by Candace Camp
“No, of course not. I wasn’t sure…well, that you meant it.”
“Whyever not?” Lady Haughston’s eyebrows lifted in astonishment. “Because I am late, you mean? You mustn’t mind that. Everyone will tell you that I am always shockingly late. I don’t know why that is so.”
She shrugged prettily, and Constance suspected that few people were ever able to sustain any annoyance at Lady Haughston’s tardy arrivals.
“You are going shopping? With Constance?” Aunt Blanche gaped at Lady Haughston.
“I hope you will not mind,” Lady Haughston replied. “Miss Woodley promised she would help me choose a new bonnet today. I am quite torn between a pair of them.”
“Oh.” Aunt Blanche blinked. “Yes, well, of course.”
She turned to Constance, the look on her face a mixture of confusion and annoyance, as she said, “It is very kind of you to invite my niece.”
Constance felt a trifle guilty for not having told her aunt about Lady Haughston’s invitation. However, she could scarcely explain her doubts with Lady Haughston standing right there. She said only, “I am sorry, Aunt Blanche. I quite forgot to tell you. I hope you do not mind.”
Aunt Blanche could do nothing but agree to the expedition if she hoped for Lady Haughston’s favor, and Constance was banking on it that she would realize that fact. Otherwise, her aunt would probably have refused out of irritation.
But Lady Woodley was wise enough to nod and say, “Of course, my dear. You deserve a treat.” She turned to their guest. “I scarcely know what we would do without dear Constance’s help. It is so good of her to come to London to help me chaperone the girls.” Aunt Blanche cast a fond glance at Constance’s cousins. “It is difficult to keep up with two lively girls—and so many parties!”
“I am sure it must be. Are you planning to attend Lady Simmington’s ball tomorrow? I hope that I will see you there.”
Aunt Blanche’s smile remained fixed on her face, though at Francesca’s words she looked as though she had perhaps swallowed a bug. Finally, she said, “I, ah, I fear that I have lost our invitation.”
“Oh, no, do not say so. Well, if you care to go, you may have mine,” Francesca replied carelessly. “I should hate not to see all of you there. “
“My lady!” Aunt Blanche’s face turned pink with happiness. Lady Simmington was a hostess of importance, and Aunt Blanche had spent much of the week bemoaning the fact that she had not received an invitation to her ball. “That is generous of you indeed. Oh, my, yes, of course, we shall be there.”
Her joy was such that she beamed at her husband’s niece with actual good will as she bade them goodbye. Constance quickly put on her hat and gloves and followed Lady Haughston out of the house before her aunt could think of some way to try to foist her two cousins on them.
However, glad as she was to make her escape, Constance could not help but wonder what Lady Haughston was doing. Francesca’s generous gift of an invitation to one of the most exclusive balls of the Season would, of course, result in no great loss on her part. No one, Constance was sure, would deny Lady Haughston entrance to a party without her invitation. But why, Constance wondered, had she done it? She seemed a friendly and kind person—she had, after all, pretended to believe her aunt’s face-saving fabrication about a lost invitation. But a friendly nature could not explain the odd interest she had taken in Constance’s family.
It seemed beyond belief she would have been so intrigued by the look of Constance, Aunt Blanche or her daughters that she arranged to be introduced to them. And Constance had barely spoken two words to her when the woman had asked her to stroll about the party with her, as if they were bosom friends, capping this extraordinary action with an invitation to take her on a shopping expedition. Even more bizarrely, she had actually followed through on her invitation, then had expertly put Aunt Blanche in her pocket by giving her an entrée to Lady Simmington’s ball.
What sort of game was Lady Haughston playing? And even more perplexing, really, was the question of why?
CHAPTER THREE
THE TWO WOMEN CLIMBED into Lady Haughston’s waiting carriage, a shiny black barouche. Constance knew, from listening to her aunt’s chatter yesterday evening that this barouche, a slightly outdated equipage for someone usually so slap up to the mark as Lady Haughston, was one of the woman’s well-known and charming eccentricities. The barouche had been given her by her late husband when they were first married, and since his untimely death six years ago, she had refused to buy a new carriage, preferring his gift.
