by Julia Kelly
“I don’t want any season at all,” said Lady Eleanora in a rather petty tone.
That was very hard to believe. In the last six days, Lady Eleanora had been to three dinners, an opera, and two dances. She’d donned two new gowns from London’s most fashionable modiste, Madame Modrian, which she’d relished showing Mary. However, to Mary’s knowledge, Lady Laughlin had only been at one of those outings—the opera—which wasn’t the sort of social event where young ladies vied for the attention of bachelors as openly.
Mary was becoming more convinced day by day that she was right about Lady Laughlin.
“Forgive me, Lady Eleanora, but I doubt you’d want to deprive yourself of all aspects of the season,” she said gently.
The words weren’t the balm she’d hoped they’d be. Instead, the young lady turned on her father. “I hate that you’re making me do these things.”
“I thought you enjoyed dancing,” Lord Asten ground out, casting a look Mary’s way that could only have been read as Do you see what I’m dealing with?
She had no doubt he was fully competent in most areas of his life, whether delivering a speech in Parliament or shooting grouse. He could probably fence, ride, and debate the merits of Kant’s theory of perception in German. But Lord Asten had a weakness: a seventeen-year-old woman in the middle of her first fraught season was a mystery to him.
“Tell me what it is you want, Eleanora. If it’s in my power, I’ll make it so,” he said, pushing a hand through his hair.
Lady Eleanora shook her head.
“I can’t make things better if you don’t tell me what’s the matter,” he said.
“I just want it to be you and me again,” Lady Eleanora whispered. “I want things to go back to the way they were.”
The earl’s hand fell limp at his side, and Mary watched his frustration melt away, leaving behind only hurt and defeat. Her heart ached for the man who had raised a daughter himself, knowing that he must be thinking about the fact that there was no longer much time for them together. Lady Eleanora’s betrothal—whenever it came—would change everything. She’d move out of his home. She’d stop being his little girl.
The young lady let herself be tugged toward her father and wrapped up into a hug. The simple, raw display of affection moved Mary. She should slip out of the gallery and leave them to their moment, but she didn’t have Warthing’s talent for discreetly disappearing.
Lord Asten leaned down and kissed the top of his daughter’s head before smoothing one of her curls into place again. “Unfortunately, things can’t stay the same. You’re growing up.”
“I know,” Lady Eleanora murmured.
“I know that you don’t enjoy the season the way that some girls do.”
“It isn’t that—” The young woman stopped herself.
“What is it?” he asked his daughter.
“Please, can I find another chaperone? Miss Woodward can be my chaperone.” Lady Eleanora was practically begging now.
“I’m afraid that’s not how it works,” Mary said. Perhaps a few of the more understanding hostesses would have allowed her to come to small, informal gatherings, but that wouldn’t be enough. She was a governess, and governesses didn’t do the season.
“You need a lady who understands how these things work,” Lord Asten said. “I know Lady Laughlin can be a little high-handed, but surely she can’t be that bad.”
The girl wrenched away out of his grasp, her father’s words seemingly breaking the spell of reconciliation between them. “You don’t understand a thing,” Lady Eleanora half sobbed as she rushed from the gallery, leaving her father and her governess standing in silence as they watched her last ruffle swirl out the door.
“Well,” Lord Asten said, glancing over at Mary. “I’d say that was only a partial disaster.”
Mary arched an eyebrow. “Partial?”
“Utter?” he asked with a half laugh.
“Actually,” she said, “I thought that went about as well as most conversations requiring logic and a clear head go with debutantes. This is a volatile time.”
The earl rubbed the back of his neck. “Things were so much easier when she was a child. I could kiss away the scrapes and soothe every other worry with the promise of tea, a bag of boiled sweets, and a book.”
Mary smiled and shook her head. “She’s a lady now. Her life is infinitely more complicated.”
He let out a long breath. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. You’ve seen this all before.”
