by Gill, Tamara
Her father paused from putting the fish in a nearby basket, before he said, “I must remember to give your tutor a better letter of recommendation due to the fact you’re able to negotiate and barter as well as those in the House of Lords.” Her father threw her a consoling smile. “But, alas, we do not live in a time where young women of means and of family can live independently without a husband. I will not allow you to be placed on a shelf to have dust settle on your head, nor will I allow you to live an unfulfilled life without a husband and children of your own. You would be an asset to anyone’s family you married into, and I want to see you happy.”
Anger thrummed through her at the narrow-minded idea that she needed a man to make all her dreams come true. She did not need a husband to be happy, and the sooner her father and the men hunting her fortune realized this, the better.
Mary yanked up her fishing line, placing her rod against the wall. “I don't see why I have to marry anybody. This is 1800! A new century, please tell me that gentlemen of society and England will come out of the dark ages and see that women are worth more than what they can bring to a marriage, or how large a dowry they have, or how wide their hips are for breeding!”
Her father raised his brow, clearly shocked. “Hush now! I’ll hear no more protest from you. I would never force you into a marriage you did not want with your whole heart. We want you to be happy, to find a gentleman who allows you the freedom to which you’ve grown accustomed. But you will marry, my child, and you will continue to have Seasons in Town until you do.”
Mary couldn’t believe her father. It was as if he were only half listening to her. “I will not find someone. I know this to be true.” She crossed her arms, hating the idea of going back to London. “You know as well as anyone that I'm terrible around people. I get nervous at balls and parties so that I’ll say something out of line, or not be fashionable enough. I stutter when asked direct questions, and my face tends to turn a terrible, unflattering shade of red during all those things. Please do not do this to me, Papa. Please,” she begged him.
Her father stood, seemingly having enough fishing for one day. “You are going and for your mother’s sake, you will enjoy the Season or at least make a show of enjoyment while in public. Do not fret, my dear,” he said, his tone turning cajoling. “We will be there with you. To hold your hand and not let you fail.”
She blinked back the tears that threatened. Her first Season had been miserable. Her mother, even with a fortune at her disposal had not procured her a fashionable modiste and so she’d been dressed in frills and ribbons that made her look like a decoration instead of a debutante. Her gowns had clashed against her olive-toned skin and dark hair and not a lot had improved regarding her wardrobe since that time.
Even despite her father being titled, with multiple properties about England and her dowry being more than anyone could spend in two lifetimes, no one had befriended her or took her under their wing other than her dearest companion Louise, of course. Mary sighed, knowing it was not entirely everyone else’s fault that she was ostracized in Town. She’d gone above and beyond to distance herself from girls her own age, and had been cold and aloof to the gentlemen who had paid court to her.
At three and twenty, what was left open to her but to be standoffish. To marry at such a young age would mean her lifestyle, her love of the outdoors and pursuits indulged in only by those of the opposite sex would end. Would have to end because her new husband would demand it of her. Demand she acted as the earl’s daughter she was born and as his wife.
Mary met her father’s gaze and read the concern in his eyes and a little part of her disobedience crumbled. She hated to disappoint her parents, and of course she wanted them to not worry about her, but how could she marry and remain the woman she was?
She narrowed her eyes, thinking of possibilities. “If I’m being forced to go, Papa, and I do wish to state that I am in no way agreeable about traveling to London. But if I do have to go, smile, dance and play the pretty debutante, there are some rules that I wish to instruct you and Mama of.”
Her father stopped adjusting his fur coat and gave her his full attention “What is it that you want, Mary? We’re open to negotiation.”
“I will choose whom I marry. I will not be swayed otherwise. The man I marry will suit me in all ways and I will not be pressured to choose if one does not materialize next Season.” Mary raised her chin, waiting for her father’s response, but when he did nothing but stare at her patiently, she continued. “I want a new wardrobe for the Season. And I’d like a lady’s maid of my own, not Mama’s. She has a habit of putting my hair up in styles like Mother’s and it makes me look…” Mary fought for words that wouldn’t hurt her father’s feelings when discussing his wife.
“A woman of mature years?” he said, smiling a little.
“Yes.” She nodded empathically, “That is exactly what I mean.”
Her father regarded her for a moment before he came over to her, placing his arm about her shoulder. “That does not seem like it’s too much to ask. I will speak to your mama and ensure she will not stand in your way.”
“Thank you, Papa.” Mary busied herself putting her gloves on while she pushed down the guilt her request brought forth. Had she wanted to, she could’ve asked for a new modiste and maid years ago and her parents would never have stood in her way. But her determination to remain an unmarried maid had made her hold her tongue. Being unfashionable in Town had meant very few wished to be around her, or be seen on the dance floor with her, and that had suited her very well. But she could not remain so forever, not if her parents were so determined to see her as a wife. If she had to embark on this side of life, at least it would be under her terms and with any luck she’d find a gentleman who’d enjoy the outdoors as much as she did and not wish to clip her wings. To find such a man she supposed she would have to mingle more and actually bother to get to know them this Season.
