March 1818
Worthington House, Berkeley Square, Mayfair
“Italy! ” Her brother’s bellow could probably be heard in Berkeley Square. Possibly even further.
From her position on the sofa, Lady Augusta Vivers stifled a sigh. She refused to allow her posture to sag or disappointment to show on her countenance. She had known her campaign to attend the University in Padua was not going to be easy. Perhaps she should have started her scheme earlier, or given her brother a hint to temper his shock.
“It is not as if it is some unknown place in South America or Africa,” she pointed out calmly.
“Where on earth did you come up with such an… idea?” Her mother’s faint voice pierced the deadened air.
“I wish to further my studies,” Augusta said, trying not to sound exasperated. Why else would she want to go to university? Not only that, but it would allow her to see a little of the world she had been studying. “As educated as Miss Tallerton and Mr. Winters are, they have reached the end of what they can teach me. For the past few years, I have been corresponding with professors in Europe and taking lessons from visiting scholars, hoping to be able to learn more.” In fact, her thirst for knowledge had grown to the point that she needed to attend university as much as she needed food or air. “Yet it has become clear that the only way I am going to succeed is by studying with experts. For that, I must attend university.”
“But, my dear,”—her mother paused for a moment, as if to gather her thoughts—“do you not wish to wed?”
Of course she did. Just. Not. Now. “I do not recall anyone asking Charlie if he was forsaking marriage simply because he was attending Oxford.” She turned her gaze back to Matt. As her guardian, he was the final decision maker. “If I were a boy, you would allow me to go.”
“You’re fair and far off there, my girl.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I might consider Paris, but Italy is too far away. If anything were to happen,”—this time he wiped his hand down his face—“we would not be able to get to you in time. I doubt if there is even an English consul or vice-consul there.”
“The closest consul is in Venice, only twenty-two miles to the east.”
“Augusta.” Grace’s gentle voice was a sharp contrast to Matt’s exasperated tone. “Is there not a university that will accept women closer than Italy?”
Augusta shifted on the sofa so that she faced her sister-in-law next to her and smiled. “There was one in Holland, but it was reduced to a college, like Eton, and is just now attempting to regain its status as a university.” Trying to ignore the worried look in Mama’s eyes, and the tick in Matt’s jaw, Augusta focused on Grace, who appeared to be the only helpful person present. She might also be able to persuade Matt. “Padua is also the only university that has an excellent reputation and will award a degree to a female.”
Her sister-in-law nodded. “I see.”
“My dear.” The corners of Mama’s lips tipped up weakly. “You did not answer the question about marriage.”
“I see no reason to rush into matrimony. Grace did not wed until she was four and twenty.”
There was nothing to be said to that, so silence fell again. The only comforting thought was that Matt had not actually said no.
The room was so quiet she could hear the birds chirping outside, and the thumps of someone running on the floor above. The muffled sound of someone coming down the corridor had them all turning their heads.
A knock came, and Walter, age seventeen, another of Grace’s brothers and Augusta’s best friend, poked his head in the study. “Not a good time? I’ll just take myself away.”
“Wait right there.” Matt’s commanding voice stopped Walter’s retreat. “What do you know about Augusta’s plans to attend university?”
“Er”—he slid her a quick glance—“only that she’s been planning it for several months.” One of Matt’s brows rose. “It not as if she’s doing anything untoward. Don’t we all support ladies being educated?”
Augusta flashed Walter a grateful smile. Her mother groaned, Grace’s lips twitched, and Matt slapped his palm against his head.
Mama’s husband, Richard, Viscount Wolverton, who had been lounging against the fireplace, straightened. “When does the term begin?”
“Not until September.” Did his question mean she might be allowed to attend? “I brought it up now because I have done all I can do without final permission, and there is the month it will take to travel to Padua.”
“September,” Mama chirped brightly, a relieved look on her face.
Oh, no. Augusta was not going to allow them to end the conversation. “My other point in mentioning it now is to save you from the expense of a Season for me.” Of all the girls in the family, Augusta was sure she was the only one who did not care if she formally came out. “If I am going to attend university, there is no need for me to be on the Marriage Mart.”
