Miss Bigsby and the Aristocrat (Dazzling Debutantes #9)
Prologue
“Psyche, of all mortals, is too beautiful to belong to earth.”
Lucius Apuleius, Metamorphoses
The sun was low over the rooftops, igniting a glorious spread of oranges and pinks, while above the stars twinkled in the darkening firmament as if to mirror the joy in his heart.
Simon was home.
He walked across the back lawn to where he would find his lovely Psyche awaiting his arrival.
More than eighty years ago, the Aldritch brothers had built two freestanding townhouses side by side, after they had made their fortunes, sold off their businesses, and invested in property to join the gentry as newly minted gentlemen of leisure.
And one of their first actions was to build monuments to their splendid success.
The result had been two matching buildings of great beauty, with colonnades, ornate porticos, and statuary upon the roofs, all within verdant gardens.
Yet it was the walled garden shared by the two homes that remained the true jewel of their commission.
Forty years later, when Simon’s father, Lord Blackwood, had purchased one of the properties, it had been with the stipulation that the garden would continue to be shared by the owners of each household, a detail ensured through astute legal craftsmanship.
Lord Blackwood had gladly paid a small fortune for such a magnificent testament to the architectural arts, agreeing to the hidden garden between the connected properties.
But then the baron had come to regret the agreement. Much to his chagrin, in 1792, when Simon had been a babe toddling in the nursery, the adjoining property had been sold off to a common tradesperson. Not just any tradesperson, heaven forfend, but a tradeswoman!
Simon knew the year of this terrible event because his father would speak of it often, lamenting the decline of the neighborhood.
Personally, Simon thought that Mrs. Eleanor Bigsby was beyond compare.
The widow had moved to London after her husband died and had purchased a struggling artificial stone business.
She had wasted no time in building it into the preeminent stone manufacturer in England.
Weather-resistant neoclassical statues, architectural decorations, and garden ornaments of great artistry had raised the enterprise to new heights under her leadership, with a client list boasting both King George III and the Prince of Wales.
She held the only Royal Warrant for such a business.
Simon picked up his pace when he saw the archway leading to the secluded domain.
In his estimation, Eleanor Bigsby’s greatest accomplishment was not her empire of moulded stone, but rather the twin daughters she had raised as a lone parent while conquering the high commerce of London.
He entered the garden, pausing to take in the exceptional beauty of the towering columns and lush vegetation that encircled the magnificent stone urn filled with a profusion of flowers.
Along the border of the hidden area were silent sentinels.
Roman gods and goddesses watched on as Simon rushed forward to greet the ravishing young woman on the bench below the urn.
“Madeline!”
Her head rose, and her face lit with joy as she leapt to her feet. “Simon!”
They rushed toward each other, and Simon took in her beloved features.
Madeline Bigsby had a delicate, heart-shaped face, a slender upturned nose, enormous eyes of lustrous amber, and arching eyebrows of honey brown to match her silky hair.
She was dressed for dinner, radiant in her silk evening gown, and he felt a warmth in his chest at the sight of her familiar smile.
Just a year apart in age, they had been meeting in the hidden spot for as long as he could remember.
Growing up next door to her made returning to London an event to look forward to.
He thanked his good fortune that his father disdained the country and had rarely traveled there since his epic quarrel with Simon’s older brother Peter, who had died many years ago.
Lord and Lady Blackwood preferred the comforts London offered to rusticating, so he required his stewards come to London to meet him.
Simon had no complaints because it had meant more time spent with Madeline.
“You are taller,” she exclaimed in her sweet voice, thrilling him to his very toes.
It was wonderful to be home after months of letters. Simon breathed deeply of the familiar garden air, the faint fragrance of orange blossoms drifting between them. For all his imagining, the real moment felt far better than any dream.
“I put on muscle since I was last home.”
Madeline’s eyes dropped to his shoulders in shy appreciation as she laughed softly, her cheeks warming as she gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “I can tell,” she whispered.
