Chapter Four
Lord Seldon’s Dilemma
Lady Amelia sighed with relief. “I think that went rather well.”
“Oh, do you, Mother?” Richard inquired sardonically.
Valentina hurriedly swallowed a sip of tea, just barely stifling a giggle. Had all the women around him caught some type of rebellious fever?
“She is well-spoken and quite striking, if a bit…vivid.” Lady Amelia sat between her daughters and touched a napkin to her lips.
“I don’t think we need to fear Fiona might overshadow Valentina.
Miss Rafferty isn’t beautiful in the ordinary way.
Richard, you are not taking one of your dislikes to her, are you? ”
“I think she is smashing!” Octavia announced. “I hope Miss Rafferty stays here forever.”
He massaged his throbbing temples. His head pounded like the devil.
Did the weight of his responsibilities lay behind this debilitating neuralgia?
He became an earl, parent, estate-holder, and the head of a great household at the age of twenty-two, perhaps at a price he didn’t care to examine.
Richard caught his sister’s concerned gaze and knew she recognized the signs of his headache.
Valentina took Octavia’s hand. “I think Miss Ernest is waiting to give your French lesson before dinner. Let’s go find her.” As she passed him, she touched his arm. “I will send a powder of ground willow bark and a cool cloth.”
Lady Amelia sighed. “Well, it is obvious the poor girl has no one, and Valentina will enjoy a companion her age. Surely, it won’t be too difficult to find such a vivacious girl a husband…” She trailed off.
“Good God, Mother, it is a Herculean effort to find a suitable match for Valentina, let alone an Irish fire eater.” The bands around his head tightened further.
A footman entered with a glass of water and one of the powders prescribed by his doctor. They did little to help once the pain had reached this stage. He waved away the hovering servant and his potion.
“I have the feeling, Mother, that everything will be difficult as far as Miss Rafferty is concerned.” All Richard wanted was to sit in the dark and close his eyes, but he needed to speak with Falworth immediately. There wouldn’t be a moment’s respite if the conversation waited until morning.
“I think Fiona will be quite a nice foil for Valentina,” Lady Amelia said. “She carries herself well and has an excellent figure. Although dark hair is not the fashion right now, I predict she will make quite an impression.”
“So do I, but for different reasons.” He rose and bent to kiss her cheek. “I’ll try to be back for dinner after I speak with Falworth and see what can be done about Miss Rafferty.”
He didn’t make dinner at Merrick House. He spoke with his solicitor, and the news was so disheartening and his headache so much worse that he decided to spend the night at his club and sent home a note to that effect.
Richard drove the curricle down Curzon Street and weighed his options. He concluded there were none. Miss Rafferty was his responsibility. He was thirty-two and had two sisters, a mother, and now a ward under his care. Good God, what was next? A long-lost brother?
Entering White’s a trifle morosely, he nodded to a few acquaintances and headed straight for a private parlor, where he ordered whiskey and water.
He was on his second glass when Denys Spencer entered.
Close as they were, Richard was scarcely in the mood for socializing.
Denys pulled out the armchair across from him, and his brows drew together in irritation.
“I wouldn’t,” he warned. “I’m not fit company right now. It’s been a beastly day, and I can’t shake this infernal headache.”
Denys grinned and sat down anyway. He signaled to the waiter hovering nearby. “I’ll have a glass of tawny port. And bring a light repast. Some cheese and fruit, I think. Richard, you know drinking on an empty stomach can’t help.”
“And how do you know I haven’t eaten?” he growled.
“Because you never take lunch unless it’s here with me, and it is now dinnertime,” Denys answered promptly, removing his dark leather gloves. “Did you drive here?”
“Yes. My bays are at Hennessey’s with Jerome. What the devil do you want?’
“Tell me about your terrible day,” Denys encouraged. “It could be beneficial.”
Richard shook his head and downed the rest of his whiskey, staring at the empty glass.
