He reached forward and took her hands in his. “After I left you at Lawson Court, I couldn’t get the vision of you and your family having to eat rabbit stew out of my mind. I had to do something quickly. You shouldn’t have to live in such dire circumstances. Nor should you constantly have to fear what Rupert Lawson might do to Julia. I couldn’t see another option.”
Sincerity brightened his startling blue eyes. The warmth of his touch provided a comfort, one she rarely enjoyed.
“I apologize for my abruptness.” She gently squeezed his hands in appreciation. “It’s just, well, you took me by surprise. I’ve been the one responsible for their welfare for so long.”
“Let me share it with you. I promise I won’t make any more decisions without your counsel.” Without letting go of her hands, he stared deeply into her eyes as if he could see every struggle, every tear she had shed, every sleepless night she’d suffered since her parents had died. “Trust me.”
He smiled, and the fire suddenly blazed as if he had the power to sweep all the darkness out of her life with just a look or a grin. To think such thoughts was too dangerous. She was setting herself up for a disappointment that would make a rogue wave appear like a ripple in a wading pool. He was a friend and nothing more—whether he thought so or not.
She tugged her hands free of his and stood to clean up the remnants of their meal. She was looking forward to falling into bed and actually sleeping late in the morning. Everything was ready for her family to arrive tomorrow. “All right.”
“Excellent. I knew you were logical.” His eyes widened with mischief as he waited for her response.
Even though she delighted in his teasing and exceedingly handsome company, exhaustion consumed her. “I should retire. I have an eventful day tomorrow.”
Dismay darkened his face. “You’re not staying here.”
“Where else would I stay?” She took a deep breath for fortitude. All she wanted was to rest and not argue. “This is my family’s home. I’ve worked all day preparing the residence for their arrival. Now, I’m sure you have better things to do than entertain me. Thank you for your interest and your visit.”
“You’re my responsibility also. Sometimes I seriously question your decisions. You failed to lock the door, and I walked right in without anyone to stop me.” He took another sip of wine and immediately slipped into the confident lord who had his every wish and order obeyed. “My carriage is waiting outside. I’ll take you to Langham Hall since that’s where you and your family will be staying while you’re in London.”
“Did you consider my opinion in the matter?” she challenged.
“Don’t be quarrelsome. Come, the duchess is waiting.” He held out his arm and waited for her to accompany him.
She stole one last look around the room. The fire and the dirty dishes demanded attention before they left. “What about—”
“One of the footmen will tidy up and lock the house. Come,” he commanded.
So much for asking her counsel on decisions that affected her and her family.
Chapter Nine
Over the last several weeks, March had reluctantly settled into the Duke and Duchess of Langham’s home. Faith loved spending time in the library while Julia roamed the halls of the massive house memorizing the family history and cataloging the various rooms. She’d found a willing accomplice to her investigations—Pitts, the Langham family’s butler, loved to regale Julia with the history of the family. Even Bennett was enjoying his stay since the duke good-naturedly spent time with him. Whether playing chess or discussing sheep farming, the two seemed to enjoy each other’s company. However, the glue that kept everyone and everything organized was the Duchess of Langham.
A beautiful woman in her mid-fifties, the duchess had that magical charm that drew others to her. Not only kind and generous, but underneath, her fortitude kept the large household running smoothly while controlling the exhaustive social calendar both she and the duke seemed to relish. Hardly ever a night passed when the powerful couple didn’t attend some social event, ball, or a dinner party at a political crony’s house.
However, through it all, the Cavensham family came together at least once a week to share a meal. March and her siblings attended those gatherings. She was struck speechless at the duke and duchess’s generosity and realized how blessed she and her siblings were to be treated as part of such a strong family that supported one another through disagreements and celebrations.
She closed her eyes and said a little prayer. Finally, her family was safe. If fate was kind to both Julia and Faith, and both were lucky enough to make matches this Season, then March would consider their sojourn to London an unqualified success.
Even March never lacked for company. Emma, the Countess of Somerton, visited quite frequently with her husband, Lord Somerton. As Emma was her friend and her banker, March found herself growing more and more comfortable in Langham Hall. She’d even developed a friendship with McCalpin’s beautiful cousin Claire, the Marchioness of Pembrooke.
After their sweet kiss, it was hard to think of Michael as McCalpin anymore. He visited frequently, but spent most of his time with his father and William behind closed doors. The brief glimpses she enjoyed of his presence always made her day a little more joyous.
To think anything of the time she’d shared with Michael that night at the family townhouse was beyond foolish. She schooled herself to forget such nonsense. It was pleasant to be around such a lovely family, and that was all.
Moreover, one thing March was certain of, she was never foolish.
Over the past several weeks, the duchess had declared March and her sisters needed new wardrobes. Like an army general commanding the troops, the duchess would take the trio of sisters to the best clothing and haberdashery establishments in town. Today March left on her own for a few items from Mademoiselle Mignon, the duchess’s favorite dressmaker in all of London.
