by Cecilia Rene
“I’ve only stopped by to see what you two were up to, which is nothing at all. So, I’m off for finer company, now that I’m in town.” The earl bowed before he headed to the door.
“You mean finer company that is not your wife?” Heartford raised an eyebrow.
“Of course, she is not my wife. I’m sure my wife is in search of her own entertainment as we speak,” Windchester commented before stopping at the door to give his companions one last look. “I shall see you both tomorrow at Hempstead’s ball—”
“Not a chance in hell.” He glared at the earl.
Remington could think of a thousand other things to do to entertain himself. Attending a ball was not one of them, even if the earl was a close companion.
“He’ll be there, or I’ll send Mother Di after him.” Heartford gave a hearty laugh.
“Good. See you both on the morrow,” Windchester bid them goodbye then left.
Remington shook his head, knowing he had no other choice but to attend, or his companions would unleash the wrath of his mother—and no one wanted to face Lady Diana Prescott, the former Duchess of Karrington.
The debutante ball of ladies J and O St. J will be the event to start the Season. While Lady J is a diamond in the first water, it is said that Lady O is a tad bit buxom.
Lady Olivia St. John lay on the settee in her sitting room with her book open, trying to enjoy the one solitary moment of peace she had received in hours. A lone blonde curl dangled free from the intricate chignon her maid created that morning. Every time she was engrossed in her reading, her cousin would come and demand her attention. If she had to look at one more dress, she would absolutely scream.
Whenever Julia appeared, Livie tried desperately not to roll her eyes. According to her mother, it was very unladylike behavior to roll one’s eyes to the back of one’s head.
Livie took a delicate nibble of a biscuit and savored the buttery taste in her mouth. She did enjoy Cook’s cooking, maybe a little too much judging by the looks she received when out in town. Her eyes closed as she took another bite, letting out a satisfied moan.
She tried not to think about how everything would change if she, or rather when, she wed. The probability of her finding a match her very first London Season was nearly unfathomable, but her parents had high hopes that she and her cousin would make advantageous matches. Livie, however, did not share their optimism.
She understood their desperation to find them both husbands as her father had no heir. The difficulty with her parents’ plan was that she was considered larger than the average miss and her cousin Julia was spoiled and wild. At an early age, Julia found that she would be allowed liberties since her parents perished when she was very young. The earl and countess felt the need to bring the young girl joy. Julia capitalized on this opportunity constantly and found she rather liked doing things to cause her aunt and uncle grief.
“Livie … Livie! You’re gathering wool again,” Julia interrupted, tapping her slippered feet against the plush carpet.
Livie took in her cousin’s petite frame, dark brown hair, and blue eyes. Julia had always been the slim one between them, never favoring Cook’s delicious sweets. Livie envied her cousin for being small and petite. No one stared at her bosom in polite society.
Unlike her cousin’s small delicate stature, Livie was taller than the average lady. Standing at five feet and six inches, her hips were prominent, bottom rounder, and her bosom larger than most. While others of her acquaintance were still developing at the age of twelve years, she had filled out at a surprisingly alarming rate. It was so shocking that when she was only fourteen, the Marquees of Lynbrook offered for her, causing her father to threaten a duel.
The unwanted and aggressive attention of the marquess gave her caution when around any gentleman.
Livie focused on her cousin’s more delicate frame and blinked. “It is not gathering wool; the term is woolgathering.” She knew perfectly well that Julia knew the correct term.
“I rather like it my way,” Julia retorted defiantly. “Now, what do you think?”
Livie continued nibbling on her biscuit as she eyed what was either the fifth or sixth gown her cousin had tried on. She really could not tell the difference between this one and the others.
“It’s yellow.” Her voice was matter of fact.
Julia eyed her cousin angrily with her hands on her hips. At barely five feet three inches, she was not threatening at all, but she had a temper about her that Livie tried very hard not to be on the other end of.