He contemplated ordering another. Instead, he regarded the artfully arranged tray of cut fruit and assorted cheeses placed in front of them and cut a piece of Stilton, then added biscuits and some green grapes.
He consumed two more portions before pushing his plate away.
The club was mercifully sparse of guests; he concluded most of the usual clients were attending Lady Smythe’s soiree. She was a popular hostess and always served excellent food and wine. It was fortunate, for he couldn’t have borne the noise of a full house.
He sighed and leaned back against the plush armchair. “You are right, Denys. I needed something to eat. Where do I even begin to explain this dreadful tangle I’ve gotten myself into?”
Gradually, he recounted the day, starting with Lord Farrar’s offer of marriage and his ridiculous challenge, and then discovering the letter of guardianship. As he finished with the arrival of Miss Rafferty and his disappointing visit at the solicitor, Denys stared in astonishment.
“And I thought you exaggerated your misfortune, Richard. You have inherited an Irish ward? How bizarre. Is she at least passable, so you might marry her off quickly?”
“She is as exotic as some rare orchid and quite attractive. The question is, will the deuced woman behave herself? She’s lived quite freely for years in the wilds of Barbados, and then in Dublin, governed only by an elderly chaperone.”
Richard frowned, searching his memory for snippets of Gerald Rafferty.
“Whatever influence her father had cannot have helped matters.
He was always a loose cannon. Rafferty, my father, and Uncle Carlisle all shared a penchant for wild living.
As young men they gambled and wenched their way through London.
When my father had exhausted his income, he married, and I believe Rafferty found a bride in England as well.
“The last I remember, my uncle had joined Rafferty in some sugar venture, and they were off to Barbados. It was a huge risk in that country’s volatile political climate, though fortunes certainly were made at the beginning.”
Denys took some almonds, crunching them thoughtfully. “Considering Miss Rafferty’s unconventional looks and history, I expect society will either reject her outright or call her the catch of the Season. For your sake, I hope it is the latter.” He dusted his fingers with a napkin.
“And Farrar. What an absolute cake. You were too lenient with the fool, Richard. I would have taught him a lesson on the dueling field. Let him regret challenging the best shot in London. You could have always clipped him in the arm or something equally harmless.”
He raised a brow. “And add more scandal to the Merrick name?”
“Well, if you want to land someone like Viscount Atterbury for Valentina, I guess you were wise,” Denys said bitterly.
Richard looked over in surprise, but his friend’s expression revealed nothing. He was about to question him, but Denys rose, straightening his cuffs.
“I’m off to the faro table. Are you good for a hand or two?”
“No, I’m headed for the sheets. I must be home for breakfast to greet my new ward and set some parameters before the termagant disrupts my life completely. If she proves too troublesome, I’ll send her to some young ladies’ academy.”
“For heaven’s sake, Richard,” Denys laughed. “She’s not Octavia’s age.”
“Enough on the subject. If we stop speaking of Miss Rafferty, I might shake this damnable headache.”
“Yes, Your Lordship.” Chuckling, Denys strolled toward the gaming rooms.
*
Fiona woke to a bright wash of light across her face.
She squinted, turning her eyes from the sun pouring through open chintz curtains.
She must have forgotten to draw them last night before stumbling into bed.
Yawning, she burrowed deeper into the covers.
Merrick House. She was in London, and she was much too exhausted to leave the comfort of bed.
Sometime later, she stirred again. The room was not so saturated by light, and she heard a light tapping at the door.
“Come in.”
A young woman clad in a simple black gown with a white apron and matching cap entered the chamber. She looked to be in her early twenties and carried an earthenware jug balanced on one hip.
“Beg pardon, miss, I’m Betty. I brought some water for your washstand.”
“Thank you very much.” The gilt clock on the dresser read ten o’ clock.
“There’s soap and towels underneath, miss, and powder if you want it.” Betty had no accent, but she looked Scottish or Irish with her bright-red hair and freckled skin.