“I have been, in truth, looking at two hats at the milliner’s,” Lady Haughston said. “But we have ample time to stop elsewhere. Shall we go to Oxford Street? What would you like to shop for?”
Constance smiled at her. “I am quite happy to go wherever you wish, my lady. I have nothing particular I wish to buy.”
“Oh, but we cannot neglect you,” her companion said gaily. “You must at least need ribbons or gloves or some such thing.” She looked consideringly at Constance. “A bit of lace for the neckline of that dress, for instance.”
A little surprised, Constance glanced down at her chocolate brown dress. It would be prettier, it was true, with a ruffle of lace around the neckline and the small puffed sleeves—champagne-colored lace, for instance.
She shook her head, unaware of letting out a tiny sigh. “I fear it would not be plain enough then.”
“Plain enough?” A faint look of consternation marred Francesca’s pretty features. “You are not a Quaker, are you?”
Constance let out a chuckle. “No, my lady, I am not a Quaker. It is just that it is not appropriate, is it, for a chaperone to call attention to herself?”
“Chaperone!” The other woman exclaimed. “My dear, whatever are you talking about? You are far too young and pretty to be a chaperone.”
“My aunt needs my help. She has two daughters out.”
“Help? To watch them talk or dance? I think you are far too serious about the matter. I am sure she would not expect you to sit out every dance. You must dance at Lady Simmington’s ball. Her musicians are always excellent. I will speak to your aunt about it.”
Constance felt a blush begin in her cheeks. “I doubt I would be asked, my lady.”
“Nonsense. Of course you will. Especially when we brighten up your wardrobe a trifle. I have a deep blue satin gown—I have worn it far too many times already, and I fear I must give it up, but it would look wonderful on you. My maid can change something here and there, spruce it up a bit so no one will recognize it. You must come to my house before the party and let her make it over for you.”
“My lady! That is much too kind of you. I cannot accept such a generous gift.”
“Then do not consider it a gift. ’Twill be a loan, and you may give it back to me when the Season is over. And, please, that is quite enough of ‘my lady.’ I am Francesca.”
Constance stared at her, dumbfounded. “I—I don’t know what to say.”
“Why, what should you said but ‘Thank you for the dress, Francesca?’” the other woman retorted, smiling.
“I do thank you. But I—”
“What? You do not wish to be friends with me?”
“No!” Constance hastened to assure her. “I would like that very much. Indeed, I should very much like to have a friend. But you are too generous.”
“I am sure that you would be able to find a number of people who would tell you that I am not generous at all,” Francesca retorted.
“You make it very difficult to say no,” Constance told her.
Francesca’s white teeth flashed in a mischievous grin. “I know. I have worked at it for many years. Ah, here is the millinery. Now, stop all these protestations and come help me decide between these hats.”
Constance put away her doubts and followed Lady Haughston into the store. They were greeted with a smile and pleasant words from the girl behind the counter, and a moment later, an older woman who was obviously the proprietress o
f the store, swept out from the curtained rear of the shop to help them herself.
Francesca modeled both of the hats in which she was interested. One was a soft, dark blue velvet with a jockey brim, a delicate lace veil hanging down to cover her eyes. The other, a straw cottage bonnet, was lined with blue silk and tied fetchingly under the chin with a matching blue ribbon, Gypsy style. Both did wonderful things for her blue eyes, and Constance declared herself as unable to decide as Francesca was.
“You try them on,” Francesca suggested. “Let me see how they look.”
Constance made a token protest, but, in fact, she had been itching to see how the blue-lined straw would look on her. When she tried it on, she could not help but smile at her reflection.
“Oh!” Lady Haughston cried, clapping her hands together. “It looks perfect on you! You must get it, not I. I will take the velvet.”
Constance hesitated, gazing at her image in the mirror. The blue silk lining did as much for gray eyes as for blue, she decided. It was an excessively pretty bonnet, and she had not bought a new hat this year. Surely it would not hurt to spend a little of her money.
Finally, with a sigh, she shook her head. “No, I fear it must be too dear.”