“Come, let us get this fish back home. I’m sure the dinner gong will sound very soon.”
Mary let her father shuffle her out the door, before they started back toward the house. In the dissipating light, the estate was a beacon of warmth and much preferred than where they currently were. Mary resigned herself to the fact that they would return to London in the spring, but at least she would have control of her gowns and there was Christmas here in Derbyshire to enjoy.
Her elder brother always brought friends to stay, and so this year would be just as merry as every other. A little calm before the storm that was the Season.
Chapter 2
November 1800
Dale Ramsay, the Duke of Carlton stood to the side of the room, watching the gathering throng in his closest friend, the Viscount Kensley, the future Earl of Lancaster’s drawing room waiting for the dinner gong to sound so they could eat.
They had traveled all day, and Dale had to admit that if they did not get some food into him soon, he would either tumble over from too much wine, or his stomach would growl so loudly that the women present would think him a bear.
Mistletoe hung from every possible location in the room, from doorways to the candelabras. Lady Lancaster had even placed little cuttings of it and located them on sideboards, mantles, anywhere there was a spare spot. Was the lady looking for the few young women and men that were here present to steal a kiss or two?
Not that Dale would mind stealing a kiss if one was available. There were certainly some very fetching young women in attendance.
The drawing room door opened and taking a sip of wine, he coughed, choking a little on his drink at the sight he beheld. What a monstrosity, or better yet, who was the young woman who was dressed like someone who’d stepped out of the mid-eighteenth century?
He took out his handkerchief, wiped at his mouth, and watched as Peter went up to the young woman, pulling her into a fierce hug and kissing her soundly on the cheek.
Dale observed the young woman was not completely unfortunate, even though she was wearing spect
acles. Was the poor woman also blind? It would certainly explain the lack of knowledge regarding her gown. You could not fix what you could not see.
Peter started toward him and Dale schooled his features to one of polite interest. As his friend neared the young woman, he took in her appearance more. Her dark long locks were tied back into a design that Lady Lancaster also sported, but it did not compliment the young woman. Nor did the mustard-colored gown she suffered to wear since it made her look washed out and even a little ill.
“Carlton, may I introduce to you my sister, Lady Mary. Mary, this is my good friend, the Duke of Carlton.”
She bobbed a neat curtsy, and stared up at him with the widest green eyes he’d ever beheld. Her gown was of little advantage and Dale had an overwhelming urge to send her to his ex-mistresses’ modiste in London, who was one of the most sought after and finest seamstresses in the city.
Dale bowed slightly. “Lady Mary, it is a pleasure to meet you at last. Your brother has spoken of you often.”
She threw him a doubtful look but smiled. She did have a very pretty smile. “I’m sure you lie, your grace, but thank you, in any case. I shall take your charming words and believe them.”
Peter chuckled. “Mary, do not tease the duke. He will think you mean what you say.”
Her eyes skimmed him from top to toe, and Dale had the oddest sensation run through him. Her inspection wasn’t at all what he thought a young unmarried woman ought to do to a peer, and yet this country miss, an earl’s daughter no less, whom he’d never met in his life before seemed to think it appropriate.
“Perhaps I do not tease, Brother.” She grinned mischievously, and Dale found himself smiling.
He schooled his features once more. “On the contrary, my lady. Your brother has spoken highly of you and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“And I you, your grace.” She studied him with shrewd eyes, and he met her boldness by raising his brow. “You spend most of your time in Town I assume?”
“I do,” he said, glad she’d stopped inspecting him like an insect that needed stomping on. He was sure that she did not approve his answer.
She glanced about, her disinterest in their conversation obvious. “I dislike London and I’m not looking forward to going back, but alas, as a female I have little choice. Isn’t that right, Brother?”
Peter shook his head at his sister. “Mary, let us not quarrel in front of our guests. You know I’m looking forward to having you in Town next year.”
She sighed, plucking a glass of wine from a passing footman and taking a sip. “I should imagine you love the Season, your grace? Enjoy the nights out about Town, the horse rides in the park among other things.”
Dale clamped his mouth shut. Other things… what on earth did that mean? Did she allude to the many gambling hells he attended, nights at Vauxhall or the many women who sought his companionship? He glanced down at her, her fierce green eyes full of mirth stared back without a by-your-leave.
He marveled at her boldness. “I do enjoy all the delicacies that Town affords. So many entertainments to appreciate, it is like one big feast that I cannot get enough of.”
Mary’s cheeks turned a delightful shade of rose, and he grinned.
Peter cleared his throat. “I see Miss Grant has arrived, Mary.”
She glanced behind her and bobbing a quick curtsy excused herself, leaving Dale to watch after her as she joined the woman who looked a similar age to her by the window.
“Is your sister out, Peter?” he asked, watching her still. Now with her friend, Lady Mary seemed to brighten even more when having a conversation with someone she liked.
