He could have denied it. He could have continued tell bouncers and told her how very wrong she was. He could have broken out words like ‘love’ and ‘adoration,’ or even ‘fondness.’ But he hadn’t. Instead, he told her in no uncertain terms that his financial situation was dire.
She wished Jo were here. If ever there was a time that she needed her cousin, it was now. Jo would tell her what to do. She’d tell her what a silly twit she’d been to ever think a man like Lord Devonport could want her for herself, that they all only wanted her for her dowry. A sad fact that would never change. She’d remind Tabitha that this was precisely the reason they’d formed the Old Maids’ Club to begin with, and that there was no point in going back on their pact now.
Or if Bethanne were there, she would hold Tabitha and tell her to cry until she couldn’t cry any longer. She would sit at her pianoforte and play, and all the hurts that Tabitha had stored inside would flow out of her. Bethanne would dole out compassion and empathy, and do it all in a quiet and kind manner, and Tabitha would have no option but to feel better when it was all said and done.
If Aunt Rosaline were there—if she were still herself and not some sad, empty shell of the woman she once was—she would plop down on the bed beside Tabitha and pull her into her arms. She’d say that any man who couldn’t love Tabitha for precisely who she was didn’t deserve her anyway, so there was no point in wasting good tears over him that could be better spent elsewhere. She would tell Tabitha that she was beautiful, and Tabitha would laugh it off as her aunt being partial...but she would be laughing, nonetheless.
But Jo wasn’t there. Bethanne wasn’t there. Aunt Rosaline would never again be there for Tabitha in such a way. She’d have to sort her head out on her own this time.
Tabitha needed time. She needed space to think clearly. If she stayed in Town, she’d have neither, even if she snuck off to stay with Jo at Hazelwood House for a while. Visitors would come to call. There would be the unremitting hubbub of comings and goings.
The sounds and activity of London never ceased.
Staying was not an option. She needed to get away from the Season. Away from the ton and all of its goings on.
She could go to the Cottage at Round Hill. Bethanne and Aunt Rosaline would welcome her with open arms. But with Aunt Rosaline’s care, and little Finn running around, there would be little peace and quiet to be found.
Round Hill was out too.
That left going to one of Father’s country estates. The only one well staffed and prepared for a member of the family to come home was his principle seat, Ainsworth Court in Cumberland. They wouldn’t be expecting anyone home right away, but she could send word ahead.
That’s what she needed to do. Tabitha had enough pin money waiting to be used that she could easily afford to hire a carriage for the journey; she wouldn’t need to ask to use one of Father’s. Doing so would only alert him to the fact that she was planning to leave. He wouldn’t take that well, not when he was so determined to see her married. No, it would be better to go without letting anyone know, and to leave a note explaining what she’d done. At least then he couldn’t stop her.
With her mind made up, Tabitha headed into her dressing room. She hefted a trunk out from the corner and threw open the armoire. One at a time, she removed her various gowns from the wardrobe, hastily folded them, and tossed them inside the case. When the armoire was half-empty, the first trunk was full. She closed it and pushed it aside, then opened the next trunk to begin the process again.
The new chest still had a few odds and ends at the bottom, so Tabitha bent to retrieve them. A smattering of hair pins were scattered on the floor, which she collected and placed with the rest of her pins by the bureau. She picked up a bonnet and set it aside, only to find a folded letter beneath it.
Tabitha picked up the letter. It was old, with bent edges and faded ink where it was addressed to her in Aunt Rosaline’s sprawling handwriting. The wax seal had long since fallen off.
Her hands shook as she opened it. Tabitha knew this letter. She knew precisely what it said, though she hadn’t looked at it or read it in many years. Aunt Rosaline sent it to her on her twelfth birthday. She’d read it so many times that the parchment was nearly falling apart at the folds, so many times that her tears had left splatters over the words.
