Chapter Seven
Miss Rafferty Has a Shortcoming
She faced the silence following her announcement with a raised chin and waited for exasperation, even censure. After all, what nineteen-year-old girl lacked such a basic social skill? Most young ladies learned to dance well before Octavia’s age.
“That is a situation easily remedied.” Lord Seldon reassured her.
She cringed, thinking back to her home in Barbados.
She was an awkward fourteen-year-old, and her mother had tried to instruct her, but all attempts failed miserably.
It seemed she was cursed with two left feet.
Dancing should be a simple thing; yet the harder she worked, the worse her performance.
Unaccustomed to failure, Fiona grew to dread the dancing sessions.
After a week of embarrassing stumbles and mistakes, she flatly refused to continue.
A year later, Orla Rafferty passed away, and there was no reason to dance again. And after moving to Dublin, her studies focused on intensive piano instruction, leaving little time for social events.
“Oh, yes, indeed,” Lady Amelia agreed. “Valentina and Octavia have an excellent dancing master. It should be no trouble to—”
“There is no need to call someone to the house. I shall teach Miss Rafferty.” Everyone looked surprised, but the earl’s expression was bland.
“We can begin tomorrow; my schedule is clear in the afternoon. I assume dancing is your only problem in attending a ball?”
Fiona nodded, still red with embarrassment. Lord Seldon would teach her to dance? Her heart skipped a beat. Several beats, in fact. He was substantial, very masculine, and handsome to the point of absurdity.
“I will warn you, my lord, I am a lost cause. If it’s not absolutely—”
“It is necessary, Miss Rafferty. Would sometime before supper be acceptable? Meanwhile, my mother and sister can answer any instruction you need regarding protocol or etiquette at such functions.”
“Richard!” Valentina objected. “As if Fiona needed instructions on how to act! But who shall play the piano while you practice?”
“I assume Miss Ernest’s fruitless efforts to encourage you and Octavia in the instrument indicate some skill in that area,” he answered, rising from the sofa.
“What time are we due at Lady Sefton’s, Mother?”
“Eight o’clock.”
“Perfect. I think I’ll retire to the library for the next few hours. What are your dinner plans?”
“I’ve requested something light at six. We don’t plan to arrive exactly at the appointed hour. So gauche to be prompt, don’t you think, Miss Rafferty?” Lady Amelia waved airily, not waiting for agreement.
“Although it is the fashion to arrive after an event has started, Miss Rafferty, I beg you not to pattern yourself after my mother and my sister. They truly have no notion of time.”
“Don’t be tedious, Richard,” Lady Amelia admonished her son. “I was about to say I’m not sure of your plans tonight, but we would be delighted to have your company. Now I may change my mind.”
“It’s best to present a united front for Miss Rafferty’s first outing. Eight thirty will do for our arrival, and the carriage will call at eight. If you don’t mind, I shall forgo dinner and take a tray in the library.”
“Have you a headache?” Valentina asked with concern.
“No, but it’s been a full day. And Denys Spencer must take the blame for several bruised ribs at Jackson’s.”
Valentina blushed, lowering her eyes. Who might Denys Spencer be to have such an effect?
“Gentlemen and their fisticuffs.” Lady Amelia set down her teacup with a sigh. “I shall never understand it. Your father never boxed.”
“Perhaps he should have,” he said drily. “It would have been the least harmful of his pursuits.” Lady Amelia’s expression grew sad, and the earl bent to brush a gentle kiss on her cheek. “I’m sorry, Mother. I’ve upset you.”
“No, dear, just the memories. I do wish you could forgive your father. He lacked your strength of character.”
“I am happy that you have done so.” He politely inclined his head and left the room.
Fiona wondered at the awkward silence in the room. What had been the earl’s relationship with his father? And why would Lady Amelia need to forgive her deceased husband?
“One day, Miss Rafferty, I will tell you a bit of our family history, but for now, perhaps you could play something diverting?”
“Yes, please play the piano for us again, Miss Fiona,” Octavia begged.
Valentina rose and rang the bell. “I am afraid you have another hour of lessons with Miss Ernest. French, perhaps?”
