by Fanny Finch
All Father had was letters of correspondence. It was easy to affect a certain manner in a letter. And even if the man was trustworthy, Maria wouldn’t know him or his sister.
She was to be placed with strangers.
How was she to manage that? She knew hardly anyone even on the island. Of course she knew them by name and such. But there were hardly any balls or anything of that sort. It was quite impossible to call upon someone given the terrain.
Only the few who lived in town could have a social life and those were usually of the lower class and therefore couldn’t be associated with anyway.
Now she would be expected to live with strangers for months? To…to associate with people?
A part of her was elated. Excited. She would love to attend the balls that her mother had always spoken about.
Mother had missed those balls terribly. She’d been a very social creature. It must have been for Father’s health that she had journeyed to such a remote and lonely place. She had never complained and had found much to love.
But Maria knew that her mother always longed for London society. And she wanted to experience what had made her mother love it so. It was a possible way to feel closer to her.
Not to mention that Mother had made them sound so terribly exciting and wonderful. Full of glamorous gowns and flirtatious gentlemen, the finest foods and beautiful music. It was like a sort of fairytale in Maria’s head when she pictured it.
But the rest of her was terrified. How was she supposed to fit in there? People in England must be quite different from people in the Caribbean.
Her father had said as much many a time. Telling her “not in England” was practically his hobby.
“They would not permit that in England,” he would tell her when she came in with three inches of her hem soaked in mud.
“In England you will not be allowed such behavior,” he would say when Maria was hungry and devouring dinner.
“When you are in England you shall have to watch your tongue,” he would declare when she had offered up her frank opinion on a shipping charter.
“Well we aren’t in England right now, are we?” she would always counter.
It wasn’t that Mother hadn’t done her best. Maria knew how to dance and could play the pianoforte and the harp. She knew needlework and was very good at drawing. In fact, the latter, along with watercolor, was her favorite hobby. She loved sketching or painting the plants and wildlife.
She was accomplished enough, in other words. It was just the idea of talking to people, of introducing herself to so many strangers for their scrutiny…well, it was intimidating. She dared any other woman not to feel the same.
But there was no way out of her predicament. Not that she could find.
Maria went back outside and sat on the edge of the porch. She had always felt best when outside.
She would have to go to England. If Father was being so firm about this then it was because he saw no other way. Father was not a man who made hasty decisions. Nor was he the sort of man who clung to a decision simply because it was his. He was almost always willing to listen to the advice of others.
The only times he refused to hear the opinion of someone else was when he had already gone through every option. When he knew that whatever this person was going to offer up, he had already thought of, tested, and discarded.
It had meant that he had sometimes missed the opportunity on investments because he would not act with haste. But it had also saved them many a time from getting involved in something that would have led to their loss of fortune and ruin.
No, if Father was being stubborn about this it was not out of ridiculous pride. It was not simply for the sake of feeling his power as the head of their tiny household. It was not so that he could look at himself in the mirror and say, I am right.
It was because there was no other way.
Maria wrapped her arms around her legs, tucking her chin over her knees.
She would have to be good for Father. She would have to be sure to do him proud. He must be stressed in such a trying time as this.
If only she were a man. She could help him out. Father wouldn’t have to leave this lovely climate if he didn’t want to. She could inherit the plantation.
Or, if Father insisted on selling it and giving her an annual income, she could at least assist him in dealing with the lawyers and such.
But she was a woman. And so there was nothing she could offer him but comfort and soft words.
And, of course, getting married so that he would not have to worry about her.
She was determined to make sure that he wouldn’t worry about her. That would be unfair to him. She had acted like a child just now, Maria chastised herself. She ought to be supporting Father. She needed to trust that this was the right thing to do.
Father was a man of very sound judgment, after all. She could trust him. If he said this was what they needed to do then she would do it. She could listen to him.
Her job now was to support him. That was what Mother had her promise when she was lying on her sickbed.
She had asked Maria to remember to be the rock in Father’s life. She had begged Maria to behave with the dignity and grace that Father would need as he grew older.
Maria intended to hold to that promise. She would go to England, then, if that was what Father wanted. She would make him proud.
She stood up, dusted off her dress, and went back into the sitting room.
