“You mock the curse. Many have,” Lady Margaret said. “I don’t blame you. I wondered at one time if it was real or not, and I was raised with it.” She took a step toward Thea, her manner intense. “But it is true, and if you don’t remove yourself from his life, you’ll be signing his death warrant.”
“His death warrant?” Thea repeated in disbelief, only to be interrupted by Jonathan’s voice.
“Is everything all right, Mother?” He’d come halfway down the stairs. He’d removed his jacket and pulled his shirt from his breeches, but that was all he’d done in preparing for bed. Christopher waited on the top step. “Do you need me?” Jonathan asked the question with such seriousness that Thea could see the man he would one day become.
She crossed to the stairs. “It is fine, Jonathan. Now please help your brother prepare for bed. Please,” she reiterated when Jonathan didn’t immediately do as bid. She didn’t want her sons listening to the curse nonsense.
At last he reluctantly obeyed, but she knew he’d be hovering at the top of the stairs.
She turned to discover Lady Margaret standing right beside her. Her ladyship watched Jonathan as he disappeared from view. For his part, Jonathan kept his eye on her.
Thea moved away from the stairs, putting a hand on the door, a wordless suggestion for Lady Margaret to leave. “I don’t know what you’ve been told,” Thea said, “but your brother asked me to find a wife for him, not to be a wife to him.”
Lady Margaret didn’t move a muscle. “You were very important to him at one time.”
“Was I? I’m not so certain. If I’d been that important, then he wouldn’t have just walked off from our friendship without one word.”
“He couldn’t be your friend,” Lady Margaret said. “It’s the curse. It has all of us.” Her manner had changed. The fierce anger had vanished. In its place was something far more fragile. She turned and walked into the sitting room.
Biting back an impatient sound, Thea shut the front door and followed.
Lady Margaret stood by the upholstered settee, struggling to control herself. Her actions didn’t make sense to Thea. She understood pride. She understood anger. Or being protective and territorial. Neal’s sister acted as if afraid.
“Do you fear the curse as well?” Thea asked, gentling her voice.
Lady Margaret looked at her. “I do.”
“But you have no need to fear it,” Thea pointed out. “It has no impact on you. It touches only the males, does it not?”
“Are you certain?” Lady Margaret gave a sad smile. “You see, we Chattans don’t know. Amazingly, I’m the first female in the line. And what of second sons? Does Harry need to fear? What of any sons I have? All of us in the family have a terrible history of dying. Even in Scotland, the name of Chattan is all but gone.”
“Scotland?”
“Yes, we have Scottish roots. Many of our family hail from the countryside around Glenfinnan. Do you know of the battle of Cullendon? I’ve heard that the Chattan family lost more men on the Scottish side than any of the other clans fighting. In England, we are all but gone save my brothers and myself. Any other relatives are from my mother’s side.”
“Cullendon? Wasn’t that a battle of insurrectionists? Lady Margaret, please, do not overdramatize this. Men die in battle. It’s a hard truth. Furthermore, Colonel Chattan has been in battle and has not died.”
“Mrs. Martin, don’t assume that I am ninny-headed. Believe me, I wish what I was telling you was not true.”
Thea didn’t know what to say. She took a step away, looking out the front window to the street and the park. At last, she shrugged and confessed, “With all due respect, if you wish to believe in superstition and have searched for ways to twist the happenstances of life around to support your claim, well, I don’t know what to do.”
“I told you what I want you to do,” Lady Margaret countered. “I want you to leave my brother alone. He mustn’t have children. Harry and I agree none of us should. This curse must end with us.”
Something deep inside Thea rebelled at the suggestion. “What you are suggesting isn’t natural. We are meant to have children. And it is ludicrous to give a belief so much power. However, speak to your brother. He has hired me to help him find a wife, and that is what I will do. If he changes his mind, then I won’t find him a wife.”
Lady Margaret opened her mouth to protest, but Thea staved her off with a raised hand. “Yes, Lord Lyon and I were friends one summer years ago, but that was then. This is now. Life for both of us is different. In case you haven’t noticed,” she said, nodding to the furnishings in the room, “no one could mistake this for a ducal residence. You need not fear a match between your brother and myself.”
“But what of the other women you would introduce to him?” Lady Margaret asked. “Please, don’t let Lyon marry.”
“I have no more control over what your brother decides to do than you do,” Thea answered. “Indeed, he is determined to marry. The man wants children.”
“It is more than that. Neal believes we can break this curse. He thought Father was going to break it, but then he fell in love with Cass Sweetling. You should have seen him. The father I knew—the resectable, sensible man—changed around her. He forgot about us, his obligations, his position in society. He gave in completely to the curse. Laughing, dancing, carrying on.”
“Perhaps he did so because Cass Sweetling made him happy,” Thea suggested.
“Perhaps she was part of the curse. Perhaps we can’t help ourselves and must succumb to it.”
“And perhaps it is all part of your imaginations,” Thea said. “Like character traits. In my family, we all said we had uncontrollable tempers. What starts off as myth becomes a belief.”
“You think I’m overreacting,” Lady Margaret said, her shoulders straightening.
“I believe you are convinced this curse exists,” Thea answered, not backing down. “I am not. Your father died of old age. He and your mother were an arranged marriage that was not happy. And after she died, he did what thousands of men have done before him and will continue to do until the end of time, he tumbled in love for a young, pretty girl. There is no curse involved.”
The bristle left Lady Margaret’s manner. “I know it isn’t logical. If I wasn’t part of this family, I probably would doubt the story of a curse as well. However, my coming here isn’t to convince you. What I want is completely in your power. Stay away from my brother.”
Back to that, were they?
Thea could almost have laughed at Lady Margaret’s order if she hadn’t been so tired. “You needn’t fear I will entrap your brother. First, I am no Delilah. I’m a widow whose only thoughts, whose every energy, goes into the needs of my children. I don’t have time for a man in my life, and even if I did, let me tell you now, after one taste of marriage, it is not for me. I prefer to raise my sons alone so that I do not have to answer to anyone.”
Lyon's Bride: The Chattan Curse Page 8