“I think it’s too late for that,” Matt grumbled.
Augusta barely kept her jaw from dropping.
“What he means”—Grace held out her hands to Augusta, taking her fingers in a reassuring grip—“is that most of your gowns have already been ordered. Aside from that, if Matt and your mother agree that you should attend university, you will benefit from having been out.”
“Yes, indeed,” Mama said quickly. Augusta had the feeling her mother was praying she would decide to marry and forget about continuing her studies. “My dear, Grace is absolutely correct. Acquiring a bit of Town bronze is essential for one’s…development.”
Augusta scanned the other faces in the room. None of them looked happy. If she refused, they would not take it well. She could continue with her plans and arguments for university while she was attending social events. “Very well. I agree to a Season.” Augusta speared her brother with a look. “That does not mean I have given up attending university.”
His lips thinned as he nodded. “We will continue the discussion later.”
“You should know”—she took a breath—“I have contacted Cousin Prudence Brunning and asked if she would be willing to be my chaperone.”
Matt’s dark brows drew together. “Who?”
“You would not remember her,” Mama said with an airy flutter of her hand. “She is the daughter of Martha Vivers, who married George Paine, a rector. Prudence is a few years older than you, and a widow. Her husband was in a Calvary unit and died when he was in the colonies.”
“Indeed.” Augusta was glad her mother remembered Cousin Prudence. “She traveled with him through Spain, therefore she is used to foreign places.” By this time Matt was staring at Augusta as if she had grown another head. “She also speaks Italian.”
“Naturally. Why else would you contact her?” He closed his eyes for a moment, as if in pain. “You’ve given me a great deal to think about.”
Augusta squeezed Grace’s hand and rose. “Thank you for listening to me.”
A series of nods and tight smiles answered her. When she reached the corridor, Walter had been joined by the twins, Alice and Eleanor Carpenter, age fifteen, and Augusta’s sister, Madeline, also fifteen.
Alice put a finger to her lips as Eleanor grabbed Augusta’s hand.
“Come,” Madeline whispered. “We can hear them talk from the antechamber in the other room.”
They hurried her into a seldom-used parlor and opened a door to what reminded Augusta of a butler’s pantry, except instead of dishware and silver, the shelves were filled with ledgers, paper, pens, and bottles of ink. How had she not known this was here?
“You must be very quiet,” one of the twins said softly.
“Matt, you cannot possibly be considering allowing her to travel to Italy!” Mama’s voice came clearly through the door. “It would have been kinder of you to have told her no.”
There was a clink of crystal and a few moments of silence before Matt responded, “In my opinion, she deserves the opportunity to follow her desire for more education.”
“Yes, but not in Italy.” Mama sounded almost frantic.
“Patience, calm yourself,” Richard said. “If he allows her to go, you know as well as I do that he’ll ensure she is well protected.”
“Matt,” she said again. “Do you not remember what happened to Caro Huntley?”
“Who is Caro Huntley?” Madeline whispered. Augusta and the others shrugged.
“Who is Caro Huntley?” Richard asked.
“Lady Caroline Martindale, a friend of mine,” Grace responded. “She was living in Venice with her godmother when a Venetian nobleman decided she should marry him. Huntley married her to save her from him.”
“I am sure she thought she was safe,” Mama pointed out.
Augusta wanted to groan. Leave it to her mother to remember a story like that. Well, she would make good and sure she was not trapped into marriage. At least not before she had her diploma.
“Come, my love,” Richard said. “Let’s leave poor Worthington to try to figure this out. Let me know if you need any help.”
“Thank you. I will.”
The door to Grace’s study closed, and without any warning at all the door to the antechamber opened and the twins tumbled into the study. Augusta would have fallen as well if Madeline hadn’t been in the way to stop her fall.
Matt eyed them as the girls picked themselves up from the floor. “I trust you heard everything, or is there any part of the conversation you would like to have repeated?”
“I’d like to hear more about Caro Huntley,” Alice said.
