The woman’s encouraging smile pushed Theo to speak. “I have a great passion for maps.” Again, the other students moved about restlessly, losing interest in Theo’s presentation, but she continued. “One of my talents is spotting mistakes within books—namely, volumes filled with maps.”
A few Oohs and Ahhs could be heard around the room, though they were said with a certain mocking intent.
For the second time since her arrival, Theo deliberated writing to her mother and begging Lady Cartwright to come collect her; stating she’d been horribly wrong in her decision to seek an education outside the tutors available for hire in London.
Even now, Theo could be ensconced in her family’s library, debating the merits of the scientific principles with Cart and his wife, Judith. Or playing with Olivia and Samuel, her niece and nephew. Instead, she was far from home, surrounded by a roomful of strangers who had no interest in her or her talents.
Theo opened her book to a marked page and held it high for all to see. “For example, here, on page seventeen, the illustrator mislabeled two cities in France, and utterly forgot to add the Sicilian Island off the coast of Italy.”
Miss Dires, bless her kind soul, motioned for Theo to approach her so she could have a closer look at the text. Next, Theo moved down the front row of girls, showing them the erroneous errors.
“In this book alone, I’ve found forty-two such inaccuracies.”
“And what exactly do you do with this knowledge?” Miss Emmeline asked from the stage.
Theo smiled at a blonde girl in the front row as she inspected the page before she returned to the headmistress’s side. “Nothing at this time, but my future plan is to work with mapmakers to increase their accuracy in not only their labeling, but also land proportion versus oceans. I would also like to consult on a new method of tracking elevations on printed maps.”
“Very commendable of you.” Miss Emmeline nodded, her first sign of approval since Theo’s arrival. “We all wish you the best in your endeavors.”
Theo allowed a small grin to settle on her lips, then closed her book and tucked it under her arm. Her presentation had gone far quicker than she’d expected—and had not been as embarrassing as her piano performance—though she suspected her talent in academics was no more fascinating to the gathered girls than her song choice.
“Next, we shall all venture outside.” Everyone stood as if they’d been waiting for the chance to escape the indoors. “Lady Theo, please inform me if you’ll need to change into a riding habit.”
Dread infused Theo. She’d never in all her days ridden a horse, nor did she own a riding habit. Her mother had spoken of the need to acquire the skill, but the large beasts frightened Theo. Even when she journeyed to the stables, she steered clear of their stalls, preferring to sit in the straw and cuddle the ever present kittens. “No, Miss Emmeline.”
“Very well.” The headmistress waved her arm in the direction of the double doors—pushed wide to reveal a grassy area with several stations, each housing equipment for various outdoor activities, most Theo didn’t recognize. She followed the rest of the girls outside, the sun beginning to set on the far horizon. The headmistress stopped beside her and spoke once more. “We also have a lake not far away if your talent lies in rowing.”
“Rowing?” Theo gulped. No amount of studying books had prepared her for all of this. “No, certainly not.”
The other teachers, along with the students, hurried to an area set up for spectators and watched with anticipation as Theo walked between the five stations. Two held gear she could not identify or align with a known sporting activity. Another was set up with shuttlecock, a game she’d seen played at several garden parties she’d accompanied her mother to, but Theo had never bothered to learn the rules. Moving along, the next station held a row of guns—she didn’t even bother with pausing to inspect them. The final area had a row of pegs with archery bows hanging in perfect order from a half-wall obviously erected for the sporting area. Several yards away, a line of hay-stuffed targets with red and white circles painted on them stood, each dotted with holes from use.
Theo and Cart had studied force and trajectory just months before as Silliman’s Journal had dedicated an entire volume to the principles behind the study. They’d spent days dropping different items from the roof of their London home—much to their mother’s dismay—and skimming rocks across the ponds in many of London’s parks. They’d calculated the force and angle necessary to accurately throw a pebble across the water as opposed to the power needed to do the same with a much larger rock.
Surely their discoveries could be applied to the use of an archery bow and arrow.
Theo eyed the various sizes of bows hanging from the pegs as she calculated in her head the distance to the target and the length of the weapons. Though her thoughts were muddled, she should fair far better at archery than at the piano—and if not, an unpredictable flying arrow would captivate her audience more than her skills at error detection.
“You can use my bow,” a dark-haired girl stepped up beside her and retrieved one from its peg.
“Thank you,” Theo said with a tentative smile.
“I am Josie—err, Lady Josephine.” The girl returned Theo’s smile. She was one of the students who preferred to allow her hair freedom from its pins; her long, brown tresses—almost the exact color of Theo’s—hanging loosely about her shoulders.
“I am Theo.” She immediately regretted her words as the headmistress had introduced her before the entire gathering in the music room. “Thank you, again.”
“Good luck,” Josie called before hurrying back to the spectator area—or maybe it was the safest spot to watch when arrows were being shot.