Once inside the shop, March idly stroked the blush-colored velvet. The slightest hint of pink immediately brought to mind Julia’s perfect complexion. For her sister to wear in public a gown made from the striking fabric would cause a near riot in any London ballroom. Whatever it took, Julia would own such an ensemble before the month was out.
As was habit, March kept careful records of everything spent on their family. The vast wardrobes for Julia and Faith were no exception. She, on the other hand, had declined any new dresses. Yet, the duchess had insisted. Finally, March had agreed to a new morning gown for social calls and an evening gown for the duchess’s ball. She’d politely refused any other purchases. There was no cause for such extravagance. When her sisters eventually settled with a husband and their own home, March planned to move back to Lawson Court until Bennett was grown and ready to assume his responsibilities.
What she would do after was still under consideration. She feared she’d be too old for matrimony and a hindrance to Bennett once he married and started to raise a family.
She pushed aside such worries. Other things demanded her attention, such as ways to enhance the gowns she’d made from her grandmother’s old dresses. She took the lace, braided cord, ribbons, and other trims she had selected to the front of Mademoiselle Mignon’s shop, the most exclusive dressmaker in all of England. Her reputation was legendary since her mother had helped dress Marie Antoinette.
March patiently waited for assistance. Since there wasn’t much call for a sheep farmer’s skills in the city of London, she’d hoped to offer her bookkeeping services in exchange for the trim or a least a discount. Money was always a worry, and she’d do everything possible to protect her family’s fortune.
The modiste attended two elegantly dressed young women and an older woman who probably was their mother if her dress was any indication. The woman wore a dark peacock pelisse while the girls were dressed in sturdy but fashionable lilac-colored broadcloth cloaks. A polite argument about a lower neckline on one of the young ladies’ gowns had erupted between the three women. Mademoiselle Mig
non excused herself.
Dressed in a magnificent purple velvet with yards of black lace as an overskirt, the seamstress approached. “How may I help you today, miss?”
The modiste’s warm dulcet tone enhanced her French accent, and her sharp gaze made March pay attention. As Mademoiselle Mignon evaluated her, March made her own quick calculation and came to the conclusion she could negotiate with this woman. Her own experience haggling over prices of wool throughout the years had given her a keen sense of a person’s bargaining capability, and the seamstress had an abundance of it. No wonder her shop was so successful.
March carefully laid the bolts of trim on the table. “I would like to purchase ten yards of each.”
The shop owner nodded her head and took the bolts to her cutting area.
March’s gaze swept the shop. There must be hundreds of items that required a precise inventory in a shop this size along with careful records of the junior seamstresses’ time and wages. “Mademoiselle, I wonder if you would consider some type of exchange for the trims I’d like to purchase. I have experience bookkeeping for establishments such as yours, and—”
The shopkeeper gently laid her scissors on the table. “Miss, if you don’t have the money for the trim.”
A deadly quiet settled as the three customers immediately stopped their argument to overhear her private conversation with the proprietress.
March bit her lower lip in an attempt to harness the familiar emptiness in her stomach. It always occurred when she discussed her lack of funds. However, she had the one thousand pounds that Michael had given her. It was more than enough to pay for her purchases.
Why she felt humiliation at all was puzzling. Perhaps the trim pieces represented nothing more than an extravagance. Deep down, she couldn’t deny the real cause. The women overhearing the conversation would understand her circumstances and recognize her as the outlier she was—a person that had no place in their rarified society. “I have the funds. I bank at E. Cavensham Commerce.”
The door chimes rang, warning another society paragon would witness her humiliation.
The young lady identified as Lady Miranda by the shopkeeper scoffed aloud, “She’s one of those women. Pitiful souls who dredge their ugly business before everyone in London.”
“Miranda, hush,” her mother scolded.
The young woman drew her attention to her mother. “Why? You think the same thing.”
Her sister reached out and placed her hand on Miranda’s arm. “Listen to Mother, Mandy,” she hissed.
Lady Miranda narrowed her gaze. “What is the matter with both of—”
“March, darling, there you are.” The Duchess of Langham stood beside her and surveyed the group.
As if in an awkward dance, all four ladies, including the seamstress, curtseyed deeply. Murmurs of “Your Grace” rang through the shop. When they raised their heads, the women’s cheeks bore a scarlet color as if subjected to a sweltering summer day.
The duchess nodded her head slightly, then turned her full attention to Mignon. “Wrap those up for me. Have them delivered to Langham Hall within the hour. Miss Lawson and I are late for tea with the duke.”
The duchess wrapped March’s arm around hers and escorted her from the shop.
A chorus of “Your Grace” followed them both outside, but the duchess didn’t spare a look back. Outside the shop, a Langham footman stood beside the black-lacquered carriage. He opened the door at first sight of the duchess. With an innate grace, she took the forward-facing seat, and March sat opposite.
“As soon as Pitts informed me you had gone on a little shopping excursion, I raced to find you.” The duchess made short work of taking off her gloves. She reached across the narrow space between and took March’s hands in her own. “Darling, only the ugliest society vultures shop at this hour. Next time, just inform me you wish to purchase a new dress, and we’ll have Mignon come to you for anything you need.”
