An Evening at Almack's

by Sally Britton

  “I still cannot believe it,” she said shyly, daring to look up into his twinkling eyes. “You are not trying to bamboozle me again?”

  “It would be my greatest pleasure to convince you further,” he replied, with that devilish grin which had always made her insides lurch with anticipation. Their lips met again, expressing mutual love and admiration, and it was thus that they were found by both families of Sutherland and Argyll, some half an hour later.

  Their embrace was interrupted by the door opening.

  “That’s my girl!” the Duchess of Argyll approved with a cackle of laughter.

  A throat cleared, and her brother’s voice said, “May I be the first to offer my felicitations?”

  Too embarrassed to reply, Rua promptly hid her face against her betrothed’s shoulder.

  “I knew if anyone could tempt you, Deverell, it would be this baggage. It was just the same with Argyll and me,” the Duchess remarked fondly.

  “And did you employ such unfair tactics to reel him in?” he asked.

  “To be sure! All is fair in love and wagers!”

  Check out the next romance by Elizabeth Johns:

  National bestselling author Elizabeth Johns was first an avid reader, though she was a reluctant convert. It was Jane Austen's clever wit and unique turn of phrase that hooked Johns when she was “forced” to read Pride and Prejudice for a school assignment. She began writing when she ran out of her favorite author's books and decided to try her hand at crafting a Regency romance novel. Her journey into publishing began with the release of Surrender the Past, book one of the Loring-Abbott Series. Johns makes no pretensions to Austen's wit but hopes readers will perhaps laugh and find some enjoyment in her writing.

  Johns attributes much of her inspiration to her mother, a retired English teacher. During their last summer together, Johns would sit on the porch swing and read her stories to her mother, who encouraged her to continue writing. Busy with multiple careers, including a professional job in the medical field, author and mother of small children, Johns squeezes in time for reading whenever possible.

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  Six Wishes

  By Sarah M. Eden

  Chapter One

  Lindsworth, Sussex, 1816

  Felicity and Angelina Banbury shared a bond even stronger than most sisters. They had been inseparable from the time Felicity was born, almost precisely one year after Angelina. Neither could remember a time when the other was not in her life. They’d shared a nursery, a governess, and a friendship that ran thicker than blood.

  The two walked arm-in-arm along the garden path behind their country home, moving at a slow pace in deference to Angelina’s frail health. Her constitution had been in decline for months. The doctors their parents had consulted offered no hope. Angelina was wasting away from a disease too vague to fully explain and too little understood to treat, let alone cure.

  “The London Season will begin soon.” Angelina had frequently spoken of the annual social whirl. Of late, her tone was wistful whenever she did. “If only Father and Mother had permitted me to make my bows last year. I was strong enough last Season.”

  Their parents were overly cautious in regard to anything at all connected to Society. Mother had spent the weeks leading up to last year’s Season in a near-panic over the possibility that someone in the family would misstep should they go to London and, as a result, the lot of them would be ostracized. She and Father had felt Angelina inadequately prepared to navigate the shoals of an unforgiving world. After this year, though, there would likely be no more opportunities for wading into social waters. There might very well be no further opportunities for Angelina at all.

  It was so utterly unfair!

  “Why should you not have your Season now?” Felicity wondered aloud. “At nineteen, you cannot be accused of being too childish for the endeavor.”

  “Considering the current state of my health, one might argue the opposite: that I lack the youthful energy for it.”

  Felicity shrugged as if unconcerned. “Every Season needs an aged dragon or two. Adds a bit of danger to the undertaking.”

  Angelina smiled. “I could sit with all the cranky dowagers, offering unflattering assessments of gowns and dancing abilities. Further, I could be excused from dancing at balls, which I wouldn’t have the strength for anyway.”

  “Sounds ideal.” Felicity pulled her features into an earnest expression. “You, of course, will not expect me to join the Row of Ancients. I am not nearly at so advanced an age as you.”

  “Only if you understand you will not be immune to our biting criticisms.”

  “I should think not!” She allowed a laugh. “Would that not be a great deal of fun? Spending a Season simply being ridiculous?”

  Angelina sighed. Even facing the short future before her, she seldom grew discouraged, but she sounded it now. “I would be infinitely pleased if I could spend the Season doing anything connected to it. Instead, I will be here, waiting and wishing.”

  She didn’t have to say what she would be waiting for; they both knew with heartbreaking clarity.

  “Why not go?” Felicity asked. “Why not have a Season?”

  Angelina shook her head. “You know perfectly well that I haven’t the endurance for that endless social whirl.”

  “Then take on only a portion of it,” Felicity insisted. “A bit of a spin would be vastly enjoyable, I daresay.”

  But, again, Angelina shook her head. “The purpose of a Season is to make a match. One in my situation hasn’t that option.”

  Felicity stopped their slow meandering, faced her sister, and took her hands—carefully, on account of Angelina bruising very easily of late. She looked directly into her sister’s dark-circled eyes. “Then let us give it a new purpose. Just this once, let the purpose of the annual Season be a young lady enjoying herself.”

