Chapter Three
“My dear,” Vera said, sotto voce, the moment Scarlett found her stepmother and sister in the drawing room a few hours later. “I am very sorry about this situation. Will you be well so far from us?”
Scarlett took a steadying breath. In the end, while her lodgings were far from the main house and were an undoubted testament to her insignificance, they had not proven to be a true deprivation.
The short drive had ended up being very pretty, and her room was extremely neat, very tastefully appointed, and looked out on a beautiful view of one of Parkhorne’s dewy summer meadows.
In fact, while the maid, Martha, had helped Scarlett ready for dinner, she had felt the next month could be tolerable.
The old hunting lodge itself was quite handsome, albeit not large.
She was staying on the second floor, where there appeared to be three other bedrooms. The others, however, were occupied by ladies’ maids whom Mrs. Salisbury had been unable to convince her guests not to bring.
To be housed with the maids stung. However, that admission smarted less when Martha explained that Parkhorne itself was so starved for space at the moment that several members of the family themselves had removed to Lady Leith’s small estate nearby, including the marchioness herself and the youngest illegitimate brother, Philip.
Mr. Westmore was lodging at his mother’s property, a few miles away.
Scarlett still wished herself back in London. But she thought she could withstand what was to come.
“Of course,” Scarlett replied, giving her stepmother what she hoped was a reassuring nod.
“Are you certain, Scarlett?” Tilly said, clearly worried about being overheard by her hoped-for future mother-in-law but loyal enough to Scarlett to chance it.
“Yes,” she said. “Please let us speak of it no more.”
Tilly smiled. “Very well. In that case, please take note of your surroundings. What think you of my competition?”
“Tilly!” Vera exclaimed. “You cannot say such things.”
At that very moment, Vera herself was addressed by Mrs. Salisbury on the subject of London modistes, and her attention was drawn away from scolding her daughter.
“I suppose Mama is right,” Tilly said with a small sigh. “And that I should be sociable.”
Scarlett watched as her sister rose, crossed the room, and seated herself cheerfully beside one such competitor—Miss Gertrude Wallington.
Tilly and Gertrude were usually quite friendly, and Scarlett herself had long regarded Gertrude as an approachable face in Mayfair salons and ballrooms. But Tilly had been upset to learn that Gertrude would be in attendance here this month, because it indicated something that had surprised both of them—that Miss Wallington was truly setting her cap at George Salisbury too.
Scarlett observed her sister beside Gertrude.
Even though she thought no one as delightful as her sister, and that she had no equal for sunny prettiness, she had to understand her insecurity when it came to Gertrude.
She was the same age as Tilly, two-and-twenty, but with her raven hair, high cheekbones, and sharp, intelligent gaze, she had an air of worldly experience that her sister completely lacked.
Where Tilly was pretty and sweet, with fair, sandy hair and large blue eyes, Gertrude was—well, stunning.
The truth was that she was almost indecently attractive.
And then there was her dowry, which was larger even than Tilly’s.
Miss Wallington’s family was a bit of a mystery, which didn’t necessarily dampen her allure.
She was accompanied here by her mother, Lady Ransom, a handsome woman who had been married three times in twenty years and who was currently the wife of a wealthy viscount.
The viscount himself hadn’t been seen in London in twenty years, and no one understood how he and Lady Ransom had become acquainted.
Nevertheless, between her current stepfather and the money settled on her by her father’s will, Miss Gertrude Wallington was an heiress of the first water.
Tilly had never said it, but Scarlett knew she had wondered it, just as Scarlett had.
Gertrude could have anyone—why did she want George, who, while handsome and good-natured and the owner of Parkhorne Hall and brother to a marchioness, was not a lord or in possession of great wealth?
Nor did he cut the most dashing figure in the ballroom.
He danced, but on account of his foot, he could only do so for a few turns every assembly.
There were men of title who regular girls, even the pretty ones with good dowries, did not even hope at, but Gertrude Wallington actually could have, if she wished it.
Gertrude had always flirted with George—Scarlett had seen it—but no one had thought her serious.
But apparently, she was. A young lady like Gertrude did not spend a month in the countryside merely on a lark.
Unless there was something about the girl that had escaped Scarlett’s notice.
And she liked to think that when it came to the matter of observing others, she did not miss much.
It was one of the advantages, after all, of having little to do but watch.
Scarlett was proud of Tilly for approaching Gertrude in friendship, given the circumstances.
She surveyed the rest of the ladies currently sitting in the drawing room.
Besides the aforementioned, there sat the marchioness herself, Lady Leith, on the other end of the room, in conversation with Miss Bertha Marburry, the eldest daughter of a baronet, and another girl who gave Tilly some anxiety.
Bertha wasn’t known for her beauty, although in truth she was pretty.
And her fortune was only modest and not likely to greatly enhance her prospects.
But she had known the family for a long time.
Her now-deceased mother had been best friends as a girl with Mrs. Salisbury, and so, naturally, she was a bit of a favorite with their hostess, especially now that she had been orphaned.
George, too, was fond of her, according to Tilly, although in a brotherly kind of way.
The other two remaining eligible young ladies were seated next to each other on a divan.
Miss Perpetua Jones and Lady Daisy Fortenshire.
Scarlett regarded these two young women as lesser threats.
Miss Perpetua Jones was an heiress, with a dowry as large as Gertrude’s, and she was exceedingly keen on George.
