Chapter 36
Etta didn’t hear from either Max or her new friend Rock Paper Scissors Guns Swords again right away; when she did first hear of them, it was indirectly.
But also directly, in so far as the woman who plonked herself down in the chair next to Etta’s at the huge annual party at Lady Dinklage’s house was nothing if not direct.
They’d arrived early and Etta had found a corner to hide in while the room filled up.
This had turned out to be an excellent way to tune into the gossip mill, and she was quite dismayed to find out she was right in the middle.
After just half an hour sitting behind two middle-aged women, she’d learned all about how she’d brazenly seduced the eligible Lord Stanhope with her Wild Ways.
And even the renowned rogue Lord George Bramley seemed to be rather taken by her – they’d been seen laughing together at Lord Grimsby’s ball, hadn’t they?
But given they were A Thing, she probably was going to have to make a decision about her future with Max soon – if there was even still a decision open to her.
Thankfully she was interrupted from the gathering storm cloud of her thoughts by the sound of rustling skirts. A rose-scented, delicately-braceleted arm wrapped across the back of Etta’s chair.
‘So, I hear you rescued my brother George from a drunken skewering by Smythe the other night. Ta muchly, I must say,’ the woman said.
Etta looked at her new dark-haired companion with mild surprise. A red-haired woman immediately appeared on her left. ‘Oh, don’t worry about Tessa. She’s always so terribly forward. I’m Melissa, by the way. Melissa Bramley.’
Etta blinked. ‘Nice to meet you, I suppose. You’re welcome …?’
Melissa grinned. ‘Oh, don’t be all uppity. We know we should have made friends with you ages ago, but Dear Clarissa is such a stick-in-the-mud. Besides, everyone said you were mad.’
Her first instinct was to defend her friend, but less than a moment’s reflection told her the redhead was right. Clarissa was a wonderful, loyal friend – but the woman in front of her was possibly the jolliest person she’d ever laid eyes on. She was infectiously jolly. Almost—
‘Painfully jolly, isn’t she? Oh, don’t glare at me, Lissie. You know it’s true,’ said Tessa.
Etta turned to Tessa and raised an eyebrow. ‘Not you, though?’
Lissie laughed behind her, in reply. ‘Oh no, not Tessa.’
Tessa coughed, pointedly, and turned to Etta. ‘Miss Bainbridge, Tessa Bramley.’
She dipped into a half-hearted curtsey.
‘It’s lovely to finally make your acquaintance, Henrietta,’ said Lissie, dipping to mirror her sister.
‘Lissie! You know that’s too informal. Miss Bainbridge—’
Etta had seen enough. ‘Etta. Call me Etta. It is bloody brilliant to meet you both.’
Both sisters seemed to let out a collective sigh of relief. Tessa was the first to recover. ‘Thank goodness for that,’ she said. ‘We have a reputation, you know.’
‘Yes,’ Lissie added. ‘For being a little … raucous.’
Etta sat back, so she could smile at them both at the same time. ‘Raucous is good. I can handle raucous.’
At that, Lissie jumped up and grabbed Etta’s hand, hauling her up, too. ‘Well, there we are, then. Do you know,’ she added mischievously, ‘I very much think we should go and check out Lady Dinklage’s orangery.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Tessa said, as they walked briskly toward the nearest door. ‘Mustn’t forget to peruse the orangery.’
It didn’t exactly require a superior intellect to understand that something interesting awaited Etta in Lady Dinklage’s orangery, but as she followed Tessa and Lissie and caught a familiar scent wafting on the air she quickly knew this was wholly new territory.
The glass of the orangery was opaque with smoke – marijuana smoke.
She stood in the doorway and took in the scene.
Cushions were piled in the central walkway, with about half a dozen women and men her own age sitting on metal garden chairs or reclining against the raised beds.
They were passing around a brown pipe – an old-fashioned sort of thing she vaguely remembered some uncle from her youth carrying – with the unmistakable scent of weed on the air.
So this is what had been behind all of those closed doors.
It was reminiscent of her school prom, except with muslin instead of net and much, much better hair.
Lissie grabbed her hand and hauled her down to a cushion right next to her brother, who looked up and grinned at her lazily.
‘Ahh, Miss Bainbridge. Welcome to the club. I see you’ve met my sisters.
Are you familiar with this unique herb? Lady Dinklage’s late husband was rather fascinated by botany, so we never fail to attend her soirees. ’
Etta adjusted her skirts thoughtfully. Now she came to think of it, there really was no reason weed wouldn’t be smoked in Regency England, was there? Sure, Georgette Heyer didn’t exactly dwell on it, but then there was an awful lot the historical romance genre hadn’t prepared her for.
