Chapter 1 #2
“Heavens!” The Baroness clapped a hand over her mouth. “I lost track of time. How silly of me.”
Quickly, the Baron pulled out his silver pocket watch and gave it a swift glance. “No need to worry, dearest.” He smiled jovially at his wife. “It is but a quarter past ten.”
“The guests will arrive at any moment,” she replied, still sounding fretful.
“Then we shan’t tarry here any longer.” Charles offered Lavinia his arm. “Come, Sister.” She tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Let us go greet our guests and show off your new diamond necklace.”
Lavinia cast one more look of longing over her shoulder at the unfinished letter to Miss Foote.
I should have liked to post that particular piece today.
It was clear this was a fanciful wish. She could not be both a steady correspondent and a proper hostess, at least not today.
Abandoning the missive, she allowed Charles to lead her out of the drawing room.
Soon, just as was predicted, the guests began to arrive. The enormous wooden doors of Crawford Hall swung wide. Lavinia, Charles, and their parents stood near the entryway, smiling and welcoming the guests.
Lavinia awaited the entry of the guests with her mother by her side. Her heart rate quickened at the sound of carriages stopping in the drive. She beamed at each newcomer, especially those who greeted her parents with warm enthusiasm.
“An anniversary ball!” the Countess of St. Vincent exclaimed as soon as the Baroness and Lavinia approached her.
The Baroness held her arms wide, welcoming the Countess into an embrace. Since Lavinia had last seen the Countess of St. Vincent in London, her hair had started to gray slightly near the temples, and there was a small wobble to her chin.
“Have we really been summoned to the countryside again to celebrate your wedding anniversary?” The Countess pulled out of the hug and fixed the Baroness with a disapproving look. “Did we not mark the occasion last year?”
The Baroness chuckled.
Lavinia did her best to hide her mirth behind her gloved hand.
“It is a delight to see you again, Lady St. Vincent,” the Baroness offered. “I know how you do not particularly appreciate the way my husband and I celebrate our love for one another, but—”
“It is not your love I take exception to, Lady Crawford, but this spectacle.” Lady St. Vincent lifted her hand, which was covered in a supple kid glove, and gestured to the others who were crowding the hall. “Why must you host such an unconventional house party?”
“Oh, I suppose you prefer the house parties where young people run amok and several get engaged before the end of the week to this one?”
The comment came from Mrs. Caulfield, a respectable woman who had married the second son of the Viscount Caulfield. She wore a dress made of delicate blue fabric. The material was dotted with large Morning Glories, giving her a festive, unique look.
“I value tradition,” Lady St. Vincent sniffed as she looked down her nose at Mrs. Caulfield.
“As do I,” Mrs. Caulfield returned. “But is it not Lord and Lady Crawford’s habit to mark each wedding anniversary with a lovely soiree?”
Lady St. Vincent huffed, then turned her gaze back to the Baroness. “My only hope is that we do not spend all week watching you and your husband moon over one another. I expect to be entertained.”
“Then you shall be,” Lavinia jested. “If you wish to see two engaged couples before the week’s end, I will make it a priority to play matchmaker.”
“Make it three couples,” Mrs. Caulfield interjected, clearly enjoying the joke as much as Lavinia, “and we shall all be quite entertained. What do you say, Lady St. Vincent?”
Lavinia, her mother, and Mrs. Caulfield all laughed lightly, but Lady St. Vincent still seemed dissatisfied. She narrowed her eyes and looked at Lavinia long and hard.
“You wish to play matchmaker, do you, Miss Fitzroy? Does that mean you have given up all hope of finding a husband?” Her eyes flicked up and down Lavinia’s form before landing squarely on the diamond necklace.
“You cannot be more than four-and-twenty, girl. Surely, you have not given up hope entirely.”
A small sigh escaped the Baroness’s lips, and Lavinia was not but a second behind in echoing the sentiment.
She knew not how to reply. While she could tell her brother and parents all day that she would only marry once she fell in love, she did not wish to sound foolish or na?ve while conversing with Lady St. Vincent or Mrs. Caulfield.
“I heard the Duke of Pemberton will be here this week.” Once again, perhaps because she was seeking to dispel the unease, Mrs. Caulfield was the one to speak. She looked kindly at Lavinia. “Is it true? Was he invited?”
“He was,” the Baroness answered readily. “And I do believe he means to attend. His mother wrote to me a few days ago; he came home this summer. The Dowager Duchess is delighted. She has been wanting us to meet him for many years.”
