“I’m ever so sorry my mother came home,” Miss Stratton said, slanting a glance first at Lavinia, then back at the elegant house they’d just left. Behind them, Mrs. Pratt followed. “I can’t imagine what Maman is saying to Tuck.”
The girl looked as if she would give up her dowry to go back and eavesdrop.
Then again, so would Lavinia, but one glance at the stern-looking Mrs. Pratt stopped her from making such a suggestion.
“Then again, bother Lady Gourley and her gossipy ways.” Roselie huffed as if the indignation was hers to bear. “And especially when Tuck seemed so—”
Lavinia glanced sharply at her. “When Mr. Rowland seemed so what?” she prompted. She wasn’t sure wanted to know the direction of Miss Stratton’s speculation.
But Miss Stratton was ever the diplomat’s daughter. “Just that it seemed as if you and Tuck were making such excellent progress.” She paused to nod at a matron who was just coming out of her carriage. “With your dancing¸ that is. Why you two appeared perfectly suited”—again the significant pause—“when you were dancing.”
Perfectly suited, indeed. That was the last thing Lavinia wanted to hear.
Even if it seemed true.
“I hope she isn’t too disapproving,” Miss Stratton said with a sigh.
“Your mother disapproves of Mr. Rowland?”
At this, Miss Stratton laughed. “My dear Miss Tempest, everyone disapproves of Tuck Rowland.”
“How unfortunate for Mr. Rowland, when he is only trying to help me.”
Mrs. Pratt made a noise that sounded very suspiciously like one of Lady Essex’s snorts of derision, but when she glanced back, their chaperone was busy watching a wagon go by.
“Yes, well, Maman has complained for years that Tuck is a terrible influence on Piers, but I think it was the other way around—Tuck was always there to pull my brother out of one coil or another.”
“And yet you disapprove of him as well,” Lavinia persisted. She found it rather unfair that the man was judged for simply being himself.
“Only on principle,” the girl replied. “And because he broke his word to Piers and let him go off to Spain with only Poldie at his side. If Tuck had been there—well.” She shrugged, for what were wishes and things that might have happened—only that, a mere slip of the shoulder.
“He must have had a very good reason,” Lavinia replied, though she half waited for another snort of disagreement from Mrs. Pratt.
But this time there was none forthcoming.
“Perhaps,” Miss Stratton agreed, albeit reluctantly. “Though I will say, Aunt Charleton loved him dearly. Then again, she always saw the good in everyone—even when no one else could or would. Maman used to say her sister was far too kindhearted, too forgiving.”
“Those are hardly sins,” Lavinia pointed out.
“Then you have yet to fully understand my mother.” They continued on down the block, but silence was apparently not Miss Stratton’s friend. “Tuck admires you.”
“Me?” Lavinia said, nearly stumbling to a stop.
“But of course,” Miss Stratton asserted. “Didn’t you notice how he put Herr Fuchs squarely in his place when the man was bullying you? No one naysays Herr Fuchs.”
“Perhaps they should,” Lavinia replied. Dreadful man.
“He got you dancing,” Miss Stratton noted.
“Mr. Rowland did that.” And the moment the words spilled out, Lavinia regretted them, for she’d unwittingly dropped a baited, irresistible hook into the conversation.
One Roselie Stratton eagerly caught hold of, saying, “Tuck? However did he do that?”
Oh, there was no mistaking the seemingly innocent tone to her new friend’s question. Lavinia realized that here was someone with a lifetime of experience in the London ton and three years of wading through the Marriage Mart.
If anyone could understand the growing dilemma inside her, Miss Stratton was her best hope.
Lavinia leaned a little closer so her words would not spill beyond the two of them. “It is the oddest thing. When Mr. Rowland takes my hand, my feet untangle.”
“And not with anyone else?” Miss Stratton asked.
Lavinia shook her head.
“I don’t believe that is odd at all,” the girl assured her. “Tuck admires you.”
“Oh, hardly,” Lavinia demurred.
“And if his careless heart is tempted, then any number of truly eligible partis are just a dance away, Miss Tempest,” Miss Stratton said with all confidence. “That is, unless—”
There it was again, that telling pause.
“Unless?” Oh, botheration, Lavinia couldn’t help herself. She had to ask.
“Unless you find him—”
“Him?” Lavinia shook her head. “You mean Tuck? I mean, Mr. Rowland?” Lavinia shivered right down to her boots. “Not in the least! He hardly fits my list.”
This time it was Miss Stratton who faltered a bit. “You have a list?”
Why did everyone in London find this so odd?
“But of course,” Lavinia replied, doing her best to sound as it were the most casual and normal of things to do. “A list of Proper Qualities.”
“Proper Qualities,” Miss Stratton repeated, as if Lavinia had just broken out in Dutch or Greek, and she was trying to sound out the words. “Such as?”