Knowing it by heart was not enough to stop her from opening it again. Carefully, painstakingly, Tabitha undid each fold of the foolscap and held it out before her.
My Dearest Tabitha,
Twelve years old! How swiftly the time has gone. It seems only yesterday you were bouncing on my knees. Now, you bounce your young cousins on knees of your own.
Sometimes I worry about you. I see a beautiful young lady who cares more for what others expect her to be than she does for whom she wants to be. A young lady who tries to please her father and her brothers instead of trying to please herself. A young lady who hides shyly in the background, checking constantly to see who is watching, instead of shining in the foreground without a care in the world.
This is not the path to loving life. This is not the path to loving yourself.
Be yourself, Tabitha, no matter who is watching. Be the Tabitha I see when you are alone with Josephine and Bethanne, the lovely young lady who is confident and witty, the one who can make me smile just from hearing your laugh. And always remember, the beauty you have on the inside is ten times more luminous than the world could handle seeing on the outside. We’d all be blind in an instant.
Let us see you shine.
All my love,
Aunt Rosaline
By the time Tabitha finished reading the letter for what had to be the thousandth time, she had lost the battle with her tears.
Be yourself, Tabitha, no matter who is watching.
How had she forgotten that one, most important piece of advice her aunt had ever given her? Aunt Rosaline had always done as she wished, without a care in the world what anyone else thought of her for doing so. Some people ridiculed her for her behavior, it was true.
But the people who loved her? They loved her all the more for it.
Could such a thing possibly hold true for Tabitha? She thought about the times she allowed herself to be just as she was, without trying to force herself into someone’s expectations of who or what she ought to be. There weren’t many of them, that one thing was certain.
With Father, she did her best to behave as a dutiful daughter because he required such deportment—admittedly, she frequently failed—but she did make the attempt. With Owen and Toby, she traded barbs back and forth (more so with Toby, as he was her twin) because they wished her to be as sharp-tongued and sarcastic as they. In polite company she remained quiet, demure, and retiring, playing the part of the well-established spinster to irrevocable perfection and even wearing attire that was more sedate and shielded than fashionable, because that is what society deemed appropriate for her lowly station.
But were any of those accurate depictions of who she truly was? Not if she thought about the times spent alone with Jo and Bethanne, or with Aunt Rosaline. Not if one looked at the times Tabitha spent with her mother.
With each of those women, the most important women in her life, Tabitha was different. She was witty and kind, and she laughed freely. She could behave like a woman with confidence around them, with a certain assurance of her position amongst them, without worrying how they would react.
For that matter, she never thought about her body when she was with them—she never thought herself too bulky, too rounded, too...well, too different, as she often did with anyone else. She just fit with them. She belonged. Something she never felt with anyone else.
Was it because that is how they treated her, or more because that is how she treated herself in their presence? Could the manner in which she behaved truly affect others’ perceptions of her to the point that they could make such a drastic change?
There was one way to find out. Now, two weeks before her nine-and-twent
ieth birthday, Lady Tabitha Shelton was going to make a transformation.
She turned back to the first trunk and pulled everything back out of it. She wasn’t going anywhere. Other than perhaps to fetch Jo and head to the seamstress. Tabitha would need some new gowns—ones more appropriate to the impression she wanted to give.
The beau monde wouldn’t know what had come over her—or them. In particular, the gentlemen.
Lord Devonport above all.
~ * ~
Noah didn’t know how he’d allowed that conversation to become so unruly, so impossible to manage. Lady Tabitha had taken everything he wanted to say and twisted it to suit her purposes. Not that he could argue with her. He was a fortune hunter, though he hated the necessity of it. He hadn’t exactly lied to her, though now that he looked at the situation through her eyes, he could see that he was splitting hairs on that point. By omitting the full truth, he had lied.
He felt despicable. He felt like the lowest creature in all of England. He felt like the cur she had accused him of being.
