Everyone in the room stilled.
Ellen didn’t dare look at her mother, but she could feel the anger coming from the woman. “What if I hired you?”
“You’ll do no such thing,” her mother said.
Ellen finally looked at her mother. “I have been saving my pin money for two years,” she said. “And since I’m eighteen, I should probably have my own lady’s maid.”
Her mother’s lips pressed together into a thin line. Everything about her mother looked thin right now. “This is still my house, and you are still my daughter. I am the mistress here, and you will do as I say.” She looked at Mary. “Take Ellen to her room directly. I will deal with Miss Nebeker on my own.”
Ellen tried to catch the governess’s eye, but she was looking down at her clenched hands. Ellen knew the best thing was to let everyone’s emotions calm down. The women needed to separate. So she let Mary lead the way back to her bedroom. There, she sat on the bed and listened as Mary turned a key in the lock from the outside.
Chapter Eight
Morning meals were never pleasant at the London townhouse, Quinn decided as he joined his mother in the dining room. Somehow, his brother was able to get out of them and sleep longer. Quinn was naturally an early riser, though, and his mother’s tendency to call for his presence in the morning anyway meant that Quinn had started taking meals with her. He’d been here a full week and was already making plans to leave even though the Season would be starting soon. He would tell his mother that he’d return in a couple of months—when most of the matches had been made. He didn’t want to be caught up in the frantic pace of everyone speculating.
His mother Josephine wore her usual black widow’s weeds today, and when he complimented her on her dress—as any gentleman would do—she pursed her lips.
“Thank you, son,” she said, her tone begrudging, as if it pained her to be polite. “But we have more important matters to discuss this morning.”
“Does this have anything to do with the stack of letters at your elbow?” Quinn asked, helping himself to the food lain out on the side table. He piled on cold eggs and ham, then added two scones. The marmalade was already set out on the table.
“Why, yes it does.” She smiled and tapped the neat little stack. “We’re going to find you a wife.”
Quinn was grateful that he’d already swallowed the juice he’d poured, or else he would have spit out the entire mouthful. While his mind raced to find an answer, his brother came into the dining room.
“Oh, hello, dear,” his mother said. “You’re awake early.”
Quinn looked at Robert—the man was fully dressed and presentable, which meant he was up to something. Robert kissed his mother’s cheek and then turned to the sideboard and proceeded to fill his own plate with enough food for two men.
“What’s this about finding Quinn a wife?” Robert said over his shoulder.
Laws. Robert had heard their mother’s comment.
“I’ve got a full two weeks’ worth of invitations here,” his mother said. “I’m sure that one of them there will be a woman equal to the task of becoming a marquess’s wife.”
“Hmm,” Robert said, walking over to sit next to his mother. After setting down his plate and pouring himself a glass of juice, he picked up one of the invitations. “Lady Helen Anderson is pleased to invite you and your sons to an intimate ball at her home in Grosvenor Square.”
Nothing about Grosvenor Square is intimate, Quinn thought. The houses were posh and elegant. Only the upper crust of the ton owned homes in the area. He’d overheard his own mother coveting the estates more than once.
“Do we know this Lady Helen?” Robert said in a teasing, pretentious voice.
Their mother laughed. Quinn did have to admit that it was good to hear her laugh. Robert was quite skilled at coaxing it from her.
Robert continued to read. “In honor of my esteemed daughter, Lady Amelia, who is of age this year.”
“See, a debutante ball,” their mother said. “It will be just the thing for Quinn.” She smiled at Robert. “You might even start looking around if there are any heiresses present.”
“Lady Amelia . . .” Robert mused. “Do I know her from any childhood events?”
“She’s about six years your junior, so I doubt it.”
All this talk of “Lady Amelia” was bringing another woman to mind for Quinn—Ellen.
“Still, Lady Amelia Anderson sounds familiar,” Robert continued. “Does she have a brother?”