  “That is very unton of you,” Angelina said with a wry twist of her mouth.

  “Do you know what is even more unton of me? I don’t care.”

  Angelina laughed. How grateful Felicity was that her sister yet had the strength to do so.

  “Mark me, Angelina. You and I will find ourselves in the traveling coach bound for Town before the Season is out. You shall have all the entertainments you can endure, and the ton won’t have the first idea what to make of these two mad sisters and their uncouth interpretation of the Season.”

  She received an indulgent smile. “If you can manage that, I will declare you a sorceress.”

  They stepped through the terrace doors and inside the house once more. Angelina was handed over to her waiting lady’s maid to be whisked off for a much-needed rest.

  “Be thinking of an appropriately awe-inspiring sorceress name for me, dear sister,” Felicity called after her. “I intend to work a great deal of magic.”

  * * *

  “We cannot possibly present Angelina given her current circumstances,” Mother insisted, looking alarmed. “Half of Society would assume we were trying to trick someone into marrying her by pretending her situation is less dire than it is.”

  “But we would not be dishonest about that,” Felicity said. “And we certainly wouldn’t be pushing for a match.”

  “And, thus, we hit upon the objections of the rest of Society.” Father entered the discussion with his usual stiff logic. “To present a young lady who has no intention whatsoever of seeking a match is to turn up one’s nose at the reason the ton has made the journey to Town.”

  Reason and logic was her best approach with Father. “Those already wed or widowed participate every year, and no one is put off by their presence. Gentlemen, particularly those with parliamentary duties, attend the social whirl year after year without being in pursuit of a wife. That is considered not merely acceptable but expected.”

  He lifted his brows. “Expectations are different for gentlemen than for young ladies. You know that perfectly well.”

  “I am also keenly awar
e that, beyond making matches, a purpose for the Season is to foster beneficial connections. We would be in a position to do precisely that.”

  Mother wrung her hands. “We would also be in a position to undermine what little standing we have by missteps and misspeaking. One cannot be too careful.”

  Felicity might have argued that being “too careful” was a significant part of their difficulty. Too many years of caution so great the family had avoided London rather than risk a single misstep had left them with few friends in the ton and very little standing.

  “Society might look askance at Angelina’s being part of the marriage mart, though we do not intend to thrust her into it,” Felicity said, “but surely they would not object to my participation. I am of age and unwed and have every expectation of long-term health.”

  Mother and Father shook their head in perfect unison.

  “The younger daughter cannot be out before the older is wed,” Father insisted. “It is a very nearly unbreakable rule.”

  “We will not so much as entertain the idea of even bending rules,” Mother said. “We will not take such a risk.”

  That put paid to Felicity’s plan to convince her parents to undertake a Season for her and, by so doing, secure one for Angelina. She very quickly chose a different tack.

  “I hadn’t meant that I would go to London in order to make my bows, only that if we are in Town and have the opportunity to make a few beneficial connections and, with heaven’s blessing, make a good impression on Society, it would be a very fine thing indeed. I will eventually make my come out. Laying a bit of the groundwork now would not be a terrible thing.”

  She could see she had given her parents something to ponder. Her next few moves needed to be delicate ones. If she pushed too hard, they would begin to worry she was too forward to be trusted in Society. If she pushed not at all, they would likely dismiss the idea she had planted in their minds.

  “It is not at all unusual for families to travel to London for at least a portion of the Season,” she said. “We needn’t put ourselves forward at all, nor make appearances at particularly significant gatherings.” She doubted they had the social cachet for that anyway. “No one will think either Angelina or I are making our debuts if we do not undertake any of those things that clearly mark us as doing so. We can be very careful on that score. I have my doubts Angelina would be equal to such a thing, regardless. We will be seen as nothing more than a family wishing to enjoy Town for a time.”

  Mother did not immediately object. That was, in Felicity’s experience, a very good sign.

  Felicity looked at Father. “Renewing acquaintances will ease our way when, in a couple of years, we return to Town for the traditional reason. We can think of this jaunt as nothing more than that: a brief family holiday in London and an opportunity for you and Mother to see a few friends you haven’t in some time. Not even the greatest sticklers would object to that.”

  Father looked at Mother. “She is not wrong on that score. It is possible to journey to London during the Season without participating in the marriage mart. Angelina, I am certain, has no expectations of being Society’s darling. She will be perfectly content to limit herself to quiet, unexceptional expeditions.”

  “But will Felicity?”

  Here was her opportunity. She met her parents’ gaze with earnest sincerity. “I will forgo any event or activity in London you find the least bit objectionable. I will make no effort to be part of something if it would give even the slightest impression that I am attempting to make a backdoor come out. I give you my word. This journey ought to be a joyous one for Angelina and a pleasant one for both of you. If that means remaining at our London house for most of our time in Town, I will happily do so. You have my word.”

  A few minutes more were required, in which she reiterated her vow, but in the end, her parents agreed to make the journey to London to allow Angelina to fulfill a few of her wishes. It was an opportunity for her sister that Felicity did not mean to waste.

