Page 5 of A Hint of Scandal

Chapter Three

Twenty-two-year old Serafina Gilbert was seated, as usual, furthest from the parlor fire and closest to the wintry draught that was inevitably finding its way in through both the sash windows and the heavy curtains that covered them. Ignoring the chill, she raised her eyes from her sewing to regard the rest of her family.

Araminta, Lady Gilbert, the wife of her half-brother Ogden, was holding forth as she was wont to do, her insistent voice enough to quell to silence anyone who tried to interject a word. “I know it isn’t yet Christmas, Ogden, and you think it’s early to be discussing Letitia’s debut in society, but she’ll be eighteen in January, and we need to plan ahead.”

In fact, her whole appearance was enough to subdue all others in her presence, especially Ogden, who had long given up any pretense of resistance. She was a woman who Serafina remembered as once having been good looking, until her quest and winning of the seat of power in the Gilbert family had rendered her shrewish and hard-faced. She ruled her family with a rod of iron, and Serafina was used to keeping below the parapet where her sister-in-law was concerned. She’d long ago learned that antagonizing her was a terrible idea.

Ogden, whose whole demeanor shouted hen-pecked, but whose renowned parsimoniousness had nurtured that same characteristic in a wife who had taken it to the extreme, tweaked his side whiskers in the nervous habit he’d not had before he met Araminta. “Of course, my dear. But do think of the expense. Taking a house for the whole Season will prove an exorbitant outlay. Not to mention the gowns she’ll require. Just for one girl.”

“I have indeed been weighing up the expense,” Araminta replied, her voice managing to be both tart and dismissive as well as smug and self-assured. “And with Letitia’s outstanding good looks, I believe equipping her with the wardrobe she deserves will be money well spent. We will see a desirable return on our investment when she carries off the most sought after gentleman of the Season. I foresee her capturing the attention of earls and dukes, no less.”

Letitia, their oldest child, who was ostensibly as industriously employed as her young aunt, raised her head slightly and caught Serafina’s eye. She gave her a quick, triumphant, I-told-you-so smile, her blue eyes glittering with scarcely bridled excitement.

It had been Letty’s idea to suggest a Season in London to her mother, and for this she’d engaged Serafina’s support. This had been the easy part, as Serafina was fond of her numerous nieces and nephews and always happy to be of help to them, even if it involved running errands or putting up with discomfort on her own part. After all, she had no one else on whom to lavish her love and attention. So she’d taken no persuading to sing Letty’s praises to Araminta, putting the idea into her sister-in-law’s head that, with such looks, her oldest daughter could be the toast of the Season.

Which was quite true. Letty, despite her parentage, had recently blossomed into a true beauty, leaving behind the gawkiness of her youth. With just the rich russet hair of her grandfather, the late Sir George Gilbert, and the delicate features of his first wife, her grandmother, she would have been striking indeed. But her wide blue eyes, which hid an inner core of determination, lifted her appearance to the level of outstanding. Where she’d inherited the eyes from, no one knew. They must have come from some much more distant ancestor, as they were not to be seen amongst the portraits hanging on nearly every wall at Milford House. The Gilberts had been in residence there in Berkshire for hundreds of years, with a propensity for every member of their family sitting for portraits, so it was likely the blue eyes, had they been present, would have been recorded for posterity.

“Just so, just so,” Ogden muttered. He was sitting with his feet on the fender of the blazing fire, a necessity in this house if you wanted to be remotely warm in winter, and his face, already somewhat choleric from his daily intake of large quantities of port, had achieved a ruddy glow. “I do admit that it would be most pleasing were Letitia to ally our family with a gentleman of note. As you say, my dear, an earl, perhaps, or even a duke. With her looks, I think I would prefer a duke. She should be instructed to turn down any lesser offers.” He chortled to himself as though he were already the father of a duchess.

Letty, under cover of her sewing, waggled her delicate auburn eyebrows at Serafina.

Serafina bit her lip and stitched with increased ardor. As usual, she was employed in mending one of her little nephews’ damaged items of clothing. “Your stitches are so neat,” Araminta was wont to say, a sentiment echoed by Letty, who hated mending. “It would be a shame to allow one of the nursery nurses to ruin a garment with their clumsy sewing.” So Serafina inherited all the mending for the five Gilbert children, as well as having to darn and repair her own limited wardrobe. Ogden didn’t believe in buying new if old could be mended, even for his brood, and still less for his bothersome half-sister with whom he’d been burdened since she was six years old.

