Chapter One
Winsome Nicolet viewed the upcoming season with narrowed eyes and a wary mind.
On the one hand, she had watched her older sisters go through it and come out the other end happily settled.
But on the other, she had been deeply affected by Mrs. Right’s oft-mentioned idea that London was full of rogues.
The lady had always said so, and Winsome trusted Mrs. Right to know what was what.
In further evidence, she had overheard things over the years that she probably was not meant to hear, and she’d read of an untold amount of ghastly situations.
All of it added up to what must be the truth—rogues were not as uncommon as people might think and a lady must skirt around dangerous and unseen perils to avoid disaster.
There was Lady Elspeth, who’d run off to Gretna Green with Mr. Windaker.
He was to be a viscount someday and so perhaps the match would not have been opposed, at least not on its face.
Of course, once the lady’s father looked more closely, it would have fallen apart.
Mr. Windaker knew it well enough and he convinced Lady Elspeth of the romance of racing to Scotland to declare their love over an anvil.
It was only later that she would discover that Mr. Windaker was deep in debt and getting deeper every day from his gambling habit. Rogue.
Then there was Miss Welder, the ward of an elderly baroness who had perhaps not supervised her charge as well as she should have.
Winsome had only heard very quiet and vague whispers about poor Miss Welder.
As far as she could put it together, the whispers hinted that the lady had been compromised and then discarded. By a rogue.
And of course the situation regarding poor Lady Jacinda was well understood.
She’d wed a marquess who’d made himself agreeable in the courting, got her with child, and then shipped her off to his estate, never to be seen again.
It was said that if one wrote the lady a letter it would go unanswered, as the household staff confiscated her correspondence.
The marquess did not care for his lady to be writing friends and relations about his treatment. Another rogue.
Those were the real-life cases she knew about.
She also knew of all sorts of ways a lady might be tricked by a rogue that she’d read about in books.
She favored gothic novels and found the perfidy of the villain, who was almost always a man unless it was a ghost, positively hair-raising.
She’d begun with it when she’d read The Mysteries of Udolpho and had hardly slept for weeks.
At first, she’d read those frightening stories because they were thrilling and sent ice down the back of her neck.
There was something wonderful about reading by candlelight when she was meant to be sleeping, listening to the distant creaks of the house as she read of horrors around every corner.
Over time, though, she began to read them for the information, so she would not get tricked.
Unfortunately, what nobody, not in books or in life, seemed to be clear on was how to spot a rogue.
They were masters of disguise, so how was a person to avoid being taken in by one until it was too late?
Had her sisters all just got lucky? That might be the case.
Any one of her brothers-in-law might have been a rogue; it was perhaps happenstance that they were not.
It chilled Winsome’s heart that she might be fooled.
She might wed a rogue and then only discover it when it was too late to do anything about it.
She might commit herself and then rue her decision forevermore.
After all, was that not what had happened to the women she’d heard whispers about?
Had that not happened to all the many ladies she’d read about in her collection of novels?
It was true that in her books, the lady usually escaped real harm in the end, but that was just because the author knew that readers would prefer it.
And anyway, where did the writers of those novels get their ideas? Winsome must believe that they got them from real situations they knew about.
Once a lady was tricked, what could she do about it?
She had no power and was dependent on the men in her sphere.
She must depend upon them to be honorable and not have secrets or terrible plans.
Of all her sisters, Winsome was the most aware that they’d been raised in a rather idyllic setting—remote in the Dales with an indulgent father.
The outside world was likely to be far different.
She would be on her guard at all times to prevent being taken in by a less-than-honorable man.
They would leave for Town on the morrow. The easy ways of the Dales would be left behind. Her guard would go up and stay up until she was assured she dealt with an honest man, whoever he might turn out to be.
That idea shifted Winsome’s thoughts, as it had often done over the past months, to the Marquess of Manderbey.
That lord had attended Verity’s wedding to Lord Wembly.
