by Aubrey Wynne
Rose ignored the comment, pulled out the jonquil muslin, and held it against her own chest. “What would you like for tonight? This, or the Pomona with the sheer overlay?”
Fenella studied her pretty maid. The yellow was stunning against Rose’s dark hair, dark eyes, and slightly golden skin. “I think it’s time to pass that on to you. I look horrid in that color, no matter what Papa says, and it suits you so much better.”
“You are too generous, Miss Fenella. Though I agree, the jonquil does not do justice to your creamy complexion.” Rose grinned and held the apple-green dress under her mistress’ chin. “This green will contrast the pale gold of your hair and reflect in your gray eyes. We’ll add the crystal half-tiara with the matching earrings to add a sparkle.”
“I’m pretty, I suppose, but you always manage to make me sound almost beautiful.”
“Because you are.” Rose shook her head. “I don’t know how we can both be looking in the same mirror.”
“Then why does Mother insist I bend my knees and slouch my shoulders to appear shorter?”
“That has nothing to do with your face. Besides, a taller man would appreciate your height.”
“And my intellect?”
“I’ll admit that does pose a problem for most men of the ton.”
As they prepared for the ball at Almack’s, Fenella thought of the night ahead. Hours of tedious conversation and the universal pretense that everyone was interested in the weather, the horse races, or who had been with whom at Hyde Park that afternoon. Watery lemonade, stale cucumber sandwiches, and too much dancing. She hated to dance. Her tall frame was not conducive to being twirled around like a rag doll or led gracefully between sets of couples. She always felt awkward, and preferred sitting behind her father’s desk or climbing into a saddle. Yet, her sister Evelina could not wait for the first sounds of the orchestra to strike. Evie was light on her feet, with a petite frame, waves of caramel hair, and doe-like brown eyes.
The sisters were complete opposites.
Fenella wished for the hundredth time that she was not the eldest. She wished for the millionth time that she’d been born a male. But life was never fair, and women must make the most of what was given them. So she would. A smile turned up her lips.
“What’s going on in that lovely head of yours?” asked Rose. Her eyes narrowed as she wound two plaits of Fenella’s hair over and then under a perfect chignon. “It’s a scheme for certain. I’ve seen that glint in your eyes too many times.”
Yes, she had. Rose was seven years older and had been with her since Fenella’s tenth birthday. The maid’s family had come from France during the Revolution. When Rose’s father had died, she and her mother been left destitute. She’d become a trusted confidante and loyal friend. “If I can appear to engage an eligible bachelor or two, then Mother cannot be angry when they are not interested. So, I need to find out what each possible suitor dislikes in a woman and be sure to exhibit that quality.”
“I thought you promised Lady Franklin that you wouldn’t talk of politics or accounts while in Town. And what of your poor sister?” She clucked her tongue and threaded a thin, pale green ribbon through Fenella’s thick tresses. “She cannot accept any man’s advances until you are married. It was your mother’s condition when she agreed to her come-out this season.”
“Evie is the epitome of what every titled gentleman wants in a wife. She’d be married already if Mother would allow it.” She grinned. “On the other matter, there are ways to annoy a man and induce a quick escape. And you’ve been of great assistance in providing me with one more.”
“And I thought you truly wanted to be seductive. Recompense has sharp teeth, and your cleverness may bite you back one day.” Rose shook her head. “There is nothing wrong with men or marriage.”
“I don’t dislike the idea of marriage. I just don’t think I could trust a man to be sincere… about me.” Fenella leaned her head back against Rose’s stomach, and the woman’s hand moved to cradle her mistress’ face. With a sigh, Fenella moved her cheek into the maid’s palm. “I made such a fool of myself over that viscount last season. I would rather die than be the object of ridicule again.”
“He was vicious, and your father took care of him. He’s one foul trout in a stream of many. Don’t mistrust his whole gender.” Rose waved the hairbrush at the mirror as she locked eyes with her mistress. “It should give you more than a little satisfaction to be balancing the ledgers for his estate now.”
