“Your mother hopes I haven’t changed my mind about returning you to London with me and sponsoring you for a Season,” the dowager said with a faint smile. “She can breathe freely, because I most certainly haven’t. I daresay you’ll breeze into those ballrooms and clear the air considerably.”
“A Season in London?” Jane ignored the dowager and turned to her mother. “But we can’t afford such an extravagance. And is it necessary? I can’t envision a reason to go to such lengths, when there is always so much work to be done here, and all of the boys have their own homes now, and wives and children, and can’t help you with the gardens any more, and—”
“And nothing. You have no marriage prospects remaining in Whitstable, thanks to your silly ideas. That’s unlikely to change in the foreseeable future. If you are to have any chance at a future other than being a spinster living forever with your father and me, this is what must take place.”
Oh, heavens. She knew Mother had been horrified all those years ago when she’d refused Mr. Thornhill’s pursuit. Whitstable didn’t boast many other prospects in general, and the few that did remain at that point had all since married. None of which had bothered Jane in the least—but clearly it bothered Mother more than she’d realized.
“But why must I marry at all? What’s so wrong with staying here with you and Father? You need help with the gardens and the cleaning. Mrs. Childress can’t do it all, you know. I can earn a living with my sewing, and—”
“Enough with this foolishness of sewing! Jane, the Dowager Duchess of Somerton has made an offer to you that you simply cannot refuse. You will not refuse.” Mother looked close to tears. “You’ll go. You’ll do everything in your power to be charming and to find a husband. You simply can’t fail again.” She stopped on a sob and took a moment to recompose herself.
The incident between Jane and Mr. Thornhill was most certainly not a failure, at least not in Jane’s estimation. She wouldn’t marry him if he were the last man in all of England. Not five years ago, not now, not in another ten years.
Not ever.
“Is that understood?” Mother stood with her hands firmly planted against her hips, the outrage which had colored her cheeks finally fading. “I can’t live with myself if we fail to at least give you one more chance at finding a husband, Jane. Promise me you’ll try. That’s all I ask.”
The dowager gave her an encouraging smile, and Jane couldn’t bear to blatantly ignore her mother’s request. Besides, she need only go to London and try to find a husband. She wasn’t promising to actually take one.
Added to that, if she went along with her mother’s request, she could even look around for a place to set up a shop—and take a look at some of the already established modiste shops there, to see what her competition might be. She hadn’t yet worked out the logistics of having a storefront in London while working in Whitstable, but surely it would be easier to work all of that out in Town.
After giving marriage this one last opportunity, she might finally be free to do what she wanted with her life. She squared her shoulders, resigning herself to her decision. “Very well, Mother. I’ll try.”
Mother heaved a sigh of relief and Jane returned her attention to the dowager. “Ma’am, how soon will we travel? I’ll have to prepare Mr. Cuddlesworth for the journey and pack some food for him.” He raised his head at the mention of his name and looked up at her with adoring, amber eyes.
Her mother’s jaw fell open. “You what? Jane, you can’t be serious. Leave the cat here. He’ll be just fine. Your Grace, my daughter most certainly will not bring that ball of fur to your home, there’s no need to worry.”
Goodness. Her mother really needed to stop trying to speak for her. “I most certainly will take Mr. Cuddlesworth with me, or I refuse to leave at all. Mother, he’s never been without me. And he is so old now, just a little old man, surely he wouldn’t do well if I left him here, no matter how well you took care of him. He has to go or I can’t. There can be no compromise on this point, I’m afraid.”
The dowager eyed the cat purring contentedly on Jane’s lap. “No, I can see there’s no compromise at all. Cousin Barbara, I’m afraid Mr. Cuddlesworth will simply have to come with us.” She reached a hand across and brushed it gently over his coat, coaxing him to roll over and bare his belly to her ministrations. “Jane, will he do well on our journey, do you believe?”
