“Thank you, sir, for your assistance once again. I am quite all right. I must be on my way home. It is just there, so I will not encounter any more mishaps.” She pointed with a shaky finger to a tall town house across the street. The man just continued looking at her, his green eyes beginning to warm.
Titania wished the ground would open up and swallow her. This man was merely being gentlemanly, but she did not deserve his kindness. Given the disastrous happenings of the day, all she wanted, all she deserved, was to be alone to stew in her own misery.
“As you wish, miss,” said the stranger, inclining his head with a mocking air. “I have discomposed you once already today, and I should not wish to tempt you again. But before you go,” he said, bringing his hand up to her face to push an escaped tendril of hair back into her bonnet, “first let me put you to rights.” He tucked the stray tress into her bonnet and then let his hand rest briefly on her cheek as if he could not stop himself from caressing her.
If merely looking into his eyes made her feel like a giddy girl, a state Titania couldn’t recall ever experiencing, then she couldn’t even name the feelings brought on by his touch. She quickly brushed his hand away from her face and tried hard to look anywhere but in his eyes. She felt as if all the breath had been knocked out of her, a slow, prickling sensation began creeping up the back of her legs toward the bottom of her spine, and she clutched her possessions tightly so she would not be tempted to reach out and touch him back.
“If you please, sir,” she said with as much of her Managing Ways as she could muster, “I would not have you presume. I thank you once again.”
Collecting what little pride she had left, she turned again toward her aunt’s house, her back as straight as her wobbly legs would allow.
She closed her eyes briefly as she realized her day’s ordeals were not over. She had to look her father’s sister in the eye and tell her the Stanhope name had been disgraced yet again. She shuddered at the prospect, and little more relished the vicious scold Sarah would give her, which she fully deserved, for going out about the town all alone.
HER AUNT BESTLEY WAS as comforting as ice down the back upon hearing the news. “No money at all, you say?” she queried Titania, disdain vying with disbelief for control of her tone.
“None.” The syllable resonated in the sudden quiet of her aunt’s sitting room. Titania stood facing her aunt. She refused to sit, as much because she might not be able to get up again as to show herself equal to her haughty relative.
Titania and her aunt had already come to an agreement about how much it would cost to sponsor her for the Season. Lady Bestley had seemed none too sanguine about her own daughter’s chances for making a beneficial match, which would almost certainly lengthen with Titania on the scene. Her aunt had demanded a large sum for her trouble, which would assuage the pain if her daughter did not take.
“Well, then, my girl,” Lady Bestley said with a brisk air, “I see nothing for it but for you to return home at once. You will not be able to settle the bargain we made, and without a substantial dowry, there is little chance you would be able to attract anybody of note to marry you. Especially with that unfortunate nose.
“If you are lucky,” she continued, as if it mattered not a whit to her whether Titania were lucky, “if you are very lucky, you can persuade one of the local gentry to marry you, although I do not know who would, given my brother’s many disgraces. Who could have thought he would behave so reprehensibly, even from beyond the grave?”
“But, Aunt, going back to Ravensthorpe is precisely what I must not do. I must have my Season, in the present circumstance even more than before.”
“Be that as it may,” said her aunt, “I will not be a party to your behavior. If you are to cause a scandal, as your parents did with their marriage, then you will have to do it on your own. I will not stoop to help such a thing.” She clamped her lips together as she finished, and Titania knew that was her aunt’s last word on the subject.
“Very well, Aunt. If you really refuse to assist me, then may I remind you of our bargain?” Her aunt waved her hand in dismissal, but Titania held up her own hand in an authoritative gesture.
“Hear me out. I pledge you will have the money I promised you, and I will double that sum if I do succeed in getting married by the end of the Season. I still have my mother’s jewelry, and I will sell the pieces to pay my debt to you, if necessary, so you can be assured you will get what is owed you, no matter what the outcome may be for me. Your only obligation is not to reveal the details of my father’s will.”