She nodded. It was bittersweet. Shelton’s father had been furious. Though a minor estate, it had previously been the family seat bequeathed by Henry VIII. The viscount had been married off to a wealthy heiress thought to be on the shelf, then sent packing to the country. His father had made sure he wouldn’t be admitted anywhere in London if he showed his face. Anywhere respectable.
“If my mother knew what happened, she’d be horrified. And find some way to blame me for the catastrophe.”
“I don’t think you always give your mother a fair shake. Lady Franklin does love you. But I agree her actions can make her appear shallow.”
“That’s a kind way to say it.” Fenella smiled at the maid’s reflection. “Thank you, dear Rose. Thank you for always being here for me and not judging me.”
“Gah! I love you like my own sister.” She patted Fenella’s cheek and sniffed. “And I need to see you settled, so I can think about my future. I can’t leave you to the wolves—or Lady Franklin.”
*
Fenella leaned against one of the tall white pillars of Almack’s and scanned the crowd for her mother. She spotted Lady Franklin under the musicians’ balcony, ingratiating herself to one the establishment’s patronesses. With any luck, Fenella would be able to fend off the last two bachelors in the room who might be persuaded to speak with her. Gems and paste crystals glittered and shimmered under the glow from the gaslit chandeliers. A young baron with sallow skin, dull eyes, and thin lips approached, his diamond pin winking in his foppish, intricate cravat. Here comes one of the said gentlemen now.
“Miss Franklin,” Lord Brooks murmured with a bow, “may I have the next dance?”
When he straightened, his eye level was even with her nose. The thought of standing partner with this poppinjay for the next thirty minutes sent her stomach plummeting. She studied his serious demeanor and stiff frame and judged his displeasure. Her lips twitched as she looked down at him. Oh, this would be fun.
“Oh, sir,” she cried breathlessly, “I would be honored. But I’m afraid I’m parched and waiting on refreshment.” She licked her lips, her tongue circling the entire top of her upper lip and working down to her bottom one. She hitched one shoulder forward and smiled overly bright, her mouth glistening. “Perhaps you could come back after the next set?”
The look of horror on the young man’s face was uproarious. She bit back the laughter bubbling in her throat. Her teeth scraped her bottom lip, as if trying to remove the last of her supper from one corner. It seemed to be the last straw for the baron. She’d judged him correctly. Any intelligent talk might have intrigued him, unlike the earl before him – whose eyes had glazed over at her detailed summary of Homer’s Odyssey.
“I-I may be leaving early,” the baron stammered as he took flight.
Over his retreating shoulder, she saw her mother approach, the slanted deep brown eyes and pinched mouth indicating her extreme displeasure.
Drat! She was in trouble, now. Fenella looked right, then left, hoping for escape. Evie appeared by her side.
“I’ll intercept her for you, but what in petunias were you thinking?” asked her sister, cheeks flushed becomingly. “You looked like Nora the cow when we put honey on her lips.”
Fenella laughed. “I’d forgotten all about that. Well, good. It had the desired effect, then.” She picked up her skirt and made a dash for the refreshment table.
“I’ll find a way for you to settle this debt,” she heard Evie say good-naturedly, blocking Lady Franklin’s path t
o her oldest daughter. “Mother, why is your face so mottled? Gracious, let’s get you outside for some fresh air. It’s stifling in here!”
Fenella blew out a breath as her mother and sister both moved in the opposite direction. A reprieve until they were all trapped in the coach together. She carefully avoided eye contact, studying the pale red roses embroidered on the hem of her Pomona dress.
“Absolutely divine. In fact, I’d say the most stunning female in the place.”
Fenella’s head jerked up to see the profile of a dark, handsome man next to her.
“Pardon me?” He couldn’t possibly be speaking to her. His eyes were on…
She followed his line of sight. Evie. “Are you speaking of my sister, sir?” Should she be outraged? Who was he?