Winsome had been struck by his handsome face and smooth and sophisticated manners.
He was so urbane! As well, he was great friends with Lord Wembly, who had already proved himself reliable, so there was every chance Lord Manderbey was not a rogue.
It would have to be proved, but at least there was a chance.
Of course, she reminded herself that he would not have taken much notice of her. She’d only been the younger sister and not even out. For all she knew, he was married by now. Still, he was lovely to think about.
Her father came into the drawing room with the post. Winsome said, “Did she write?”
Of course, they both knew the she in question was Lady Marchfield and the letter that was expected was the insult-laden letter pointing out the duke’s faults and outlining some details about the latest butler who’d been installed in her father’s house on Grosvenor Square.
The duke shook his head.
“This is very mysterious, Papa,” Winsome said.
“Our aunt always writes. She always sends the letters with plenty of time to spare. You know how organized she is, she would never wait until the last minute to write. Do you suppose she’s given up on the idea?
Or maybe she could not find anybody? Perhaps too many butlers have heard… what goes on.”
“I hope she’s not given up, not at all like my sister to do it,” the duke said.
“I count on her persevering with the thing. Mrs. Right’s machinations in getting one of those fellows out the door is always a high point to the season.
In any case, if word has gone round that a butler residing in the house will not last long, then I suppose it will be noted that every last one of those fellows landed squarely on his feet whether they deserved to or not. ”
Winsome snorted. Last year had been the odd American.
“Even Mr. Klonsume,” the duke went on, “who regularly writes to your aunt from New York. He’s gone on to style himself as Sir Morus of the Order of Owen and made himself a coat of arms. I understand he does very well with it.
” The duke laughed. “She’s told him to stop writing but he never does.
I expect he makes a great show of sending off a letter to an English countess—American ingenuity, he’d call it. ”
Valor came into the room with her pug, Sir Galahad, in her arms. “Papa,” she said, “Thomas has been hinting that there might not be room in the luggage carriages for Sir Galahad’s bed. Our dear dog cannot be expected to travel without his bed.”
“They’ll get it in one way or another, Val,” the duke said. “Heaven forbid a dog with a smashed-in face and bulging eyes does not have his own four poster to lie around in.”
Valor ignored these insults thrown at her little pug.
Really, Winsome was not certain they even were insults.
They were closer to statements of fact. As for the bed in question, Lord Wembly had given Sir Galahad a miniature four poster with a liberally stuffed mattress and draped in silks to soothe Valor over Verity leaving the house.
Winsome did have some grave concerns over how Valor would comport herself this season, as she would be the last sister to go before Valor herself, which would not be for some years yet. If Winsome were to wed, Valor would be left alone.
Last season, Valor had gone so far as to send a letter to Lord Wembly, pretending to be Verity and breaking off the engagement. Lord Wembly had seen through it, fortunately, but it was a rather bold thing to even try.
“Thomas says there’s no room in the luggage carriages because Winsome’s court dress is so enormous,” Valor said with a snort. “Winny, can you believe you have to wear that big, round thing? If you put icing on your head, you’d look like a cake.”
Winsome could believe she had to wear it, she just wasn’t happy she had to wear it.
The queen had informed her papa, in no uncertain terms, that he was not to send another letter excusing one of his daughters from making her curtsy.
From now on, they must turn up. Sadly for Winsome, the they in question was only her and Valor.
“I would not laugh so hard, Val,” she said. “After I wear it, it will be put away for your turn. We are nearly the same size, only the hem will need to be taken up, and maybe not even that, as you might grow taller.”
“I won’t have a turn. I don’t have to go to court because I’m not going to go running around looking for a gentleman to sleep in the same room with me, like you will do.
Like all my sisters have, even though we know Mr. Stratton stares at Felicity when she sleeps.
They probably all do that! How do my sisters not die to know it?
I’m to stay with Papa forever. Oh, and Papa, you will be glad to know that all my new hostessing clothes are packed in trunks,” Valor said.