“I was sent to see if you needed help this morning. I take care of Miss Valentina, and I can help you dress and do your hair, or whatever else you need.”
Fiona pushed back the tangled curls that fell across her shoulders and reached her waist. “I certainly will need some assistance. I was so tired last night that I didn’t bother to put my hair in a braid. A Diah, I must be a sight.”
“Oh no, miss, your hair is lovely. Black as a raven’s wing, it is.”
“That is very kind of you, Betty. Perhaps you’ll grant me a few minutes to collect my wits and freshen up, then return.”
“Yes, miss. Breakfast is usually early for His Lordship, but today he asked for a late table and mentioned you might be hungry as well. Lady Amelia’s custom is to have her maid bring breakfast upstairs, and Miss Valentina too, more often than not.
Miss Octavia and her governess take meals in the schoolroom, except for dinner.
May I take your travel outfit to the laundry?
And if you lay out your dress for today, I’ll unpack the rest of your things while you’re downstairs. ”
“That would be a great help.”
“Yes, miss. I’ll be back in no time.”
Fiona went to the row of windows at the front of her chamber and unlatched a thick glass panel to let the brisk air fill the room. Leaning out over the casement, she gazed down at the gardens below.
She was startled to see the Earl of Seldon enter the path and stride purposely toward the house. She heard the clop of hooves behind him and the shout of an ostler and realized that stables lay just beyond the garden.
A sound must have escaped her, for he looked up and their eyes met.
She drew back, conscious of her brocade dressing gown and long curls falling over the sill.
A warm wave of embarrassment rose to her face.
Hastily, Fiona swung the window inward, snapping the lock downward.
When she peeked through the glass a moment later, the earl was gone.
Wonderful. She crossed to the washstand and poured water into the basin, splashing her heated face. How embarrassing to be caught looking out of the window in her nightclothes and bare feet like some gawking country miss!
Betty would be back at any time and it would not do to dawdle. Opening her fingers wide, she stretched and flexed them several times, inspecting her hands. They felt stiff and slow to respond.
She bitterly regretted leaving Ireland before the conservatory’s spring recital.
The invitation to play was an important honor and the result of a year’s tireless practice on the Mozart sonata she chose as her audition piece.
No wonder she wasn’t herself—it had been weeks since she had an opportunity to play.
Surely, there was a piano at Merrick House.
Fiona picked up the cloth and floral-scented soap.
Her dream of escaping to America with its endless opportunities might never happen now.
She longed for the freedom to perform any music she wanted and to give the same concerts as men.
But women were expected to play parlor pieces on a pianoforte when the music she loved was bold and emotional. London would be no different.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Life has dealt you an unlucky hand, my girl—as her athair, Gerald Rafferty, often said. There was no choice but to play it out and hope the next was better.
Betty bustled in, followed by a younger girl. “Jen here will unpack while I help you dress. I’m told both Miss Valentina and the earl will be at breakfast.”
Fiona had pulled out a day gown of pale-blue serge.
It was made two years ago, but still very flattering.
Although her wardrobe was well-tailored and expensive, she doubted whether it would hold up to London standards.
It was a shame she couldn’t afford a new wardrobe, for she loved the new French fashions.
While Jen worked on the trunks, Betty helped slip on the blue frock, doing up the buttons in the back with nimble fingers. Then she worked through Fiona’s hair, combing out the snarls, and carefully brushing the inky curls into waves.
“In the evenings, I can dress it up for you, miss, with tiny braids and ribbons, and some curls about your face.”
“That would be lovely. But nothing elaborate this morning. Just sweep it up and pin it at the nape, if you please.”
When she finished, Fiona checked the mirror and smiled. “Perfect. I am so glad to have you, Betty. My maid chose to stay behind in Dublin and I miss her sorely.”
“I’m happy to oblige, miss. You go on to breakfast and Jen and I will finish unpacking and tidying up.”
Time to face the Earl of Seldon and her new future.