by Anita Mills
“I am so sorry, madam,” Caroline offered quietly.
“Oh, I am reconciled to the losses, my dear. At least there remains dear Leah, Marianna’s daughter by Mr. Cole. You know her as Lady Lyndon, I am sure.”
“Everyone knows Lady Lyndon. It was the on-dit of the Season when she married Viscount Lyndon.”
“Two years ago that was, and a very good match it was for the both of them. Leah was the making of Tony Barsett, I can tell you, and it has proven to be a love match, after all. Oh, there was some unpleasantness about Rotherfield for a time, but it was all unfounded on Leah’s side, for she was head over heels for Tony. Not that it did not give the tabbies something to speak of then. Oh, dear—how I wander, child.”
“Anyone who has ever seen Lady Lyndon with her husband knows they are devoted,” Caroline soothed.
Abruptly Lady Milbourne changed the subject. “Yes, well, Ned—Lord Milbourne—and I have been thinking what a pity it is that you were never afforded the opportunity of a come-out. Ned is persuaded that you must have taken on the instant you had been given the chance, my dear.”
“I had no expectations, ma’am.”
“Sometimes there are other things than expectations,” the old woman observed. “In my day, the Gunning sisters married two dukes, and everyone knew they had nothing.”
“Perhaps times have changed.”
“Perhaps, but have you never wished for a come-out of your own? Have you never dreamed of grand balls, masquerades, and routs at all?” Lady Milbourne questioned.
“Who has not?” Caroline admitted. “I should imagine that even the backstairs maid must dream of “ such things.”
“It would give Lord Milbourne and myself much pleasure to bring you out.” Anne Milbourne noted Caroline’s thunderstruck expression and hastened to stifle any objections. “No—do not dismiss what I am about to say, my dear, for I quite mean every word of it. It has been twenty years since last we had a girl to fire off, and yet I can remember the excitement of the Seasons as though it were yesterday. Our foolish pride robbed us of Leah’s triumph when she was wed, so we did not share in her courtship or her wedding.”
“But, madam—”
“Hear me out, please.” Lady Milbourne took in a deep breath and lay back to gather her strength. “In the weeks you have been in our house, we can see the credit you would do us. You are a remarkable young lady, Caroline—despite every adversity, you manage to accept your lot and to make a life for yourself. We think you could do even better if you but had the opportunity. Ned and I mean to frank your Season, my dear.”
Caroline shook her head. “Do not think me ungrateful, Lady Milbourne,” she managed at last, “but it would be a lie for me to parade about on the Marriage Mart when I’ve nothing to offer. I am three-and-twenty, ma’am, and I have not even the merest competence. I should be laughed out of Almack’s if I dared to put myself forward. Surely you have heard that my father was Baron Ashley, the one who put a period to his existence rather than be cast into debtors’ jail.”
“Well, we cannot change your age, of course,”—the elderly lady nodded sagiciously— “but we should naturally expect to provide a small settlement to make your come-out respectable. And as for your father, the blood was good even if the temperament was not. I knew your mother slightly—she was of an age with my Frances, after all.”
“I could not let you do it.”
“Nonsense.” The faded eyes met Caroline’s dark ones. “Have you met Lord Rotherfield, my dear? So handsome, in a cold sort of way—don’t you think?”
“Everyone notes it, but—”
“As everyone notes his association with my granddaughter, I should imagine,” Lady Milbourne added dryly.
“Most people think that Tony Barsett is not the sort of person to tolerate any impropriety and therefore reason that the friendship is a harmless one,” Caroline pointed out.
“Most people.” Lady Milbourne nodded. “And I’ve not the least doubt they are right. Tony Barsett would not tolerate infidelity, I can tell you, but that does not still the gossips. A man of Rotherfield’s stamp is bound to be remarked no matter what he does. He’s much like young Danvers in that respect, but he’s not one to shun the society that shuns him.”
“I fail to see—”
“I mean to bring you to the earl’s notice, my dear— ’tis time the devil took a wife.”