Lady Bestley’s face revealed her unwilling interest at the proposal, and Titania continued. “I will handle my come-out myself, and just watch me snare the wealthiest man in England.” Even if he’s as bald as an egg with only one leg to hop about on, she finished to herself.
Her aunt Bestley saw a bargain, but knew she could turn the screw a little tighter. The mole on her face quivered as she spoke. “You will not reside here.” It was not a question. “I doubt you will succeed in finding a husband—but I will not have it said that I dishonored an obligation to family.”
Titania nodded her head in agreement. Without speaking another word, she climbed up the stairs to the room she had barely known as her own, telling a surprised Sarah to pack again. They were going to look for a suitable house for the Season.
“AT THIS TIME, MRS. Baldwin,” Titania said airily to her prospective landlady as she surveyed the cheerful, if slightly threadbare, house, “I do not have the authority to transfer funds from the family’s account. But that is only a formality; you may be assured I will not live on tick forever.”
Mrs. Baldwin seemed too engrossed in eyeing the elegant rose-colored gown in which Titania had arrived to pay overmuch attention to the detail of payment. After choking down the dry scones and watery tea her new landlady offered, the lease was signed. Titania and Sarah spent the rest of the day coughing on crumbs, unpacking the trunks, and figuring out how to survive until more staff could be brought down from Ravensthorpe to the modest house in Little Chiswick Street.
When Sarah could be heard snoring in her room one flight above, Titania allowed herself a full five minutes of heartfelt sobbing in her bedroom. Then, wiping the tears from her eyes, she pulled on her dressing gown, lit a candlestick, and found her way to the escritoire in the drawing room. She drew a deep breath and dashed off a letter to her governess, Miss Tynte, who she hoped had not settled too firmly into her retirement. The room was silent, except for the scritching of her pen upon the paper.
My dear Elizabeth,
Please return to London at once. Don’t be distressed, I am well. I am not hurt nor in danger. But my future hangs in the balance and it is vital that you come.
I send you my love,
Titania
PS: Bring your best gowns.
She drew forth another sheet of paper and wrote a brief note to Stillings at Ravensthorpe, commanding he bring himself immediately to London, together with whoever among the servants he thought would be essential to manage a young lady’s house in town. She made no explanation; the servants had certainly been through enough havey-cavey business with her father to countenance whatever she might present to them.
She laid down her pen, still unsure of the feasibility of her plan. Would Miss Tynte take on the charade Titania had fabricated?
Despatch from the battle front, March 1813
It has been said the best offense is a good defense. If that is true, then why are so many of us so...offensive? We strike our suitors on the arms with our fans, fall into their arms in dead faints, demand liquid refreshment at every turn, and persist in giggling.
Constantly.
I am no different; after all, I aspire to move from the ranks of the unwed (private, second class, perhaps?) to a position befitting a wife (brigadier general, with every vestige of authority the position holds).
I will fight my way to the front with every tactic in my power. I will strike, demand, an
d giggle until the enemy falls to his knees.
A Singular Lady
Chapter 2
“Titania! I cannot impersonate your cousin! What if we are discovered?” Miss Tynte fluttered her hands in a gesture of dismay.
“If we are discovered, it will not be any worse than what will happen if I do not marry, and quickly.”
Her governess leaned forward and gripped Titania’s arm. Her face was ashen. “Titania, you do not mean...”
Titania gave an almost hysterical laugh. “No, you goose, I do not mean that.”
Miss Tynte sat back, a look of relief on her face. “Then what?” she asked.
“I went and saw Mr. Hawthorne, Father’s solicitor. He...he informed me that there has been another will found, negating the one we thought was valid. Father left all his money to a...to a...to some person.”
“A person? You mean a woman?”
Titania nodded, feeling her eyes fill with tears again. Who knew she was such a watering pot?
“Oh, you poor dear! That scoundrel. I know he was your father, Titania, but that was a terrible thing to do.”
