Lord Dearborn's Destiny

by Brenda Hiatt

Lady Dearborn grimaced slightly. "The mother, I regret to say, was born Mabel Grimes. I have been unable to discover much else about her, but current rumour has her as the daughter of a prosperous textile merchant in or near Birmingham. Her mother, however, was apparently of gentle birth, according to Lady Brookhaven, who knew her in her youth. A Miss Wharton. The girl's dowry is quite impressive, by the way."

  "No doubt from her maternal grandfather," commented the Earl. He was not particularly dismayed, or even surprised, by his mother's disclosures. Miss Winston-Fitts was by no means the first young lady to acquire the financial entree to Society in such a way.

  Forrest knew that the girl's mercantile connections would not dampen his mother's enthusiasm for the match any more than they did his own. Still, he was in no great haste to offer for Miss Winston-Fitts, however lovely she might be. The Season was yet young, and he had scarcely exchanged ten words with her thus far, in spite of dancing twice with her at Mrs. Bullen's rout three nights since. At any rate, he would be foolish to commit himself for life before getting to know her better. He very much looked forward to furthering their acquaintance, in fact.

  "Well, ma'am, I know you wouldn't wish me to introduce a cit into the family. You may trust me to keep my handkerchief safely in my pocket." He watched his mother keenly as he casually made this pronouncement.

  Struggling up from the chaise in alarm, to the discommodation of Sapphire, the Countess hastened to undo the perceived damage. "Nonsense, Forrest! If you care for the girl I will throw no spoke in your wheel on that account, you may be sure. The girl's connections are not generally known, for the mother never mentions that side of her family, and even if they were, it would not signify. I can assure you that the Huntington name and the Dearborn title would not suffer in the least from such an alliance." She faltered to a stop as Forrest's grin revealed that he had been bamming her.

  "You wretched boy!" she cried. "As if such considerations would weigh with you, anyway. I can't think why you wished me to make enquiries in the first place. It is high time I left London, and you to your own devices." She conveniently forgot that researching Miss Winston-Fitts's background had been her own idea.

  "Town will be quite dull without you, ma'am," her son politely assured her, still grinning. "But I daresay I will manage somehow to keep myself amused." He rose to go.

  "Forrest, wait! I have just had the most delightful idea!" the Countess exclaimed suddenly. "Why do we not have a house party at Huntington Park towards the end of the Season? It really does seem most unfair that you should spend the entire spring amidst the dirt of Town while I am enjoying the beauties of the country. Also, I should love to show off my rose gardens to our friends while they are at their best."

  "Our friends, or the roses?" asked Forrest teasingly. "A capital idea, however, ma'am. You know that I will seize on any excuse to cut the Season short."

  "Excellent! I shall send out invitations as soon as I arrive home. After I greet my poor pussies, that is. They are always so melancholy while I am away, Mrs. Hutchins tells me."

  The Earl chose not to ask how one might tell when a cat was melancholy, but instead took up his gloves. "I will leave you to your arrangements, ma'am. The house is sure to be turned topsy-turvy with your packing and I would as lief be out of it. At any rate, if I do not take my morning ride soon, it will no longer be morning."

  "Off with you, then," said Lady Dearborn cheerfully. "I'll be leaving by nine tomorrow, so do you be certain to be awake to see me off and to throw a shoe after me for luck."

  "You see me your servant, as always, ma'am." With an exaggerated bow, Forrest departed his mother's rooms.

  * * *

  At that moment, which lacked nearly an hour till noon, all was yet quiet at the Winston-Fitts Town house. Ellie O'Day stood by the window of her small chamber gazing thoughtfully down at the tiny patch of garden behind the house, going over the day's schedule in her mind while waiting for the rest of the family to bestir themselves.

  After breakfast, if such it could properly be called at twelve o'clock, she, Rosalind and Aunt Mabel would once again venture out to the shops in their seemingly endless quest for the perfect gown for this or that upcoming function. In particular, her aunt wished to have everything and everyone in readiness for the dinner party she was giving next week.

  Ellie wondered idly whether her aunt's attention to detail would extend to a new gown for herself, or if she would be obliged to wear another of Rosalind's castoffs, hemmed and taken in to fit her more diminutive figure. Not that it would bother her, she reminded herself. Rosalind's old gowns were vastly more fashionable than anything she had ever owned before coming to live with the Winston-Fittses.