Octavia scowled. “I would rather draw.”
“I know you would, dear. You can do that in your own time, after supper,” Valentina said. “Perhaps tomorrow you might show your sketches to Miss Fiona. Octavia is especially talented at portraying animals.”
“In the country, Richard has two Scottish deerhounds. Max and Elsie,” Octavia told Fiona. “They are my very favorite subjects, but I like doing horses, too.”
“I would love to see some of your sketches tomorrow. I couldn’t draw a stick.”
Octavia made a face. “And you didn’t have to do needlework. You are lucky, for needlework is as flat as old Tom’s conk!”
“Really, Octavia,” Lady Amelia protested. “Your language is outrageous. I shall have to speak to Richard.”
They were interrupted by the entrance of Miss Ernest. When introduced, she greeted Fiona quietly. Everything about Miss Ernest was neat as a pin, from her gray-brown hair, pulled back in a tight chignon, to her dark-blue dress and lace collar. She was slender and wore silver spectacles.
“Miss Ernest, we are practicing our dances tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. Perhaps you could accompany us on the piano?”
“I am rusty, my lady, but I could manage. A quadrille, a few country dances, and perhaps a waltz, if it’s slow.”
“That would be excellent, thank you. Miss Octavia is yours until supper at six.” Octavia pantomimed a hanged man as she left the room with her governess.
Lady Amelia covered a yawn. “Perhaps nothing too lively, Fiona, and I will lie down for a moment or two and rest.”
“I’m going to fetch my copy of the Westmoreland Gazette.
” Valentina laid a coverlet over her mother, who had settled back on the settee.
“We have a wonderful circulating library in Albemarle Square, Fiona. And you can find all the current publications and even shops with sheet music on Fleet Street. Richard’s library is also quite extensive.
Do you enjoy reading? I love poetry and most romances, but only if they end happily. ”
“I miss reading, but my spare time is usually spent practicing.”
“Richard’s still very fond of music, though he hasn’t played since he was young.
You’ll find he attends many concerts and studies all the latest composers.
Oh, Mother’s eyes are closing,” Valentina giggled.
“Her late afternoon naps are legendary. My magazine is upstairs, but I shall return shortly.”
Fiona settled at the piano, lightly fingering the keys. She played a few chords. What a pleasure to practice on such a fine instrument. Fiona selected a Schubert lied from memory and softly began the lilting melody.
“How lovely,” murmured Lady Amelia, stirring briefly, then falling back with a gentle snore. Valentina returned with her gazette. Fiona thought she could easily become accustomed to life at Merrick House—if she could bring the overbearing earl to heel.
At six o’clock, the ladies and Miss Ernest met in the dining room for a light supper of soup, cold chicken, and potatoes. The talk centered around Lady Sefton’s much anticipated poetry reading. Octavia begged her mother to stay downstairs long enough to say good night, and Lady Amelia agreed.
“It is not a ball, though, dear…merely a soirée. I hope you won’t be disappointed in our attire. Who is on the program, Valentina?”
“Mr. Coleridge, as I remember. And he brings a friend…a newer poet, whose name escapes me at the moment.” She rose from the table. “I must dress. Fiona, I’ll send Betty to you as soon as I finish.”
“I hope I don’t embarrass you,” Fiona said to Lady Amelia. “Or myself. I always seem to blurt out the wrong thing.”
“Nonsense, my dear…we’ll concentrate on having a pleasant time. Meeting the ton might be intimidating, but you are safe with us. Why don’t you go upstairs and dress? Betty will help you.”
Fiona chose a newer gown of cornflower velvet with an edging of Irish lace at the neckline and matching ribbons that crossed under her breasts.
Tonight was her official entrance into the London marriage mart.
Unless her father miraculously appeared, her only other choice was to live under the yoke of the Earl of Seldon.
She wouldn’t count on the possibility of a love match. That was a childish fancy. But perhaps she could find an intelligent man who would not bore her to tears while she still had some choice in the matter.
Betty interrupted her thoughts, comb in hand.
“Will you sit now, Miss Fiona, and let me do your hair? I’m thinking à la Grecque. I’ll braid the sides and wrap them around a knot at your nape.”