“A duke indeed,” Araminta said, puffing out her chest as though a duke had already made her daughter an offer and she were responsible for Letty’s looks. Which she wasn’t, as nothing about Letty’s beauty spoke of who her mother was.

Letty and Serafina exchanged glances again, and Letty gave a little nod. “Might I make a request, do you think? If I am to be allowed a presentation into society in the new year?”

Her parents’ heads swiveled to regard her, surprise on their faces as though they’d forgotten the subject of their conversation was present in the room with them. Araminta’s cold eyes narrowed. “It very much depends on what it is.” Never one to commit herself.

Serafina lowered her gaze to her sewing, her heartbeat quickening. If she could have crossed her fingers, she would have, but she didn’t want to give Araminta the opportunity to berate her for lack of industry.

Letty visibly heaved in a breath and sat up straighter. How brave she was, especially when her own comfort was involved. “Might Serafina be allowed to accompany me? I should be much more confident with her present, as you know how timid I can be.”

Silence fell. “Serafina?” her mother repeated, as though she were wondering to whom Letty was referring.

Serafina dared a peep at her and nearly stabbed her finger with her needle. That wouldn’t do at all. If Araminta saw a spot of blood on the sewing she’d be furious.

Letty nodded, patting her immaculately arranged hair. “Yes. Serafina. She is by far the best at doing my hair for me, and always knows what color suits me best. Her judgement and taste are perfect. She’s far more a help to me than Roberts ever is. And she’s been practicing with all the newest styles from my magazines, as I asked her. So I should be very much à la mode without any need for extra expense.”

A masterly move to point out a saving of money to her parents.

“That’s all very well,” Araminta said, her upper lip curling in obvious distaste, as it did so often where Serafina was concerned. “But if Serafina comes to London with us, she will need at least one new gown as well. She can’t very well go out in society in the drab things she wears here at Milford.” Her expression belied her words. No doubt she’d be quite happy to send Serafina off in her patched and mended gowns if she possibly could. But apart from being as parsimonious as a church mouse, Araminta possessed a keen awareness of what others thought of her. Thank goodness.

“Gowns for her as well as Letitia?” Ogden’s voice rose. “Impossible. Can’t afford the expense and it would be wasted on her, anyway. Look at her. Plain as a pikestaff. Be like dressing up a broom handle. She has the misfortune to look just like her mother.”

Serafina, biting back a reply in defense of her mother, who had died when she was less than a year old but whose portrait, hidden in a shadowy corner of the house, she liked to visit, swallowed her nerves down and looked up to meet her brother’s eyes. “I have the money Papa left me. I could pay for the gowns myself.”

This was a moot point. Sir George had indeed left her a lump sum of two thousand pounds, a veritable fortune, and a fact she’d only discovered lately and by chance, as he’d died when she was only six and too young to be told such things. Back then, Ogden, freshly married and also newly a new father, which event had been followed almost immediately by being installed in the baronetcy, had taken control of her money, for “safe keeping.” Serafina had yet to see a penny of it, even though she’d turned twenty-one more than a year ago.

Ogden harumphed. “That’s as may be, but my father didn’t intend for you to fritter it away on frills and furbelows. He knew what girls are like and entrusted it to me to take care of.” He cleared his throat. “And it stays with me until we can find you a man foolish enough to take you as a husband.”

“Ridiculously unlikely,” Araminta added. “No one would be desperate enough to want her. And besides which, she’s lost what bloom of youth she ever had. She’s destined to be a spinster all her life.”

Serafina, cheeks blazing, bristled with indignation, experiencing an urge, not for the first time, to leap up and slap her sister-in-law’s prune face. She didn’t, however. The years had lent her caution. Rebellion had not been well received when she’d been an angry, bereaved six-year-old. Punishment had followed swiftly in its wake and Serafina, being an intelligent child, had rapidly worked out how to avoid it.

However, some small measure of protest was called for. She drew in a hesitant breath. “How am I supposed to meet any men while I’m here at Milford House? Whenever you entertain, I’m not allowed to attend. And even if I was, you never invite anyone of my age who might show an interest in me.”

“What perfect nonsense,” Araminta snapped. “A girl like you… an indigent girl… should be grateful for what she has and not have the temerity to complain. Isn’t that right, Ogden? She’s beholden to us for taking her in after your father died. Without a mother, we could have sent her off to the workhouse, but we didn’t. We showed true Christian kindness by taking her in. She’s only your half-sister, after all, not a true, full-blood relative.”