“I don’t think this is just the usual stress of the season though,” she conceded. “Something’s bothering her.”
And not just Lady Laughlin, she added silently. There was more to it than Lady Eleanora disliking her chaperone.
The earl’s head snapped up and his eyes brightened. “You could ask her.”
“Me?” she asked, more than a little surprised.
“She already trusts you. Look at how she appealed to you earlier,” said the earl, clearly growing more fond of the idea by the minute.
Still, Mary hesitated. “It’s not really my place, sir.”
It felt like something a mother who was more nurturing than Mary’s own had ever been would do, but then Lord Asten took her hands in his and clasped them together, stealing her breath from her. The surprising calluses on his palms set the soft skin of her hands ablaze. It was so intimate, so unself-conscious a gesture, and it almost felled Mary. She was afraid that if he let go, she’d dissolve away, leaving behind nothing more than a pile of crinoline wire and linen. Even worse, his expression held nothing but trust. That’s why when the earl asked again, “Will you please go speak to Eleanora and find out what’s really the matter?” all she could do was nod.
“Thank you,” he said, a crooked little smile quirking up the corner of his mouth. “You’re already proving yourself to be indispensable, Miss Woodward.”
Indispensable. Not desirable. Not ravishing.
All the secret hopes and illicit thoughts that had been building Mary up and up until she could almost touch the moon crashed down to earth once again.
Chapter Five
“Of course he didn’t mean anything by it,” Mary muttered as she ascended the stairs in her quest to find her charge. She was quite confident that Lady Eleanora would be in her hidey-hole behind the bookcase in the library. It was a good thing too. Mary was too wound up to put any real thought into tracking down an inventive girl who didn’t want to be found.
“Such a typical man,” she huffed as she walked into the library and made a beeline for the bookcase.
She could blame Lord Asten for gripping her hands in such an improper way, but she couldn’t blame the rest of it on him. The moment he touched her it was as though the whole world fell away. All that was left was him. He wasn’t responsible for the way she’d parted her lips, inviting him to kiss her like a silly girl of sixteen. First the drawing room and now this? It had to stop, otherwise Mary was going to make a fool of herself, destroying all of her hard work in one fell swoop.
She tugged on One Thousand and One Nights and the secret door swung open. Sure enough, Lady Eleanora sat on a mound of cushions, her nose buried in Chaucer’s soft fur.
“Hello there,” Mary said, stepping into the room but making sure to leave the door open. One earl’s daughter could fit with the door closed, but the room was a little too close for Mary’s comfort.
“I want to be alone,” said Lady Eleanora.
“And I’d like to have tea with Queen Victoria, but I doubt that will ever happen.”
“Am I never going to be left on my own again?” asked her charge in annoyance.
She crossed her arms. “I’m saying that we can’t always get what we want. Besides, I’m not entirely convinced you do want to be left alone.”
“Why do you say that?” the young lady asked, stroking Chau
cer’s head as the dog tried his best to wiggle around in her lap so that he could slurp her right on the chin. Unspilled tears shimmered in the girl’s eyes.
“Well, you’re in here with Chaucer, aren’t you? Plus, if you really didn’t want to be found, I imagine there are all sorts of hiding places in a house this size. Plenty of storerooms and nooks and crannies everyone’s forgotten about except the maids who have to air them out every few months.”
Lady Eleanora sniffled. “There are.”
“Here,” Mary said, pulling her handkerchief out of her sleeve.
Lady Eleanora took it but didn’t raise it to her eyes. Instead, she ran her finger over the ridged embroidery edging the scrap of linen. “Ivy and—?”
“Geranium. I know it might be hard to imagine, but I once had a governess. A Mrs. Cooper. Before my mother dismissed her, Mrs. Cooper gave me a present of a dozen of those handkerchiefs. She told me that ivy and geranium represent true friendship, and that if I had one of these with me wherever I went I’d always have her with me.”