“What?” Caroline stared, unsure as to whether she’d heard Lady Milbourne correctly. “Madam, you wish me to compete with Lady Lyndon for Lord Rotherfield’s attention?” she asked incredulously.
“Not ‘compete’ precisely, my dear. I merely wish you to make his acquaintance. If you do not suit, of course I should expect nothing. If, on the other hand, he should fix his interest with you, and you should come to reciprocate his feelings, I cannot but think it would be a good thing for both of you.”
“Madam, I couldn’t.”
“Well,” the elderly woman admitted, “it might come to naught, or some other gentleman might take your fancy, even, and I certainly would not expect to stand in your way if that should happen. Suffice it to say, I shall count it enough to see you go about as you should.”
“There is no need, I assure you. I am quite content with the arrangement Lord Milbourne made.”
“Pooh. You are far too young a woman to spend your days reading to an old lady, child. Ned and I are agreed you should be with people your own age when you can. Of course, I should still enjoy your company when there’s naught else for you to do.”
“You cannot have considered—”
“Ah, but I have. I have spoken to Tony and Leah and they will sponsor you. It is all settled, my dear. Arrangements have been made for Leah to take you to the linen draper’s this very afternoon. While Madame Cecile is far too busy this time of year, I am sure we can contrive by employing a dressmaker to come here. You do not appear to be an extravagant person, after all, so I think the result will far outweigh the expense.”
The vision of new gowns was an enticing one. Patrick Danvers’ observation that “with the help of a good modiste and a dresser, you’ll be a credit to me” echoed in her mind. Oh, what she would not give for him to see her as she ought to be dressed. How she longed to turn his head and gain his attention rightfully rather than as an obligation or as the means to win a wager. Regretfully she shook her head.
“I would be living a falsehood, Lady Milbourne.”
“Ned is decided that we shall settle one thousand pounds on you, regardless of whether Rotherfield fixes his interest with you or not. It will—”
“I could not accept it!”
Unperturbed, the elderly lady continued, “It will be in the form of a bequest, so I doubt you will be able to refuse it, child. If you find yourself unable to accept the money, ‘twill be your decision as to how ’tis spent.”
One thousand pounds. To someone of Lord Milbourne’s immense wealth, it was a paltry sum, but to Caroline it was a fortune. She sank back in her chair and tried to assimilate the Milbournes’ incredible offer.
“Come, Caroline,” Lady Milbourne cajoled. “ ’Twould give me such pleasure to see a girl dressed in her finery, ready for balls, routs, and masquerades again. Life holds so very little for me these days, my dear. Do not deny an old woman her fond wish for your foolish pride. Let me see you as you should be, dancing away the nights—let me hear of your triumphs, and I shall be repaid.”
“I do not know what to say. I … I know I shall not take, but …”
“Well … ” There was a faint twinkle to the faded eyes. “When you are Countess of Rotherfield, you may name your first daughter Anne for me. I should like that above all things.” With an effort, she leaned forward and extended a bony finger. “The earl has been disappointed too long, my dear—’tis time he found a lady of his own. And if it should prove to be young Danvers instead, I will not cavil over it, after all.” Falling back against her pillow, she added, “My Ned wa
s a devil in his time too.”
14
Patrick was the first to see the notice in the Gazette.
When it caught his attention, he choked on his morning tea. Albert Bascombe, having shared in the excesses of a night at White’s, Watier’s, and Boodle’s successively, ate in blissful ignorance across the table. Unable to speak from his coughing fit, Patrick merely pushed the paper under Bertie’s nose.
“I say, Pat!” Bertie protested. “You know I ain’t a hand to read!”
“There,” Patrick directed in strangled accents as he pointed at the offending notice.
“Eh?” Bertie squinted to focus, and then the color drained from his face. “No! Why, that… that… Tartar! It ain’t no such thing!”
“About to be leg shackled, old fellow? Tut—and you did not even tell me.”
“Pat, I ain’t!”
“Thought you said Juliana knew nothing about Caro—you did not tell me that she swept you off your feet,” Patrick murmured while suppressing a grin. “Lud, what a dance the chit will lead you.”
