The Sainted Duchess (A Lady’s Vow #6)

Chapter 1

“Try to breathe.” Maria Havenford tried to remind herself. It was a simple mantra, but one that felt needed. She was at the edge of Lodge’s crowded drawing room and told her body to behave.

They had been invited to a Christmas house party, which was to go on for several days. During this time, she was to meet and converse with many people. And potentially, she was to find herself a great match with whom she could see herself spending the rest of her days.

It was quite a lot to make sense of, especially for someone who was just getting used to high society.

Her hands were quiet upon her fan. She had practiced the posture in her mirror, yet every muscle now ached with the effort of appearing at ease.

Her nervousness was hard to tame, and the men were the worst part. A gentleman’s laugh burst near the card tables, and her spine went stiff on instinct. Another turned as if to approach; she took half a step behind a palm.

Nicholas saw it all. Her brother, of course. But only in name, for she knew little of him.

“Breathe,” he said lightly, as if the word were a jest. “I was going to show you the music room. Less bustle.”

“I should not like to miss anyone,” she replied. It came out prim when she meant it to sound brave.

“You needn’t prove anything tonight,” he said. There was an earnestness to it that made the back of her throat tight.

She looked at the polished floor rather than his face. She could not tell him that all of this made her nervous.

“I’m quite content where I am,” she lied.

Violet intervened, arriving with a fan. She was her brother's wife and her sister in law. Again, only in name, for she knew so little of her.

“You look lovely,” she said, tucking herself at Maria’s side as if she could make a wall out of two women and a fan. “The cream sets off your eyes.”

“I chose it because it looks ladylike,” Maria said, then wished she had not. It made her sound silly.

“You are a lady,” Violet chided softly.

“Mm,” Maria murmured. The word ladies still felt like shoes a size too small.

She did not know the rules as other women seemed to.

How to tilt a head so a remark landed as flirtation, not confusion.

When to show the dance card, when to smile, and when not to offer it.

How to walk into a room and belong to it.

“Come,” Violet coaxed, angling them along the periphery. “We will take a turn and admire dreadful portraits. Then you may choose whom not to marry.”

Maria’s grip tightened on her fan.

“I am not here to be contrary. I am here to find a husband.”

Yes, that was the point of the evening, was it not? It was her duty as a lady to secure a good match for herself.

It was not something that they had instructed her on in the nunnery. Her training as a lady had been… incomplete there, to say the least. But she had only recently learned that a lady must find a good husband for herself if she is to have any hope in her life; it must be this.

And so, she had taken it quite seriously. Finding a husband was the most important thing on her agenda, even though she scarcely had any confidence in her ability to do so.

Violet’s head tipped, surprised by the plainness of it.

“You needn’t marry only because everyone expects it.”

“That is not why.” Maria shook her head, heat creeping to her cheeks. “It is what I want.”

Or at least, that was what was expected of her.

“What do you want?” Violet echoed, testing the words. “Then tell me why.”

Maria opened her mouth, then closed it again. How did one explain a thing that was at once simple and impossible? That she desired a home of her own.

The more thought she had given to the prospect of marriage, the more she had found that she did want all that came attached to it. Foremost, she wished to have children whom she would raise on her own, so that she wanted to belong to someone who chose her, not rescue, not obligation.

Of course, she would not add the worst thought: that Nicholas, with all his goodness, would not wish to keep too near a sister who had spent most of her life in a nunnery.

“It is only what I want,” she said again, and fixed a smile.

Violet looked at her for a long moment, saw the wall, and respected it.

“Very well. Then we will be strategic. No card rooms. And if a gentleman tries to approach, I shall block him with my skirts.”

That made Maria laugh, which was relief enough that she could have hugged Violet then and there. They drifted forward, and for a handful of minutes, she almost managed to look like someone who belonged to herself.

Until the whispers began. Two ladies hovered near a cluster of roses, voices lowered to the tone society uses for pity that bleeds amusement.

“Poor thing. Is she the quiet one from…well.”