“Yes ma’am, I think he’ll do quite nicely, so long as he’s with me. He’ll be no trouble, I can promise you.”
Chapter Two
Mr. Cuddlesworth’s body convulsed again, and a horrid, hacking sound emanated deep within him.
“Gracious. The poor little dear.” Cousin Henrietta, as the dowager had insisted Jane call her, winced with each wracking heave until the cat finally relieved himself of the meager contents of his stomach.
Jane winced. “Oh, goodness. I’m terribly sorry. He has never traveled before, so I didn’t know he’d become so ill.” The vomit covered the other half of the upholstered carriage bench upon which Jane sat. She mopped at it with an already ruined cotton gown, all the while worried about her sweet companion. His eyes looked glassier than usual and his fur was becoming matted against his body.
He feebly returned to her lap and looked at her with huge, miserable eyes.
“I imagine cats are much like children in that way,” the dowager said. “We must simply take these things as life gives them to us. There’s no reason to be upset.” She looked across the carriage at the two of them with an indulgent smile.
“But the carriage! Won’t your son be furious?” The smell alone might be enough reason for him to toss them out.
Of course, that wouldn’t necessarily be the worst fate Jane could encounter. She would be in London, after all. What better place to start her business, what with all the society ladies out and about, and always in need of new attire to keep up with the latest trends?
“Let me worry about Peter. Besides, he owns many other carriages. If his servants can’t remove the stench, then he can use a different one. You just take care of your Mr. Cuddlesworth.”
At precisely that moment, the cat left Jane’s lap and leapt onto Cousin Henrietta’s. He shoved his head against her hand until she began to scratch beneath his chin. Goodness. He had never behaved like that, at least not with anyone but Jane.
“Mr. Cuddlesworth! You naughty boy, you’ve not been invited to sit with her. I do apologize, ma’am. As you can see, he has a mind of his own.”
He purred in contentment, with his head thrown back to give the dowager’s fingers better access to his most sensitive spot and his eyes closed in pure feline ecstasy.
Cousin Henrietta laughed when he relaxed to the point of slipping from her lap to the carriage floor. “Why little fellow, you’re quite easy to please, aren’t you? I believe I might fall in love with you, Mr. Cuddlesworth, if you aren’t careful.”
Once on the floor, the cat spiraled between her legs, rubbing himself all over his newfound friend and trying to climb up the inside of her skirt. He left a trail of orange and white fur everywhere he touched, which stood out against the aubergine fabric of the dowager’s traveling gown.
“He should return to his usual self once we arrive. At least I hope he does. Oh dear, what if he is still ill once we get to Town?” Speaking the thought out loud almost seemed to confirm Jane’s fear. “I can’t stand to see him so sick and not be able to fix it for him.”
“There, there dear.” The dowager reached across the coach to pat her on the knee. “I believe this is all just a bit of a change for him. He’ll be perfectly fine once we’re home. And if he isn’t, he’ll have more nursemaids at his side than he knows what to do with, all waiting to see to his every wish or desire. I imagine even Cook will fall head over ears in love with him and try to sneak him some cod on occasion.”
The dowager was probably right. There wasn’t any reason to worry. Jane tried to relax again. Over the three day journey, the two had become quite close
. Jane even found she could speak openly with Cousin Henrietta about any number of topics she’d normally avoid at all costs with her mother.
As the daughter of a vicar, Jane must always conform to Mother’s expectations of her behavior, and not discuss politics or the wars, or anything interesting. She must sit politely and act the part of a lady, which she rather felt anything but.
Even more surprising than the ease she felt in discourse with her traveling companion, she was in awe over the woman’s outlook on life. Cousin Henrietta wanted all of her children to marry—not because it was what society expected—but because she wanted them to be happy. What a refreshing thought! If only her own mother shared such a sentiment.
