Chapter One
“I don’t suppose the Gathering shall be as much fun with everyone going away,” said Cordelia, staring morosely out of the carriage window.
“It’s only the Duchess of Lexborough and the Colbournes who have left,” replied Trix with a smile. “Hardly everyone! Lady Gloucester is still here, as are Lord Standish and Mr Filey.”
“William and Herbert!” said Cordy scornfully. “One can hardly count them as company!”
“Henrietta and Amelia will be attending,” said Trix, well aware that her cousin’s spirits were low now that the end of the Season beckoned. ‘And Lady Gloucester did promise something special to entertain us all.”
Cordy continued to stare out of the window. The wet, miserable day had forced them to take the family carriage rather than one of the more dashing vehicles in the Delby family’s collection, which was no doubt contributing to Cordy’s poor mood.
“I suppose you are right,” she eventually replied. “But what a damp squib of an end to our first Season in London! I only received two proposals as well.”
Trix felt the corner of her mouth kick up. “Yes, dearest, but you would have had at least one more if you hadn’t told Herbert to stop making such a cake of himself over you.”
Cordy scoffed at the observation. “As if Herbert Filey likes me above half! It is all William and Lord Arthur’s fault for deciding it was fashionable to get caught in a snare of unrequited love. Well, I wasn’t going to let Herbert moon after me all Season, was I? For all our luck, my mother would have decided that he would make an excellent son-in-law, and forced us to marry!”
Trix had to place a hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing, for she could imagine few things less likely than Lady Delby allowing her beautiful daughter to marry the youngest son of a mere viscount who had the improbable career of the church in his near future.
Trix also knew that her beautiful cousin had received considerably more than two offers for her hand, but that Lord Delby had sent multiple fortune hunters packing long before they had the opportunity to develop a lasting attachment with his daughter.
Or, for that matter, to his niece.
“That would make a fun plot for a story, don’t you think?” she asked, her imagination immediately weaving out a plot centred on a heroine betrothed against her will.
Cordy turned away from the window, her eyes brightening at the suggestion. “Oh, yes! And then they have to get married, only he’s the nephew of some lecherous old Count from Moldovia, and she’s forced to live in a creepy old castle on a cliff!”
Trix frowned. “Do they have Counts in Moldovia?”
“Mama will know, or you can change it to another country if you like,” said Cordy with a wave of her hand.
“Thank you,” replied Trix.
“Well it is your story after all,” replied Cordy with a gracious incline of her head. “The Count can be from wherever is suitable for the plot, but I insist that the castle must be on a cliff!”
“Why is that?” asked Trix, already suspecting she knew the answer.
“Because that’s how the Count’s wife killed herself to escape his wicked ways,” said Cordy, sounding triumphant.
Trix resisted the urge to ask her cousin what she meant by wicked ways, and instead nodded gravely. “An excellent suggestion, as always.”
Cordy puffed up on the praise for a moment, before visible drooping as her melancholia returned. “Not that it matters, for you only write your silly stories for the Gathering, and you promised the Duchess that you wouldn’t read any more of them until she was next able to attend.”
It was hard to stay cheerful when Cordy was in these moods, Trix reflected. She loved her cousin dearly, of course, but she could be difficult to be around when things were not going her way.
Lady Cordelia Delby, beautiful, well-born, and rich to boot, had been the toast of the Ton since she made her debut, and life had proved to be nothing but an endless, entertaining party for her. It wasn’t surprising that she didn’t want it to end. Trix just wished she’d stop going on about it as though the world would cease when they left London.
“But think about how much fun you’ll have at her house party this summer,” replied Trix. “You’ve never been to one before, and now have a personal invitation from a Duchess!”
“I suppose so,” said Cordy, looking a touch more mollified. “Although I still wish you could share the next chapter of your novel before that. It is so hard not having anyone else to discuss it with – and that’s the case with your actual novel as well!”
“Not this again,” groaned Trix, putting an arm across her face.
“Yes, this again,” replied Cordy with the same tone of voice that her mother used whenever she was displeased with them. “Honestly, Trix, I don’t know why you have your heart set on being a novelist rather than finding a nice, titled husband, but I’m willing to support you. However, it doesn’t help your cause when you won’t even let anyone read your proper novel, or submit it to a publisher!”
“For a start, I can’t afford a publisher,” sighed Trix, knowing that it was pointless to argue but doing so anyway, “and secondly, you know that there are problems with The London House. Namely that it is painfully obvious that I based the villain’s daughter on Eugenia Pulford.”
“I’ll concede that you need to rewrite that character a little,” said Cordy. “As for the rest? Well, you know I’d give you my pin money in a heartbeat if you’d accept it, and if not, then I’m sure one of the ladies at the Gathering would be willing to be your benefactress. It deserves a wider audience, you know.”