“If your sister is that exquisite creature in the blossom gown that matches her pink cheeks to perfection, then yes. I’m speaking of your sister.” He turned his attention on Fenella, and she was struck by a devastatingly inviting smile framed by a mustache and well-trimmed beard. She thought of a gentleman pirate.
“That would be quite impertinent, since we haven’t been introduced.” She dragged her gaze to his eyes, a glittering variation of gold, then green.
“Well, that can be amended easily enough.” He looked about and waved at the viscount Fenella had recently chased away. “Brooks! Brooks, my friend, over here.”
With a pained look, the young man made his way to the table. “Good evening, my lord. How may I be of service?”
“I need a formal introduction to this young lady. Would you be so kind?”
For the second time that night, Fenella witnessed the baron’s look of distress. “Are you sure—I mean, of course. It would be my pleasure,” the viscount mumbled. “Miss Franklin, may I introduce the Earl of Brecken? My lord, Miss Franklin, the daughter of Sir Horace and Lady Franklin.”
Brecken bowed, broad shoulders straining his coat as he brushed a kiss over her gloved knuckles. He gave her another dazzling smile. Fenella liked him instantly. “My lord,” she nodded and grinned back. “So, you are interested in my sister, Miss Evelina?”
“A lovely name,” he said distractedly, as mother and daughter turned and moved back into the crowd toward them. “You will introduce us?”
“Of course.” Fenella wondered at the directness of the man. He seemed confident and used to getting what he wanted. A man of influence. And title. Just what their mother had specified.
“Fenella, if you think—” Lady Franklin stopped as the earl bowed to the women. “Do you know this gentleman?”
“Mother, may I introduce Lord Brecken?” She turned to him. “Lady Franklin and my younger sister, Miss Evelina.”
The ladies were both charmed by the new acquaintance, and Fenella drew in a deep breath. Perhaps she could stall the conversation on the way home with questions about Brecken. Knowing Evie, she’d have his life story before Fenella finished her lemonade.
One excruciating hour later, the coach pulled up, and the liveried tiger jumped from the back to open the door. As he handed them onto the velvet seats, Fenella tried to melt into a corner.
“Don’t think you can disappear into the shadows, young lady. How dare you frighten off one of the few men I convinced to ask you to dance. I don’t understand you at all.” Lady Franklin shook her head, her lashes beginning the familiar martyred flutter. “At least consider your sister. How will she find a good match when you strive to be the pariah of the season? Again!”
“I think it’s ridiculous that Evie can’t be courted until I’m married.” She crossed her arms, turning her gaze out the window. “If I were you, Mother, I’d concentrate on your youngest daughter snaring that title. She’ll make a much better wife for a lord than I would.”
“I’m beginning to agree,” chided her mother.
“You don’t give the gentlemen a chance, Fenella. You are so afraid of rejection that you push them away before they have a chance to like you.” Evie’s voice was quiet but steady. “There is plenty of time for me, and I’m rather enjoying myself so far.”
Fenella rolled her eyes. “Exactly my point. This is torture for me.” But her stomach clenched at her sister’s words. Was she pushing suitors away to avoid another incident? No, she hated the façade London society wore, their false smiles and scornful looks. Fenella could never be one of them. To belong to someone because of an enormous dowry, her only company those women who despised her, was a fate worse than death. If she was to be lonely, she would choose her own solitary path.
“Well, I’m afraid you have won this time. The on-dits portray you as an eccentric bluestocking. Eccentric. I’ve worked so hard to make a respectable life for us.” Lady Franklin moaned and fell back against the squabs. “And what do I get in return? A churlish daughter who debates my every suggestion.”
Fenella’s eyes stung, and she blinked at the harsh words. That wasn’t fair. Her mother only wanted to improve her own social status. It had nothing to do with the happiness of her daughters. Lady Franklin dreamed of being one of the ton. Sir Horace’s wealth had opened many doors for his wife, but she’d never been satisfied. A baronet was not a peer. But the earl they had met tonight was perfect.
