The duchess allowed precisely three sips of tea before she got to the point. "Miss Hale, allow me to speak plainly."
Estella’s teacup froze in midair at the abrupt statement. Despite the way the duchess worded it, she was clearly not asking for permission. And yet, the other woman’s long pause had Estella scrambling. "Er… Yes, Your Grace."
The duchess continued smoothly. "I've been watching you since your arrival in London, and I believe you're in a precarious position."
Estella’s eyes went wide. Precarious? Her? Her mind raced to replay every social interaction she’d had upon arriving in London. Had she committed some horrid social scandal without even being aware of it?
She set the teacup down carefully, conscious of Blackwood standing like a carved monument near the fireplace. He hadn't sat. He hadn't even spoken since his curt greeting. He was simply…there. Taking up an alarming amount of space and radiating the sort of warmth and good humor one would expect from a headstone.
But she could feel his eyes on her, and her cheeks began to burn. "I appreciate your concern, Your Grace," Estella said. "But I assure you?—"
"Your father's debts are considerable," the duchess continued as if Estella hadn't spoken. "Your chaperone, while charming, is not adequate for the demands of a London Season. And you were approached last evening by a fortune hunter."
"I—" Her voice sounded embarrassingly weak. "A fortune hunter?"
"Mr. Fairchild." The name came out on a low growl from the side of the room.
Estella jumped, then glanced over at Blackwood. He was outright glaring at her.
The heat in her cheeks was painful now, and she had no doubt her cheeks were a brilliant crimson. She tried to swallow but her throat was dry.
Shifting in her seat, she turned back to the duchess. The woman was formidable, to be certain, but at least she wasn’t glaring at her with barely concealed fury.
Did the marquess blame her? Was she at fault somehow? A bead of sweat trickled down the back of her neck.
But the duchess’s expression was reassuringly calm. "I’m afraid Lord Blackwood is correct. Mr. Fairchild has ill intentions."
A silence fell. It seemed they expected her to respond. "I…" She cleared her throat, tried again. "I did not know."
"No, of course you didn’t," the duchess said quickly, her tone not exactly reassuring.
Estella wasn’t sure the duchess was capable of a reassuring tone. Her demeanor was more efficient than caring. But her words…
“Of course you didn’t.” They rankled more than they ought. They were more of a blow than the humiliating mention of her father’s debts or her inadequate chaperone.
“Of course you didn’t.” Estella’s teeth snapped together. The tone was harmless, but the words implied that she was too young and inexperienced to know any better.
Yes, she was young. And undoubtedly she was new to society. But she'd spent two years managing a household, negotiating with creditors, keeping her family housed and clothed and fed. She'd done it alone, without help. And now two strangers were sitting in a drawing room cataloguing her failures as though she were a problem to be solved.
She was not a problem. She was a person. And she was doing her best.
Estella drew in a deep breath. "I'm aware of my circumstances, Your Grace." She was relieved to hear that her voice came out steady. It could even be mistaken as the voice of a woman who was not currently mortified down to the soles of her borrowed slippers. "I have been managing them for some time."
"I understand that." The duchess's tone softened, just slightly. "But managing and thriving are different things, my dear. And a London Season requires resources that competence alone cannot provide."
Estella pressed her lips together. She could feel Blackwood's gaze on her. Or rather, his glare.
She resisted the urge to fidget in her seat. What had she done to make him despise her so thoroughly? Was it just that she reminded him of her brother or had she accidentally offended him in some way?
But once again, there was a silence that needed filling. And it was abundantly clear the marquess wasn’t about to come to her aid.
"What are you proposing?" Estella asked.
The duchess smiled. "I propose to take you under my wing and introduce you to the right people. The Ashworth name carries weight, and I intend to lend you that weight for the remainder of the Season."
Estella stared at her. The offer was…enormous. The Duchess of Ashworth was one of the most powerful women in London society. Her sponsorship would transform Estella's prospects overnight. Doors that were firmly closed to a poor country viscount's daughter would open as if by magic.
It was an extraordinary act of generosity.