  Chapter Two

  London

  William Carlisle had spent five years mastering the art of self-distraction. Endless balls and fetes, races and pugilistic bouts, country house parties at the homes of his many friends, jaunts to the continent. He knew perfectly well how to free his mind from the pull of home and the pain that awaited him there.

  He’d lost his parents at the tender age of eighteen. The vicar had finished his graveside rites, the local mourners had offered William their condolences, and then he had returned to the empty house, packed a trunk, and left. He hadn’t been back to Sussex since.

  The Season was usually the easiest stretch of months in which to find adequate distraction. This year, however, he was struggling. He had no desire to return home; that much had not changed. He simply found no pleasure whatsoever in the social whirl.

  “We could always declare ourselves ancient grumps and take up lives of hermitry in an abandoned corner of the kingdom.” His closest friend, Leonard Whitehall, made the suggestion as they completed a circuit of the small enclosed park near William’s rented rooms. “We can attend the local assemblies and complain vociferously about all the noise the young people are making.”

  “I would be exceptionally good at that,” William said.

  Leonard’s mouth twisted in thought. “We could always do that here, no need to find a distant corner.”

  It was tempting, but foolish. “London loses what little charm it has when one has offended the dragons.”

  “Would it be so tragic if the patronesses revoked your voucher to Almack’s?” The dryness of Leonard’s tone indicated not the least doubt in his assessment of William’s lack of enjoyment of that social establishment.

  “For me, no. For all the ladies denied the opportunity to dance with me, a tragedy of unspeakable proportions.”

  They both laughed at that. Pretending to be quite arrogant in matters regarding their romantic appeal had been a favorite jest between them since their days at Cambridge. Truth be told, William didn’t imagine Leonard felt any less out of his element among the fairer sex than William did. It wasn’t that either of them feared the ladies or were entirely inept at social interaction, they simply knew themselves to be lacking in that certain swagger and confidence that the Corinthian set possessed in spades.

  They passed a group of nursemaids looking over their rambunctious young charges. The maids curtsied. William and Leonard dipped their heads. The children took no notice. Turning a corner on the path brought the men to a long, straight stretch without a soul in sight—a rare thing in London.

  “Then allow me to invite you to my vast country estate for a bit of isolated grumpiness,” Leonard said.

  William eyed him narrowly. “You don’t have a country estate.”

  “Ah, well, then I suppose you will have to invite me to yours.”

  The thrum of William’s pulse immediately pounded in his temples. The vague light-headedness that always accompanied the mention of home washed over him once more.

  “Apologies, Will.” Leonard was entirely in earnest once more. “I was trying to be humorous. I didn’t even think before I said it.”

  William tried to wave it off but knew he likely didn’t succeed in appearing casual.

  “Do you think— Do you think you’ll ever go back?” Leonard posed the question hesitantly but with genuine curiosity.

  “I’ll have to eventually, I suppose.” He whacked at a nearby bush with the end of his walking stick, setting off a tiny cascade of green leaves. “Unless, of course, I find myself a wife who prefers to be a vagabond.”

  “We could take out an advertisement in the Times, see if any fish take that particular bait.”

  The quip restored some of William’s good humor. “‘Wanted: one wife with no desire for a home of her own nor a permanent residence. Must enjoy never knowing from one month to the next where she will lay her head. A severe dislike of Sussex would be to advantage. Inquire anywhere except Carlisle Manor.’”
<
br />   “Bang on the mark,” Leonard declared.

  They’d nearly completed their walk around the park. It was not so invigorating as usual. Nothing seemed to be lately.

  “William!”

  The sound of his name called out in a lady’s voice stopped him, Leonard as well. Both took to searching about.

  “William!”

  Nearer this time. And then he spotted the source.

  A young lady, her dark hair peeking out from beneath her poke bonnet, waved at him whilst the older lady at her side tugged desperately at her arm. A few of his school chums, Leonard included, called him William, but no one else did nor had since he was very young.

  He moved toward the mysterious lady, curiosity tugging him ever faster.

  “Someone you know, I assume,” Leonard said, keeping pace with him.

  “I assume the same, though I don’t know—” And suddenly he was close enough to see her clearly. “Felicity.”

  That brought Leonard’s widened eyes to him once more. “You are acquainted on a Christian-name basis, after all.”

  William shook his head. “We grew up in the same neighborhood. I haven’t seen her in years. We used given names between us when we were small.”

  “You are using given names now.”

  William needed to take greater care. Such liberties were not permitted among unwed ladies and gentlemen.

  “Mrs. Banbury,” he said with an appropriate bow. “Miss Felicity.” The formal address stuck a moment in his mouth. She’d been no more than thirteen when he’d last seen her, and far younger than that when he’d left for Eton. “May I make known to you Leonard Whitehall. Leonard, this is Mrs. Banbury and Miss Felicity Banbury.”

  All the required bows and curtsies were exchanged.

  “We are well met,” Felicity said, smiling as broadly as he remembered her doing as a little girl. “We’ve not seen you this age, Mr. Carlisle.”