by Brenda Hiatt
His head in a whirl at this sudden materialization of his fanciful daydream, Forrest approached to seek an introduction to the woman who was clearly his Destiny.
* * *
CHAPTER 2
"EVERYONE LOOKS so elegant, Ellie, and there are so many of them!" whispered Rosalind to her companion. "I shall be frightened to death to speak to anyone."
"Nonsense!" admonished the little brunette. "You are by far the prettiest girl in the room. Anyone with half an eye can see that. Just hold your head up, as your mama is always saying, and accept any compliments as your due. Goodness knows, you deserve them."
Elinor O'Day regarded her cousin with frank admiration. Rosalind was the most beautiful young lady she could imagine, and her new gown only emphasized the fact. Ellie hoped that Rosalind might be able to fulfill her mother's expectations for her first Season— certainly, life would be miserable for all of them if she didn't.
"Just remember what your gown cost. If that doesn't make you feel elegant, I don't know what will," continued Ellie, and was rewarded by seeing her cousin's back straighten. "That's right. You look just like a princess now. And here comes your first conquest, I'll be bound. See that gentleman approaching, the handsome one with the dark gold hair and black coat?"
Rosalind nodded, though she could not bring herself to look directly at such a frighteningly fashionable gentleman. Instead, she gazed over his shoulder, a properly cool smile frozen on her face. The intimidating man bowed over her mother's hand, introducing himself.
"I perceive you are new to Town. Dearborn, at your service." Forrest managed to keep his eyes off the beauty while greeting her parents.
"I am Mrs. Winston-Fitts, and this is my husband, Emmett," the older woman responded warmly. "It is extremely kind in you, my lord, to make us so welcome at our first function of the Season." Mr. Winston-Fitts acknowledged the greeting, and his wife continued, "May I present my daughter, Miss Rosalind Winston-Fitts, Lord Dearborn? Oh, yes, and my niece, Miss O'Day."
This last introduction was obviously an afterthought, and Forrest scarcely heard it, for on looking at Rosalind as she was introduced, he was dazzled anew. She was even more beautiful at close quarters than she had seemed at a distance, he realized, with her guinea-gold hair, flawless complexion and nobly moulded figure that lacked only a few inches to match his own in height.
"I am charmed to make your acquaintance, Miss Winston-Fitts," he murmured, bowing over her hand without taking his eyes from her face.
"And I yours, my lord," replied the young lady obediently, her own eyes demurely downcast.
Forrest gazed at her in bemusement for a moment before belatedly recalling his manners. "And yours also, Miss O'Day," he said quickly, meeting the other girl's glance for the first time. He was startled by a distinct flicker of amusement in the clear grey eyes.
"Of course," she replied cryptically, one corner of her mouth quivering upward. "Rosalind was just desiring a glass of ratafia, my lord. If you could be so kind?"
"Certainly. Is there anything else you desire, Miss Winston-Fitts?" he asked solicitously. He was grateful for this chance to demonstrate his professed willingness to serve and bestowed an appreciative smile on the girl who had arranged it. "Or for you, Miss O'Day?" he remembered to ask before making for the table. With another half smile to acknowledge his silent thanks, the other girl shook her head and he departed.
"Ellie, how could you do so? You practically ordered him to bring me a glass of ratafia!" exclaimed Rosalind in an anguished whisper as soon as he was out of earshot.
"Oh, tush!" responded Ellie, also in an undertone lest her aunt overhear. "It was obvious the man was dying to do something to prove his devotion. I merely gave him the chance."
"Devotion! Pray don't tease, Ellie. He has only just met me."
Before Ellie could respond, Mrs. Winston-Fitts spoke. "How fortunate that I was able to introduce you to Lord Dearborn's notice so quickly, my love! He is among the most eligible bachelors in England, and quite elusive, so I hear. I must say, he seemed quite taken with you." She gazed fondly on her beautiful daughter.
"How could he not be?" asked Ellie practically. "Rosalind is looking her absolute best tonight, which is saying a good deal."