“But have you heard the whispers?” Lady St. Vincent asked in a hushed tone.
The Baroness’s ears perked up in curiosity.
Lavinia felt the urge to leave, but her mother squeezed her arm tightly, holding her in place.
“What whispers?” the Baroness almost whispered.
Lavinia discreetly shook her head at her mother’s behavior.
Mama is suspiciously obtrusive for someone who’s about to hear a rumor about a friend.
“The scuttlebutt is that the Duke sent Henrietta and her daughter away so that he could gamble and fool around with loose women.”
Lavinia’s stomach roiled with disgust. She was not someone to tolerate ruinous gossip, but whispers like this, being spread by a respectable lady like the Countess of St. Vincent, were a different story.
Mrs. Caulfield frowned. “That is too grievous to be true. No son would send away his mother and sister so he could—” She broke off and shook her head as if she were too revolted by the idea to voice it.
“I had my doubts at first, too.” Lady St. Vincent nodded her head so vigorously that the small wobble in her chin became more pronounced. “But I think the gossip is too outlandish to be ignored.”
“No,” Lavinia countered. “We should not believe it precisely for that point. If the rumors are too outlandish, then we should not believe them.”
“You are absolutely right,” Mrs. Caulfield declared. “I am resolved to meet the Duke of Pemberton and treat him just as cordially as everyone else I encounter.”
The Baroness bobbed her head in agreement. “Well said.” She smiled sweetly at Lady St. Vincent. “The Duke will be a guest in my home, so I cannot very well treat him with disdain.”
Lady St. Vincent arched a cynical eyebrow and looked at them all as if they were simpletons. “I know Henrietta is a good friend of yours, Lady Crawford, but that son of hers… we must all be on our guard.”
“But why?” Mrs. Caulfield said, a bit of incredulity coloring her tone. “The Duke has not even set foot on the property, and already we are planning to shun him.”
“We shouldn’t shun him,” Lavinia said as she gave all sides of the conversation a bit of thought. “But perhaps we should be cautious, as Lady St. Vincent advised.”
“Thank you,” Lady St. Vincent murmured, haughtily lifting her chin. “I would hate to think that my kindly meant words fell on deaf ears.”
“But, ladies,” the Baroness spoke up, spreading her hands wide in a bid to appease everyone, “can we not have a lovely weekend and treat everyone with civility?”
“We can,” Lavinia assured her. “But we must not ignore everything that has been done and said before this week.”
“Exactly,” Lady St. Vincent said crisply.
Then, she lowered her gaze to Lavinia’s necklace.
“I am happy to find that you are not just another ornament, dear. You may look lovely, but you’ve got a good brain in your head.
” She shot Mrs. Caulfield and the Baroness a withering look.
“Try to retain your wits about you, even when others lose theirs.”
With those parting words, she side-stepped the small group and proceeded onward toward the drawing room.
Lavinia turned and watched her go, thinking of everything the Countess had said and wondering where the gossip ended and the truth began.
The guests slowly filled the drawing room and the conservatory, then some went out to the gardens, while others went to their rooms to get changed for dinner.
Meanwhile, Lavinia floated from one room to the next, looking to make new acquaintances. From time to time, she would self-consciously lift a hand and stroke the diamonds around her neck. She liked the smooth, slick feel of the stones under her gloved fingertips.
As she entered the drawing room, she ran her finger over the largest stone, set in the center of the necklace, and that was when she noticed a few gentlemen staring at her.
Lord Edgeworth, Mr. Norton, the Viscount Trowbridge…
Two years ago, during the last Season she’d spent in London, she had been forced to stand with all three men an inordinate number of times.
She had partnered with Lord Edgeworth at nearly every ball, had endured having her toes trampled by Mr. Norton more than once, and had been heartily ashamed when the Viscount Trowbridge had spilled a cup of punch down her gown during Lord and Lady Munnerlyn’s ball.
So, Lavinia smiled pleasantly at all of them, then veered to the left so she would not need to approach them.
Why can’t I find the man I’ll marry?
Suddenly, as if the room heard her thoughts, she felt the curious stares of other gentlemen she had not noticed earlier. A shiver ran down her spine, and she felt the repulsion in not only her body but her whole being as a pack of eager bachelors suddenly surrounded her.
“Miss Fitzroy, how delightful to see you.” The most blithe and familiar voice pierced her ears immediately.
She looked up to find the Marquess of Selway staring at her.
“You are even more enchanting than the night,” he continued.
Lavinia could not help grimacing at that very moment.