“Oh, no, I am sure it is not. I believe it is on sale, is it not, Mrs. Downing?” Francesca turned and looked significantly at the store owner.
Mrs. Downing, who was well aware of the benefits of Lady Haughston’s patronage, smiled and agreed. “Indeed, it is. You are right, my lady. It is, um…” She shot another glance at Francesca. “…one-third off the price on the tag.” At Francesca’s smile, she nodded. “Yes, that’s right. One-third off. A true bargain.”
Constance looked at the price, quickly calculating. She had never spent even as much as two-thirds of this price for a hat at home. But, then, none had been as becoming or carried quite the elegant panache as this one.
“All right,” she agreed, saying goodbye to her pin money for the month. “I will take it.”
Francesca was delighted with Constance’s purchase and took the velvet hat for herself. Then she insisted on purchasing a spray of tiny silk buds as an ornament for Constance’s hair.
“Nonsense,” she said when Constance protested. “It will look perfect with the blue gown you are borrowing. It is a gift. You cannot refuse it.”
Their hats in boxes, they went back out to their waiting carriage. When they had gotten in and settled into their seats, Constance turned to Francesca.
“My lady—Francesca. I do not understand. Why are you doing this?”
Lady Haughston turned a look of supreme innocence upon her. “Doing what, my dear?”
“All of this.” Constance made a vague gesture around her. “Inviting me out with you this afternoon. Offering me a dress. Inviting us to Lady Simmington’s party.”
“Why, it is because I like you,” Francesca answered. “Why would I have any ulterior motive?”
“I cannot imagine,” Constance retorted candidly. “But neither can I believe that you spotted me or my aunt and cousins across the great hall at Lady Welcombe’s and were so enchanted with us that you had Lady Welcombe introduce us to you.”
Francesca looked consideringly at Constance, then sighed. “Very well. You are right. I had a reason for meeting you. I do like you—you are a very pleasant young woman, and you have a certain laughing look to your eyes that I know means you see the humor in the world. I would like to be your friend. But that is not why I came over to meet you. The fact is…I made a wager with someone.”
“A wager?” Constance stared at her, dumbfounded. “About me? But what? Why?”
“I was boasting. I should learn to mind my tongue,” Francesca admitted in a vexed tone. “Rochford had the gall to challenge me. And, well, the fact is that I bet that I could find you a husband before the end of the Season.”
Constance’s jaw dropped. For a moment she could think of nothing to say.
“I am sorry,” Francesca said earnestly, leaning forward to lay a placating hand on Constance’s arm. “I know I should not have, and I regretted it as soon as it was done. And you have every right to be angry with me. But I beg you will not. I did not mean you any harm. I still do not.”
“Not mean me any harm!” A variety of emotions rushed through Constance, hurt followed almost immediately by anger and resentment. “No, of course not. Why should I mind that I am held up to ridicule by the leaders of the Ton?”
“Ridicule!” Lady Haughston looked at her with alarm and concern. “No, how can you think that?”
“What else am I to think when I have been made the object of a public wager?”
“Oh, no, no. It was not public at all. It was between Rochford and me alone. No one else was privy to it, I assure you. Well, except Lucien,” she added honestly. “But he is my closest friend, and I can assure you that he would never tell a soul. He knows the secrets of half the Ton. I promise you that I shall not spread it about, and I can assure you that Rochford will not tell anyone. A tighter-lipped man I have never met.” She looked rather exasperated at the fact.
“And is that supposed to make it all right?” Constance asked. She had liked Francesca, and now she felt betrayed. Though she had had her reasonable doubts, she found it was a lowering thought indeed that Lady Haughston had not sought out her friendship but was only using her as a test of her matchmaking skills. “Why was I chosen? Was I the most unmarriageable of all the women at the ball? Too plain and old for any man ever to wish to marry me?”
“No, please, you must not think that!” Francesca exclaimed, her lovely features tightening in distress. “Oh, I have made such a muddle of this. The truth is, we made the wager, and then Rochford chose the woman. When he picked you, I was greatly relieved, for I had thought he was going to give me one of your cousins, and that would have been a formidable task, indeed. I am not sure why he chose you, other than that you were so clearly relegated to the background by your aunt and cousins that he must have been sure that I would get no help from them in bringing you out.”