"Quite true, Elinor," agreed her aunt. "Even so, you will oblige me by not intruding yourself on any conversation he might strike up with Rosalind." She regarded her niece with less than her usual disfavour, in charity with the world at such unexpected good fortune.
Elinor knew that her aunt was likely right. Lord Dearborn, or any other suitor, for that matter, would never get to know Rosalind properly if she were always at hand to bail her out of any awkwardness her shyness might create. Glancing over to where the Earl stood near the buffet table, Ellie couldn't help thinking that her cousin had done very well on her first evening out. She could scarcely imagine a more handsome gentleman, with his fine physique, antique gold hair and deep, deep blue eyes. What beautiful children he and Rosalind would have together, she mused.
A moment later, Lord Dearborn returned with two glasses. "You might discover yourself thirsty later on," he said in explanation as he handed the second glass to Ellie.
"Thank you, my lord. It is always wise to be prepared against any eventuality," she replied with a twinkle. "I should not wish you to be obliged to make such a journey twice." Then, catching her aunt's slight frown, she forced herself to recede to the background, drifting over to speak to her uncle about a political intrigue she had read of in the papers that morning.
Forrest's glance lingered on Miss O'Day for just the barest moment before returning to Miss Winston-Fitts. "Is the ratafia to your liking?" he asked, hoping to engage her in conversation.
"Yes, thank you, my lord," was all she said, however, before lapsing back into silence.
After watching her for another few moments, he suddenly asked, "Have I a spot on my nose, Miss Winston-Fitts?"
His beautiful companion looked up in startled confusion. "A spot? No, my lord."
"I thought that might be why you so steadfastly avoid looking at me." Though his unexpected question had not made her laugh, as he had hoped, it had at least afforded him his first full glimpse of her eyes. They were wide and guileless, and blue as the sky, just as Madame Fortunata had predicted. The glimpse was fleeting, however, for she dropped her gaze again almost at once.
"Of... of course not," she replied faintly. He waited, but no other response was forthcoming.
"I hope to see you about London, Miss Winston- Fitts," he finally said. "Perhaps you might allow me to show you some of the sights."
She nodded, still without looking up, but said nothing.
Unable to think of any other ruse to prolong what could hardly be called a conversation, Forrest excused himself. "My mother is waving to me, so I must go to see what she wants. Until next time." He lifted her unresisting hand to his lips in regretful farewell.
"What did I tell you?" asked Ellie, bouncing back to Rosalind's side as soon as he had gone. "He's clearly smitten with you! Aunt Mabel says that he is an Earl, and is he not handsome?"
"I suppose so," admitted Rosalind, "though his eyes are not so kind as Sir George's. And he was teasing me, I think. I did not know what to say."
She never did, thought Ellie, around any man other than the aforementioned Sir George. He was but a country squire, however, and not under consideration by Aunt Mabel as a potential husband for her daughter, baronet or no.
"I don't think you needed to say anything, dear," she said comfortingly. "Gentleman like to do most of the talking, I understand. Which is why I frighten them all away!" she added, and had the satisfaction of seeing her cousin smile. "There, that's better. Now here come two or three other gentlemen no doubt desirous of making your acquaintance. What a pity your mama didn't include flirting lessons along with all the others she required you to take!"
* * *
"And who, may I ask, is that lovely girl you were just speaking with, Forrest?" asked
Lady Dearborn as soon as her son reached her side. "She is quite the prettiest thing I have seen in an age!"
"I was rather taken with her myself, Mother, and would be speaking with her still had you not waved that ridiculous fan in my direction. I've never seen spangles quite so large before. And are those magpie feathers, perchance?"
"Raven," replied the countess with a flick of said fan that dislodged one of the myriad little black plumes. "You have not answered my question."
"Her name is Miss Rosalind Winston-Fitts, if you must know. And before you point it out, I am very much aware that she admirably fits your Madame Fortunata's description. A connection of hers, perhaps?" As he spoke, he wondered why he had not considered that possibility before.