“Wasn’t to my credit to tell it,” Bertie defended. “Besides, how was I to know they was going to puff it off?” His pale face creased in consternation at the thought of something. “Oh, no! Patrick, you’ve got to tell Miss Canfield I didn’t do it!” Groaning, he reread the notice and then let the paper drop. “She ain’t going to like this!”
“I take it the betrothal is not of your making?”
“Lud, no! No offense, old chap, but your cousin ain’t the sort of female I’d want. Well, she ain’t! Deuced strong-minded, if you ask me, and she don’t like me above half. Lud! She’ll be mad as fire!”
“Bertie,” Patrick asked suddenly, “how did this come about? Not even my greedy aunt can force you into parson’s mousetrap if you’ve no stomach for it.”
“Much you know about it!” Bertie snorted. “There I was, trying to find out about Miss Ashley, and your cousin was ripping up at me, and then your aunt comes in and allows as how ’tis an assignation! I told you it wasn’t proper to call on a female in the middle of the night, but, no, you sent me in to make a cake of myself! Couldn’t think quick enough—never could—and when Lady Canfield wanted to know why I was there, I said something about regard for Miss Canfield. All at once, I was betrothed!”
“Surely there was more to it than that.”
“No. She had me at point non plus cleaner than a broomstraw in a custard, Patrick! And then Miss Canfield ripped up at me, telling me she’d make me miserable if I didn’t cry off! I’m going to look like a dashed loose screw, ain’t I? I tell you, you’ve got to help me!”
“Bertie,” Patrick soothed, “Juliana will find a way out of this coil. Do not worry for one minute that she won’t, for my cousin’s every bit as stubborn as I am.”
“But what am I supposed to tell everybody? I don’t even know the chit!”
“Well, I suggest you do the pretty and wait for her to cry off.”
“Me?” Bertie howled. “Pat, I can’t—got no address, for one thing.”
“Believe me, Juliana will take care of it,” Patrick promised. “All you have to do is to make yourself amiable and wait.”
“But what’s m’father to think?”
“No doubt he’ll be pleased.”
The vision of the earl allied with Lady Canfield was almost more than Bertie could bear. If they both favored the match, he was probably as good as married to the vivacious Juliana, and that thought struck terror in his heart.
They were interrupted by the butler inquiring in disapproving accents if Lord Westover was at home to a young female person. Since Patrick had ended his last liaison with a fair Cyprian months before, and even if he hadn’t, it would be highly improper for her to present herself at his house, he was about to have the caller sent away. Then the thought crossed his mind that Caroline Ashley, having found herself in desperate straits, might be turning to him. An unlikely circumstance, it nonetheless prompted him to direct the girl in.
Seeing she was considerably shorter than Caro, he instantly regretted the decision, and was about to order her out of his house when she pushed back the hood of a faded cloak.
“Ju!”
“Patrick, you’ve got to help me! Mama’s determined that I shall marry Albert Bascombe, and I—”
“Ahem!” He cleared his throat and nodded toward Bertie.
Her blue eyes took in her betrothed and turned stormy. “You! You blackguard! You promised me you would not send off the notice!” she railed at him.
“He didn’t,” Patrick intervened. “In fact, he reacted in much the same way, Coz.”
“Well, I very much doubt they would have printed it if he hadn’t sent it in.”
“Don’t be tiresome, Ju. Bertie views his betrothal as the next thing to swinging from the Nubbin’ Cheat—don’t you, Bertie?”
“Don’t want to be married,” Bascombe insisted.
“Never did. Ain’t in the petticoat line, for one thing.
But your mama—”
“Mama!” Juliana breathed in dawning horror.
“Just so, Ju. Aunt Lenore left nothing to chance, did she? Ten to one, she knows Haverstoke will be delighted to see his heir settled down to a life of respectable bliss.”
“Well, Haverstoke can hang! I won’t do it! Mama can starve me first!”
“Lud, Ju—how gothic,” Patrick murmured. “No, you need to outface your mother, my dear. If you appear too entrenched in your dislike, she’ll just take you back to Crosslands, and your Season will be over, won’t it?” he reasoned. “If I were you, I should appear to accept it, and then I’d approach Uncle Max to stop the wedding.”