“Oh, the usual. Titled, well-to-do, a man of property and integrity.”
“You should have remained with Lord Rimswell,” Mrs. Pratt muttered from behind them.
Both girls turned and stared at her.
The lady shrugged, and they continued walking.
“Bernie is right. I would think Lord Rimswell would suit you perfectly,” Miss Stratton replied, though to Lavinia it sounded as if she were unwillingly surrendering something of great value and at a high cost.
“Oh, heavens no,” Lavinia assured her. “He’s nice enough and kind, but if I didn’t know better, I’d say his heart is otherwise engaged.”
“You could say that,” Mrs. Pratt agreed.
Beside her, Miss Stratton stiffened but then continued prattling on. “Well, if we must, we’ll cross Mr. Rowland off your list, as well as Lord Rimswell. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be able to find one gentleman in London who meets your requirements and will fall head over heels in love with you.”
“Do you think so?” Lavinia asked. For now her list had one other requirement: the gentleman must make her feel as wonderful as she did when she was with Mr. Rowland.
“I don’t see why not,” Miss Stratton was saying, “and if Maman has a hand in it, this ridiculous situation you find yourself in will be over before Wednesday, and you’ll be back in Almack’s.”
Almack’s?
“Oh, must I?” Lavinia burst out without thinking.
Miss Stratton laughed and reached over to squeeze her hand. “Sadly, we all must.”
“You shouldn’t be encouraging a match a’tween the two of them,” Mrs. Pratt said, even as the door to Uncle Charleton’s house closed.
“Whyever not?” Roselie replied to her plain-speaking companion as the two of them turned to walk back the way they’d come. “They seem to suit. Did you see the way he looked at her? Or how she stammers when she speaks of him?”
“Suit or not, that knavish cousin of yours will run through her fortune in no time, poor gel.” Bernie’s lips pursed together.
“Fortune? Whatever do you mean?” Roselie shook her head. “Miss Tempest hardly strikes me as an heiress.”
Bernie snorted. “You’ve had money all your life, gel. When you grow up like I did, you learn to spot it in others. That gel will come with a rich purse.”
“So you say,” Roselie said, feeling a bit outfoxed. Miss Tempest had a fortune? How had she missed such a thing—when she prided herself on seeing beyond the obvious.
No, Bernie must be mistaken.
The older woman laughed. “Have I ever been?” she asked, having correctly guessed the reason for Roselie’s creased brow.
Oh, botheration. For there was the rub.
Bernie was rarely wrong.
Tuck left Lady Wakefield’s house in a bit of daze.
The dowager couldn’t be serious. Introduce Livy to his mother? Why it was utter madness.
“Whatever was that about?”
The question jolted him out of his musings, and he looked up to find Brody there, standing beside his carriage—waiting for Tuck to emerge from the dragon’s lair, apparently.
“I don’t usually get so summarily dismissed.” Brody straightened his coat, then went to work tugging on his gloves. “But I do like to know why. Whatever did Lady Wakefield have to say?” He glanced down at his boots. “Oh, and you owe me a new pair of boots.”
“Yes, well, take that problem up with Herr Fuchs. He was the one who paired Livy with you,” Tuck pointed out. And he deliberately left out any mention of his conversation with the dowager.
“Monstrous fellow. I don’t know what all the clamor is about over him.” With his gloves now on, Brody gave his hat a rakish tilt. “Going to take a jaunt through the park. Care to follow along? We can see if Budgey got that new phaeton he was going on about.”
Tuck shook his head. No, he’d had enough censorious scrutiny for one day. “Rather not. But thank you.”
Brody nodded and went to climb up into his carriage. He paused and turned back to Tuck. “What do you make of that—that bit about Piers?”
“Piers out driving with one of my uncle’s charges?” Tuck shook his head. “Or any lady for that matter. Lady Gourley needs to get a new pair of spectacles.”
“I suppose,” Brody agreed as he climbed into his carriage. “But if he were, that would be good news for you, don’t you think?”
“A miracle would be more like it,” Tuck offered.
Brody laughed. “You haven’t a chance with this wager, you know that, don’t you?”
Tuck didn’t reply. He never liked to admit defeat, but it was certainly looking like he’d be taking an extended vacation—somewhere far from England.
“They are pretty gels,” Brody told him, trying to sound encouraging. “But sadly, pretty isn’t what you need right now.” He chirped at his set, and the horses trotted off, leaving Tuck standing stock-still on the curb.
. . . pretty isn’t what you need right now . . .
Tuck tried to breathe. For that was right along with what Lady Wakefield had said. Well, nearly.
Still, Brody’s offhanded remark only gave the dowager’s suggestion some weight.