“She does!” their mother said. “I’d almost forgotten. He would have been a year or two ahead of Quinn at Eton. Do you remember August?”
Quinn looked up from biting into a scone and met the gaze of Robert, who promptly winked at him.
Quinn narrowed his eyes and shook his head at his brother to warn him off whatever he was up to.
“I do remember August,” Robert said. “Do you, Quinn?”
Quinn thought the name did sound familiar, but no face came to mind.
Remarkably, during this conversation, Robert had managed to eat his entire meal.
“Well, Mother,” Robert said, rising to his feet. “I must be on my way. I have some business to do with Mr. Humphreys.”
Quinn snapped his head up and stared at his brother.
Robert purposely kept his gaze on their mother.
“Who’s Mr. Humphreys?” she asked.
“A man who I’d like to discuss some investment advice with.” Robert kissed her on the cheek. “Nothing to concern yourself with. I look forward to hearing which invitations you will be accepting.”
Quinn tried to keep the scowl off his face so that his mother wouldn’t see. But he wasn’t about to let Robert get away without some sort of explanation. As Robert left the room, Quinn told his mother, “Excuse me for a moment.” Then he hurried after Robert, catching him just as he was opening the front door.
“What are you about?” Quinn said in a hushed voice, although he felt like yelling.
Robert grinned, settling his hat upon his head with a flourish.
Quinn grabbed his arm.
It was Robert’s turn to narrow his eyes. “I’ve done the investigating and found the father of the woman you are so enamored with.”
“Robert,” Quinn said in a warning voice, tightening his grip.
“I’m going to have a simple conversation with the man.” Robert’s smile dimmed. “Don’t worry, I won’t bring up your name, or heaven forbid, his daughter’s. It’s a fact-finding mission. I’ll report back what I learn.”
Quinn exhaled. “I don’t like it.”
“I think after my conversation with Mr. Humphreys, we can determine our next course of action.”
“Next course of action?” Quinn said.
Robert paused. “Do you trust me or not?”
Quinn eyed him. “I don’t know.”
“Come on, brother,” Robert said. “You know I have only your best interest in mind. If this Miss Humphreys is a woman worth pursuing, then you’ll need me on your side when Mother finds out.”
Quinn released his brother’s arm. “True.” He stepped back, then gave a nod.
Robert flashed a smile and was outside in a blink.
Quinn schooled his thoughts for a moment, then returned to the dining room. He sat down and continued to eat methodically, without really tasting his food. His mother read through the stack of invitations, accepting Quinn’s occasional nod as good enough for her.
It seemed that every evening over the next fortnight would be filled with Society affairs. Quinn wasn’t sure exactly what Robert thought he was going to accomplish, but Quinn hoped that whatever it was, he would be forgiven if he decided to return home and leave Robert to accompany their mother himself to each function.
Quinn found much to occupy himself with the rest of the day while he went through account ledgers in the library, although his thoughts were never far away from what Robert might be doing, or more to the point, what a certain young woman wa
s doing out in Harpshire. It was a fine day, full of sun and light breezes. The sort of day on which he’d first spied her in the meadow. Was she there now? Was she practicing the steps of the waltz on her own again?
The thought made him smile, and he took a break from the ledgers to fetch his personal diary from his bedroom. Back in the library, he sipped on a glass of brandy while he narrated the week’s events in brief script. Then he reread the entry he’d written down the night that he’d first arrived at the London house—the night after he’d danced with Miss Humphreys.
His own words brought back her image, the sound of her humming, and the honey-gold color of her hair. If he closed his own eyes, he could imagine the pale-green of hers gazing directly at him.
“Have you been in here all day?” Robert’s voice cut into Quinn’s thoughts.
Quinn looked up to see his brother leaning against the doorframe of the library. He hadn’t even heard the door open.
By the amused and knowing look on Robert’s face, Quinn knew his brother brought news. Quinn realized he was holding his diary in his lap, and he quickly shoved it into the drawer of the credenza. He then closed the most recent ledger that he’d been working on in order to give his brother his full attention.