“That is certainly true.” Constance could not keep the bitterness from her voice.
“My dearest Constance—I hope you will not mind if I call you that.” Francesca slipped her gloved hand into Constance’s and squeezed it gently. “I knew at once that he had foolishly chosen the easiest of you to turn into a belle. It is very difficult to give a person wit or beauty when they have none. But a want of fortune is not the hardest thing to overcome, at least when it is accompanied by style, intelligence, and a lovely face and figure.”
“I will not let you get around me with flattery,” Constance warned her, but in truth she found it difficult to dislike Lady Haughston. The woman was disarmingly candid, and her smile was hard to resist.
“I am not trying to get around you,” Francesca assured her.
“Then what do you want?” Constance asked bluntly.
“I am suggesting that you and I join forces. We shall work together to find you a husband.”
“You want me to help you win the bet?” Constance’s voice was incredulous.
“No. Well, I mean, yes, I do, but that is not why you would wish to help me.”
“I don’t wish to help you,” Constance pointed out.
“Ah, but you should. I might win a bet, but the advantages for you are far greater.”
Constance looked at her skeptically. “You don’t honestly expect me to believe that I will get a husband out of this.”
“Why not?” Francesca replied calmly.
Constance wrinkled her nose. “I have little liking for listing my liabilities, but surely they must be obvious. I have no fortune. I am past the age of marrying and I am no beauty. I am here only to help my cousins achieve marriages. I am a chaperone, not a young girl on the marriage mart.”
“A lack of fortune is an obstacle,” the other woman agreed. “But it is certainly not impossible to overcome. As for your looks, well, if you took off that silly cap and dressed your hair attra
ctively and wore something to show off your looks instead of hiding them, you would be a very attractive woman. You would also look scarcely older than your cousins. Tell me something, who decided that you should wear drab browns and grays and such?”
“My aunt felt it would be more appropriate for a spinster. She did not make me dress so.”
“But you, of course, are under obligation to her, as you live with them.”
“Yes, but…it is not only that. I do not wish to appear foolish, either.”
“Foolish? Why?”
Constance shrugged. “I am used to living in the country. I have no town bronze. Indeed, I have never even been to London before. I have no desire to make a misstep before all the Ton. To embarrass myself by dressing in something unsuitable for a woman of my age.”
Lady Haughston’s face assumed an expression befitting a woman with generations of earls behind her. “My dear Constance, if you dress according to my guidance, I assure you that no one would think you appeared in any way unsuitable.”
Constance could not hold back a chuckle. “I am sure not, Francesca. But the truth is, I have given up hope of marrying.”
“Do you want to spend the rest of your life with your aunt and uncle?” Francesca asked. “I am sure you are quite grateful to them, but I do not think that you are…very happy with them.”
Constance cast her a rueful look. “It is that obvious?”
“The differences between you are clear,” Francesca told her flatly. “One could hardly expect to live a happy life with people with whom one has so few traits in common. Nor can I think that your aunt and uncle have done well by you. You told me last night that you did not have your come-out because of your father’s illness. That was a good and properly filial thing to do. But when your father passed on and you came to live with your aunt and uncle, how old were you?”
“Twenty-two. Too old for my coming out.”
“Not too old to have a Season,” Francesca retorted. “Had they done the right thing by you, they would have given you a Season. I am sure it is what your father would have wanted, and it is what you deserved. Oh, yes, I know, you were older than the silly little seventeen-and eighteen-year-old girls being presented to the Queen. But, really, it isn’t necessary to have the presentation. Many do not. You could have had a Season. There are still a number of girls who are unmarried at that age. I know I should not malign your relatives, but I must tell you that I think your aunt and uncle acted selfishly. They saved themselves the expense of a Season, and they kept you at their beck and call for the past few years. Looking after their children, no doubt, and running errands for them. Doing the little things that no one else wanted to do. Now instead of letting you enjoy yourself at these parties, your aunt has forced you into the role of chaperone, making you wear dull clothes and dull hair.”
