Their carriage was an old one, built to smaller proportions than its modern equivalents. Whiletechnicallysuitable for four, it was a tight squeeze inside, made tighter by the countless bandboxes and bags Lady Brennon and Gillian had insisted upon bringing. It was a landau, more suited to summer-time pleasure drives, but their finances indicated that they use it all the time and pretend it was out of preference.
They were dressed in their best clothes, of course, which meant discomfort and voluminous skirts to manage. One had to make a good impression, after all.
Lavinia sat alongside her father, who was notably silent, lost in his newspaper. She supposed that he would spend most of their stay trying to be invisible, locked away in libraries and in card-rooms, or eating quietly at the dinner table.
She wished she could similarly go unnoticed, though of course not into the card-rooms.
They had passed vast, green fields, all part of the extensive Willenshire estate, and several fields were full of beautiful horses, which Lavinia craned her neck to see as they went by.
I bet I won’t get a chance to ride during our stay here. The gentlemen will ride, I daresay, and the ladies will have to resign themselves to walks.
“Do we know whether the Duke will be here this week?” Lavinia found herself saying.
She earned herself an odd look from her mother. “I should think so. It is his house.”
“I thought it belonged to the dowager.”
“No, of course not. He is the duke, so it is his property. The Dowager has not said anything, but it’s fair to assume he will be present. I intend to introduce Gillian to him – rumour has it the Duke is looking for a wife this Season.”
Lavinia glanced over at her sister, who smiled weakly at her. Some of her excitement had drained away, perhaps at the reminder that this week was not a holiday, but a serious excursion for her to collect a suitable husband. Lavinia wished she was close enough to take her sister’s hand and squeeze it.
The carriage took a turn, and began to climb up a steep, gravelled drive, winding through exquisite gardens. Their path led up towards a large, sprawling building in the Grecian style, with white stone and tall, thick pillars.
They were not the first guests to arrive, of course. Several carriages in varying styles and levels of fashion stood around on the paved courtyard in front of the house, with footmen, valets, and ladies’ maids darting to and fro, unloading bags and boxes and trunks.
As the carriage slowed to a halt, they passed an exquisitely dressed trio, an older man and woman and a dark-haired young woman with spectacles. The bespectacled woman eyed them curiously as they went by.
Lady Brennon let out a most unladylike curse, earning a shocked stare from her family.
“That’s Miss Bainbridge,” she said sourly, folding her arms tight across her chest. “One of the richest women in England, and a conniving little miss into the bargain. She’s making a play for the Duke, I just know it.”
Gillian sank back into her seat, looking worried.
“She’s not as pretty as Gillian,” Lavinia spoke up, not sure why she was getting involved at all. “And gentlemen don’t like clever women, do they? That’s what you always say, Mama. Miss Bainbridge looks entirely too clever for the Duke.”
Lady Brennon gave a grunt of acknowledgement. Lord Brennon chuckled, shaking his head.
“Careful, Lavinia. That indicates of bitterness.”
Lavinia blushed hotly, the curse of all redheads. “I am notbitter, Papa. I am realistic.”
“As you say, dear, as you say.”
The carriage rolled to a halt in front of a set wide marble steps, and serious-faced footmen in immaculate livery hurried forward to open the doors.
Lavinia was the first one out, to give Gillian time to rearrange and shake out her skirts before emerging into the light.
And, of course, she was closest to the door.
Shifting her weight from foot to foot, Lavinia waited impatiently for her family to manoeuvre themselves out of the carriage. She noticed that the grand steps were immaculate – not a smudge or streak of dirt or dust clung to the fine marble – and found herself wondering how many unfortunate maids had been set to scrubbing those very steps.
And then at last Gillian came tumbling out of the carriage, red-faced and crumpled despite their best efforts, and there was nothing to do but climb the shining marble steps and greet their host.
Ahead, the Bainbridges were just taking their leave, heading towards the wide, red-carpeted staircase, flanked by a small army of servants which they had no doubt brought themselves.
Lavinia thought uneasily of the servants they had brought – Hannah, who served as a head maid and often helped the girls and Lady Brennon dress, and Thomas, a manservant – and hoped they wouldn’t looktooshabby. Was everybody bringing their own servants?
She recognized the Dowager Duchess at once. She was a thin, hollow-looking woman with lank curls and a sense of having been drained of colour and energy. She wore a rich velvet gown, black of course, trimmed with a profusion of lace, pearls, and silver beads. No doubt her gown cost more than Lavinia’s and Gillian’s put together, but it had the effect of making her seem thinner and frailer than ever.