Theo would need more than luck to hit the target, or even come close. Testing the weight of the bow in her hands, she moved to the square directly in front of the closest target and took an arrow from the quiver propped up by a wooden stand. The projectile’s tip was not pointed but flat, reducing the chances of injury if a perilous shot resulted in a stray arrow. The shaft was made of a flexible wood with feathers connected to the end. She combed through her collective memories in search of a diagram she’d seen that featured an archer in a readied stance for a shot.
It was necessary to place her feet at shoulder width and slightly angled from the target. Placing the split end of the arrow against the string, Theo positioned her hands as best she could, sure to keep a firm hold on the arrow while adjusting her fingers.
The position felt highly uncomfortable and unstable, but was a mirror image of the illustration she’d seen.
Not a sound could be heard as she pulled the string back approximately fourteen inches to create the force and trajectory necessary to at least have the arrow fly as far as the target, though if it penetrated the circle was anyone’s guess.
Theo’s arm shook from the strength needed to continue holding the bow high, string pulled back with the arrow aligned and ready to shoot.
One final calculation and adjustment and Theo was satisfied with her angle.
She released the string and sent her arrow flying—straight toward the target.
Theo closed her eyes, she couldn’t bear to see if the arrow landed in the lawn before the target or soared past it entirely. It had been the best attempt she could muster, having never handled the equipment before.
A loud gasp erupted from the spectator’s area, and Theo kept her eyes tightly shut. Had she hit an unintended target? Had the shot gone wild after leaving her bow? Would she be made to leave the field in disgrace?
Maybe she’d have no need to write her mother, but be loaded into a carriage this very night and sent back to London.
Applause sounded behind her with several calls of “fine shot” and “she’s a natural archer.”
Theo opened her eyes to see her arrow protruding from the exact center of the target. She heard someone say, “It seems you have competition, Adeline.”
Turning back to face the crowd, t
wo blonde-haired girls stood next to Josie. One girl’s arms were crossed, and a frown marred her delicate face. The other smirked. The displeased girl must be Adeline—and she did not look happy.
The group broke, and Josie, along with another girl, rushed to Theo’s side, offering their congratulations on a perfect shot. Even Adeline, the most accomplished archer at Miss Emmeline’s hadn’t executed a shot as flawless, Josie crooned, only to gain another nasty look from the girl.
The urge to confide that she had never picked up a bow before today was strong, but Adeline had finally decided to put her sullen manners aside and approach the group.
“This is Georgie and Adeline,” Josie introduced the two girls. “It is clear that Headmistress will assign you to our room.”
“It is lovely to meet you all,” Theo said when Josie took back her bow and returned it to its peg on the half-wall.
“Come,” Georgie said, her voice far deeper than Theo would have imagined for a girl so tiny. “It is mealtime, and if we do not arrive soon, all the candied desserts will be gone.”
“She does not look the sort to enjoy sweets,” Adeline snapped. “But, nonetheless, Georgina is correct. If we don’t hurry, there will be no table left except the one next to Headmistress’s…and I do not wish to have her lecture me again on my mealtime manners.”
“If you hadn’t exchanged her sugar for salt, she would not keep such a close eye on you,” Georgie laughed.
“That was some time ago,” Adeline muttered. “For a woman of her advanced age, she certainly has a stellar memory.”
Josie returned and slipped her arm through Theo’s, pulling her after Georgie and Adeline as they advanced back through the double doors of the school. “That was a fine shot, Lady Theo. I know we will be bosom friends, all four of us.”
Theo allowed her new friend to lead her to the dining hall—all the way chanting silently to herself that she would enjoy her time at Miss Emmeline’s School of Education and Decorum for Ladies of Outstanding Quality—it was either that or return to London and a future under her mother’s thumb and careful watch. Even at the young age of twelve, Theo knew she was not destined to live the tedious life of a sheltered London debutante.
Chapter 1
London, England
October 1825
* * *
Alistair Alexander Price entered his father’s townhouse—for all intents and purposes, his townhouse since his father had taken ill the year before and was unable to travel. Alistair was responsible for the care and well-being of his siblings—he was to tend the account ledgers, he was answerable to all his father’s tenants—and it seemed, Alistair was also solely accountable for the funds needed to fulfill all of those obligations.
“Your coat, Mr. Price?” Donavon, the family butler, held his arm out, prepared to take his over garment.
Alistair shrugged, allowing the coat to fall from his shoulders and into his butler’s waiting arms. “Thank you. I will be in my study, please make sure I am not disturbed.”
“Of course, Mr. Price.” The servant gave him a faint smile.
Alistair was fairly certain the staff was delighted to have the Melton horde in residence—and agreeable to Alistair filling his father’s vacant shoes, though he had not inherited the Melton Viscountship as yet.
With a nod, Alistair continued on to his father’s study. He shook his head. His study. It was highly unlikely his father would ever journey to London again.
Alistair needed a quiet place to think, and if it took drinking himself into a stupor to figure out his family’s problems, then so be it. With eight younger siblings in residence, a quiet room was hard to come by; however, he knew his three brothers were at their fencing lessons, and the female part of his household avoided his study as much as possible—unless summoned. Alistair had made a point of using the room when doling out lectures on inappropriate behavior, as well as when imparting bad news.