“So?” Quinn prompted. “What’s the news?”
Robert smiled, then pulled the door shut behind him. He crossed the library and settled into the chair opposite Quinn. “I spoke to Mr. Humphreys. He’s what we’d call country gentry, although he is a man of trade now. Quite successful, I’d add.”
Quinn nodded. “What is it that he does?”
“He runs a textile factory,” Robert said, folding his hands in his lap. “And his son Gerald works as his business manager.”
“They sound respectable enough,” Quinn mused.
“The ton will turn up their noses.” Robert shrugged. “But a marquess shouldn’t have to care what others think.”
“Slow down,” Quinn said. “You act as if I’m about to propose marriage to Miss Humphreys.”
“Right, sorry,” Robert said, but the amusement remained on his face. “I have another bit of news . . . well, several things, in fact.”
Quinn leaned forward. “What now?”
“I’ve been to visit our old friend August Anderson,” Robert said.
“Whatever for? Are you interested in his debutante sister or something?”
“No,” Robert said. “At least, I don’t know because I haven’t actually met her. But I might have suggested that he suggest to his mother that she send out a few more invitations. Among my recommendations was the Humphreys family. One to Mr. Humphreys and one to Mr. Humphreys’s sister. Apparently the father’s sister lives in London as well—widow of a baron’s brother—so she’s all right and proper. Thought if more than one person in the family received an invitation, there would be a good chance of Miss Ellen Humphreys showing up at the Anderson ball.”
Quinn blinked. “You did . . . what?”
“I told August—”
Quinn held up his hand. “You’ve been meddling like a woman!” He hadn’t meant to shout, but it came out that way. He hoped to high heaven his mother hadn’t heard. The last thing he needed was for her to come into the library and set in with her own questions.
Robert’s eyes widened a fraction, then he chuckled. “I might have started a bit of gossip, but who doesn’t from time to time?”
Quinn tugged at his cravat and stood. He paced to the tall windows overlooking the gardens. What had his brother done? And why would August agree to pass on such a message to his mother?
Quinn whirled and faced his brother. “You didn’t.”
The smile on Robert’s face said everything.
Quinn knew then and there that Robert had told August, and who knew who else, that Quinn had a tendre for Miss Ellen Humphreys. The heat of anger flooded him and threatened to overboil. “If you weren’t my brother, I’d call you out.”
Robert leaped to his feet. “It’s a good time for me to leave you alone, then.” He took a comical step backward as if he were a child tiptoeing into the kitchen in the middle of the night. “Just remember, it’s only an invitation. We can’t predict if her father and aunt will accept or even bring Miss Humphreys out of hiding to attend the ball.” He took another step back, arriving closer to the door. “If she does appear at the ball at Grosvenor Square, then the rest, my dear brother, is up to you.”
Chapter Nine
Ellen had cried her eyes out until they were red and swollen. She’d also developed a sniffly nose. It didn’t help that her mother had stayed true to her word, and the day after her mother had threatened Miss Nebeker, the governess had indeed left.
The only saving grace was that Ellen had sent a letter with Miss Nebeker, addressed to Aunt Prudence, begging her to give Miss Nebeker residence until she could secure another position. Not only was Ellen crushed at the punishment of being locked in her room like a willful child, but she missed her governess. She’d been a friend and someone to talk to. Really, the only friend she’d had.
“Miss?” Mary’s voice called through the door. “I have your supper.”
Supper on a tray. That’s how Ellen had been eating her meals for two days.
Ellen crossed the room to open her bedroom door. There stood Mary, her eyes lowered like usual and a tray in her hands.
“Thank you,” Ellen said, taking the tray. She had barely walked across her room and set it on the edge of her bed when she heard the door lock turn again. Ellen sighed, then sat next to the tray and picked up the fork. Today, it appeared she was eating thinly sliced roast beef and boiled potatoes.
