by Candace Camp
“You, however, are not a fool. We both know that. And it would be foolish in the extreme to depart from this house because of a wayward remark or two.”
“It wasn’t the remarks. It was the opinions behind them. The earl does not want us here. We are an embarrassment to him, as well as a burden.”
“My dear girl, believe me, Oliver does not worry about embarrassment. Talbots, you see, are above that sort of thing. I do not know how much you overheard last night, but I can assure you that my brother was not worried that other people might look down upon him.”
“Surely you cannot expect me to believe that.”
“I assure you, ’tis true. The thought, quite frankly, would not occur to Stewkesbury. He has never shown the slightest embarrassment over the fact that my mother’s father was”—Fitz leaned forward to deliver a mockingly scandalized whisper—“in trade . You may be American and not, shall we say, bang up to the mark, but your family lines are quite unobjectionable. Your father was penniless but from a good family. So if my origins don’t shame him, I cannot imagine why yours would.”
“But he said—”
“You walked in on the middle of a conversation. As it happens, we were discussing the difficulties a group of young ladies presented for Oliver, for he is not a particularly social man. He generally dislikes the social whirl and finds most parties boring. Receiving polite calls from friends and relatives is even worse for him.”
“I don’t understand what that would have to do with us.”
Fitz cocked his head and studied her. “But surely you must see, with four eligible young ladies, he must bring you out?”
Mary frowned. “Out where?”
Her cousin laughed. “Out into society, of course. You must be introduced to the world we live in. The beau monde. The bon ton . Young women make their debut.”
“Why?” Mary stared at him blankly.
Fitz’s return gaze was equally blank. Finally, he said, “Why … um … because it is what one does. How else is a girl supposed to meet her future husband?”
“In the usual way, I suppose. In the course of life.”
He looked at her oddly. “That is the course of life. Our life. You see, one comes to London for the Season. One goes to parties and the opera and the theater. One rides or drives in the park.”
Mary’s gaze was disbelieving. “And that is all you do?”
“Oh, no, I do other things. There is my club—well, for men, of course. And Tattersall’s, for the horse sales. Women shop. And receive visitors, make calls, all that sort of thing.”
“What about work?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Doesn’t anyone work?”
“Of course people work. Not me, you understand. I am like the lilies of the field. I neither toil nor do I sow.” He paused, frowning. “Or is it reap?” He shrugged. “Well, it doesn’t matter really—I don’t do either.” A gurgle of laughter escaped Mary’s lips, and Fitz flashed her a grin. “But Oliver is in his study diligently going over his books and such half the day. In any case, work is not the point of this discussion.”
“Quite frankly, sir, I am not sure what the point is,” Mary responded.
“You and your sisters staying here. I was explaining to you Oliver’s trepidation. It was not about you causing him embarrassment; it was dread at the thought of embarking on the social whirl.”
“But there is no need. Why must he introduce us to society?”
“You are our cousins. He has taken on responsibility for you. And Oliver is a man who takes his responsibilities quite seriously.”
Mary cast him a skeptical look. “You are a pretty talker, but I don’t believe that was exactly the import of his words. He said we would not be accepted by our peers.”
“Doubtless he fears that on your account. He would not wish to see you suffer embarrassment.”
“Like our clothes last night?” Mary’s cheeks flushed at the memory.
“Exactly. You see, he did not realize the problems that would arise. Oliver was most chagrined that he did not foresee the situation.”
“Mr. Talbot—Lord—I don’t know what to call you—”
“Cousin Fitz would be best.” He grinned. “Or just Fitz. I am a great believer in American informality.”
“All right, then. Cousin Fitz. It is very good of you to take up the cudgel in your brother’s defense. However, I must tell you that it makes no difference. It is clear to me that even though the earl has accepted responsibility for us, it is not something he wishes to do. He will be well pleased that we are gone. And my sisters and I would prefer not to be where we are not welcome.”