Anyone who invaded his private space was subject to one or the other—and on many occasions, both.
His footsteps sounded as he walked down the corridor, past his sisters’ receiving room—not that the five Melton females were used to receiving guests beyond family—and beyond to the study.
The day had not gone as planned, to say the least. His father’s longtime solicitor, Mr. Adams, had shared with Alistair the dire conditions of the many Melton estates. Since the viscount had begun his downward spiral and his illnesses finally took his ability to walk, not a single tenant issue had been addressed, no roofs had been mended beyond what the villagers could do themselves, and no upkeep to the estate gardens had been done. And their family coffers were continually drained from the expenses of supporting nine children and a full-time physician to care for the aging viscount.
Alistair’s father had once been a very hands-on viscount, not trusting estate business and tenant concerns to anyone. That left Alistair to fumble his way through things once his father was unable to leave his sickbed—and his mother unwilling to leave her husband’s side.
Alistair rounded his desk and fell heavily into his chair—the chair he’d seen his father occupy for all of Alistair’s twenty-five years. It had remained vacant for nearly two years before Alistair and his mother made the decision to remove the children to London to avoid them witnessing the viscount’s worsening condition. His mother was to join them before his sister, Adeline, was presented to society.
The news had arrived yesterday—two short weeks before Adeline’s first ball—that Viscountess Melton would not be joining her children in London. At least, not this season.
Certainly, Alistair could handle depositing Adeline at her dress fittings, consulting with her on which invitations to accept, and accompanying her on outings to Hyde Park, but he did not enjoy any of those things, and as a rule, strictly avoided any excursion that would result in meeting marriage-minded females. There was an overabundance of those to contend with in his own home without seeking them out about town.
And Alistair hadn’t the time or the patience for any of it.
Thankfully, he only need present one sibling to the ton this season, Adeline—next season would be Adelaide and Amelia, and after them, Arabella the following year. Lastly, Ainsley. It was all too much to wrap one’s mind around. The viscount’s coffers would be empty long before Alistair inherited the title. And what to do about his brothers: Abel, Alfred, and Adrian? They were remarkably unconcerned with their future paths. None of the three wanted their father to purchase them a commission to serve their country—though Alfred and Adrian were much too young to be burdened with such thoughts as yet. Not a one had an interest in any trade, but Abel did enjoy spending his spare time assisting at the British Museum, without pay, of course; however, at the age of twenty and one, he should be focusing on something more suitable to support a family.
Alistair would see his duty through: ensuring that all of his siblings were wed and taken care of. And then, if there were still time for him and he hadn’t been beaten down by the strain of it all, he would think about his own future.
There were many years ahead of him before he had the luxury of pondering what he wanted for his life. Little Ainsley was only ten, after all, and with eight years until her introduction, Alistair would have no rest until then.
What had his parents been thinking? Nine children with his father already close to fifty when the first was born. It was irresponsible, to say the least. At this point, Alistair would be close to the same age when he had the time to focus on finding his own wife. Never would he burden anyone with supporting his offspring.
As he stared toward the open door, a flash of green flew past, catching his attention. He had glimpsed a trail of blonde curls before the girl was out of sight, her slippered feet making no sound.
He was out of his chair and following, a lecture on the inappropriateness of running indoors on the tip of his tongue. It was necessary for him to hurry to the entryway as his siblings were fast to disappear, especially if they suspe
cted he was in pursuit.
Adeline stood, ready to enter the receiving room when he called her name, his displeasure clear in his voice.
Her hand paused on the door handle but did not turn it.
“Adeline,” he chastised. “What have I said about running in the house?”
“It is only necessary to run faster than the person chasing you?”
“Do not play feebleminded with me,” he sighed, knowing he had, indeed, said those exact words many times, but that was before he and his sister had reached adulthood—and he’d been forced to take his unofficial place as head of the Melton clan. “What did I say about running in the house yesterday?”
“That it is highly inappropriate for women who’ve left the schoolroom and expect to be accepted in ballrooms,” she mimicked. “Women who have turned their cotton pinafores in for silk gowns should refrain from such uncouth behavior.”
“And…” Alistair prodded. He shouldn’t have to lecture Adeline on her decorum. Hadn’t he spent enough coin on her tutelage? For a woman of eight and ten, she could use a healthy dose of maturity.
“If such young women do not agree, then they are free to pack their trunk and return to the country.”
He smiled with pride at her ability to recite his lecture from the day before. “Very good. Miss Emmeline’s School of Education and Decorum for Ladies of Outstanding Quality has at least taught you one valuable skill. Now if only you could follow the sound advice you memorized.”
Adeline stuck her tongue out at him as she turned toward the door once again.
“Adeline!” Again her hand froze on the knob—knowing her luck would only get her so far with her eldest brother. “You must put your childish ways behind you if you favor a successful season.”
“Of course, my dearest, most loving, and wise brother.” Her talent for charming others—all the while mocking them—was a gift all of his siblings shared, though her sweet words never fooled him. “Now, if you do not mind, it is discourteous to keep guests waiting.”
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