She took a few bites, then heard a commotion outside in the front driveway. Ellen crossed to the window and looked down to the driveway. A carriage had arrived, and she watched as her father climbed out of it . . . followed by her Aunt Prudence.
Ellen’s heart nearly stopped. Their appearance had to be about her—there could be no doubt. She watched her aunt’s skirts sweep up the stairs behind her and then heard the door shut downstairs. In the quiet of Ellen’s bedroom, she could hear the buzz of conversation coming from below. Then silence. Ellen crept to her bedroom door and tried to listen for any further sound.
Footsteps coming up the stairs, then walking swiftly down the hallway.
Another voice carried—that of Ellen’s aunt—then all went silent again.
Ellen wished she could see through the door and find out what was going on. If both her father and aunt had arrived at the same time, then surely her aunt had questioned Father about receiving her notes. And now . . . Ellen heard her mother’s voice coming from down the hall. Father must have gone in to speak with Mother, and based on the volume, they were in a fierce argument.
Ellen couldn’t move; she could barely breathe.
She couldn’t distinguish the words of the argument above the beating of her heart.
Ellen closed her eyes and leaned her head against the door. The words eventually faded, then footsteps again. Someone knocked on her door, and Ellen jumped back.
“Ellen,” her father called out. “Come to your mother’s rooms.”
Ellen swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Can you unlock the door?”
The silence was thick. Moments later, the lock turned, and a pale Mary opened the door.
Ellen’s gaze swung from Mary to her father. She’d never seen him look so furious. His face was stained red, even reaching into his gray-streaked hairline.
He exhaled as he looked her up and down. Apparently satisfied with her appearance, he said, “Come with me.”
She followed her father along the corridor. Mary remained at the doorway of the bedroom. Ellen wondered what state her mother might be in and what was about to be said. It was clear her father wasn’t pleased to find Ellen locked in her room, but he had rarely interfered with Mother’s decisions.
The door to her mother’s chambers had been left open, and her father walked through. Ellen couldn’t h
elp being shocked at her mother’s appearance. She wore her night rail with her robe as if she hadn’t even dressed at all that day. Her hair was unpinned, and she looked at least ten years younger.
Her father turned to face Ellen. “Your aunt Prudence has invited you to her home for the Season. Your mother and I have consented to this arrangement.”
Her mother made a sort of scoffing noise, but Ellen didn’t dare look at her. Every part of her body had grown cold. She was being sent to London to attend Society events with her aunt. It was all of her dreams coming true in the most awful way.
“I . . . don’t have a wardrobe for London,” Ellen said, even though she hadn’t meant to speak at all. For how could she explain that she didn’t want to run into a certain member of the ton?
Her father didn’t hesitate before he said, “Your aunt will take care of choosing your wardrobe. We are to leave first thing in the morning.” He glanced at her mother, then looked back to Ellen. “Prudence is waiting in the parlor right now to discuss all that you need to prepare for.”
When Ellen didn’t move, her father added in a softer tone, “Go on now. I’ll be there shortly.”
Ellen practically fled her mother’s chambers. She shut the door that connected to the corridor, then she made her way to the stairs. Her mind spun as she tried to comprehend all that was changing in such a short time. One part of her felt exhilarated to be leaving the estate and going to London. The other part of her wanted to go back into her room and lock herself in. She would just have to ignore Lord Kenworth if she sighted him. He would likely ignore her as well.
Ellen began to descend the stairs. She couldn’t hear any arguing coming from her mother’s chambers, so she took that as a good thing, though she wasn’t looking forward to facing an audience from Aunt Prudence.
Aunt Prudence was standing before a fire in the parlor, which she must have ordered lit. She turned when Ellen came into the room.
“Oh, my dear,” Aunt Prudence said, rushing forward with her arms outstretched. Her lemon-colored dress ballooned about her, adorned with what must be yards of lace and ribbon. “When Miss Nebeker showed up at my doorstep, I knew I couldn’t stay away another minute. And you, you are a sight!”
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