Chapter 2
Chapter Two
“Ah, such an exquisite beauty you are, Miss Pershing. Truly, your aunt has not exaggerated one bit. Why, I might even have called her descriptions modest, in comparison.” Mr. Bamburst laughed at his own declaration, unfunny though it was.
His eyes roamed the length of Adelaide’s seated figure with a far-too-appreciative glint.
For a moment, Adelaide was thankful for the man’s rotund proportions, for at least he took up space enough to be unable to seat himself next to her.
Adelaide swallowed the repulsion climbing up her throat. They had only been in London less than a month, but she was already tired of being treated as more a product than a person.
Yet revulsed though she was, there was good reason to avoid provoking her chaperone’s ire. So she blinked and looked down, a gesture she’d long mastered for the sake of self-preservation. To most gentlemen, the action made her look shy and demure. And Aunt Dinah couldn’t fault her for that.
“When I first heard of your origins, Miss Ravenstone,” Mr. Bamburst addressed Aunt Dinah, “I must say I had not expected such a refined little prize.”
Adelaide’s fingernails sunk against her palms.
“Now, now, Mr. Bamburst. Essex is hardly a wilderness,” Aunt Dinah replied. There was no point for Adelaide to speak. In fact, her aunt likely preferred her acting the part of a mute—a pretty little bartering token, nothing more. “We had genteel society aplenty.”
“And yet here you are in London. One might wonder for the need of it.”
“My niece, as you say, is particularly beautiful. Surely, she deserves a good London Season.”
“Of course, I cannot argue with that.” Mr. Bamburst glanced back at Adelaide, his eyes speculative.
It took a great effort to suppress the bile climbing up from her stomach to her throat.
“But I must say, Miss Ravenstone, that I find it highly surprising that your niece has not already been snapped up by some country boy. Surely, there have been admirers?”
“Of course,” Aunt Dinah lied, as if anyone in their hometown would have wished to cross paths with such a scandalous family.
“And yet here she is, unmarried.”
“My niece is only eighteen.”
“Old enough to have stolen a kiss or two.” Mr. Bamburst narrowed his eyes, still lecherous yet measuring, as if inspecting a new vase for defects. “Are you quite certain of her virtue?”
Adelaide turned askance, if only to avoid hurling objects at both her aunt and their caller.
“Oh, how you jest, Mr. Bamburst.” Aunt Dinah preened—if a shriveled, old tree could preen. She handed the man a cup of lukewarm tea. “As if I would ever dare to pawn off damaged goods.”
Mr. Bamburst laughed loudly, as if he hadn’t just delivered the most horrific insult like regular morning conversation. He sipped his tea loudly. Adelaide bit her lip.
If she had her way, they would still be at the countryside—although the edge of Essex might still be nearer London than most of the country was.
But their little country town knew too much about the Pershings to believe in Aunt Dinah's lies, nor were there any decent marital prospects close to what Aunt Dinah seemed to be aiming for.
And so here they were—pretending to be wealthier than they were by renting a house near Picadilly—all so Adelaide could supposedly catch the eyes of the gentlemen coming and going nearby.
So far, all she’d managed to catch had been lecherous stares and the dubious flirtations of aspiring rakes and rogues. And yet, Aunt Dinah did not seem to be discouraged. Beauty, it seemed, could be as much a curse as it was a blessing.
If only Adelaide had caught a cold after the endless hours standing by the Serpentine at Hyde Park yesterday. At least that would have excused her from entertaining her aunt’s idea of prospective husbands.
“I tell you, Miss Ravenstone, it is rare indeed for such an exquisite beauty to be unclaimed.” Mr. Bamburst practically salivated. “You make me quite thankful I have not remarried since my second wife passed.”
Adelaide squeezed her eyes shut. Surely, Aunt Dinah did not mean to marry her off to Mr. Bamburst, did she? Her guardian cleared her throat loudly. Adelaide forced her eyes open just as the clock chimed.
“Ah, well, I suppose that ends the quarter hour.” Mr. Bamburst struggled to his feet. He sent Adelaide another appraising look. “I shall call again in a few more days.”
He made his statement like a promise. It was a promise that Aunt Dinah loved, and Adelaide detested.
A few courtesies later, the man finally squeezed himself out the front door. Adelaide felt a heaviness lift from her shoulders. But she barely had the chance to take a decent breath before Aunt Dinah whirled around, her thick eyebrows knitted into an angry frown.