Jane wondered how Cousin Henrietta would react to one of her offspring choosing to remain unmarried in order to preserve his or her own happiness, instead of following the path she would choose for them. She imagined it would be quite different from her own parents’ reactions, even though she clearly wanted her children to find that perfect match.
It seemed their happiness was more important to her than their marital state.
“He’s a sweet cat, Jane. Obviously you know how to share your love.”
Looking across at the two, she realized Mr. Cuddlesworth had fallen asleep with his chin draped across Henrietta’s knee. She smiled at the sweet picture they made. If she had ever become proficient with paints or drawing, like her mother had wanted, she would love to paint them as they sat. “Yes. He’s well loved.”
“We’re nearing London. We should be at Hardwicke House within the hour. My girls will be especially pleased, I’m sure. They can’t resist the idea of another female in our midst, even though my sons might think there are already more than necessary. I think Mr. Cuddlesworth might enjoy Peter’s children. Though, I do hope they aren’t too rough on him. Little Sarah is only four, almost five. She may not understand that pulling his tail or grabbing his ears would be unwelcome.”
“He can handle children. He never seemed to mind me as a child. Of course, I wasn’t quite as young as they are, but he loved me from the start. I daresay Mr. Cuddlesworth will feel at home anywhere, as long as I’m with him.”
In all honesty, the cat had always accepted anything anyone wanted to do to him with no complaints. Not all cats in her acquaintance would be so calm and patient while having its eyes poked by curious fingers.
The true question was whether Jane would feel at home in London with the dowager’s family.
But she would learn soon enough. The grand homes of Mayfair slipped into her view through the dusty windows of the well-traveled carriage. She could spare no more time worrying about Mr. Cuddlesworth. She had herself to worry about now.
~ * ~
Mama had left five days ago. Each passing day brought more rain.
Peter couldn’t be certain when she would return, alongside his newest charge, and still he’d been unable to settle the accounts for his Welsh estate.
Clearly, something was amiss. The problem continued to elude him. Debits and credits were all logged, and the balances seemed to be properly calculated and forwarded. But somehow, more money had been going out than was coming in, and he had yet to discover the cause.
His workers and tenants all reported ample healthy crops, according to the account Turnpenny had forwarded to Yeats. The steward’s documentation relayed that the crops had received fair prices at market. His employees were paid a more-than-adequate wage for their services, but not more than the estate should be able to afford.
So where had the money gone?
He had hoped to solve the mystery before Mama returned and his home filled past overflowing with females flittering about, but his time for such pursuits was quickly running out. Once she returned reconciling these ledgers would become even less likely to take place, particularly if he kept his bargain with her. There would be few evenings, if any, that he could keep his own company.
Not only that, but she’d surely insist he pay social calls each afternoon.
Peter hadn’t called on a lady in the afternoon since before Mary. The mere thought had him quaking in his Hessians. Heaven forbid if one of them should think he might actually be paying her court...that he intended to make her an offer.
Mornings would be his only refuge, his only time to accomplish anything of value and fulfill his duties.
He prayed that would be enough.
Peter rechecked the figures for the umpteenth time, wishing he would find the error glaring at him in the numbers but knowing he wouldn’t. A throb formed in his temples, and he tried to will it away.
Then the trilling laughter of his sisters echoed through the hallway. The laughs grew closer. Blast it, they were going to interrupt him yet again. Why couldn’t they leave him be?
Since Mama had left, his sisters had barged in on him at least two or three times a day. It was as though, without their mother present, they were unable to think for themselves or decide how to spend their days. Some days it was enough to make him wish they were still in the schoolroom and he could just send them back to their governess, Miss Bentley.
He ought to have kept the woman in his employ—hired her to act as Sophie’s companion or something, since clearly Sophie had no intention of marrying any time soon.