“No to both, but I thank you for the offer,” said Trix. “I want to find my own way in the world.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” sighed Cordy, with no real fight left in her. “No one makes their own way in the world, Trix. If it were not for our family and friends, I daresay half the peerage would be in the gutter, let alone everyone else.”
Trix smiled despite herself. There were times when Cordy, for all her frivolity, came out with observations that were wise beyond her years. She was also fully conscious of the fact that her cousin was being quite serious about giving all her pin money over to support Trix’s fledgeling writing career.
The fact that Cordy outran the constable every quarter day despite her generous allowance was neither here nor there; the offer was genuine, and it made Trix love her all the more.
“It’s hard to explain,” she said after a long silence. She pulled her arm away from her eyes and smiled at her cousin. “It’s different for me; I’m the daughter of a moderately well-known writer and a country gentleman. I’ve no expectation of fortune, although Lord knows enough men have made the mistake of assuming that your parents intend to gift me money! Even if I wanted to marry a rich peer, there are none that would have me. If I can just write a book that is good enough, I may well be able to make enough to support myself in a comfortable style.”
Cordy pressed her lips together for a moment.
“It is a great and foolish thing that men are so concerned with money,” she said at last. “We both have the same Earl as a grandfather, after all.”
“It’s the way of the world,” replied Trix with a shrug. It certainly didn’t bother her; she’d never expected to be wealthy, and her relatives had been so kind as to pay for her to have a splendid Season.
Yes, thought Trix as the carriage pulled up outside of Lord and Lady Gloucester’s home. She was an extraordinarily lucky girl, and grateful for the hand she had been dealt.
The footman opened the door, and both she and Cordy ran, shrieking with laughter, across the wet pavement and up the steps to the Gloucester’s home. The butler looked mildly amused as he took their cloaks, allowing them a few moments to make themselves presentable before they were shown through to Lady Gloucester’s parlour.
“Girls, I’m so glad you made it!” said Lady Gloucester with a winning smile. The Countess was dressed in a beautiful cream cambric dress overlaid with a Spanish robe of sky-blue muslin, buttoned to shape across the bodice. Her hair was confined about her head with a simple blue bandeau, and her Spanish slippers were a delicate blue kid that Trix immediately coveted.
In her head, she immediately began weaving a story around an immaculately-dressed Lady leading the charge on a Wicked Count’s castle. She suspected that the tale would deeply amuse Lady Gloucester, and wondered if she could beg some extra paper from her uncle in order to write it.
“As if we’d miss a Gathering,” laughed Cordy, her admiration for Lady Gloucester evident as she drank in every detail of the Countess’ outfit. “I know we promised the Duchess that we could not continue Trix’s story until she returns, but I’m sure we can think of something to entertain us all!”
The Countess beamed at Cordy as she took hold of her hands. “No need to fret, Lady Cordelia, I have an absolute treat in store for you!”
“How intriguing,” said Trix, making her curtsey as the Countess turned to greet her. “Do we have to guess?”
“Not at all, Miss Manning – I infinitely prefer surprises. At least, I do when I am the one planning the surprise. Otherwise, I positively loathe them. Now, Miss Juneberry and Miss Hemsworth are already here, as are Lord Standish and Mr Filey, so at least there is some young company for you among all of us old dears.”
“I don’t think you could ever be called old,” said Cordy with the sincere appreciation of one addressing her idol.
The Countess just laughed. “I knew I liked you for a reason! Go take a seat, I beg of you, and I shall see if my surprise has arrived.”
Lady Gloucester’s parlour was sumptuously decorated in the first stare of fashion, with a large circle of different chairs and sofas ranged about the fireplace. Most were already occupied, and although there were many of the usual faces present – the Cottinghams, Lady Loughcroft, and two of the Putney brothers were making themselves at home, for example – there were many more that she was surprised to see. The Swintons and the Pocklingtons had never before attended, nor had the Marquess of Shropshire.
It must be a considerable surprise indeed, thought Trix.
They moved over to a free sofa located between a seat occupied by Amelia Juneberry and one by Herbert Filey.
“Did I just make an utter cake of myself?” murmured Cordy as they sat down.
“Only a little,” replied Trix, patting her on the knee.
Cordy sighed. “I wish I was more like one of your heroines, always knowing what to do, or armed with a rapier wit that would make everyone appreciate my intellect.”
Trix just shook her head. “And I’m fairly certain that every last one of us in this room would rather be you.”
“Fudge,” said Cordy.
“What’s she upset about now?” asked Amelia, leaning forward.
“Cordy doesn’t believe me that we’d all rather be her,” said Trix.
“Of course we would,” replied Amelia with her typical frankness. “Beautiful, well-born, intelligent, rich, and able to carry a tune better than anyone I’ve ever met.”
“I suppose I am rather rich,” said Cordy, looking morose again. “I know it’s supposed to be virtuous to be poor, but I don’t think I’d like it very much.”