"Not that I am aware of," returned Lady Dearborn with perfect composure. "I will make enquiries. Not that I can believe Cora capable of so abusing her powers, of course, but we might as well discover what we can about the girl's family."
In truth, she was nearly as startled as her son to see how close to the mark Mrs. Lawrence had come, especially since that lady had only been following her own suggestions. However, she was not one to whistle such a golden opportunity down the wind— assuming, of course, that the girl came of an acceptable background. She would indeed make enquiries, and quickly.
"Her father's Christian name is Emmett, if that will be of any help," offered the Earl offhandedly. He had a fairly accurate idea of the direction his mother's thoughts were taking and decided that a light tone was in order— for the present, at least.
The Countess eyed him shrewdly. "Quite taken with her, eh? Not that I blame you. Who are we mere mortals to struggle against Destiny?"
Forrest snorted, not very convincingly. "I believe I'll go see if there is a hand of whist forming. And if you don't mind, Mother, I'll shape my own destiny." He sauntered off, pointedly in the opposite direction from where Miss Winston-Fitts stood surrounded by half a dozen admirers.
"That's what they all like to believe," Lady Dearborn murmured to his retreating back.
* * *
"Well, Emmett, was I not right about our Rosalind? There was not another young lady there so admired." Mrs. Winston-Fitts preened visibly over her triumph as they drove back to the Town house they had let for the Season.
Mr. Winston-Fitts withdrew his gaze from the prospect outside the carriage window to regard his wife with cynical amusement. "I don't recall that I ever disputed your judgement in the matter, my dear. No doubt Rosalind is well on her way to securing whatever husband you have selected for her." He returned his attention to the street scene without, refusing to be drawn into another protracted discussion of his daughter's expectations.
"How did you come to be acquainted with Lady Brookhaven, Aunt Mabel?" enquired Ellie from the other side of the carriage, as eager as her uncle for a change from the familiar subject.
"Oh, her mother and mine were great friends in their youth," replied Mrs. Winston-Fitts. "Dear Mama moved in the highest circles as a girl, you must know."
Ellie nodded. How could she not know, when Aunt Mabel referred to it at every opportunity? A far less frequent topic of discussion, however, was the fact that her dear mama had married a man of the mercantile persuasion, thereby securing the family fortune —a fortune she was obliging enough to pass on to her daughter. Mrs. Winston-Fitts had done everything in her power to rectify her mother's social breach by marrying back into the gentry, using that very fortune as her lever. Now, she was determined that Rosalind should take the process a step further by wedding a member of the peerage.
"Who did you like best among the gentlemen you met, Rosalind?" asked Ellie, feeling that her cousin's preferences should have some small bearing on the matter.
"I can hardly tell," replied Rosalind vaguely. "Everyone was so kind."
"Yes, yes, but surely one or two out of the crowd caught your eye," prompted Ellie. "Was there no one you found more handsome than the rest? What of that most attentive Lord Dearborn?" Ellie privately thought that no other gentleman there had come even close to the Earl in either appearance or address.
"Yes, he was well enough, I suppose," said Rosalind, "though he did tease. Sir Walter Mansfield was handsome, as well, and not so difficult to understand."
"Oh, my dear, Sir Walter cannot hold a candle to Dearborn, I assure you," interposed Mrs. Winston- Fitts. "Not only is his fortune smaller, but he has far less influence in the government. Lord Dearborn's position is of the highest, as would yours be as his countess."
Rosalind's blush was visible even in the darkened carriage. "Mama, you go too fast! I have no reason to anticipate an offer from either one of them."
"One can never begin planning too early for such an eventuality," replied her mother loftily. "No husband was ever caught without some little effort on the part of the lady. And Dearborn would be well worth any such effort."
Rosalind lapsed into an embarrassed silence.
To deflect Aunt Mabel's inevitable lecture on what was expected of her daughter, Ellie said quickly, "Let us not forget, ma'am, that the Season is only just begun. Perhaps Rosalind will catch the eye of a marquess, or even a duke, before it is over." Though Ellie could not imagine even a duke comparing with Lord Dearborn, she well knew that if one were to come along, a mere earl would be forgotten —by her aunt, at least.