When Betty finished securing the coiffure with hairpins, she handed her a mirror to view the back. “Would you like any jewelry?”
Fiona opened an ivory box from the dressing table.
“The aquamarines, I think.” The pale stones matched the color of her eyes.
They were a gift from her father on her sixteenth birthday, complete with matching earrings.
He was always generous with jewelry. The box also held a fine string of pearls inherited from her mother and a set of garnets.
She recalled the words he whispered against her cheek on the Dublin dock as he put a narrow box in her hands, five long years ago.
Remember, leannán, it’s how we face our challenges that shape our character. You can grow stronger and learn from adversity or shrink away.
Betty’s voice broke into her reverie. “You look ever so fine, miss.”
She took the blue-and-green silk shawl the maid handed her and lifted her chin. There was no turning back now.
*
In his apartments, Richard changed into evening dress with the help of his valet. John had served his father, and after the eighth earl’s untimely death, he had taken his son into his capable hands.
The occasion was informal, so Richard selected a coat of charcoal superfine with a jacquard waistcoat in subtle blue and gray, and buff pantaloons. Meanwhile, John polished his Hessians to their usual superb finish and held out a snowy muslin cravat.
“The Royal or Waterfall, sir?”
“The Royal, I think.” He could tie his own quite skillfully, but the valet took great pride in fashioning the complicated folds. Afterwards, John gave the gray coat a final brushing and helped him shrug into the close-fitting design.
“There is no need to wait up, John.”
“But, sir…the boots…” he moaned.
“A boot jack will suffice.” Richard ignored the pained look in his direction. “I will take care not to scratch them, rest assured.”
Upon descending the stairs, he found his mother and sister in the foyer. Miss Rafferty was nowhere to be seen. He pulled on bone-colored kid gloves as they waited. At five minutes past eight, she appeared at the top of the staircase.
Lady Amelia smiled approvingly. “There you are, dear. Very pretty.” He glanced up.
His ward was stunning. The soft blue of the velvet gown flattered her pale skin and strangely light eyes and the aquamarine drops which lay against her neck were magnificent.
The décolleté of the dress was more modest than most in fashion but still clung to delectable breasts.
As it had outside Merrick House, his pulse reacted—a quickening that traveled straight to his loins.
The very disconcerting and purely primal reflex had no place where Miss Rafferty was concerned.
She was far from his usual tastes. He preferred rather icy, elegant blondes who understood the world and avoided the drama often associated with love affairs. No matter how attractive, Miss Rafferty was his ward, and thoroughly headstrong and high-tempered to boot. That had to be the end of it.
As she descended, he looked up and noticed Octavia peeping over the banister, Miss Ernest close at hand.
“Well, Scamp, what is your opinion? Shall we take the party by storm?”
Octavia clapped loudly. “Oh, yes! Valentina and Fiona look so beautiful, I’m sure someone will propose tonight. Maybe the prince himself.”
He shook his head. “Word has it Prinny is laid low with a head cold.”
Octavia’s face fell, then brightened. “Perhaps Viscount Atterbury, then?”
“Someone has been listening at doors, I see,” her sister scolded.
Richard merely laughed and accompanied the ladies to the door. He thoroughly approved of Valentina’s choice: pale-yellow sarsenet with a gauze overskirt. His mother preferred subtle shades befitting her age and wore lilac silk.
Outside, Jerome sat on the top perch of a closed carriage, holding the reins to four coal-black horses. The red-and-gold Seldon coat of arms—a stag facing a rampant lion—emblazoned the side of the impressive black vehicle.
A footman helped Lady Amelia and Valentina onto the vehicle, while Richard offered his hand to Miss Rafferty, entirely aware of her long fingers and the delicate wrist underneath her silk glove.
Her eyes flickered up to his; the celadon of her irises contained a few flecks of amber.
She stumbled, and as he steadied her, his glove brushed the bare skin of her arm.
She shivered slightly, and a spasm of desire shot through his very core.
Once Miss Rafferty was settled inside, he followed and sank into the thick cushions beside his mother. Tapping on the roof, he wondered what the devil was wrong with him. The coach sprang forward into the night.