“I know it’s yellow. How do I look?” Julia demanded, turning to look in the floor-length mirror.
Livie surveyed her cousin for a moment. A single curl obstructed her view of Julia. A fact that she was thankful for as the dress was obnoxiously bright.
“Bright,” Livie replied, a smile forming at the corner of her lips.
Julia turned to face Livie. Her blue eyes narrowed. They were really more like sisters than cousins, having grown up together since Julia’s parents perished in a carriage accident when she was only seven years of age.
Without saying a word, Julia walked over to the settee, took an embroidered pillow in her hands, and flung it at her cousin.
Livie sat up in mock outrage clutching the pillow before throwing it back. She laughed as the pillow hit Julia in the face.
The door opened, and Abigail, Livie’s maid, walked in, her arms full of packages.
“If you two do not stop, Lady Hempstead will come and scold us all, and why should I get in trouble when I’ve just arrived.” She strolled into the adjoining bedchamber.
Livie reached up, trying to defend herself as her cousin threatened her with the pillow. Abigail returned just as a figure entered the room.
“What’s going on in here?” Lady Lenora, the Countess of Hempstead, questioned, her gaze moving from her daughter to her niece.
Julia rose, dropping the pillow on the floor. “It’s Livie’s fault, Aunt Len. She said I looked bright in this gown.”
Lady Hempstead closed the door behind her, her keen gray eyes analyzing her niece. “It is rather bright, dear. ”
Livie gave a very unladylike snort, slapping her hands together in a manner more suited for a child than a woman who had been presented at court. “I was right. The dress is bright,” she said, giggling at her jest.
“You’re not funny.” Julia glared at her.
“Whatever is wrong with the dress we commissioned for the ball?” Lady Hempstead asked. Julia was known to have a flair for the dramatic.
“I felt it rather bland, so I had Helena take out some of my other gowns so that Livie could help me choose one, but she has been no help at all.” Julia took a seat.
“I have been helpful. I informed you it was bright. Do you want to meet your future husband looking bright? If so, please wear it.” Livie sat up to glare at her then reached for another biscuit.
“Livie, please, no more biscuits, it will go straight to your bottom. We’ve been here less than a sennight, and I’ve already had a row with Lady Jameson over your figure. The nerve of that woman, calling you plump!” Lady Hempstead huffed out in irritation.
Livie dropped the biscuit as if she had been burned.
Upon the family’s arrival to their London townhome, her mother had visited with the neighbors she hadn’t seen in years. In their time away, their closest neighbor, Lady Jameson, had become an elite member of the gentry, and the lady gave her opinion freely.
Apparently, the conversation had become more vexing for her mother when the lady felt the need to comment on Livie’s weight. Not appreciating the comments, her mother kindly thanked the woman for her opinion and returned home. Upon her return, she had not stopped speaking of the fallout with Lady Jameson. Livie had heard the story at least three times since the argument, but her mother would not let the topic rest.
Livie knew she was plump, the size of her rump and bosom was evidence of that. She tried not to care what Lady Jameson and society thou
ght of her, but it was rather hard to ignore.
“Mother, please calm your nerves. Even you must admit I’m not the size of most ladies who have their first London Season.” Livie smiled at her mother.
Her parents were her biggest advocates in life, and for that, she loved them greatly. Neither one ridiculed her about her weight or her fondness for books. They doted on her every need, never once treating her cruelly or being judgmental. They were the kindest people. They raised Julia after her parents died and saved Abigail from the workhouse when she was just a girl of sixteen years. In Livie’s eyes, her parents were wonderful, and she greatly appreciated her mother practically coming to fisticuffs on her behalf.
“I, for one, would love your shape. There’s just so much more of you. Besides, if I had those, I’d be married in a fortnight.” Julia laughed, pointing at Livie’s bosom.
