Prologue
For any fivesisters to lose their mother when young, it must be considered the tragedy of their lives. And then for their father to be faced with the situation, another question must present itself. Who would step in to guide his dear, darling girls?
Particularly, what lady would be stalwart enough in spirit when faced with so many of them? One is easy, two is a set…but five begins to approach a heap. A heap, as everybody knows, has far more ability to overwhelm than the sum of its parts.
The five daughters of the Earl of Westmont must count themselves among the unlucky, as the countess had died in childbirth. However, they must also count themselves among thelucky, as Miss Eloise Mayton had flown to their side upon becoming apprised of their situation.
Miss Mayton had been residing in Rome when she heard the call of five motherless girls by way of a letter from the earl. Being at loose ends, dwindling finances, and fading youth, and having a notion of being particularly suited to step in and lead five girls forward, she had decamped to Westmont House that same month.
The Earl of Westmont’s daughters were prodigiously fond of their aunt, though to call herAuntwas to rename that which would usually be termed a very distant cousin of uncertain and winding connection.
Miss Mayton had cemented her place in these daughters’ hearts when they’d been fully apprised of her history. She had arrived to watch over them after having suffered through her own series of terrible tragedies.
Had any lady ever been so crossed in love! Had any lady lost so many suitors to undying devotion, morose dejection, and unfortunate and rather final rash actions?
Miss Mayton delighted in telling her charges about how she might have been a baroness or a countess, had not tragedy struck time and time again. Usually, it was a case of unrequited love that the gentleman could not recover from. In the case of Gregorio, it was a misunderstanding cleared up minutes too late to save the poor fellow. Fatal falls, deadly blows, impalements, poisonings, Miss Mayton had inspired it all when she had been young and beautiful.
The five daughters took these tales into their hearts and used them as their yardstick to measure their own ideas of romance. After all, it made sense that if a gentleman was in love and then realized that he would never have his one heart’s desire, he was very likely to do a violence to himself.
The earl did not particularly believe any of it and had not the first idea of what Miss Mayton had been doing on the continent all those years. Nor did he know why she invented such tales. Though, he saw no real harm in her fanciful stories and was not the least concerned over their influence on his daughters. Did not all young ladies dream of improbable gentlemen and impossible love?
As far as the earl was concerned, Eloise Mayton was an indulgent and affectionate aunt willing to take on the raising of five motherless girls. Who could ask for more than that?
And so, under Miss Mayton’s terrifically unsteady guidance, each of the five ladies would take their turn in London for their season.
The eldest had already married, though it had been an alarming path to get there. Now, Lady Rosalind was set to discover what the fates had in store for her.
Chapter One
The outskirts of London– 1803
Rosalind Bennington, secondof five daughters of the Earl of Westmont, had every reason to be delighted with her circumstances. It had been a jolly summer at Westmont House. Especially jolly after their eldest sister Beatrice returned to Somerset from her wedding trip to Venice and settled so nearby at Faversham Hall.
Naturally, all the sisters had found themselves mystified when Beatrice had married their scolding neighbor Van Doren. They had teased and defied that fellow all their lives—Rosalind’s youngest sister, Juliet, had even named him Viscount Scoldy-Breeches and written dozens of insulting odes about him.
Yet, as the summer progressed, they began to see how it was between the couple. Oh, he lectured the rest of them as much as ever, but her sister Beatrice was suddenly never to do a wrong.
Beatrice must be made comfortable at all times. Should Beatrice even whisper that she might wish for something, she must have it. Beatrice was suddenly become a woman held superior to all other women. Were anybody to give a hint that they might trouble his lady, Van Doren would bite their head off.
The sisters had thoroughly discussed this new incarnation of Van Doren. He remained as tedious as ever tothem, but they were quite satisfied with their sister’s treatment.
The time had flown by with neighborhood parties and picnics, or family dinners and the comfortable scenes in the drawing room afterward—Juliet would read a recently composed ode and then Miss Mayton would read from a novel. It had all gone by so fast, until suddenly it was the day to venture forth to Rosalind’s chance at love by way of a season in Town.
The Bennington caravan had set off for London six days ago. Van Doren did not accompany them on this particular journey as he and Beatrice would follow them in a week’s time. The result of his absence was that there was nobody to drive them forward in a straight line with scoldings, warnings, and complaints. They zigged and zagged and circled back and dallied the entire way.
The earl had very sensibly declared that they should not even try to hurry. Their father was a comfortable gentleman who was never out of sorts but for a house fire. He also understood his daughters very well and saw no point in attempting to swim against the tide.
It was well that the earl was so easygoing. On the very first day and not five miles from home, Cordelia had shouted for the carriages to stop. She had spotted a dog in the distance who she was certain was in distress.
She, Rosalind, Viola, and Juliet had piled out of their carriage and set off across a field. There, they found the loveliest little brown dog with a twine leash that had been round her neck so long that it had begun to bind.
At least, they all assured each other she was lovely. Her fur was rather rough and patchy, and her eyes rather bulging, her proportions at once saggy and ribby, and her scent not exactly a flower bed. But other than those minor deficiencies, she was lovely.
With the help of the coachman, the twine was cut from the dog’s neck and it was noted that the skin was very red underneath, but no real damage had been done. They had remedied the situation just in time.
It was decided in a moment that whoever had once owned this poor dog, they were either very cruel or had lost her somewhere. If they were cruel, they did not deserve her. If she’d been lost, then her owners must just now pray that someone had taken her in. She must be rescued from her dire circumstances.
Into the carriage she went, to the approbation of everybody. Except perhaps their butler. Tattleton was still recovering from the four kittens they’d found during last year’s trip, those cats now residing happily at Westmont House in the country.