“She had her coming out five years ago, but nothing came of it or any subsequent Seasons. Our parents are hoping to gain her a match with the forthcoming Season, much to Mary’s distaste.”
Dale raised his brow, taking a sip of his wine. “Oh, she does not wish for marriage?” It wasn’t often any young woman of Lady Mary’s age would not want such a thing. Certainly, Dale had never met such a woman before in his life, and he had five years on Mary if he correctly estimated her age.
“How old is your sister?” Dale asked, unable to tear his eyes from her as she moved about the room. The idea that he found the Lady Mary interesting enough to do such a thing pulled him up short and he shifted his gaze from her.
Peter’s eyes met his over the top of his wine glass and the steely edge to his friend’s gaze gave him pause. “Why so much interest in Mary?”
Dale raised one hand. “I was merely making conversation. I’m not interested in your sister as anything other than a friend. I did not see her in Town last year and was merely curious as to her age.” And part of what he said was indeed true, he was curious about the woman who seemed to have a voice, despite that her gown stated otherwise, and she was without fear of him. Being a duke there were few who could boast such a thing. Other than his friend Peter that is.
“Mary has just turned three and twenty.” Peter glanced about the room. “Lady Hectorville is here, I see. That should make you happy, Carlton.”
Dale fought not to cringe at the mention of the late earl’s wife. “Not particularly. I had one liaison with the woman, when I was in my cups and she was hiding her appearance at the time and I did not know it was her.”
“Much to her despair. Look, my friend, she is observing you and seems quite forlorn that you have not said hello.”
His friend laughed and Dale threw him a quelling glance. “That night was a mistake and one I shall not make again. I have apologized to her, even though she did not want to hear it, but either way, what is done is done and she’s since moved on with another of our set.”
“Maybe you ought to tell her that she needs to move on from you, because from where I stand it certainly does not seem that way.”
Dale looked to where Peter had glanced and he ground his teeth. Damn it, he’d never thought her ladyship would be here of all places. How was it that the woman was even invited? She stood beside Lady Lancaster and her determined interest in Dale must be obvious to any who bothered to notice.
“How is your family acquainted with Lady Hectorville?”
“She is one of my mother’s closest friends. They have known each other for many years, even though there is a fifteen-year age gap between them. When they’re together you would not know that was the case.”
Fabulous, that was all Dale needed. A meddling Lady Hectorville who sometimes still sent him love notes begging for him to call, or Peter’s mother who undoubtedly knew he’d tumbled one of her closest friends. He cringed.
“So, my friend, what are we going to do now that I have you up here in Derbyshire. We may go riding tomorrow if you like. There are some very fine locations to visit about the property, and I wish to show you the hunting lodge. Could be a thought to bring up a group of friends in the summer and make use of it. What say you?”
Dale lifted his wine glass in mock salute. “I think that sounds like a wonderful idea on both counts. Shall we say we’ll meet at the stables at nine in the morning to scout it out?”
Peter clinked his glass against Dale’s. “I shall see you then.”
Chapter 3
The following afternoon Mary took the air outside, determined to be outdoors every day no matter the weather. Her mind wandered from thought to thought, or if more truthful, one thought that is. The duke.
Mary wasn’t sure what to make of her brother’s friend. Of course she’d heard he was a duke well before his arrival at their estate. Peter seemed to get along with him very well, even though the man was a much sought-after gentleman in Town and held a lot of sway within the House of Lords. If her mother’s unending information about the duke was to be believed. But there was something about the fellow that gave her pause, a niggling annoyance that she could not place. Something that had troubled her the moment his steely eyes and unflinching inspection of her occurred in the drawing room last evening.
Her friend and companion
, Louise, came up beside her as they walked about the grounds; bundled up in fur coats they both appeared three sizes larger than they were. But, when there was snow underfoot and one was stuck indoors, such clothing had to be worn, no matter how bulky. No-one wished to be stuck inside all the time.
“It’s so cold, Mary. Can we return indoors now?” Her friend pulled her coat closed further and Mary smiled. Louise had always preferred the warmer months and hated any season other than spring or summer.
“We’ll just finish going around the house and then we’ll go back inside. It’s so refreshing though, don’t you think, to be outdoors? With Peter home with his friend, and Mama with her guests, inside is becoming a little crowded.”
Louise’s eyes glistened with amusement. “What do you think of the duke? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more handsome fellow in all my life.”
“Well, our life has been cosseted here most of the time in Derbyshire. I’m sure when we return to London next year, Town life will offer you more diversion and interest than the Duke of Carlton. It’s simply we’ve been out in the country so long and only ever meet the same people. Anything new and shiny always sparkles brighter.”
Her friend snorted. “Are you being sarcastic, dear Mary? I don’t think there are many who would not continually be distracted by such a man.”
Mary conceded the point. The duke was exceedingly handsome, with his dark locks that had a slight waviness and curl to them. His straight nose and cheekbones made his profile devastatingly lovely and made her stomach flutter each time she chanced a look at him.