Oh, but he couldn’t. It was far too scandalous. Dangerous, even.
Introduce the sharp-eyed and all-too-proper Miss Lavinia Tempest to his mother? One wrong step, one wrong word and . . .
Tuck dragged in a deep breath and let it out. Giving over Livy to his mother was akin to putting a dove in the hawk’s reach.
Then again, what else did he have left to try?
“Anything but that,” he vowed, his fists clenched to his sides.
But Tuck wasn’t usually one to keep his word.
Almost as soon as Lavinia entered Lord Charleton’s house, feeling as if the entire world was once again opening up to them, here was Louisa coming down the stairs like a storm cloud.
“Where have you been?” her sister demanded.
Lavinia came to a blinding halt. Oh, bother, however could she tell the truth—for to do that would mean she would have to admit to being in league with Mr. Rowland.
Something she knew her sister, and Lady Aveley, would not approve of. Not. In. The. Least.
“Why, at the library. You knew that,” she said, hurrying toward the stairs and daring not to look her sister in the eye.
Louisa stepped in her path. “You were not at the library–”
Something about her tone made Lavinia bristle. “Why of course I was.”
“You were seen, Lavinia.”
This stopped her in her tracks. Oh, bother. Double bother. But still, she didn’t like Louisa’s tone.
So Lavinia chose to stand her ground. “Seen? Whatever does that mean? I went to the library.”
“Lord Wakefield saw you getting into Mr. Rowland’s carriage, Lavinia.”
“And how would you know that? Were you over there again? With him? Alone?”
“No!” Louisa sputtered quickly retreating. “He and I . . . that is, he offered—”
“Yes, I suppose he did,” Lavinia said, grasping the upper hand quickly. “He always seems to be on hand to offer.”
Louisa’s lips fluttered as she sought the right retort, but it was to go unsaid. For right then, Lady Aveley appeared on the landing above them.
“Girls! There you are. I had hoped to find you together. Excellent.” She smiled at them and began to come down the stairs.
Both sisters shot the other hot glances, vows that this was hardly over.
But it was, in ways that they could never have suspected. Lavinia least of all.
“However was the library?” Lady Aveley asked Lavinia.
Smiling at her sister—who she knew would never carry tales—Lavinia turned to the matron. “Delightful. Though I am afraid I lost track of time—I started reading Homer’s Odyssey and couldn’t put it down. Such a gripping tale.”
She might not tattle, but that didn’t stop her sister from groaning.
Not that Lady Aveley noticed, for she only smiled brighter, as she came to a stop in the foyer. “I have had a letter from your father.” She held up the note. “He has asked Lord Charleton to provide you with a carriage as far as Tunbridge Wells, and he will have your coachman meet you there.”
“Leave London?” Lavinia whispered.
“Yes. Your father thought these arrangements would be the most expedient,” she told them.
“No-o-o!” Lavinia sputtered, backing away. “I won’t go.”
“My dear, I know this is—” Lady Aveley reached out to her, but Lavinia jerked back, her eyes already brimming with tears.
“No! I won’t go,” Lavinia repeated. She backed into the post at the bottom of the stairwell and used it to support herself. “You cannot make me. The Season . . . It isn’t fair—” She thought to tell them of Lady Wakefield’s promise, of her plans, of Tuck’s resolve to help her, no, them, but even that seemed futile given Louisa’s expression—dear heavens, her sister appeared relieved at the news.
Of course she would be—she had never wanted a Season to begin with.
“Dearest, it is over. At least for us,” Louisa told her.
“Not for me. I refuse to go. I won’t leave. Not yet,” Lavinia shot back before she burst into tears and went running for the refuge of their room.
“But if your father sent for you, however did your sister manage to get herself betrothed and married to his lordship so quickly?” Tildie asked.
Lavinia glanced up, so lost in her story that she’d all but forgotten that she was here in St. George’s. Oh, yes, where was she? She glanced down at the flowers in her hands.
Louisa’s hasty marriage to Wakefield.
However could she tell the charwoman her suspicions about Louisa and Lord Wakefield? How they had spent a ruinous amount of time alone together. Perhaps even a night together?
Given that kiss when they’d been pronounced man and wife—well, it was one that spoke of experience.
By both parties.
Lavinia pushed such a scandalous thought aside. Now that Louisa was married, it all hardly mattered.
Besides, she was already in much the same situation with regards to Tuck.
So instead, she went with what she did know of how the match came to fruition.
“Mr. Rowland,” she announced. “It was all his doing.”
“Him?” Tildie shook her head. “It’s my experience that men like that are hardly the ones to be prodding a fellow bachelor into the parson’s trap.”
“In any other case I might agree,” Lavinia said. “But as it turns out, Mr. Rowland isn’t quite the heartless knave he appears.”