Amelia caught Trix’s eye, her lip tricking up into a smile as she did so.
“I don’t think anyone likes it much,” said Amelia, with only the slightest tremor of a laugh underscoring her words.
There was no opportunity for further conversation, for the butler entered to room and loudly announced the arrival of two gentlemen that were quite unknown to any of the ladies present.
“Lord Ambrose Drake and Mr Drake.”
Cordy’s head shot up. “Did he say Drake?”
Amelia’s nose crinkled up as the two men entered the room. “Yes, but I don’t know any Lord Drake, let alone one with sons.”
“Don’t be silly, Amelia,” said Cordy, one hand going to check her curls. “Lord Ambrose Drake is the younger son of the Marquess of Godwin. They hardly ever come to town, any of them!”
“Then Mr Drake must be a cousin of some sort,” said Amelia. “They certainly look as though they could be, don’t you think, Trix?”
“Assuredly,” replied Trix, and meant it, for had she met the two men on the street she may well have assumed that they were brothers.
Lord Ambrose was the taller of the two and dressed so well that the Beau himself would be forced to weep at the sight of such a man. His Hessians gleamed with a mirror-bright shine that no doubt cost a fortune in champagne and boot blacking to keep brilliant, while his legs were encased in a pair of cream inexpressibles moulded to his perfect limbs. His coat of blue superfine fit snugly across his broad shoulders, and his shirt points, while not excessive, were certainly high enough to be approved of by the dandy set. His white cravat billowed from his neck in a waterfall of perfection; the tousled creases rivalled only by his riot of blonde curls.
If she ever wanted to create an angelic sort of hero, then Lord Ambrose would serve as the perfect model for her character.
Mr Drake, on the other hand, was darker in his colouring, although his features were near identical to those of his cousin. His bottle green coat was not as tight as that of Lord Ambrose, and yet somehow suggested that Mr Drake was broader in the shoulder. He also wore buckskin breeches rather than exquisitely cut pantaloons, which surprised her considering that he was attending an afternoon gathering hosted by a Countess, but they were well made, as were his gleaming top boots. His hair was a little too long to be fashionable, and he clutched a thin volume between fingers stained with ink.
She looked up from her study of him only to discover him looking straight at her, a quizzical smile playing about his lips.
Trix blushed, and dropped her gaze to her hands.
“Ambrose, Felix, I’m so glad you are here!” cried Lady Gloucester with her usual disregard for formalities. She practically bounced across the room toward them, her arms outstretched in welcome.
“When our dearest Abigail commands, who are we to stay away?” said Lord Ambrose, bowing over her hand and grazing the Countess’s knuckles with his lips.
“Stop trying to buy me with Spanish coin,” replied the Countess with considerable cheer before extending her hand toward Mr Drake. “Felix, it’s been an age.”
“Indeed it has, Lady Gloucester.”
The Countess scowled as though she disliked him using her title, but did not correct him. Instead, she guided the two gentlemen into the room and toward the Marquess and Marchioness of Shropshire, as the highest-ranking peers at the Gathering.
“May I present to you Lord Ambrose Drake, son of Lord Godwin, and his cousin, Felix Drake? They are childhood friends of mine, and here to help with the surprise!”
And so it went until Trix almost felt sorry for the two men. She heard them say a dozen times that, no this was not their first time in London, but they rarely came to town. Yes, Lord Ambrose’s father and brother were both in excellent health, thank you, for the Lancashire climate suited them both. No, Mr Drake did not live in Lancashire, he resided in Bath, near his family.
“He’s very handsome, isn’t he,” murmured Cordy, to which both Trix and Amelia sighed their agreement. “I wonder why he hasn’t been in London much?”
“Didn’t you hear him? He says he lives in Bath, near his family.”
Both Cordy and Amelia turned to stare at her.
Trix blinked. “What did I say?”
“I meant Lord Ambrose,” said her cousin. “He looks like a Grecian statue come to life.”
“Yes, I suppose he does now you mention it,” conceded Trix.
Amelia leant forward. “Dearest, do you mean to say you actually prefer Mr Drake?”
“But he’s so swarthy looking, like a pirate king,” said Cordy, which was precisely the wrong thing to say because now Trix’s brain was concocting a simply smashing plot all about the Infamous Pirate Drake sailing up the Thames to kidnap a girl who just so happened to look just like her.
And possibly be called Beatrix Manning.
She felt her cheeks begin to flame.
“He can hardly help it if he looks like a pirate,” she replied, in a voice far louder than she intended. “Besides, I happen to think pirates look dashing.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” said Lord Ambrose with a delighted smile, turning away from Miss Hemsworth to look at Trix. “I’ve often envied Felix his ability to look attractive in a tricorne and eyepatch, and now I know that I can never compete with my cousin regarding our looks.”
Cordy and Amelia laughed, and Trix was conscious of a desire for the sofa to become a tiger and swallow her whole.