A fierce heat burned her cheeks, and she gently shook her head. “I wasn’t shopping for a dress, just some trim. I have a few old gowns I’m altering for myself. With the upcoming ball, you and the duke have graciously offered to host for us, I can’t ask for more from you. I can’t tell you how much your generosity means to me and my family.”
The duchess’s brow wrinkled in consternation. “Darling, didn’t you order more gowns when Mignon came to the house last week?”
March shook her head slightly. “There’s no need. I’ll make do with my grandmother’s old gowns. My mother’s dresses are too short and quite snug for my figure.” She quickly gazed outside the window. This was almost worse than having to face Michael in his study and beg him not to embarrass her in front of Faith and Hart. To say the discussion was uncomfortable was a mild understatement. What little money March possessed, she needed to save every shilling for the estate and the upcoming year.
The burning sensation of tears demanded every ounce of her concentration. Would she ever be free from this constant worry over money?
The duchess squeezed her hands. “Didn’t McCalpin tell you that I was sponsoring you and your sisters this season? That means I’m paying for your new wardrobes.”
March shook her head. She didn’t trust her voice as unruly shame threatened to overtake her.
“You have nothing to worry about. I’ll take care of everything.” The duchess patted her arm, then leaned back against the velvet squab. With a tilt of her head, she studied March. “Darling, I think we should consider a primrose or gold for a couple of your gowns. With your coloring, you’d look magnificent.”
The duchess smiled in such a sweet, sincere manner it reminded March of her own mother when they had gone shopping for her gown to make her entrance into society. It was one of her happiest memories and permanently engraved on March’s heart. Today, it brought little comfort.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” She swallowed the pain those sweet memories inevitably brought. “Perhaps you should concentrate your efforts on my sisters. My needs are simple—”
The duchess narrowed her eyes in apparent confusion. “This is my gift to you and your sisters. The duke and I want to do this for your family. Your father and my husband’s brother were great friends. It’s our honor to help you.” Her voice gentled as her gaze fell to March’s face. “McCalpin is taking care of everything else, but the duke and I wanted to show you how much we enjoy you and your family.”
March pressed her eyes shut to stop the flood of tears with little success.
“Your family’s guardian has done a poor job of informing you what was happening,” the duchess chided with a smile. She pressed a crisp handkerchief into March’s hand.
“No, he’s been everything gracious to my family ever since he first came to visit us at Lawson Court.” March studied the elegant cloth, which was too fine to ruin. She quickly swiped the tears from her eyes with her own gloves. “You see, I was injured and without any concern for himself, he brought me back to the house and stayed with me when our housekeeper cleaned and stitched my wound.”
She was rambling, but didn’t care. Michael’s mother needed to know what her son had done for her and her family.
“He didn’t even care that I bled all over his coat. And then, when he discovered we didn’t have any food…” She cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders in an attempt to get her unruly emotions under control. “No, Your Grace. Lord McCalpin is one of the most generous and honorable men I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”
The duchess lifted one finely arched brow, and another smile graced her lips. March couldn’t quite identify what the duchess’s expression meant, but it reminded her of a similar one that Maximus would bestow on his lowly humans when he’d finished the last drop of cream in the cup and was quite satisfied with himself.
“I see.” The duchess chuckled. “How wonderful.”
* * *
A breathtaking display of energy infused the family dining room at Langham Hall. The likes of which March ha
d never seen. Tomorrow night, the Duchess of Langham was hosting a ball to introduce Faith and Julia into London society, and guests from the highest echelons of the ton and government would attend. Of course, the duchess included March’s name on the invitations, but they both knew the ball was the hallmark for her sisters’ introduction to society.
The duke sat at the head of the table and the duchess at the other end. March sat next to her. With a dip of her spoon, March sipped the excellent white veal soup. Flavored with port, the veal stock and cream were the perfect antidote to the cold winter night outdoors. A gloriously handsome footman refilled her wine glass without her requesting it. She’d never seen so many servants, all in perfectly fitted livery. With Pitts supervising the tableau, it seemed every person had their own personal footman attending them.
Light snow, a sign nature wasn’t quite ready to release her hold on winter, blanketed the windows. If they were lucky, the frost would continue tomorrow. Any thaw would make the guests entrance into Langham Hall a muddy mess.
The conversation continued to grow in volume and merriment. The entire Langham family attended tonight. Emma and her husband, Nick, sat to the right of the duke. Claire and her husband, Alex, sat to the duke’s left. Lady Daphne Hallworth, Alex’s sister, sat next to her brother.
March’s siblings sat at the middle of the table. Tonight, Bennett attended and joined the family in celebration since tomorrow promised to be an extraordinary day for the entire family.
“Your Grace,” Bennett announced as he looked at the duchess. “Thank you for instructing Milton to show me how to use the bell pulls in my suites and the nursery.” His eyes widened in amazement. “The footman shared that anything is at my fingertips. It makes the task of acquiring food, particularly sweets, so convenient.”
The Luck of the Bride--The Cavensham Heiresses Page 11