“My dear cousin, I fear you are wrong on both counts.” Fitz’s usually lighthearted expression dropped into serious lines. “You will not prefer leaving Stewkesbury House. Where will you go? What will you do? How will you live?”
“I don’t know,” Mary answered honestly. The same thoughts had kept her awake half the night. “But we will find a way. There must be employment.”
Fitz’s eyes widened in shock. “But you are a lady. However you may have been raised, whatever you did in the United States, here it simply would not do. The only acceptable employment would be as a governess or a companion, but—I am sorry, but I must be frank—what Englishman is going to hire an American for a governess? And companions are never lively, attractive young women. There is no place where the four of you could go together, even if someone were willing to hire one or another of you.”
“We are quite capable. We can cook and clean and—”
“You are suggesting that you go into service?” Fitz could not have looked more stunned if Mary had suggested that she and her sisters take to walking the streets. “Mary! You cannot.” He shook his head in bemusement.
“Why not?”
“You would not enjoy it, I assure you.” He gazed at her solemnly for a moment, but then his usual grin lightened his countenance. “Besides, I do not believe you and your sisters have the, ah, temperament to be servants. Anyway, my brother would not allow it.”
“What business is it of his?”
“The Earl of Stewkesbury’s cousins living hand-to-mouth? You cannot think he would stand for that.”
“We wouldn’t say anything. No one would know we are his cousins.”
“He would.”
“Oh.”
“Oliver is a man of firm beliefs. He has accepted you as his responsibility. He would not toss you out, and he would not allow you to put yourself in that sort of position either.”
“There’s nothing he can do about it,” Mary protested. “We are grown women.”
“As far as you are concerned, perhaps he cannot do anything—other than prose on at you for hours, which I can assure you is far worse than a thrashing. However, I have seen your birth certificates, and your sister Lily is not of age. Nor, I warrant, is Cousin Camellia. Clearly, Oliver would be their guardian, and he would go to court to establish that if he had to.”
Mary stared at him, speechless.
Fitz smiled and reached across the table to take her hand. “Come, Cousin. We are family, and relatives have their little spats. But they don’t go haring off because there has been a disagreement. Think of your sisters. You cannot condemn them to a life of poverty and toil simply because of hurt feelings. Because of pride.”
Mary jerked her hand away, glaring at him. “That is exactly what my mother said!”
Fitz chuckled. “You see? Family. This is what your mother wanted you to do; she understood what sort of life it could be for you and your sisters. There is just a … small period of adjustment.” He paused. “What do you say?”
Mary set her jaw mulishly. The thought of staying galled her, no matter how diplomatically Fitz had presented it. Unfortunately, she knew he was right. She had brought her sisters here precisely because the future had been so bleak for them in America. But here, alone in a foreign country, it would be far worse. She thought of all they had done to get h
ere. It would be extremely foolish, just as Fitz said, to throw away that effort because of her hurt pride.
Last night she had promised to make a better effort to get along with her new relatives. She had sworn to herself to hold her tongue. Then, before the evening was out, she had flown into a temper and rashly declared that she would leave their benefactor’s house. She had not thought about her sisters or what would happen to them or, indeed, about anything but herself.
Besides, deep down she knew that it was not really the earl who had angered her. Sir Royce’s words had cut her to the quick because she had foolishly let herself imagine that he was interested in her, that he liked her, even desired her. Her sisters should not have to suffer simply because she was behaving like an adolescent girl.
Mary sighed. “You are right. I cannot argue. We have no choice but to stay.”
He smiled. “You will not regret it.”
“I hope not.” Mary could not bring herself to return his smile. She had done the right thing for her sisters, but all she could think about was that now she would have to face Royce.
She was not sure whether that idea filled her with dread … or anticipation.
Chapter 9
As it happened, Mary did not have to wait long to find out what her reaction would be when she saw Sir Royce again. She and her sisters were sitting down to tea with the earl and Fitz that afternoon in one of the drawing rooms when the butler announced the arrival of Sir Royce Winslow and Lady Charlotte Ludley.
