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Chapter One
Regency England
“WELL, YOUR WICKED COUSIN deigns to show, does he?” Mrs. Grace Abbott asked of her daughter, Mildred, as she looked across the ballroom at a gentleman who had turned many a head by his appearance.
Knowing the question to be more of a statement, Mildred, a practical young lady of four and twenty, made no reply as she fanned herself to keep from perspiring overmuch, which she was wont to do in crowded spaces, during uncommonly warm summer evenings, whenever she fretted, and if she should have on one too many layers of clothing. All four of these aspects conspired against her tonight, and the moisture would certainly ruin the many applications of powder her mother, declaring that Mildred’s complexion showed too darkly in the summer months, had insisted upon.
As the occasion for the ball was Lady Katherine d’Aubigne’s fiftieth birthday, Mrs. Abbott had also insisted Mildred wear the shawl that her ladyship, Mrs. Abbott’s esteemed sister-in-law, had gifted Mildred last Christmas. Mrs. Abbott never failed to consider how she might curry the favor of her ladyship, the hostess of the evening’s soiree.
Mildred adored Lady Katherine, but for once, her attention was more fixed upon her cousin, the Marquess of Alastair. She had hoped he would be in attendance and had thought of little else on the carriage ride over. Yet, now that she beheld his tall and imposing form, her nerves faltered and she wondered that she had the courage to speak to him, though she had never before felt intimidated. She was not one given to asking for favors from anyone, let alone the marquess, but she was in some desperation tonight.
“I heard he had been dallying with some chit from the bourgeoisie,” Mrs. Abbott continued. “I would have thought, once he had come into the marquessate, that he would forsake his rakish ways. It is a shame, for the former marquess was an upstanding man.”
“You ought not speak ill of Alastair, Mama,” Mildred said. “He has been quite generous in providing for my dowry.”
Mrs. Abbot sniffed. “Well, it was the only proper thing to do as he can well afford it and the two of you are cousins.”
Though her mother, whose older brother had married Lady Katherine, needed no reminding, Mildred replied, “Cousins by marriage.”
“Cousins, nonetheless.”
“The marquess is under no obligation to assist us, even if his aunt married Uncle Richard.”
“No obligation? We are family!”
Sensing that her mother was determined to see Andre d’Aubigne, the Marquess of Alastair, in poor light, Mildred offered no further comment. Nothing short of his lordship offering his hand to Mrs. Abbott’s daughter would improve Grace’s perception of him. If such a miraculous event as a proposal should come to pass, Mrs. Abbott would have gladly forgiven all his imperfections.
“I suppose your father should introduce George to your cousin.”
Mildred stiffened at the name of her fiancé, an uninspiring and officious man. But despite their connections to the d’Aubigne family, Mrs. Abbott, being the fourth daughter, and Mr. Abbott, a fifth son with no entailment to speak of, could not be particular. Mildred had had few suitors since her come-out. With a figure slightly plump and a face more round than oval, she had only the brightness of her eyes and the shape of her nose to recommend her countenance.
“I doubt Alastair will stay long enough for introductions,” Mildred thought aloud. She knew her cousin favored gaming hells over social gatherings of any sort.
Mrs. Abbott scowled. “Well, I shall have to find your papa and ensure that he introduces George as soon as possible. George is quite eager to meet your cousin.”
“Yes, he is,” Mildred affirmed. She rather suspected that, if they had not any relation to the d’Aubigne family, George Haversham would not have proposed.
She had made a grievous error in accepting his hand yesterday. The proposal had come as a surprise, and she had convinced herself that she ought not fall into the same habits as her mother in refusing to see the better qualities of a man. She should be grateful that a man had offered for her at all.
But last night, sleep had eluded her. The prospect of marriage, and all the obligations that accompanied that institution, had roused desires that she had worked hard to suppress for the better part of the year. They were desires of such a dark nature that she once thought she had been cursed by the devil. It was shameful enough to find that she had not the fortitude to keep her virtue, but these wicked inclinations of hers horrified even as they titillated.
Her discovery by one she revered had, surprisingly, set her at ease with these disturbing proclivities. Nevertheless, as her parents had grown more anxious regarding her prospects of matrimony, Mildred had resolved to keep her secret wantonness at bay.
But they called to her often.
As the night wore on, she began to consider that spinsterhood did not appear all that unfavorable next to marriage with Haversham. She did not wish to be a burden to her parents, but if she should never marry, she decided that she could find employment as a governess or a lady’s companion. Lady Katherine would assist her.
She had first considered appealing to Lady Katherine but loathed to trouble her ladyship with her woes. As it would be most unseemly for her to call off the engagement, it remained for Haversham to retract his offer or fail to come to terms with the marriage settlement.
For that to happen, she needed Lord Alastair.
As soon as her mother had left in search of her father, Mildred rallied her nerves, dotted her brow with her handkerchief, and prepared to speak to the Marquess. But first, she was beset by three of her peers eager to ask after her cousin.
“Which dance do you think Lord Alastair most partial to? Does he fancy cotillions?” asked Helen.
“Alas, I do not think him partial to dancing of any sort,” Mildred replied.
“But he must dance!” remarked Jane. “There is such the shortage of men with so many off to fight Napoleon. It would be so very impolite of him not to dance.”