Titania’s tone turned brisk again as she swept her hands across her cheeks, wiping away the moisture. “Yes, well, Father was not always so wise in his decisions, Elizabeth. Which is why I have to get married to a very, very wealthy man. And why you have to chaperone me; Aunt Bestley and I have already had a disagreement, so she will not help.”
Miss Tynte repeated her question. “But what if we are discovered?”
Titania recalled Miss Tynte had always fretted over propriety. She assumed her most guileless face. “Oh, but we won’t be; you are unexceptional in your manners and as genteel as anyone in the ton; you exhibit those ladylike qualities you required me to learn and that I still seem to have problems with.”
Such as flouncing around London unescorted, but Titania brushed that memory away.
“Can’t you see?” Titania presented the case again with an undisguised passion. “You must help me. Or else Stillings, and Cook, and Sarah, and the rest of them will be as destitute as Thibault and I are now.”
Miss Tynte stopped her anxious fluttering and looked at Titania with a gimlet eye. “Destitute? That is a very strong word. Is there something you are not telling me? Has Thibault been up to mischief?” She narrowed her eyes in her best governessy gaze.
Titania sat down on the sofa, pulling her friend down to sit with her. “Do you remember Tanner, the overseer?”
Her friend nodded. “He stole your father’s favorite stallion when he left Ravensthorpe so suddenly. We all heard enough about the loss of that horse. There was certainly more outcry about that than when Thibault got himself stuck down that well for the whole afternoon.”
“That was hardly the worst of it, although that was what made Father tear up to London. Tanner was a thorough blackguard.” Titania ticked off each action on her fingers. “He raised the tenants’ rents viciously—saying it was Father’s order—and then embezzled the money. He depleted the breeding stock, lied about receipts from the cattle auctions, and pocketed the unreported profits. He left bills unpaid and kept the allocated funds for himself. He even stole from additional funds my father authorized when Tanner insisted on the need to buy new stock and make costly repairs—stock which was never purchased, repairs and improvements which were never made.”
Her governess gave a grim smile. “One would think your father would have checked references before hiring someone he met at one of his clubs.”
“Anyone but Father would have done so. Father flew into a towering rage for the theft of the horse, but after that, he did not delve into the accounts themselves any deeper than ever he had before. It was only after Father died that Mr. Hawthorne and I discovered the true extent of the financial devastation. Ravensthorpe is barely beginning to recover. It will require years of prudent financial management. Thanks to Father’s impetuous nature, Ravensthorpe does not have those years.”
Her governess sat openmouthed as Titania related her subsequent efforts to ensure the credit of the family and the long-term husbandry of Ravensthorpe, not to mention the well-being of the many tenant families the family and farm had supported for generations. Titania had promised the tenants she would use virtually every shilling of their rent money for however long it took to restore the estate.
“My best guess,” Titania said as she finished her litany of recovery efforts, “is that it will take at least five years. Five years during which I had expected to have other funds on which to live. Other funds that are now out of my hands.” She turned to her friend, her hands held palm up in a gesture of supplication.
“So you see, there is no income. Not if Ravensthorpe is to survive. And we both know Thibault cannot help.”
Titania had made a promise to Ravensthorpe’s tenants, and she kept her promises. She would not follow the lead of so many other landowners and impose brutal rack rents on the tenants in time of war or personal misfortune. She had deplored that greed in the newspaper columns she had written for the Northamptonshire Gazette under her pseudonym, Agricola.
She would keep her promise to Thibault’s holding and to Ravensthorpe’s tenants, even if it forced her to sell herself. Her voice trembled as she spoke.
“I have no choice. I must have my Season, I must marry someone with so much money he can afford to save Ravensthorpe, despite my father’s actions.” Her face bore a fierce, determined look.
“I will do it, Titania,” Miss Tynte said quietly, convinced at last.