Etta sighed, the desire to fit in perfectly complemented by the urgent need to let loose. ‘Pass it over, then,’ she said.
Lord George Bramley raised an eyebrow thoughtfully, but handed the pipe over. ‘I think you’ll make a nice little addition to our group, Miss Bainbridge.’
She lay back on her cushion as the high hit, looking around her.
‘So you’re telling me you’ve all been hiding in orangeries getting wasted while I’ve been sitting at the side of the ballrooms watching stuffy people dancing and getting ragged on by Maria Marley?’
‘But that’s not all you’ve been up to, is it?’ asked Tessa. ‘I hear you’re practically engaged to our good friend Lord Stanhope.’
Lord Bramley winked. ‘Shame.’
Etta couldn’t remember the last time she’d smoked weed – university, probably, back before everyone had gone back to their respective hometowns to work remotely or marry their childhood sweethearts.
Lady Dinklage’s marijuana was not the same oregano-laced stuff they’d sold in Manchester’s Piccadilly Gardens, for sure.
She blinked, trying to focus. ‘Lord Stanhope. He’s perfect. Seems too good to be true. Not sure I’m a good enough girl for him, though. And, well, marriage … Should you really marry someone you haven’t known all that long?’
Etta refused the pipe as it made its way round again. Lissie giggled and handed it to the woman next to her before hugging Etta impulsively.
‘Oh, I’m certain you are. And don’t we all marry strangers, anyway?’
Lissie had a point there. Tessa joined in the hug, clearly off her face.
‘Etta, darling. You really must marry him, you know. His sister adores you, all the gossipy old tabbies of the Ton are talking and besides, he can’t keep his eyes off you.’
A loud and very pointed cough drew their attention. Etta looked up to see the subject of their discussion looming attractively over them.
‘Ah, Miss Bainbridge. I see you’ve befriended the Bramley clan,’ said Max, looking rather resigned.
He waved away the pipe offered to him from a grinning Lord Bramley. Etta was surprised by how relieved she was to finally see him.
‘George,’ he nodded in acknowledgement. ‘Always good to see you and your delightful sisters.’
Etta felt momentarily jealous as Tessa and Lissie smiled at Max, but then turned to find him looking at her.
Tessa’s voice cut through her haze. ‘Oh, is it, Lord Stanhope? Seems like all you can see is our new friend Etta.’
‘Yes, tell us, Stanhope. When can we wish you happy?’ drawled Lord Bramley.
‘Just as soon as Etta tells me so.’
Etta and Max entered a stare-off and she couldn’t look away.
The rest of the group started gossiping about a supposed secret liaison between Maria Marley and Smythe, but Etta felt as though the whole world was melting into nothingness around them. Only Max mattered now.
Max’s expression became serious and he dropped his voice. ‘When will you tell me so, Etta? The Bramleys are right – the tabbies are talking. Besides, I have ruined you.’
‘No,’ Etta whispered, the marijuana making her feel elated and honest all at the same time. ‘You haven’t ruined anything. Everything is absolutely perfect.’
‘Then marry me.’
‘Why? Because I have to?’
They were nose to nose, but Max suddenly seemed to recollect their surroundings and hauled her up to her feet.
‘I think I’d better return you to your mother, Miss Bainbridge. Spending too much time with these reprobates and their mysterious herb will do nothing to help your reputation and will likely addle your mind.’
Lord Bramley laughed. ‘See you at White’s, then, Stanhope? I’ll expect to read the engagement announcement before the end of the week.’
Max jaw was clenched tightly as he led her back through to the ballroom. ‘Miss Bainbridge, I am sorry that I have put you in this position, I really am. I should never have let things escalate as I did. But you must accept my hand in marriage. You truly must. When may I ask your brother?’
Etta sighed. She knew he was being noble and well-mannered and chivalrous and all the things a young lady in 1817 would be lucky to find.
Marriage with him would promise financial stability, and high societal standing, and plenty of hot carriage snogging.
But he was also using a few too many musts and shoulds for her liking.
Being strong-armed into a marriage of convenience was not on the table for her.
He was looking at her expectantly, but her mind was a jumble of competing thoughts.
‘Will you give me Christmas to think about it?’ she said eventually. ‘I didn’t really expect to be getting married any time before thirty. It feels … weird, I guess.’
‘Thirty?’ he repeated, appalled. She saw anxiety in his eyes and realised suddenly how intensely vulnerable he looked.
‘It’s not that I’m totally against it. It just feels so quick,’ she added.
Max rocked on his feet. ‘I’ve barely slept this past week. If anyone finds out I’ve compromised you …’