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Titus could see the fire in his stepmother’s eyes. As someone who’d lost her husband and her child, she took nothing for granted, and she always sought to help others. “You’re an exceptionally kind person,” he said softly.
“I’m just doing what any decent person would do.” She straightened and pierced him with a direct stare. “Now tell me, is there any possibility you are ready to take a wife this Season?”
Titus had tossed back the last of his brandy and nearly choked. He coughed after swallowing. “I have always said that I shall when I meet a woman who is suitable.”
She gave him an exasperated look. “How can you expect to meet such a person when you attend precisely one social event each year? Unless you’re waiting for some girl in the Lake District to catch your fancy?”
Titus kept to himself at home as much as he did in London. If there were young ladies in the proximity of his ancestral pile, he was utterly unaware of them. The answer to her first question was that he didn’t expect to meet such a person at all. “You are the one who is eager for me to wed. I see no advantage at present.”
His stepmother exhaled. “No, I suppose you don’t. I’m sorry to harass you, but it is my duty as your mother.”
His mother.
She’d been a warm and supportive constant for most of his life, providing just the right amount of discipline and advice when he needed it. She’d been devastated by his father’s death, but Titus had been utterly wrecked inside and out. He could’ve taken a very different path. He could’ve given himself over to his rakish ways and gambled or drank himself into an early grave. But he hadn’t, and he had his stepmother to thank for saving him from the abyss. She hadn’t blamed him for his errant ways and hadn’t made him feel guilty for not realizing how serious his father’s illness had been. Instead, she’d been kind and loving and had welcomed him to share in her own grief.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
She touched his arm. “I’m quite proud of you—whether you take a wife or not.” She gave him the soft, gentle smile that had won him over at the age of five. “And your father would be too.”
He set his empty glass on the sideboard, then bussed his stepmother’s cheek. “I’ll see you at the ball.”
Where he would right a nine-year-old wrong and aid the woman he should have rescued. Then he could return to his ordered, mundane life, hopefully freer than he’d felt in nearly a decade.
Chapter Four
Nora surveyed herself in the glass, her pulse thrumming with anticipation for the ball that would shortly start downstairs. She turned to the side, admiring the drape of her gold satin gown. She looked elegant and sophisticated, and she felt beautiful for the first time in years. And she owed it all to Lady Satterfield for giving her a second chance.
Three days ago, following the tea, Lady Satterfield had surprised her by asking if she’d like to have another Season. Nora thought back to their conversation.
They’d been preparing to go to the park when Lady Satterfield had remarked upon how well Nora had navigated the tea. “You came to life,” she’d said. “You ought to be more than a companion. You ought to have another Season so that you can find your rightful place, perhaps as someone’s wife. If that’s what you desire. Is it?”
Nora had stared at her, uncomprehending for a moment what she was asking. When she’d finally found her tongue, she’d stuttered. “Y-yes. That is, I haven’t given that much thought in recent years, but yes, I’d once hoped to marry.”
“Then I’ll help you make that hope a reality.”
“But don’t you think… Don’t you think it’s too late? Even if I didn’t have a past transgression blacking my name, I’m quite on the shelf.”
Lady Satterfield had shaken her head firmly. “I do not think it’s too late at all. You are very intelligent, engaging,andattractive. I don’t think we’ll have any problem finding suitors.”
She’d said “we’ll” as if they were a team. Nora had needed clarification. She’d had a hard time believing the countess’s offer was real. “Are you going to be my sponsor?”
“Of course, dear.” Lady Satterfield had smiled enthusiastically. “I’d consider it my privilege.”
Nora had struggled not to cry. Lady Satterfield was the kindest person she’d met in a decade. No, she was the kindest person she’d known since her mother had died.
Tears threatened again now, and Nora blinked to keep them from falling. It wouldn’t do to go downstairs with a reddened face, not when she was looking so splendid. One of the upstairs maids had performed the feat of wrestling Nora’s waves into a fashionable chignon with curls framing her face. The maid had just run down to Lady Satterfield’s chamber for a ribbon to complete the style. When she returned a moment later, she was accompanied by Lady Satterfield, who looked as polished as ever in a gown of burgundy edged with sleek black ribbon.
The countess brought her hand to her mouth. “Oh my goodness, you look as lovely as a princess.”
Nora didn’t bother containing her excitement. “That seems fitting since I feel like one.”
Lady Satterfield lowered her hand, her eyes sparkling with merriment. “Well, a princess needs a bit of jewelry, don’t you think? I brought you these to borrow.” She held out the palm of her other hand to reveal a pair of gold filigree earrings shaped like butterflies and a matching pendant.
Nora gasped softly, again overwhelmed by the countess’s thoughtfulness. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”
Lady Satterfield watched as the maid fastened the necklace about Nora’s neck. “Are you ready for tonight?”
“I am.” Though she was nervous. What if people rejected her? The tea had gone well with only Lady Dunn mentioning her past and just the harpies treating Nora as though she didn’t belong. However, a ball was something else entirely. Would anyone even ask her to dance, or would she be a wallflower? Worse, a spinster wallflower?