But then again, Miss Bentley knew his sisters entirely too well, since she’d spent years in the Hardwicke home instructing them on how to be a lady and teaching them to enjoy feminine pursuits. Which, he might add, it could be argued she’d failed abjectly. At least Miss Bentley, herself, tended to behave appropriately on most occasions. If only she could have effected such a change on his sisters. However, having her around as a companion now might only serve to encourage Sophie to remain a singleton instead of seriously considering a gentleman’s offer.
The female voices had virtually descended upon him. He tried to put his papers in order before they swooped in and wreaked havoc on his business affairs, building neat stacks and placing things just so.
Maybe Forrester would return soon and they could discuss important matters. Masculine pursuits. Anything to run the girls off. He loved them, but they would soon drive him to distraction. Just before they arrived, he debated slipping into the antechamber beside his library. None of the girls even knew it existed. He could hide there and they’d be none the wiser.
But he waited too long.
His footman pushed open the doors and led the two Hardwicke sisters and their former-governess-turned-companion into Peter’s private library. “Your Grace, the Ladies Sophia and Charlotte.” The man bowed and darted out the door so fast one might have thought someone held a pistol to his head. Indeed, he escaped before Peter could issue him a proper ducal glare for his act of cowardice.
His sisters, tall and lean, and sporting the hallmark Hardwicke red hair and slightly freckled fair skin, flounced in and took over his space. Sophie, the eldest sister, sat in an armchair across the desk from him. Charlotte, however, shoved his ledgers out of her way and seated herself directly on the corner of his desk. He could not avoid her if he tried. Their soft, feminine fabrics stood out against the rich woods and warm leathers adorning his library.
Peter almost wished that if he must be interrupted, at least he could have some male companionship involved.
Alas, his brother Richard was an officer in the army. He’d been home for a brief visit a couple of months ago, but Wellington was not appeased that Napoleon would stay put. As such, Richard and the rest of the army were still on the continent. His next brother, Alex, was now a married father, living contentedly in Somerton and pretending that life in London was nonexistent.
That left only Neil to save him from the feminine fluttering currently accosting him. But, being the youngest brother, Neil was content to spend most of his waking hours during those times when the rest of the natural world was asleep doing God only knew what. Certainly drinking, possibly whoring, and maybe gambling. None of which Peter could entirely hold against the lad. In fact, were he no
t in possession of the title and the inherent obligations attached to it, he might possibly follow the same path. As long as Neil stayed out of trouble, Peter resigned himself to let the sod do as he would. Sowing a few wild oats would not harm him in the grand scheme of things.
Still, that left Peter completely alone to face the women.
Charlotte, from her position atop his papers, sighed loudly. “When will Mama come home with Jane?”
“Miss Matthews, Char,” Sophie admonished.
“Fine. Miss Matthews.” She glared at Sophie before continuing. “She has been gone absolutely forever, and I am simply desperate to meet our cousin. Oh, I do wonder what she’ll be like.”
Char’s exuberance typically charmed Peter, but today it rankled. “They’ll be here when they arrive and not a moment sooner. Can you cease asking me this same question? I haven’t been able to answer you to your satisfaction any of the other eight times you’ve asked in the last several days. With all the rain the whole of England has experienced over the last sennight, it’s no wonder their travel has been delayed.” His headache intensified. Blood pulsed through the veins in his head until it was a wonder they didn’t burst.
Her exaggerated sigh set his jaw to grinding. “The rain has been absolutely dreadful, Peter. We’ve been stuck inside the house without anyone at all for company except ourselves. Mama at least would have arranged for us to make some social calls. Why, even Josh and Sarah are practically bursting at the seams to play outside.”
“Why can’t you two arrange your own social calendars with your mother gone?” he asked with a pointed look in Sophie’s direction. She’d been out in society quite long enough to know how to move about within it, by God. “I imagine the Marlborough sisters are quite as bored with the weather as the two of you. And let Mrs. Pratt know she’s welcome to take Josh and Sarah outdoors, so long as she is prepared to nurse them back to health after they catch the inevitable chill.”
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