Father was still sitting in the chair. He looked so frail. Maria wanted to throw herself onto her knees and put her head in his lap and cry. Her tall, strong father, reduced to a shell of himself.
But no, she must be the strong one. Just as she had promised Mother.
He looked up when she entered, his gaze inquisitive but not angry. Of course not. Father rarely got angry. He had such a good temper. Probably a better temper than Maria deserved. She knew that she was strong-willed and could be a trial.
“I must apologize,” she said. “That was childish of me, to run out on you like that. Of course, we must do whatever you think is best, Father.”
Father smiled up at her. “I must apologize as well. I should have informed you of this possibility much sooner. It was an oversight on my part to think that I need not include you in my planning.
“What’s done is done now, of course. And I do hope that you will see what a good opportunity this is.”
“Why of course,” Maria said. She knelt down and took her father’s hand. “I know that you are not as rich as some but you have always taken good care of us. Of me. I know you would have left it all to me if you could have.
“Never you fear for me. I shall go to London as you request. I’m sure that I shall get along with these people you mention. If they are at all like their father, with whom you were so close, and I am like you, we shall become the closest of friends.
“And I will find a husband. You know that must be my goal in any case.”
“I had wished that you might have time for love to blossom,” Father sighed. “And to be selective about who you share your life with. Now I’m afraid you no longer have that choice.”
“A season is a matter of months, Father, not days,” Maria reminded him. “I am sure that in that time I shall find a man we both deem suitable. I will make certain that he is someone of whom you may be proud to call your son-in-law.”
Father smiled down at her and squeezed her hand. “My dear. You really are far too well-tempered for what I put you through. Thank you.”
Maria smiled and squeezed his hand back. “It is my duty and my joy, Father.”
She stood up. “Now, let us see about a proper dinner.”
She shoved her fears into the back of her mind. Whatever her continued worries were about the future, they could wait until she was in London. For now, she would remain calm and collected for Father’s sake.
It would all work out, she was sure. That was what Mother always said. It would all work out.
&nb
sp; It had to.
Chapter 2
Edward Reginald, the newly made Duke of Foreshire, was silently cursing both his family name and the title he had just inherited.
Father had been in perfectly good health. Strong as an ox, or so everyone—including the late duke—had believed.
It was perfectly unjust that something as banal and out of the blue as a horse riding accident should take his father from him.
Selfishly, though, Edward did not so much miss his father as he missed not being the duke.
He would never have admitted it to anyone except for his younger sister, but he and Father’s regard for one another had been…cool.
They had respected one another. Or at least, Edward respected his father and he liked to think that his father had respected him.
It was impossible not to have some measure of respect for the late duke, frankly. He had been a powerful man with a lot of connections. He was a man of strong character and fortitude. A man who expressed his opinion well and often.
Edward had no idea how he was supposed to fill such large shoes.
His father had been a stern man. He’d made it clear what his expectations were for Edward. And Edward had thought that he’d at least been prepared for his role now that he was the duke, even if he knew he’d never been up to his father’s expectations of him.
But now that he was the duke, he was finding himself more…overwhelmed than he had expected.
It wasn’t so much the business side of things. The estate and the tenants were well in hand. He’d followed Father as he went on his rounds and had been walked through all the books and accounts.
No, it was the social side of things.
Edward had been kept a bit away from the social gatherings the last year or so in his training with Father. But it wasn’t as though he’d been a hermit.
He knew how the whole thing went. Being the son of a rich man was bad enough. A rich man who was also titled? It meant mothers were all but throwing their daughters at him.
But if it had been bad enough before it was ten times worse now. A man who stood to inherit could still somehow fail to inherit. There could be things that got in the way.
It didn’t happen often, of course. But it was better to be certain. And the stern hand of the late duke was well known. Edward wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d woken up one day to find the servants packing his things up on his father’s orders to kick him out of the house.
Now that he was duke he knew that his duty was to marry. The sooner he had heirs, the better. In fact, according to his father he should have already had heirs. Should already be married.
How Father had expected his son to find a woman to marry when he was constantly bringing him back to the estate to shadow him, Edward didn’t know.
But now that Father was dead, things were even more urgent. If Edward died without an heir, then the dukedom would go to a far-off relative. He didn’t even know who. His poor sister Georgiana would be destitute.
Marriage, however, did not appeal to him.