“I will not! Do you think I like having it bandied about that I am betrothed to Albert Bascombe when everyone knows he is—”
“Stop it, Ju! Do not say something you might come to regret. Just now, I’d have to say Bertie is your greatest ally, my dear. Remember, he does not want to wed with you either.”
“I may be a slowtop, Miss Canfield, but at least my mother does not cast out lures to eligible partis for me,” Bertie retorted stiffly. “And I wouldn’t have you if you was the last female in England, either!”
“Oooohhh!”
“Cut line—both of you! This notice is the latest on-dit by now, anyway, so there’s naught to be gained by carping at each other. I suggest you carry on properly until something comes up that gives one of you an opportunity to cry off.”
“But this is my Season! How am I to find an eligible parti if I am already betrothed?” she demanded.
“Did you perhaps have someone in mind? Out with it, my girl! I’ve known you since you were in swaddling bands, after all. This is Patrick—remember?”
“No, of course not,” Juliana lied.
“Then what’s the harm in playing Aunt Lenore’s little game for a while? Amuse yourself at her expense.”
“I forgot you were a man—you wouldn’t understand.”
“Ju … ” He reached to lift her chin with the crook of his index finger. “I do understand,” he added in a gentler tone. “I think you have your heart set on someone already. Should I get him for you, I wonder?”
“You could not.” She met his hazel eyes and looked away. “That is to say, there is no one, Patrick.”
“I say, Pat, I can’t do the pretty—I can’t. I’ll make a cake of myself, I will. You going to come with me to all these dashed boring affairs? Of course you ain’t!” Bertie complained.
“I’ll mean to go about, anyway, Bertie. How else can I hope to hear of Caroline Ashley again? Surely someone somewhere will have news of her. She cannot have just disappeared off the face of the earth.”
There was something in Patrick’s voice that gave Juliana pause. If he meant to face the censure of the ton after three years of social exile, he must surely have changed. “Patrick, you cannot mean it,” she ventured. “They’ll give you the cut direct, you know.”
“It’s been a long time, Ju,” he signed. “ ’Twill not be pleasant, but if Rotherfield can face them down, then so can I.”
“Well—”
“I have to try—I have to find Caroline.”
15
“You’ll be a credit to me, my love,” Leah Barsett murmured approvingly as Caroline turned before the mirror. “I had not thought it possible that Mrs. Cranston could have done so well, but full half the ton will want the name of your dressmaker, I promise you. I cannot wait until Marcus sees this gown—he has such impeccable taste, you know.”
“Marcus?”
“Rotherfield.” The beautiful Lady Lyndon leaned closer to confide, “He is not at all what you have heard of him. Even Tony has come to like him.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, and he is quite alone in this world—a tragedy of sorts, if you ask me.”
“Well,” Caroline admitted, “he seems to delight in his reputation. Indeed, he fairly flaunts it in ail things. I mean, look at his clothes, his arrogant bearing, his very manners—’twould seem he tries to stand apart.”
“You mistake the matter then. Twice in my recollection, the ton has chosen to utterly censure one of its members without true cause. In the first instant, it was Marcus Halvert; in the second, it was Patrick Danvers. In Marcus’ case, he flaunted that censure, showing up where he knew he was not wanted, daring anyone to give him the cut direct, and acting for all the world as though he ruled it. He knows he is feared, he knows he is disliked, but he will not give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him retreat. He exacts a price for that censure. Lord Westover, on the other hand, appears to turn his back on those who would shun him.”
“Patrick Danvers is no coward!” The words escaped before Caroline realized how they must sound. “Your pardon, Lady Lyndon, but I did not mean—”
“Leah—you must call me Leah, for we shall be quite like sisters,” Leah Barsett cut in. “And I am sure no one calls Westover a coward, my dear. You mistook my meaning. I am saying that with him ’tis a mutual dislike.” She moved closer to examine the ruching along the hem of the sapphire-blue silk gown Caroline modeled. “Charming, I think. You were quite right to choose this color.”
