Page 36 of The Muse of Maiden Lane

“A helpmeet,” he repeated. “Just what I’ve always desired—said no man ever.”

“My brother has said so.”

“Your brother is a clergyman.”

“A clergyman can’t be so different from other men.”

“I can’t speak to the inclinations of all men,” Teddy said, “only for my own.”

“What about love?” she asked.

“Ah. Love. That old fairy tale.” He chuckled to himself, recalling the ridiculous infatuation he’d suffered in his youth. “I can personally confirm that it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

She flashed him an odd look. “You’ve been in love before?”

“I thought so at the time. I was but a lad. And she—”

“A French girl?”

“English to her core. Her name was Henrietta Talbot. She had golden ringlets, a dimpled smile, and all the charm of a provincial petty tyrant.” He paused. “She was our near neighbor in Surrey. Most of the gentlemen thereabouts fell in love with her at one time or another. It was practically a rite of passage.”

“What happened?”

“I grew up,” he said. “End of story.”

“That isn’t the end. You could still meet someone else one day. Someone you liked better.”

“No, thank you. I’m looking to decrease the amount of interfering people in my life, not augment their numbers. By this time next year, I shall be wholly independent—no family, no overbearing friends, and certainly no wife.”

“Independence is a state greatly to be desired,” Stella replied solemnly. “Alas, a lady in my circumstances must be realistic.”

“Which means—?”

“Which means that self-delusion serves no purpose on the marriage mart. A young lady must acknowledge her weaknesses, however discomfiting they are. She must understand how she rates in the scheme of London society and formulate her plans accordingly.”

Teddy couldn’t hide his disappointment at her pronouncements. She hadn’t struck him as a wallflower, cringing about at the edges of society. Not on any of the occasions he’d observed her. She’d seemed singular. Remarkable. “In other words,” he said, “a young lady must know her place.”

His disapproving tone brought the smile back to Stella’s lips.

She briefly turned to meet his eyes. The cold light from the window sparkled in the thick plaits of her silver hair, making her appear, for an instant, every inch the starry goddess he’d imagined her. “Know it, yes,” she said. “That doesn’t mean she must accept it.”

Ten

“I suppose the announcement of Mr. Neale’s parentage could have gone worse,” Anne said the next morning as she and Stella tramped up the snow-covered hill that rose alongside the woods bordering Sutton Park.

It was the same hill that Stella had found Teddy painting on Christmas, topped by the same aged oak tree. A perfect hill for sledding.

The other guests marched ahead through the snow, sleds in hand, all of them snugly wrapped up in heavy coats, scarves, and fur-trimmed cloaks. Mr. Hartford walked along with them, carrying Anne’s and Stella’s sleds. He was courteous enough to give the two friends a semblance of privacy as they talked.

“I wish I could have been there to lend my support,” Stella said.

She’d excused herself from dinner again last night, in favor of a tray in her room. It had meant missing the announcement about Mr. Neale. Stella had been excoriating herself over it all morning. She’d never in her life abdicated a duty to one of her friends. And to have done so solely on account of her hair! It was unforgivable.

“My dear,” Anne replied. “Don’t distress yourself. There was nothing you could have done.”

“Of course there was. I could have stood in solidarity with you and Mr. Hartford. And I could have glared down anyone foolish enough to engage in malicious whispering. You’ve said yourself that there’s no greater defense against gossip than a united front of friends and family.”

“I appreciate your willingness, but safeguarding your reputation is far more important at this stage. We’ve come this far without anyone realizing your hair has changed color. We’ve only another day to get through.”