“Do not think I am unaware of what you are doing, young lady.” Her voice was as shrill as her character. “Your facade of demure silence might fool the men, but it does not fool me.”
Adelaide sniffed. Of course her aunt was unhappy.
She forced back her tears by sheer force of will. Then she swallowed and tilted her chin upwards. “I have said nothing that you have told me not to say.”
“Encourage the men, Adelaide! Is such a simple command so difficult to understand?” Aunt Dinah loomed over Adelaide’s shorter frame. It was another singular reminder that Dinah Ravenstone shared her father’s blood, while Adelaide took after her own mother.
Unfortunately, so did Macy.
“Shall I remind you,” seethed the older woman, “that your well-being, and that of your precious Macy, lie completely in my hands?”
Again, the tears threatened to come. Again, Adelaide squelched them.
If it weren’t for Macy, Adelaide might have refused to come to London at all.
She didn’t quite know why Aunt Dinah was so single-minded about marrying Adelaide off.
But she had no choice but to cooperate when Macy’s fate hung in the balance.
“You have made that abundantly clear, Aunt,” said Adelaide.
“Then you shall do well to remind yourself of it. A few good dresses can only catch so many eyes when we are unable to access the events of the ton. We need you to persuade these men to the altar, using whatever means you must.”
And whose fault was it that they, despite their distant ties to the Pershings of London, were considered personae non gratae amidst polite society?
Adelaide bit back the insult on her tongue.
Her father, God curse his soul, had never been one for good decisions.
And siding with his vicious Ravenstone cousins rather than the more respectable Pershings was chief among his social missteps.
It was not his greatest crime, no. There were far worse offenses to lay at his feet.
But Aunt Dinah had no one else to blame for Adelaide being the first Pershing to be so wholly overlooked by genteel society. It was the Ravenstones, after all, who had corrupted, and condoned, her father in the greatest crimes of his disreputable life.
“I understand your concerns,” said Adelaide.
“Waiting at home for callers simply shall not be enough. Mr. Bamburst’s interest, while keen, might still fade. We cannot fail in our mission,” Aunt Dinah muttered almost to herself. Then her head snapped up. “Call for your bonnet. We may have time for a second promenade in Hyde Park yet.”
“Today? Is it not quite late?”
“Gentlemen walk the park at all hours.”
As did rakes and rogues—but Adelaide was not particularly interested in rousing her aunt’s displeasure further.
“And mark my words, Adelaide, if we cross paths with any single young men—no matter your personal opinions of them—I expect you to flirt and engage with them.”
“But if—”
“Regardless of your personal opinion.” Aunt Dinah scowled. “And if I see you refusing to cooperate again, then I shall send Macy to the workhouse. Have I made myself abundantly clear?”
Adelaide fought back her anger. If only she were of age, if only she had independent means—then she and Macy would already be far, far away from the menace of the human being in front of her.
But those were wishes, not reality. And Adelaide swallowed the bile climbing up her throat and said, “Yes, Aunt Dinah.”
The soirée at Cousin Penelope’s turned out to be as fascinating as anyone might expect of such events—which, according to Richard’s standards, was not very much.
The latest on dits passed from one set of eager lips to another.
Generous portions of wine flowed freely.
Every so often, a lonely widow might approach him.
Half of them wanted to seek condolences over a spouse lost to war.
Half of them wanted to offer propositions that Richard had no interest whatsoever in entertaining.
It was an evening as tedious as anything could possibly be.
“See, you do brood far too much,” Sarah St. John appeared beside him, the surrogate hostess of the evening.
She offered Richard a glass of fresh drink—quality brandy, by the looks of it.
Richard accepted it out of politeness more than any particular wish to imbibe.
“I had thought the lack of dancing would make you less likely to brood.”
“It was never the dancing I opposed.”
“Oh, I beg to differ.” Cousin Sarah laughed. “Did I not introduce three young ladies to you at the Danube Ball? Each of which you heartlessly disappointed.”
“I am not looking to socialize.”
“No? Every eligible man, especially one in possession of a fortune such as yours, surely must be in want of a wife.”
Richard glared as his cousin chuckled.
“I am hardly rich.”
“Your Avington portion, in addition to the rumored estate, might beg to differ.”
“I never thought you to be mercenary.”
“I am not.” Cousin Sarah smiled freely. “But London is. You cannot deny you are considered quite a catch.”
Richard sighed. He tossed back half of his glass. “Perhaps I should flee London then.”
“I also never took you for a coward.”