“Tell us about Lord Brecken. He seemed quite smitten with you, Evie.”
And peace prevailed as Evie recounted their conversation for Lady Franklin.
Once home, Fenella climbed the stairs, wanting only to let her hair down and climb into bed.
“Daughter, you will join me in the study. We will speak to your father now.” Her mother’s icy tone halted one foot in midair.
“But I—”
“Now!”
The sharp command jolted her. She’d gone too far tonight. Her horrendous behavior would be revealed to her father. It wasn’t that Sir Horace was intimidating. The disappointment in his eyes made her stomach clench and her throat thicken with shame. A woeful look from Papa was more devastating than her mother’s worst temper. Head bowed, she entered his sanctuary. Her sanctuary, too, on most days. The smell of leather, paper, and ink comforted her. At least she’d be scolded in her favorite place.
He perched on the edge of the heavy, ornate desk, his handsome face bland as her mother droned on in a petulant tone. He often sat when conversing with his wife, another of his thoughtful gestures that indicated his affection. Though she was not a petite woman, he still towered over her when they stood on equal footing.
Fenella sat quietly, her hands clasped in her lap as her mother recounted the evening at Almack’s. From the description, Lady Franklin had seen every misstep her daughter made.
“When she licked her lips in front of Lord Brooks, I thought he would have an apoplexy.” Lady Franklin glared at her daughter, then at her husband. “Wipe that smirk off your face, Horace. There is nothing amusing about the situation.”
He patted her shoulder and winked at Fenella. “Calm down, my love. Take heart in the fact you have two daughters.”
“Which reminds me of Lord Brecken. The man seemed to take an interest in Evelina.” She laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “Could you make a discreet inquiry when you go to the club? Perhaps he’s recently inherited a penniless estate.”
“I thought Fenella must marry first?”
“After her behavior tonight, I’ve almost given up on her. Did I tell you…”
Fenella glanced at the hot coals, red and white flaring alternately, heating her face as she waited by the hearth for judgment. Her toe poked at the fleur de lis pattern beneath her foot, the thick Aubusson carpet soft against the thin leather of her slipper. She focused on the ivory snuff box next to her father’s large hand. His fingers began to drum the glossy surface of his desk, drawing her attention to the stack of papers beneath his well-manicured nails. She wondered vaguely if they were invoices to be entered in the ledgers that week.
“And when I heard her speaking to Lord Denly in that thick Scottish brogue… it was horribly embarrassing. She sounded just like my mother,” L
ady Franklin finished in a huff. “Fenella, are you listening?”
“What you are trying to say”—Sir Horace pinned his daughter with flashing gray eyes—“is Fenella has ruined her chances for this season before the month of April has begun. And if she is allowed to continue, she may destroy her sister’s reputation as well.”
“Well, put that way, it does sound a bit dramatic.” Her mother pursed her lips. “Horace, this is just as much your doing as hers. To be fair, you did not allow me to train her in the proper way, always pulling her along with you and treating her like a son. Now it’s time for some much-needed discipline. I mean it!”
“Why don’t you wait for me in the parlor, love?” He placed a hand on the small of his wife’s back and propelled her toward the door. “I’ll give her a private reprimand, contrive to stop the prattling tongues, and minimize the damage. I promise.”
“Finally!” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. “I know she’s your favorite, but she must be brought to task. I love her, too, but I am done with this charade. As far as I’m concerned, the chit can stay locked in her room until she sees reason.”
The door clicked shut. Sir Horace smoothed back his thinning hair, the pale blond now mostly white with the progressing years. “Well, my disobedient girl, please tell me what possessed you.”
Fenella couldn’t meet his eyes. Heat flushed her cheeks.
“Come now, I’ve never known you to be at a loss for words.”
“Not around you.” Fenella tried to remove the sullen look that had overtaken her features, but thoughts of the previous season still taunted her. “I decided if I’m to be rejected this season, it will be on my own terms and of my own doing.”