“That’s lovely,” said Lady Eleanora, touching the cloth to the corners of her eyes before handing it back.
“You keep it safe for me,” she said with a shake of her head.
Lady Eleanora let her hands fall to her lap. “Thank you.”
“Now,” Mary said, fixing the young lady with a serious look meant to convey that she respected her as an adult rather than as a child, “would you like to tell me what’s really the matter?”
“You heard what I said to my father,” said Lady Eleanora.
“I did, and I suspect you lied to him.”
Lady Eleanora jolted, loosening her grip on Chaucer enough that he gave a little bark and leaped up, finally hitting his mark. “Oh, you wretched dog,” she said affectionately as she wiped away the moisture from her chin.
“You didn’t tell your father the truth about how much you hate Lady Laughlin,” Mary pressed.
Her charge opened her mouth, but it took her a few times to get the words out. “How could you tell?”
She chuckled. “Let’s just say that sometimes like recognizes like. She’s awful.”
Lady Eleanora’s lips twitched. “You’re not supposed to say things like that.”
“Am I wrong?”
“No.” The girl twisted Mary’s handkerchief in her hands as though collecting herself before she finally said, “Really, it’s Miss Laughlin and Miss Cordelia.”
Now they were getting somewhere.
“Your father seems to think you’re friends,” she said, even though she could hardly imagine that being the case.
Sure enough, Lady Eleanora pulled a face. “Papa thinks they’ll be a good influence on me, and since Lady Laughlin clings to Papa, they’re always around. They hardly speak to me when we’re out, and when they do they make sure to insult me with some sly jab couched in a compliment. It would be more embarrassing except that no one notices me when they’re around. They’re so pretty. Miss Laughlin especially.”
Of course. It was so simple, only Mary hadn’t thought to look for it because she was so focused on Lady Eleanora’s fear of Lady Laughlin.
“And when you’re out with them do you worry Miss Laughlin and Miss Cordelia monopolize the attentions of the bachelors?” she asked.
Lady Eleanora’s eyes dropped to her lap. “Well . . .”
“Just one man in particular?” The blush that bloomed on her charge’s face confirmed it. “Might I ask the gentleman’s name?”
When the young woman hesitated, Mary held up her hand as though swearing an oath. “An honorable governess never tells secrets of the heart.”
All in a rush, it came pouring out of Lady Eleanora. “His name is Lord Blakeney and I’m certain he’s never given a thought to me, although we danced at Lady Maidfaire’s ball last month and spoke at a supper last week. He’s so kind and so handsome, but why would he ever think of me when they’re always around?”
“And what makes you so sure that this Lord Blakeney doesn’t think of you?”
“He always speaks to Miss Laughlin and Miss Cordelia,” said Lady Eleanora gloomily.
“Perhaps that’s because they always speak to him first,” she said. “A gentleman can’t ignore a lady.”
“He is always quite courteous in making sure that I’m included in the conversation,” Lady Eleanora said cautiously.
“And who did he ask to dance first at your last ball?”
“Me.” But the flicker of happiness in the young lady’s eyes dimmed. “But that’s only because Mr. Pettigrew had engaged Miss Cordelia, and Miss Laughlin was dancing with Sir Wark.”
“Lady Eleanora,” she said, kneeling down so that she could clasp the young lady’s hands, “do you trust me?”
Her charge hesitated, but then nodded. “Yes. I think I do.”
“Then believe me when I tell you that there were many young ladies with whom Lord Blakeney could have danced. I would wager a year’s salary that he has both noticed you and sought you out.”
“Oh.”
She gave the young woman’s hands a squeeze. “Now, I say that you make it your mission to figure out his costume for this masque and then dance with him. Maybe more than once.”
Lady Eleanora’s hand flew to her chest. “I couldn’t be so bold as that.”
Mary shrugged. “Who will know? You’ll both be masked, and everyone will be so caught up in the romance of the ball that it’ll hardly be noticed if a young lady dances with the same gentleman twice.”