“The very one. Duke of Hargrave’s sister. A curiosity. So… wholesome.”

A curiosity. It should not come as a surprise that the ton was speaking about her in such a manner. They did not know anything about her, only that she had appeared after many years of spending her entire life inside a nunnery and now had to adjust to a society that she had never known.

She tried to ignore their chatter, but it did not appear that they wished to stop at any point soon. In fact, they continued on. As though it was their god given right to gossip in such a manner.

“Wholesome? My dear, there is more of her than of most. How much ribbon must that modiste have used? I would rather use the word whole.”

“Whole, or perhaps too much.”

“Yes, Duchess of Hargrave looks elegant next to her. What a shame, letting herself go like that.”

Perhaps too much.

Maria felt her cheeks redden. It was one thing for her past to be discussed with curiosity, but another thing entirely for them to comment on her physical appearance with such callousness.

Violet’s fan went still. She did not turn her head but simply took Maria’s hand and redirected her toward a safer corner, as if they had never meant to go that way at all.

“I heard them,” Maria said miserably.

“I did too,” Violet replied, “They are idle and cruel and will be idiotic about something else tomorrow.”

“They laughed,” Maria whispered, “At my figure.”

She was not as petite as the other ladies, perhaps, but it was not something she was made to feel so self-conscious about until now. Was her plumpness really cause for that much alarm?

Violet’s mouth thinned.

“They laughed because they are bored and because they haven’t looked at themselves in the mirror lately either. I am bored as well, and I am not laughing.”

Maria attempted a smile, but it was only half-hearted. The truth was that her body was hers, and it was good, and she liked it well enough when she forgot to be seen. But the room had a way of making one’s own skin feel like a costume badly fitted. She folded her fan, unfolded it, folded it again.

“Look at me,” Violet said gently. Maria did. “You do not have to marry to silence them.”

“I am not marrying to silence anyone,” Maria said, and cut her off because she could hear the rest coming, “This is what I want.”

“And you are certain of it?”

Violet was really pressing her for an answer, and Maria could tell that she was well-intentioned. Bless her.

But she could not give her the real reason as to why she desperately hoped to secure herself a match as soon as she possibly could. No, it was only something that she would keep to herself. What use was there to air out all of one's thoughts?

Besides, it was not something that Violet would understand. She had a warm heart and did not see why Maria felt like such a burden to her and Nicholas. It was kind of her, but it did not ease the feeling in her chest.

She was a burden. And the only way to stop being was to secure a match for herself.

“I am quite certain,” she replied, hoping to sound sure of herself.

Violet held her gaze, then inclined her head.

“Then I will help you want wisely.”

They moved again. A pair of matrons stationed themselves like sentries near the open doors to the terrace, fanning with the deliberate grace of those who enjoyed being noticed even when they claimed otherwise.

“Did you hear about Lady Pelham’s niece?” one murmured.

“The one who trapped Lord Whitcombe? Insufferable business.” The other’s eyes gleamed with delight. “A maid found her in his bedchamber in the small hours. She is a countess now.”

“Imagine the nerve.”

“Imagine the planning.”

“Men are stupid creatures at night.”

Maria’s feet slowed, for she had caught onto something interesting for a change. It was idle gossip, yes. But it was a brand new perspective that she had not yet considered for herself.

Trapping a gentleman into marriage? Maria wanted to shrug off the idea at first. For it sounded rather cruel. But then, a part of her wondered if this was the most effective way.

Violet kept walking two steps before she realized Maria had fallen behind.

“What is it?” she turned, suddenly worried.

“Nothing,” Maria said, but the syllables held more weight than they should. She did not look at Violet; she could not, as she felt too ashamed by herself for considering the idea that had taken root in her mind.

In earnest, she felt entirely out of place. How was she to know what was proper and what was not? No one had really ever taught her how to be a proper lady, and now it felt like things were expected out of her that she did not know how to do.

Of course, it would be foolish to let anyone know of that. It was one of her deepest insecurities, after all. No, she would simply bite her tongue and never let anyone know.