But Tilly had informed her that George did not return Miss Jones’s affections in the slightest. It was not lost on Scarlett, as a plain woman herself, that Miss Jones was the only one of the five young ladies who could be described as such.
George seemed like a very nice young man, but he was resolved, it appeared, on having a pretty wife.
Her divan companion, Lady Daisy, should have been, from a certain angle, the clear winner for George’s hand.
She was the daughter of an earl, after all.
But she had two strikes against her. The first was that her fortune was not spectacular by any means, hardly any better than Miss Marburry’s.
Her father could only help Lady Daisy so much, given that she was one of eleven children.
A title was nice, but anyone could see that George’s social position, and that of the whole Salisbury family, would be more greatly aided by ready cash.
After all, they had enough of the shine of rank from the marchioness.
Second, she was—well, rather dull. Scarlett had experienced this reality herself on more than one occasion.
She never put a foot wrong and was, Scarlett supposed, a sweet girl, and she was certainly pretty.
But she was charmless. Tilly was a positive riot of personality in comparison to Lady Daisy.
In short, if it hadn’t been for Miss Gertrude Wallington and—to a much lesser extent—Miss Marburry, Scarlett would be absolutely certain of her sister’s success.
Not that she doubted Tilly’s predominance.
George had a marked preference for her, and Mrs. Salisbury was not the type of mother, by all accounts, to ignore her son’s choice.
And, in truth, he didn’t need his mother’s permission to take the bride that he wished, as a reasonably wealthy young man of age.
All in all, Scarlett was reasonably certain her sister would prevail.
At that moment, Tilly rose and strode back toward Scarlett. “I have just heard the most interesting intelligence,” she said, in her practiced drawing room whisper.
Whispering was horribly vulgar, of course, and so Tilly would never do it.
But young ladies had ways of getting around such strictures.
Tilly and Scarlett both knew how to make their voices low enough that it rumbled under the thrum of general conversation, but steady enough that no one could accuse them of whispering.
“What is that?” Scarlett said, not at all sure the information would appear the same to her.
“Gertrude says she heard the men will be joining us very soon—and that you will be attended to dinner by George’s brother!”
Scarlett was, for a moment, confused. She was familiar with George’s brothers. However, the prospect of being attended into dinner by one of these gentlemen was hardly what she would call interesting intelligence.
“Mr. Westmore?” she asked, referring to the young man who had acquired a reputation for vice in London and who could be George’s twin, in age and looks, if he weren’t the late Mr. Salisbury’s by-blow.
“No,” Tilly said, faintly coloring. “I believe Mr. Westmore will be attending me.”
“Of course, George will be needed elsewhere.” Tilly knew as well as Scarlett did that as the male host of the house party, George would have to hand the highest-ranking lady into dinner.
Tilly nodded. “George will attend Lady Fortenshire. But I am sure he has asked Mr. Westmore to attend me as a special favor to himself.” Tilly paused, looking for a moment confused.
“But I am not talking about either Mr. Westmore or Mr. Tarlington. I am speaking of Mr. Malcolm Brown, George’s eldest brother. ”
“I was not aware he had an older brother.”
“He has never been to London,” Tilly said. “He is very mysterious—and reclusive. And according to Miss Wallington, he is rumored to be extremely handsome. Oh—that must be him.”
Scarlett turned towards the door and her mouth went dry.
George had just appeared. And he was accompanied by three other men. George wore his usual friendly smile, and despite the impairment to his foot, he managed, as he always seemed to, to cross the room with assurance, even if he couldn’t totally do away with awkwardness.
For his part, Mr. Severn Westmore bore the sly, rakish grin that made him look like the sinful alternative to George’s wholesomeness.
Then, next to him, was the brother that Scarlett had met only once or twice before, the youngest of the group, Mr. Philip Tarlington, a young man Tilly’s age, who had apparently just taken his degree at Cambridge.
He wasn’t as handsome as George or Severn, but he was apparently very clever.
Then, behind them, was the reason Scarlett found it difficult to breathe.
Because here was, perhaps, the most handsome man that she had ever seen in the flesh.
His eyes were an astonishing, clear green, and he wore his fair hair, a true blond, far too long for fashion. His face was tanned, as if he were often out of doors, a feature that she did not often see on London gentlemen.
He was not as young as his brothers. That was clear. Whereas they all still had a bit of boyishness, he had not an ounce of it on him. No, he was a man—and had evidently been so for some time. He had to be at least ten years older than Mr. Tarlington.
But these discrepancies didn’t matter. Tall and powerfully built—he must be quite the sportsman, she thought—and with a face that instantly drew the eye and did not surrender it, he was exceptional.
“Oh my,” Tilly said, next to her. “You are lucky, Scarlett.”
“He is attending me?” she said, in a voice that did not escape the hush of a vulgar whisper.
“Yes,” Tilly said. “And if it weren’t for my devotion to George, I have to say that I would be jealous.”
Scarlett swallowed, hard.
She wasn’t used to seeing men who attracted her this much. Yes, there were handsome men in London. But it was not often she experienced such a raw, visceral reaction to a man.
For a moment, she felt pure, smug delight that he would be hers for the evening.
And that he was coming over to them, led by George himself.
But then she remembered.
She, Scarlett Perkins, plain and plump, was not what any man wanted to see as his work for the evening.
Especially not a man this handsome.
She tried to swallow the dread that had replaced the longing in her throat.
But it wouldn’t budge.