“Thank you. Perhaps this will save us.” Titania was thrilled she would be able to implement her scheme. Thrilled and appalled.
Titania tried to ignore the dampening reflection that success in the endeavor would yield a husband whose only important characteristic would be that he had buckets of money. Her governess’s voice interrupted her depressing thoughts.
“Titania, I am so sorry. It would have been your father’s fondest wish for you to find a suitable match, but I do not think that is what he had in mind when he wrote a new will.”
“If he had given it a shred of his attention, he probably would have thought I could find a suitable match at home—why, I would have had the very cream of the crop from which to choose.”
She felt her spirits lift a little as she rose to stand in front of her governess, hands placed demurely at her sides. She gave a wicked grin, then executed a flawless curtsy. Her friend nodded her head in response, an answering smile on her face.
“Why, there is Lord Atherton on only the next estate; of course, he is seventy if he is a day, and he does have a disconcerting habit of sniffing noisily as if there were an onion concealed somewhere on your person.”
“Onions are a lovely vegetable, Titania. How can you be so cruel?” Miss Tynte gave a condescending sniff as she joined the game.
“And,” Titania said, warming to her subject as she made another deep curtsy, “Squire Inchbald to the west quaffs brandy bingo at break of day and, they say, sleeps on the floor with his hounds. Lord Newbury to the north is of the opinion that ‘Damme! Eh, what?’ constitutes sparkling conversation. Not to mention Mr. Fripp, the vicar—”
“Or Lord Puddleby, who makes even Lord Delamore seem almost intelligent.”
Titania rolled her eyes at her friend in agreement. “No, dearest cousin,” she said with a wink, “I cannot believe I am so toplofty as to reject the myriad suitors found at home and must come to London to find someone with whom it would be worth spending the rest of my life.” She stood up straighter, showing an enthusiasm that was only partially faked.
“I must plan the attack! I have new gowns, a chaperone, an almost fashionable London abode; Alexander the Great could not have been more prepared for his campaigns than I am.” And with that declamation, Titania marched off to her room, brandishing her reticule like a sword.
TITANIA FIRED OFF THE opening salvo of her campaign that afternoon by paying a call on an old friend who had won her own battle by marrying a vis
count a few years earlier. Claire, Lady Wexford, of Wexford House in May Fair, had been plain old Claire Smith when Titania had seen her last. Titania blinked as she saw the transformation from charming girl to fashionable society wife.
“Oh, Ti,” Claire sighed, her blond curls bobbing gently as she floated into the middle of the room, “how glad I am to see you again! You will never know how the London life wears one, and it will be good to have a dear friend with whom I can have a comfortable coze, not thinking about the next party or who has yet to call.”
Titania wagged a chiding finger. “But, Claire, I am here on that very mission, to attend all the parties and receive all the calls. And you promised you would be my guide. Do not disappoint me by telling me you wish to be back in the country with the hens and the horses.”
“For you, Titania, I will endure yet another Season, but I do so long for a simple life.”
She struck a pose that Titania thought was intended to look mournful, but really only made her look dyspeptic. And if Claire ever planned to return to the simple life she had hated when they were young, she had best forget about wearing diamonds to receive her morning callers.
“Claire—” she began, then broke off as Claire’s husband, Lord Wexford, entered. He was a barrel-chested man whose hearty voice filled up the room. “Miss Stanhope, Claire has been on pins and needles. Glad you’re here. Hope you brought a full wardrobe—Claire’s been planning outings and accepting invitations ever since she heard you were coming to town. So popular I have to make an appointment to see my own wife.”
Lord Wexford stopped and beamed at Claire, who ducked her head in an attitude of shyness. “Now, Wex,” she demurred, “you know I am only doing all this so Titania may enjoy London to the utmost. I have already had my Season. She must now be the belle of the ball. And,” she finished coyly, “if it should happen that she become engaged to some eligible parti in the course of her time here in town, well, then, that’s only for the best.”
A Singular Lady Page 2