Mary, who had been adding sugar to her tea, felt her heart flip in her chest, and her fingers involuntarily tightened on the little spoon, sending sugar crystals tumbling into the saucer. She occupied herself with replacing the spoon in the sugar bowl and setting down her cup, gathering herself inside, before she looked up at the two visitors standing in the doorway.
Her eyes flickered over the attractive woman dressed in what Mary assumed was the height of fashion and went straight to the man standing beside her. She had hoped that now that she knew what Royce was truly like, he would not look the same to her. Unfortunately, she could not deny that a sizzle still ran through her at the sight of his tall, muscular figure. Royce’s green eyes met hers, and Mary braced herself. She would not lower her gaze before his; after all, he was the one who should feel ashamed. If she was going to stay here, she would doubtless encounter the man on a regular basis. She had to establish that she did not give a whit for his opinion of her.
She held his gaze for one long beat without expression, then turned her head to look at his companion. She saw a woman slightly older than herself, with dark brown hair pinned up under a ruched silk bonnet of palest gray decorated across the crown with a cluster of bright red artificial cherries. The woman wore a carriage dress that matched the hat in color, and Mary noted that although its waist was still higher than one’s natural waist, it was definitely a good bit lower than those on the gowns Mary and her sisters wore—clearly the new style, like the aunts’ dresses last night. Beneath the bonnet the woman’s face was pleasant and rosy-cheeked, with bright hazel eyes and a rosebud mouth.
“Cousin Charlotte.” Both Fitz and Stewkesbury rose to their feet, smiling.
“I was most sorry you could not come for dinner last night,” the earl said, stepping forward to kiss the woman on the cheek.
“Not as sorry as I after Mama visited me this morning and told me whom she had met.” Charlotte’s eyes went past her cousin to the Bascombe sisters, grouped on two short sofas.
“Allow me to introduce you to your new cousins,” Oliver told her, turning toward the Bascombes and running through the list of their names. He added, “Charlotte is your aunt Cynthia’s daughter.”
“Oh, my! How pretty you all are!” Cousin Charlotte exclaimed, coming forward to shake the girls’ hands. “Royce told me you were, but I thought he must be exaggerating. I can see now that he was not.” She cast a mischievous glance at the earl. “Oliver, I fear you will have your work cut out for you, fending off these girls’ suitors.”
“I think that will be sometime down the road,” Oliver replied noncommittally.
“Not this Season, of course. Why, ’tis almost over. But next Season they will be sure to make a splash.” Charlotte sat down in the chair closest to the girls. “You must tell me all about yourselves. Mama said you gave Aunt Euphronia quite a turn. Do you actually carry guns? Royce swore to me that you had a rifle with you when he met you, but I was certain he must be lying.”
It was clear that the girls had found an appreciative audience, and they proceeded to launch into more realistic versions of the tales they had told the evening before. Mary allowed her sisters to take the lead in the conversation, concentrating on ignoring Sir Royce’s presence. It was, she found, excessively hard not even to glance at him—especially since she could feel his gaze upon her throughout most of the conversation.
Finally, during a lull, Charlotte turned to the earl and said, “Oliver, Royce tells me that you might be in need of my help.”
The earl immediately brightened. “Indeed. Have you come to offer to sponsor our cousins through their Season?”
Charlotte responded with a musical peal of laughter. “Are you mad? With my three rampaging boys? No, thank you. I have more than enough on my hands, believe me. Besides, I am not the sort of sponsor you need to make a path for our cousins.” She turned toward the Bascombes, adding, “And, indeed, much as I like all of you, there is a great deal to be done to prepare you for your entrance into society.”
“I am aware of that,” Oliver told her. “In fact, I have sent round to an agency to find a chaperone who can also teach them the social skills they need. As soon as I hire her, I shall send them all to Willowmere. They will have ample time and quiet there to learn all they need to know.”