It did in the abstract, certainly. He wanted someone to share the rest of his life with. And he did want children. He’d always been good with children and enjoyed them, wanting some of his own.
But actually going through the process of finding a woman to marry was daunting and exhausting. Just thinking about it made him want to flee to the Continent.
The ladies that he met were not truly interested in him as a person. They only wanted his money and title.
He could appreciate a lady’s predicament. It was the predicament of his sister, after all. He knew that they must find a husband.
But surely a woman should be looking for a man possessing a disposition that was complementary to hers? Surely she ought to be learning whether a man was honorable and responsible and a good conversationalist?
He could have been a boorish drunkard for all that the ladies of London society cared. He had the title and the money and that was what mattered to them.
It made him sick to think of it.
He wanted a companion with whom he could spend the rest of his life. Someone who could make him laugh. Someone to whom he could come home and relax with at the end of a difficult day. Someone in whom he could confide.
If he married one of these woman, who knew what their true nature would be? It would not be revealed until after the wedding.
When he spoke to them, they seemed to have no personality of their own. They agreed with everything he said. They changed personalities at the drop of a hat. They did nothing but compliment him.
It seemed to him, and to any man with half an eye, that these women were simply acting in whatever way they best thought would get him to marry them.
He wanted a woman who was true to herself. Not one who lied and indulged in those games of manners that played out at the balls.
That felt like an impossibility now that he was duke. He should have tried to insist upon finding a bride while Father was still alive. That way he would have known that the woman truly cared about Edward for his own sake. Not for the money he might inherit.
Now he was stuck.
Edward gathered up the invitations on his desk—the reason why he had been cursing his position in life.
The London season would be starting soon. Invitations were being sent out to everyone so that people might plan their schedules accordingly. There would be balls, intimate dinners, theatre, the art showings…
A whirlwind few months, to be sure. And on top of all of that, there would be this young lady to mentor: Maria Worthing, the only child of Mr. Alexander Worthing, Father’s best friend who had moved to the Caribbean to make his fortune some years ago.
Edward had been quite a small boy at the time, only five when the Worthings had moved out of England. It was for Mr. Worthing’s health, Father had said. He had always been a sickly boy but had a ‘fantastical mind for business,’ or so Father had praised.
From Father’s accounts and from his reaction to the letters he and Mr. Worthing exchanged, Mr. Worthing appeared to be the only person besides Mother who had been capable of getting Father to smile.
When Father died, Edward had written to Mr. Worthing personally to inform him of the news.
Mr. Worthing had seemed to take it rather hard. However, he had also taken the opportunity to divulge his own situation.
It appeared that age and ill health were finally taking their final toll on Father’s dear friend. Mr. Worthing was most anxious for his daughter, Maria.
She had been born in the Caribbean about a year after the Worthings had moved there. She had spent her entire life there, in fact. But her marriage prospects were not good there. And while Mr. Worthing was in the process of setting up an inheritance for her, she could not by law inherit his full estate.
The poor girl needed a husband, and quickly.
Mr. Worthing needed to travel to London anyway to handle his affairs in person. Edward thought it a bit fatalistic that this man should assume his death was so certain. However, it was probably wise to be prepared rather than to be caught off-guard. Make hay while the sun shines, and all that.
Mr. Worthing had asked if Edward could please be the formal escort for Miss Worthing for the London season. She had no one else and Mr. Worthing himself was far too frail to handle the amount of balls and social gatherings.
Edward had accepted, of course. How could he not? It was, he was certain, something Father would have insisted upon if he was still alive. And Georgiana would have a companion for the season.
Poor Georgiana, she was far too withdrawn and quiet. Father’s stern hand had made her rather meek.
Hopefully a girl born and raised in a colony would bring a bit of spirit with her and it would rub off on Georgiana.
In any case, Edward had written saying that it would be his pleasure to serve as Miss Worthing’s escort. His sister would be more than happy with a companion.
Mr. Worthing had warned Edward that his daughter was a “wil
d thing” and that she would need quite a lot of instruction regarding societal norms.
Edward was not worried about that. Parents tended to either think too much or too little of their children. Miss Worthing could not be so bad as all that. And any faults, Georgiana would surely help to straighten out with a kind suggestion. His sister was good at those sorts of things.