“Julia St. John, please behave! My nerves are in an uproar as your uncle is sending a personal invitation to the Duke of Karrington. I do not need your behavior adding to them.” Lady Hempstead placed her hand to her forehead. “Julia, please wear the gown that was commissioned. Livie, please, no more biscuits until after the ball. Abigail, do keep the ladies in hand.”
Lady Hempstead turned to leave. “I have a million things to do before the ball, and now this!”
“Mother, why on earth would father invite the Duke of Karrington?” Livie’s voice shook with nerves, her fingers tapping nervously at her side.
Of course, she knew who he was, everyone knew the Bachelor Duke, but it made no logical sense whatsoever why her father wanted to invite him to the ball.
“Last Season, while we were all in Yorkshire, your father and the duke became very friendly in the House of Lords. Your father feels he is not at all what the gossips make him out to be.” Her mother sighed before leaving the room.
“This changes everything!” Julia squealed in excitement.
Livie eyed her questioningly, wondering why the news of the Bachelor Duke had her cousin so excited. She was sure a man that had vowed to never marry would have nothing to do with either of the St. John girls—especially one with a fondness for too many biscuits.
“How does the appearance of the Duke of Karrington have anything to do with us?” Livie acted bored with the conversation, but inside butterflies danced in her belly.
“He’s all society talks about. I heard his name several times when I was at the modiste,” Abigail murmured before taking a biscuit and sitting next to Livie.
Although Abigail was technically Livie’s lady’s maid, she was more like a sister to the girls as they were raised closely together. Being only four years older than Livie and Julia, who were only months apart, it was rather difficult for Abigail not to be close to them.
“It has everything to do with us. Either he will want to marry us for our great wits and beauty, or other gentlemen will take notice because he has attended our ball. This changes everything,” Julia’s voice was filled with confidence. “I must try on my original gown again, and I suggest you do the same.”
Julia rushed out of the room, leaving both Livie and Abigail staring at each other.
“If she believes that the Bachelor Duke will marry me, then she’s more unhinged than usual.” Livie stood, wanting nothing more than to finish her book but knowing that she must try on her gown.
She just hoped that she hadn’t gained any more weight in the two days it’d been since she tried on her dress last.
Abigail gave her a cheeky grin. “Really, Livie, you never know what could happen.”
Livie laughed, not believing for a moment that she would ever have a chance to marry the Duke of Karrington. Regardless of the impossibility, excitement ran through her veins at the thought of meeting the Bachelor Duke.
The Bachelor Duke was spotted at the Earl of H’s ball. Is our beloved bachelor in want of a wife at last?
Remington’s carriage bounced through the uneven streets of London. After he received a personal request from his friend, the Earl of Hempstead, there was absolutely nothing he could do but attend the ball.
He was fairly confident he could’ve appeased his mother someway, but ignoring a personal invitation was simply impertinent. So, he found himself dressed in his finest black tailcoat, prepared for an evening of mindless conversation and a constant stream of silly girls all in want of a husband.
Lord Hempstead was a true gentleman, a man of honor and worth, everything Remington’s father never was. These qualities led to a relationship that went beyond the House of Lords. It included the occasional drink at O’Brien’s Gentleman’s Club discussing the older man’s affection for his family.
Remington knew without a shadow of a doubt that his appearance at the ball would have tongues wagging. No doubt, they would believe he was finally in want of a wife.
He, however, was not and never would be.
Remington watched out the open window as the carriage came to a stop and the guests turned to see who the new arrival was. Upon seeing the Karrington family crest, whispers ensued, filling the cool night. A rapping on the door alerted Remington to collect himself in preparation for the onslaught of preening misses.
When the door opened, he disembarked with his usual air of importance and walked through the parting crowd. As he passed, he was greeted repeatedly with “Your Grace” and “Karrington.” The entrance hall seemed to stretch endlessly ahead of him.
Eyeing the queue into the townhome and having no patience for lines, he decided to use his title and rank to his advantage. He strolled ahead of the waiting guests to find the earl and his wife smiling amenably.