He needed to get away, to get some fresh air and clear his head. Noah went out to Newcastle’s mews and asked the groom to prepare his horse for a ride instead of preparing his curricle to return home. Home wouldn’t help. Mother and Glastonbury were there, sorting out wedding preparations. If he went there, he’d be reminded all the more of his prospects for the future and his mood would sour further.
No, Noah needed to ride. He needed to feel the air flowing over his face, to experience the exhilaration of leaping through the air on the back of a powerful creature. There had been a sore lack of exhilaration in his life of late, apart from those moments when he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Lady Tabitha long enough to cool his lust. And since he couldn’t act upon it...
When Perceval was saddled and ready, Noah mounted him and took off for Rotten Row. The air in London was not as clear as the air in Haverthwaite, but it would have to do for now. Congested streets between Shelton Hall and Hyde Park made it impossible to give Perceval the liberty to gain any sort of speed. But as soon as they reached the park and trotted over to Rotten Row, Noah dug his heels in to his steed and they were off.
Gray clouds still covered the sky like pillows of goose down, lending a chill to the late-April air, made even cooler by the speed with which Perceval galloped. It felt good. Soothing. Noah gave the horse his head and they went faster still, until they were practically soaring past the other riders on the Row.
After several minutes, they’d seemingly left the rest of civilization behind. Noah drew back on the reins and slowed Perceval to a canter so they could both breathe.
Breathe. That’s what he needed to do. He must remember to breathe in Lady Tabitha’s presence, because her incensed fury quite literally stole that ability from him.
But he shouldn’t even be thinking about her any more. He ought to turn his attentions more fully to Lady Cressica (he shuddered) or Miss Jennings, or some other heiress who was not repulsed at the mere sight of him. Lady Tabitha had made it plentifully clear that she would have nothing to do with him. For that matter, she was adamant she would not marry at all.
Yet how could he give up his pursuit, when Oglethorpe and Eggerley had not given up on theirs?
Chapter Eleven
“Red,” Jo breathed. “Never in my life would I have thought to see this from you, Tabby.” Jo stood halfway across the room from Tabitha and looked her appearance over from head to toe while Tabitha examined herself in the mirror.
The rich, bold red actually made her complexion glow, and her eyes glinted in the dim candlelight. Hester had fashioned a coiffure for her with ribbons and jewels threaded throughout her hair. She wore it down over her shoulders, so that it fell in waves and curls to provide a hint of modesty over her bosom which the single gold string of rubies could not. The gown certainly wasn’t doing anything as far as that was concerned. Tabitha worried that if she laughed too hard or bent over too far, her breasts would fall out to be seen by all and sundry.
But, no. Tabitha had decided not to worry. She would no longer hide herself or hope to blend in with the plants. She intended to be herself, no matter who was watching. Just as Aunt Rosaline would want.
Tabitha could only imagine how she would look beneath the sea of candles sure to be lighting the room tonight. Sinful was probably a good guess. She laughed at the surprise in Jo’s tone. “You helped me pick the fabric out, you ninny. And you selected the design from Madame Duchesne’s fashion plates.”
“I know. But you’re actually wearing it.” When Tabitha didn’t react to this statement, Jo added, “To a ball.”
“Yes, I am.” Tabitha gave her cousin a wicked smile. “Do you approve?”
“Heartily,” Jo said as a knock sounded at the door. She looked over to Tabitha. “Are you ready?” With Tabitha’s nod, Jo called out, “Come.”
“Claremont got tired of waiting for you two. He and Helen have gone ahead,” Toby said as he stepped into the room. He looked directly at Jo as he delivered his message. “Leith stayed behind to help me escort the two of you. We’re ready whenever you are.” Toby looked past Jo and saw Tabitha, and his jaw dropped. “Bloody hell, Tabitha, what are you wearing?”
Well, if she could get that sort of reaction out of her brother, she supposed the gown would do.