“Maria…” Violet’s voice was growing rather weary now, and it would not take a genius to suspect that something was off with Maria.

No, I must not let the mask slip.

“I just got distracted,” Maria plastered on a smile. “You know, the things you overhear. I just...”

“Pay no heed to anything you overhear,” Violet frowned as she gave her advice, “you will find that the ton loves to talk and gossip about anything.”

“Anything?” Maria’s eyebrows shot up. She wondered if they were talking about her. And oh, how curious would she be to be privy to those conversations?

“As I said,” Violet reiterated. “It is better to pay no heed to them. Nothing good comes from idle gossip.”

But it has given me an idea that has never before occurred to me. Maria would never admit this out loud to anyone, of course. But she was beginning to seriously consider the prospect.

Yes, it would be improper to trap someone into marriage. But to someone as desperate as herself for finding a husband, it would be an easy way to do so. And would it really even be that bad if her intentions were pure?

It was the intention that mattered, after all.

Violet was looking at Maria with a strange expression now, almost as though she would tell that something was going through her mind. But Maria could not come clean yet.

“I will try not to pay any attention to them,” she replied sweetly.

Before Violet could answer, Nicholas reappeared at Maria’s elbow. With him stood another gentleman she had not yet noticed. He was not as tall as her brother and had a noticeable nose that stood out from the rest of him.

“Maria,” Nicholas said, “may I present Mr. Peter Morton?”

Peter bowed with the sort of clean, exact grace that made one forget to be uncomfortable. He did not reach for her hand, but he waited until she offered it, and then took it only long enough to brush the barest kiss above her glove.

“Miss Havenford,” he said.

She should have been flustered. Instead, something in his stillness eased the bristle in her nerves. He did not look her up and down, and he did not appraise her. His attention felt… tidy.

“Mr. Morton is newly come from Vienna,” Nicholas supplied when she could not think what to say. “Diplomatic business there, now home again with impeccable timing for our hostess’s famous ices.”

“I am less accomplished at ices than at quiet corners,” Peter said mildly. “Would you prefer one?”

“I…yes,” Maria managed.

He fetched it himself, not by command of a servant, and returned without fanfare. When she thanked him, he did not brush off the gratitude and only inclined his head, as if kindness were ordinary.

“Do you admire music, Miss Havenford?” he asked after a moment of polite silence. “Or do you bear it as one bears the weather?”

“I admire it when it forgets to perform,” she said before she could be careful.

Peter’s mouth softened.

“Then you will like the second violin. He thinks too much and cannot help it.”

She almost laughed, but she stole a glance at Nicholas. He had retreated half a pace, letting her have the space, his expression warm and unbearably hopeful.

He is trying, she thought, and her heart hurt. She wanted to tell him not to spend that effort on her. She wanted to say, if you knew where I learned to pray, you would not wish to stand so near. But she said none of it.

“Miss Havenford,” Peter said after another small silence, “if you prefer the terrace, there is a patch of air that belongs to no one. I can guard it from intruders while you borrow it.”

She found herself smiling.

“You are very polite, Mr. Morton.”

“I am frequently accused of it,” he said, mock grave. “It is my worst scandal.”

“Then you will not give the ton very much to do,” she returned, and was rewarded with a low chuckle that did not belong to a man intent on parading himself. He truly meant to be kind.

She glanced once more at the terrace doors, where the matrons had delivered their story. Peter followed her look, unreadable, then met her eyes. He held them without intruding.

If she ever dared something foolish, if she ever did the unthinkable in a dark corridor, she would need a gentleman whose honor would not ruin her for sport. A gentleman who would apologize when a door did not latch properly. Who would never boast of what he had not intended.

That is what the women were speaking of, wasn't it? A trap that can result in an elevation of status. Perhaps that would be her most swift path towards the outcome that she desired.

She stole a glance at Peter once again, who seemed to be none the wiser.

If I were to trap anyone, she thought, startled by the clarity of it, he would be the one.