“Your Grace,” the Earl of Hempstead called jovially as Remington approached. “What a wonderful surprise.” The earl was a tall, stocky, older gentleman with brown hair speckled with gray.
“Come now, Hempstead, none of this ‘Your Grace’ nonsense, we are friends after all.” Remington bowed before he turned to the countess.
The Countess of Hempstead was a beauty of a woman with dark flaxen hair and a kind countenance.
“Allow me to introduce my wife, Lady Hempstead,” the earl said, pride evident in his voice. Love and admiration gleamed in his brown eyes as he looked adoringly at his wife. Remington felt as if he were intruding on an intimate moment. The look that passed between husband and wife caused a deep unknown part of Remington to ache for what he vowed he would never have.
The Countess of Hempstead placed a delicately gloved hand out for Remington, who took it in his own and bowed. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady. I cannot dare believe you have a daughter old enough to be out in society.”
Unlike her husband, Lady Hempstead’s hair was free from gray, and her skin was nearly flawless. She was blessed with minor lines. There was a twinkle in her gray eyes as she gave him a genuine smile.
Giggling gracefully, Lady Hempstead placed her hand against her chest. “Your Grace, you are too kind, but I assure you, once you set eyes upon Lady Olivia and Lady Julia, you will know the true definition of youth and beauty.”
Remington could hear the sincerity and love in her voice as she described her daughter and niece. Unlike most mothers of the aristocracy, it implied that Lady Hempstead was not trying to force her daughter or niece upon him. She was simply very fond of the girls. He liked her immediately.
“With you as their example, I am sure both ladies are a vision. The earl is truly blessed.” He smiled widely before giving the couple a final bow.
“You old rake. I’m starting to believe the rumors.” Hempstead winked at his friend.
Leaving the happy couple, Remington sauntered through the ballroom, deliberately avoiding several people who wished to engage him in conversation. His gaze roamed the crowded room in search of his relations, hoping to avoid eager mothers and daughters.
He took in the general splendor of the house as he followed the throng of guests into the ballroom. Two crystal chandeliers draped with candles lit the room in a romantic glow to enco
urage dancing.
Gold trim on the walls and ceilings displayed the family’s wealth and standing in society. Painted scenes of heavenly angels lounging on white clouds decorated the ceiling, adding to the elegant decor. It was a beautiful townhome, albeit a great deal smaller than his own, but he was pleased that the earl provided for his family in such a way. It was a shame that he had no heir of his own to keep his wife, daughter, and niece in the lavish lifestyle they were used to.
As Remington passed a circle of gentlemen, he saw Lady Windchester in the center of their attention with Baron Bromswell beside her. Anger filled him, causing his back to stiffen at the sight of the other man.
Remington watched as Lady Windchester flirted readily, batting her blonde eyelashes as she laughed at something Bromswell said. Remington moved on, not wanting to engage the lady in conversation or be anywhere near the detestable Bromswell.
“Good heavens, Heartford, have my eyes failed me? I do believe the Duke of Karrington has made an appearance.” Windchester’s loud, boisterous voice rung out in the ballroom.
Guests looked upon their group in shock. Whispered voices followed Remington to where Windchester and the others stood. The earl was having too much fun at his expense.
“I see you took my threat seriously,” Heartford joked before drinking the glass of iced champagne in his hand.
“I could’ve appeased my mother, but I could not refuse a personal invitation from Hempstead. It would’ve been rude not to attend.” Remington took a glass of champagne from a passing servant.
His gaze swept the room in search of his mother, knowing she would think more of his appearance than it really was. He prepared himself for her excitement at the mere prospect of gaining a daughter-in-law.
His mother was a great number of things. She was kind, gentle, witty, a grand lady, but most of all, she was forever a doting mother. Her greatest mission in life was for her son to make a love match, as she had done with her second marriage. Not able to birth children, she had always treated Remington as if he were her own.