“Not now, sweetheart.” Grace grinned. “Augusta, we will continue to look at ways for you to continue your studies.” Her sister-in-law rose. “Come, it will be time for tea shortly, and Charlie should be here soon.”
“Matt?” Madeline asked. “How did you know we were listening?”
“You’re not as quiet as you think.” He lightly tugged one of her braids. “Go on. I’ll see you in the morning room.”
For the second time, Augusta left the study. “I suppose it could have been worse.”
Walter fell into step beside her. “He could have refused to listen.”
“My mother is going to be a problem. She will probably throw every gentleman she finds into my path.”
“Not everyone.” Walter grinned. “They have to be eligible.”
“There will still be too many of them.” She wanted to groan. “At least I’ll be prepared.”
* * * *
At a warehouse near the London docks, Lord Phineas Carter-Woods surveyed the numerous boxes he’d brought back from Mexico. “The ones marked in red will go to Elsworth.” That was the bulk of them. “Have the rest sent to my brother’s house in Grosvenor Square, and make sure they aren’t put in the attic.”
“Yes, my lord.” Boman, Phinn’s general factotum, signaled to one of two carters waiting for instructions. “Have you decided when we’re leaving again?”
That was going to be tricky. “I hope to be on our way to Europe in a month, but I’ve promised my brother I’ll look around for a wife. We’ll take it as it comes, shall we?”
“What you mean to say”—Boman pulled a face—“is that you haven’t told his lordship that you’re not staying in England.”
“Let’s just say that I have not had time to divulge all my plans.” Boman was right. Phinn would have to tell his brother, the Marquis of Dorchester, about his plans to leave England again. If only Dorchester and his wife could manage to have a son instead of four daughters, they wouldn’t be trying to make Phinn marry. Although, whatever gave them the idea he could do better, he didn’t know.
“His lordship isn’t going to be happy.”
That was putting it mildly. Phinn did not plan on telling his brother he was leaving again until just before he left. “I’ll stay for the Season. Once he sees that I have not found a suitable wife, he’ll be glad to see me go again.”
“What happens if some young lady catches your eye?”
Good lord! Boman too? “Why is everyone suddenly trying to put a leg-shackle on me?”
“I’m just saying, it could happen. You almost got caught by that señorita in Mexico City.”
“Not because I wanted her.” Phinn ran his finger under his cravat. “For that escape, I can only thank your sharp eyes.” If Boman hadn’t seen the lady slip something into Phinn’s drink, he might have been asleep instead of hiding on the window ledge when she’d sneaked into his room. Thank God English ladies were not so devious. “The less said about that, the better.” The last trunk was loaded onto the coach. “Time to go back to Dorchester House. My brother has made an appointment with me to see Weston.” He looked at his worn leather breeches with chagrin. “Apparently, I do not have sufficient clothing to pass myself off as an eligible parti .”
Phinn climbed into the coach, followed by Boman, who settled on the back-facing seat and said, “Have you decided to hire a proper valet?”
The carriage rolled through the narrow streets. “I don’t like the idea of hiring a man only to let him go in a month or two.”
“We’ll take him with us. Europe isn’t the Far East or Mexico. You’ll need someone who knows how to take care of your fancy clothes.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Glancing out the window, he marveled at how societies never changed much. There was always the poor living in squalor and the rich who didn’t seem to care. “You’ll be too busy preparing for the next trip.”
“You keep saying that, and we haven’t even set foot in your brother’s house yet.”
Not that he didn’t love his brother, but Phinn would have been happy to have visited for a week and left again. But that would not have been possible. He had a paper to deliver to the Royal Society, letters to write, travel documents to acquire, and a host of other duties. Unfortunately, other than the paper, he’d have to leave most of it to Boman while Phinn danced, literally, to his sister-in-law’s tune and his family’s scheme to get him married.
“Do you have the charms?” He didn’t know if they’d work, but he’d try anything. After four daughters, his brother was becoming desperate to secure the succession, and Dorchester’s eye had turned to Phinn. It was probably ridiculous of him to trust a Haitian witch’s magic, but anything was worth a try.