Jo winked at Tabitha over her shoulder. “Just a new frock,” she said. “It’s lovely, don’t you think?” Jo picked up her reticule and took Toby’s arm. “We’re ready to go now, Tobes. Shall we?”
“I’m not letting Tabitha leave the house looking like that,” Toby said. “Father would murder me.” Tabitha rolled her eyes skyward, took up her own reticule, and started out the door. “On second thought, I’m not letting you out of this room.”
“We’re already late,” Tabitha said. “And not just fashionably late, either. If I have to change, we won’t be there in time for the supper dance. Let’s go.” She didn’t wait for his agreement. It might never come. Tabitha walked through the door he’d left open and headed straight down the stairs without looking to see if Toby and Jo followed behind her. Jo would take care of it.
Tabitha knew the instant Lord Leith noticed her. His eyes widened and an appreciative smile brightened his dark features. Yes, her plan was definitely going to work out. “Good evening, my lord,” she called out as she descended the last few steps.
He lowered his head briefly in greeting. “Lady Tabitha. You look exquisite this evening.” He reached for her gloved hand as she arrived at the landing and placed a chaste kiss just above her fingers.
“She looks like a trollop,” Toby groused from behind her.
“She looks nothing of the sort,” Jo countered. She continued moving until she’d passed Tabitha and Lord Leith, dragging Toby along with her out the front door and toward the waiting carriage, calling out so they could hear her, “We should be off.”
“Indeed,” Lord Leith said. He made no attempt to contain his chuckle. “Shall we?” When Tabitha placed her hand upon his arm, he led her off in the wake of the others and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Don’t pay any mind to your brother. He just doesn’t know how to react.”
Tabitha gave him a sly grin. “I rarely mind him anyway, my lord.”
“Touché.”
They spent the carriage ride talking and laughing. Well, most of them did at least. Toby sat glowering in his corner, staring at Tabitha like she had grown two extra heads, or her skin had turned green and scaly and she was breathing fire.
By the time they arrived at the ball, everyone else had already taken to the floor. Tabitha scanned the gathered crowd. Christopher and Helen were near the dais, dancing alongside his brother Graham and some young miss. Bethanne’s younger sister Miranda was dancing with her husband, Baron Pickford, not far down the line from them. Near the other end, closest to where Tabitha stood, her eyes passed over Lord Oglethorpe with Miss Leatham. She didn’t focus on them overlong. Finally, just before the end of the line,
Lord Devonport partnered Miss Jennings.
A twinge settled in Tabitha’s stomach at the sight, but she brushed it aside.
Lord Leith led her in a few steps further, and Tabitha felt the collective eye of the ton turn in her direction. Apart from the sound of the orchestra and the swish of the dancers’ garments, nary a sound could be heard in the entire ballroom as they all looked on her in wonder.
Her heartbeat increased, but she refused to cower. Tonight, she would not hide. No longer would she play the part of the wallflower, forever on the outskirts of life and looking in upon it. Tonight, she might be noticed. That was fine. Tabitha had every intention of dancing to her heart’s content and enjoying herself. She stood as straight and tall as she could, and allowed them to look their fill.
“Is your ankle still troubling you?” Lord Leith asked. “If not, would you oblige me with a dance?” His near-black eyes held the devilish twinkle usually reserved for her cousin.
“I would love to dance,” she replied.
Lord Leith winked at Jo and Toby, and then he placed Tabitha’s hand over his arm to sweep her off. “Well, never say I kept you waiting.” They joined the lines of dancers, only a few positions down from Lord Devonport and Miss Jennings.
When the figures of the dance brought them together for a moment, Lord Leith leaned close to her. “Your brother still looks fit to be tied. It seems every gentleman in the room has his attention trained upon you, and he doesn’t quite know how to handle it.”
“I thought Toby wanted to see me married off,” Tabitha said. “Shouldn’t he be pleased that I’m finally commanding attention?”
Wallflower (Old Maids' Club, Book 1) Page 14