Lady Eleanora chewed on her lip. “I suppose I could try. But even if I can stop Miss Laughlin and Miss Cordelia from attaching themselves to him, how do I know who he’ll be dressed as?”
Mary smiled. “Ask him. There’s a week until the ball, and I’m certain you’ll cross paths before then. If there’s an opportune moment, all you have to do is ask one simple question. I’d be surprised if he isn’t quite happy to share his secret identity with you.”
“I—I’ll try.”
She reached out and patted Lady Eleanora’s hand. “I wish I could be there with you to remind you that you’re just as worthy as Lady Laughlin’s daughters.”
There’s a dangerous moment in every governess’s employment when her charge gets an idea. An idea that could get them both into trouble. Usually it’s innocent mischief, but when Mary saw the way Lady Eleanora’s brow crinkled and the determined set of her jaw, she knew she was doomed.
Sure enough, Lady Eleanora looked up at her through her lashes and said, “Perhaps you could attend.”
“I’m certain the ton hasn’t become so modern as to approve of governesses dancing the waltz,” Mary said, edging away from danger.
“But don’t you see?” Lady Eleanora began to grow excited. “You said it yourself—no one will care who is who that night. Everyone will be wearing masks. It’s perfect!”
The low warning bell that had begun to sound in the back of Mary’s mind rang louder. Still, she couldn’t resist the impulse to ask, “But how? I don’t have a single thing to wear, and I don’t have a mask either.”
“You can wear my indigo dress with the spangles stitched into it. I had thought to be the moon, but Miss Laughlin instructed me that I was to join them in their costume.”
“Which is?”
Lady Eleanora made a face. “Goddesses. Miss Laughlin remains convinced it’s a singular idea, but I imagine we’ll be one of a dozen groups of women all dressed the same.”
“You’ll make a perfect . . . Who is it you’re dressing as?”
“Diana,” said Lady Eleanora.
“A perfect fit. Diana was wild and free and fiercely independent.” All traits Mary suspected lay buried beneath her charge’s reserve. If only she could tease them out and show Lady Eleanora how to become the woman she was meant to be.
“Diana’s one
of the maiden goddesses who swore never to marry. She’s the goddess who protects virginity.” Lady Eleanora practically whispered the last word.
“And that’s problematic because?”
She blushed a bright shade of red. “Miss Cordelia told me that I’ll never find a husband, and I might as well be London’s own Diana.”
This had to stop. This intimidation of Lady Eleanora was more than unkind. It was blatant bullying. Her charge might not think she was strong enough to stomp it out on her own, but Mary knew better and would stand by her side for as long as it took to show the girl her worth.
Drawing in a deep breath and praying she wasn’t making a huge mistake, she said, “It would be a shame for such a beautiful-sounding dress to go unworn, and I’ve always loved indigo.”
Lady Eleanora’s eyes brightened. “Does that mean you’ll come?”
“When you look so happy, I don’t see how I can say no.”
“Oh, thank you!” cried the girl. “I’m certain we can find you a mask in time. You won’t regret it.”
The excitement in Lady Eleanora’s voice was as seductive as any proposal. Her words held all the vigor and promise of youth. Mary could still remember the nights she’d lain awake in her room, waiting for the day she would finally be brought out. She’d planned everything, from the dress she’d wear to the feather that would don her first headpiece. But then her father had died, and her own mother refused to go quietly into her widowhood. There were rumors and scandal and no season for Mary.
Now she had the chance to taste what she could have had if only her life had been a little different. But was she brave enough?
“If I’m caught—”
Lady Eleanora jumped to her feet, practically dancing with excitement. “But you won’t be! Don’t you see? The front door will be locked, but you can slip through the kitchen, up the back stairs, and into your room without anyone knowing. You only have to be home before Warthing locks the kitchen door at one.”