Prologue
Portland Place, 1811
The women ofThe Society of Sponsoring Ladies had not thought they would see one another for some months. The season was coming to an end, and they were all rather more exhausted than they had imagined they would be.
Lady Heathway’s Miss Yardley was somehow married, and somehow married to the lady’s own nephew. The bizarre circumstances that had accompanied the couple to the altar were not of a kind any of the ladies would like to repeat. Lady Easton felt as if they’d all held onto their bonnets in a strong wind to get through it.
Their various households were packed up and poised to depart the town, but at the last possible moment, Lady Easton had sent a message to her friends. A rather urgent message.
As Bramley set up the tea things in her drawing room, Lady Easton smiled and wondered when Lady Heathway might ever stop crowing about Lady Gresham, née Miss Yardley.Wasthere something to crow about? To be sure, the lady had married and so she supposed that was a success, but the talk they’d all had to face down! Miss Yardley hanging from a drainpipe in the middle of the night! Miss Yardley leaving a ball alone in an unknown carriage! Miss Yardley, also known asThe Sprinter.
And then, this was the second girl who had married a near relation of her sponsor. First Miss Wilcox to Lady Mendleton’s son, Lord Langley, and now Miss Yardley to Lady Heathway’s nephew Lord Gresham.
Clara Godwin, Countess of Easton, took in a long and slow breath. At least she would not havethatproblem to contend with. Her boys were all still in school and her nephew, Lord Bertridge, was everything sensible. They had already had many talks between them, finding themselves in complete agreement that he was of such a caliber as to make a brilliant match. The Duke of Clayton’s daughter was set to launch next season and that would suit their purposes nicely—a proper upbringing, a generous dowry, and very right connections. According to a friend who knew the duke’s family intimately, the girl was comely and exceedingly demure, which would suit both her nephew and herself.
“What my dear new daughter-in-law, or I should just say mydaughteras we are that close, remains unaware of,” Lady Heathway droned on, “is that we have positively driven out that uncouth new viscount and she and George will have Barlow Hall.”
There were audible gasps amongst the ladies. Lady Featherstone said, “Gresham has bought the hall? Was it wise, though, reinstalling the mother to her old house, Penelope? Does that not rather give Lady Barlow a leg up on the in-law side of things? Not that it is any sort of competition between you, I only say…”
Lady Heathway did not allow Lady Featherstone to finish her thoughts, as she generally had a low opinion of anybody’s thoughts that might challenge her own. She waved her hands. “Of course, I did suggest they might live with me, but George was determined to reinstate his dear wife to the hall. In any case, it will be a far better arrangement. I have my own set of apartments there, as the place is a mammoth, and I intend to descend upon the house regularly. I have quite a few plans regarding granddaughters. In any case, as I have so handily demonstrated, Lady Barlow is easily overcome.”
Lady Featherstone laid her hand gently over the emerald brooch she had won by solving Lord Ryland’s mystery evening just weeks before. The brooch was, as far as the other ladies could see it, destined to be their constant companion forevermore. Or as the duchess had put it—We will be staring at it until we can stare no more and the hand of death has closed our eyes forever.
“Oh, I see,” Lady Featherstone murmured, glancing down at her beloved jewelry, “yes of course you have shown Lady Barlow can be overpowered to good effect.”
Lady Mendleton nodded knowingly, as if she were all too familiar with the ins and outs of the thing now that she had her own daughter-in-law.
Lady Redfield fanned herself, but one could not be certain of the cause. Lady Heathway’s forcefulness often did overwhelm the lady regardless of what she was saying.
The duchess said, “There is something rather noble in returning Miss Yardley to her rightful house.”
Nobody made comment on that idea. They had no need to. If the duchess named a thing noble, it simply meant that she approved.
With his usual dignity, Bramley glanced over the tea tray to confirm everything was in order and then departed the room, silently closing the door.
Lady Easton poured the cups, working up the courage to get started. Finally, she said, “In any case, you must wonder why I called on everyone to come to me. It is just that…well you see…it seems…”
She hardly knew where to begin. Her lord, always so easily managed, had suddenly decided to put forth ideas and opinions. They had always gone along so peaceably! If she wished to redecorate the house, he would find it out when he walked through the doors and tripped over a new piece of furniture. If she wished to host a ball, he would discover it when she left an invitation for him on the great hall table. Now, suddenly, he had his own ideas.
And what ideas they were! Some unheard-of baron, whose only recommendation was his interest in horses, had a daughter. At least, the baron was unknown to Lady Easton, as he apparently never came to Town and just went from one horserace to the next. This fellow’s daughter, a Miss Caroline Upton, required a strong female guiding hand. Who better to firmly guide than Clara Godwin, Countess of Easton?
Why could not the girl’s own mother be that guiding hand? That was not at all satisfactorily explained. All Clara could get from her lord was that there were nine children. Could the lady not keep track of them all? Was she too exhausted from having a ridiculous amount of offspring? Was that not the woman’s own fault for failing to lock her bedchamber door at the appropriate time in her life?
Lady Easton still shuddered when she recalled the particular interview that had informed her of the scheme, had in the library when she was not the least prepared for it. Expecting to find her marshmallow of a husband, she’d instead run across quite another person.
Lord Easton had said quite forcefully thatshewas the one who had wished to sponsor a girl and have a dowry thrown together. She would have it and it was to bethisgirl. That was his final judgment.
His final judgment? Since when did he have judgments at all, never mind final judgments? Who was teaching him these things? Was he learning it at his club?
And then, apparently, it could not wait. The girl was to come right away. Lady Easton was expected to launch her outside of the London season. At Brighton, of all places. It had all been arranged between Baron Dunn, her lord, and the Regent.
The Prince Regent! Why was he involved? Lord Easton had not really answered that either but had mumbled something about a gentleman’s word.
Her lord had been so bold as to notify her that he’d already rented Marlborough House on the Steyne, as it was in such convenient proximity to the Marine Pavilion.
Who on earth wished to be in convenient proximity to the Marine Pavilion?
As she explained it all to her friends, their expressions could not have been more irritating. And possibly alarming.