As she had hoped, this happy suggestion turned Mrs. Winston-Fitts's thoughts to the possibility of even greater future triumphs and she proceeded to enumerate the eligible peers that Rosalind had not yet met. As she required no response to her monologue, Ellie was free to let her mind wander for the remainder of the drive.
Undoubtedly, many girls in Miss O'Day's position would have envied the beautiful, well-dowered Rosalind, but Ellie felt only a fond protectiveness towards her cousin. From birth, poor Rosalind had been prodded and moulded into her mother's idea of a perfect young lady of fashion, constantly supervised and corrected. She had never experienced the luxury of freedom, which Ellie had taken for granted most of her life— until the coaching accident two years earlier that had killed both her parents.
For the first seventeen years of her life, Ellie had been at liberty to roam the rolling countryside, both in northern England, where she had grown up, and in Ireland, on summer visits to her paternal grandfather. In spite of the endless economies required to stretch an insufficient income, her childhood had been happy, and she had enjoyed the unconditional love of both of her parents, something Rosalind had never really known. Uncle Emmett seemed scarcely to notice his daughter, while his wife doted on Rosalind more for the ambitions she might realize than for herself. To Ellie's way of thinking, it was Rosalind rather than herself who had led an underprivileged life.
Though she had grieved bitterly over the loss of her parents, Ellie could not really repine over her present position as a dependant in the Winston-Fitts household. Even as a poor relation, she lived in greater luxury than she had been accustomed to, and so long as she completed the various chores her aunt assigned her, she enjoyed far more freedom than did Rosalind. Because she had never aspired to the position and fortune that many girls hoped to achieve through marriage, the knowledge that she would now have little chance to attain them did not trouble her.
Even as she thought that, however, Lord Dearborn's face arose in her mind's eye. For a brief moment, she found herself regretting that she lacked the charms to appeal to a man like him. Swiftly, however, she pushed the fleeting notion aside. He seemed most kind, and would doubtless make Rosalind an excellent husband. Surely it was her duty as friend, cousin and companion to do everything in her power to help Rosalind to win him.
* * *
CHAPTER 3
"I'VE DECIDED to spend a few weeks at Huntington Park," announced Lady Dearborn to her son several days later as she took breakfast in her rooms. "The roses will need tending, and I miss my pussies. I'll leave on the morrow, while the crescent moon is still increasing."
Forrest was not surprised. His mother had no
t spent an entire Season in London in years. Nor could he blame her; their country estate was glorious in the springtime, particularly in comparison to the dirty grey smokiness of the capital city.
"Perhaps I'll join you," he said thoughtfully, deliberately baiting her.
"At the height of the Season?" she exclaimed in shocked accents, just as he had known she would. "'Tis bad enough that I am deserting the fashionable world for the simple life. It would be rank cruelty to deprive the ton of both of us!" Her wink showed that she knew what he was about. "Besides, think of a certain young lady who would be left to the tender mercies of her other gallants."
Forrest's smile broadened. "Touché," he said good-naturedly. "By the bye, have your enquiries anent that particular lady borne any fruit?" He had given up trying to conceal his interest in Miss Winston-Fitts from his mother, who was entirely too perceptive. Besides, if he made the girl his wife, as he had nearly decided he would, the Countess had every right to know.
"A few pieces, though not yet a full harvest," she replied, sharing the remains of her breakfast with Sapphire, the Siamese cat, who was happily ensconced in her lap. "The Winston-Fittses, as you may already know, are a very old family— older than ours, in fact— and Emmett Winston-Fitts hails from a most respectable branch of it. On that side, the girl's blood is as blue as you could wish." She paused, dangling a shred of bacon just out of Sapphire's reach.
"And on the other?" prompted Forrest. He could see that his mother intended dragging out her story for maximum effect, and he had no mind to spend the entire morning listening to it.