The brief touch startled him with its sweetness. He stepped back quickly, steadying his thoughts. If he were to remain a gentleman, he must give her space.
“How was your day?”
Madeline sighed heavily, twisting her fingers in her lap. “I wish Henrietta was interested in working with me at Bigsby’s. She has gone off to be Uncle Reginald’s private secretary, so it is official. I am to run Bigsby’s when Mama retires while Henrietta plays hostess to the political elite.”
“You will be excellent in any role you choose,” Simon replied. It was true. Madeline possessed both talent and heart. Qualities that could outshine any man in business.
“If I were choosing, I would continue to sculpt new pieces and work with the craftsmen!” she said with sudden fervor.
“I have no wish to contend with the business dealings. Mama is imposing, but even she has to address the prejudices of small-minded men who think a woman’s place is at home.
I will learn to manage them as she does, I suppose …
but it is not what I enjoy. I enjoy working with the craftsmen. ”
Mrs. Bigsby, indeed, cut an imposing figure, six feet tall with a firm jaw and determined nature.
The thought of gentle Madeline standing in her stead among hard-faced tradesmen and miserly clients made Simon’s heart tighten with admiration.
She was dainty, yes—but strong-willed, and he knew she would find a way to succeed if she set her mind to it.
“Then I shall learn the business dealings. When we wed!” Simon declared it in a cheery tone, and for a moment, they both considered the perfection of working side by side in the future as man and wife.
Eventually, the content expression on Madeline’s face faded as reality set in. “Lord Blackwood will never allow it. One of his sons engaging in trade?”
Simon shut his eyes, the illusion rushing away like clouds dispersed by a tempest. “And Eleanor Bigsby would raise some objections, too, I believe.”
They sat in silence, contemplating the future while watching the last rays of sunlight disappear.
Mrs. Bigsby was not petty, in Simon’s estimation, but Lord Blackwood’s continuing campaign to wrest their communal garden from her had antagonized Madeline’s mother beyond civility.
His father had even attempted to blacken her reputation and drive clients away from her business, but the King’s patronage had muted the effects of such endeavors, serving to fuel the feud between the two neighbors.
Neither were willing to give up their beautiful homes or the landscaping gem that unified them in mutual animosity.
“I brought you a gift,” Madeline announced. She reached into a basket on the bench beside her, then turned to present him with a small figurine carved out of stone.
Simon took it, careful with the fragile piece. “Did you make it?”
Madeline nodded, her smile tender, eyes bright with quiet pride.
He peered down at the wondrous work of art.
It was exquisite. The detail of muscled arms and legs, the strands of hair, the gaze of the masculine figure staring out across the distance, and the quiver of arrows slung over its broad shoulders.
In its curled fist was a bouquet of flowers carved in intricate detail.
Madeline might be a proper young lady, educated by the finest tutors and business minds in London, but she knew about the human form.
She had to in order to apprentice at Bigsby’s Stone Manufactory.
“Eros,” she said softly. “Gazing at their garden of flowers.”
Simon chuckled. “Because he and Psyche found their happiness?”
Even in the gathering darkness, Simon saw the shimmer in her eyes. “I do not know what the future holds, but this will always be our place.”
Simon reached out to take hold of her gloved hand beneath his. “We will find a way to be together, fair Madeline. I swear it.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. The evening breeze stirred the leaves above, carrying with it the promise of something fragile and beautiful. A hope that might yet endure, even when the world conspired to keep them apart.
Madeline watched Simon walk away into the night, his tall form silhouetted by the fading glow of lantern light as he passed through the archway of the garden. Their garden.
He must have been about done increasing in size because he was no longer the boy she had grown up with, but instead a man of six feet with broad shoulders and narrow hips.
His almost-white buckskins caught the soft glimmer of lantern light, and she found herself smiling at how grown he looked.
Earlier, she had thrilled at the intense blueness of his eyes and the gentleness of his voice when he spoke her name.
Would there be a time in the future when they could court?
It seemed an impossibility given the state of affairs between her mother and the baron.