“What?” Mary glanced at her sisters, on whose faces she saw the same expressions of surprise and alarm. “You are sending us somewhere?”
“Yes, to Willowmere, the Talbot family estate. It is north of here, in the Lake District.”
“I see. Someplace far from London. Where we will be less trouble to you,” Mary said caustically.
Lily sucked in a breath. “Oooh … you’re locking us away? Like the wicked duke in The Shield of Montague !”
“Who?” Oliver looked at her, startled.
“It’s a book.” Mary shrugged her sister’s remark aside. “Don’t you think, sir, that this is a bit high-handed?”
“Don’t mind Oliver,” Charlotte told her. “He is high-handed with everyone. Isn’t that true, Fitz?”
“Absolutely.” He gave the Bascombes a wink. “You mustn’t hold it against him. He cannot help giving orders.”
“But what if we don’t want to go?” Camellia protested.
As the earl’s brows drew together, Charlotte jumped in. “You will like it there, honestly. Willowmere is a wonderful place—so beautiful, and such a relief after the bustle of London. Actually, it is the perfect plan. I know it’s maddening, but that’s the way it is with Oliver—he is invariably right. You don’t want to be thrown into the Season with no preparation. It could be an absolute disaster. I am sure that it is very different here from what you are used to.”
“That’s an understatement,” Camellia muttered.
“There, then you know what I mean. You have been in America all your lives; you can’t be expected to know what’s what. But the sad truth is that everyone will expect it anyway. Looks, I fear, will only take you so far. In any case, the Season is almost over, and everyone will leave, and it will be deadly dull. In the meantime, you will be at Willowmere, learning all you need to know, and—”
“But what is that?” Mary asked. “What are we going to learn?”
“Deportment, dances—whatever you’ll need.” Charlotte gave an airy wave of her hand. “This woman Stewkesbury is hiring will take care of that. Then when you come for the Season next year, you will be ready to take the ton by storm. And I know just the woman to introduce you to society,
if she will do it. Lady Vivian Carlyle.”
“Vivian Carlyle?” Oliver echoed. “You mean that annoying, carrot-haired, skinny chit who used to plague us at Willowmere?”
Cousin Charlotte cocked an eyebrow at him. “Vivian Carlyle is a leader of the ton, as you would know if you spent more time in London.”
“I do know,” he retorted. “But from all I’ve heard, Lady Vivian is a sad romp. It can’t help these girls, who are much too wild already, to have an example set for them by someone with as little regard for propriety as a Carlyle.”
The Bascombes all bristled at this description of them, but before they could speak, Charlotte was already saying, “Oh, Oliver, don’t be such a prig. I’m not talking about them living with her, after all. And they would keep their chaperone, of course. But if Vivian were to sponsor them—”
“I am sure that one of our aunts is fully capable of sponsoring them.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Please. I will be the first to agree that the Talbot name is old and well respected. But it hardly carries the weight of the Carlyles’. Besides, you could not be so cruel as to saddle these poor girls with Aunt Euphronia. It might be too much to ask Vivian to sponsor all four of them. But if she were to invite them to a few of her parties or single them out at a ball or let them share her box at the opera, that sort of thing—well, it would mean their instant acceptance into the ton. Lady Vivian is all the crack.”
“But a Carlyle!”
Charlotte pulled a face at him. “There has never been even a whiff of scandal associated with Vivian. And she can scarcely be blamed for the scandals that past generations of Carlyles got into. Those are all long forgotten, anyway.”
“I remember them.”
“I mean, by people besides you. Vivian does exactly as she pleases, but she cannot be accused of immorality. And she is the daughter of a duke.”
“Just a moment,” Mary interrupted. “Don’t we have anything to say about this?”
Charlotte turned toward Mary. “You will love Vivian. No need to worry over that. And I suspect that she will like you just as much as I do. Viv and I have been friends for years. Perhaps when the Season is over, I can persuade her to come to Willowmere to see you. She could visit her uncle.”