  A scratch at the door interrupted Ellie's thoughts. "Ellie, are you awake?" came Rosalind's voice from without.

  Ellie quickly bounded across the little room and flung open the door. "Good morning, Rosie! Are you ready for another day of fittings?" she asked her cousin cheerily.

  Rosalind entered the chamber more slowly and sat on the threadbare pink chair that occupied the meagre space between bed and dressing-table. "I had no idea I would need so many clothes in London," she said with a sigh. "It seems a shocking waste of money to me."

  "I can't think where you acquired your tendency to economy, Rosie," said Ellie, with a laugh, settling next to her on the green counterpane of the bed. "Certainly not from Aunt Mabel."

  "Oh, Mama can be thrifty enough when she chooses," replied Rosalind with uncharacteristic cynicism. "She certainly did not overextend herself on your room, here or at home." She glanced about at the tiny chamber and its mismatched furnishings with a small frown. "If it were not for Papa, she might well have tried to house you in the garret."

  Ellie chuckled again. "You must not think I mind, truly. Though a garret would be more romantic, don't you think? Do not all the novel heroines live in one before their Prince Charming appears?"

  But Rosalind had apparently rehearsed what she meant to say and would not be dissuaded. "Still, I hope to persuade her to buy you a new gown today. You might as well make the most of being in London, and a new gown could be just the thing to attract a gentleman."

  "Your mother will hardly thank me if I lure away any of your suitors," Ellie pointed out, though the very thought of any man looking at her while Rosalind was in the same room struck her as absurd.

  "I cannot very well marry all of them," said Rosalind, her troubled tone implying that she would far rather not marry any of them. "Besides, I am certain you do not wish to remain dependent on Mama and Papa forever."

  Rosalind's perceptiveness rather surprised Ellie. Her cousin, while sweet-natured and affectionate, could not generally be said to possess an understanding of the first order. What she said was true, however; Ellie knew that her post as Aunt Mabel's drudge would become far more irksome once Rosalind left for a home of her own.

  "Don't worry, Rosie," she said after a brief pause. "If some duke does not carry me off to his castle this Season, I can always go to my grandfather in Ireland."

  "Lord Kerrigan? Have you finally heard from him, then?" Rosalind was momentarily diverted from her purpose.

  "Well, no," honesty forced her to say. "I've only had the one letter from my uncle, Lord Clairmont, his heir. That was shortly after my parents..." She swallowed before continuing. "He said then that my grandfather was ill, but surely he'd have written again if he had died. Grandfather always had a fondness for me and, ill or not, he would allow me to live at Kerribrooke, I feel certain." Her face took on a dreamy, faraway expression as she remembered the picturesque estate in Ireland where she had spent so many childhood summers.

  "Still, I think it would be even better if one of the kind gentlemen we have met were to offer for you," said Rosalind, returning doggedly to her plan. "However would you find a husband in the wilds of Ireland?"

  "You have been listening too much to your mother, Rosie," admonished Ellie. "I do not consider marriage the be-all and end-all to life, as she
does."

  Rosalind regarded her with a certain wistfulness. "Well, if you do not go to Ireland and you don't wish to marry, you can stay with me after I do, as my companion. In truth, Ellie, I am not certain I could manage without you!"

  Ellie thought of Rosalind married to Lord Dearborn, still the most favoured (by Aunt Mabel, at least) of her suitors, with herself in the role of a dependant in his household. Slowly, she shook her head. "It is sweet of you to say so, Rosie, but I think not. I shall enjoy my vicarious London Season and dance at your wedding, and then I shall go to Kerribrooke. It is the wisest course, I think."

  * * *

  "Mama, would not this primrose silk look lovely on Ellie?" asked Rosalind later that day in an effort to fulfill her earlier promise. "It would set off her dark hair admirably."

  Mrs. Winston-Fitts turned from her inspection of some new French laces. "Whyever would she need such a gown?" she asked in some irritation. Elinor was not in her good graces at the moment, for she had done a very poor job on an embroidered edging for one of Rosalind's new gowns. She had forgotten, when she had asked her niece to do it, that needlework was by no means Elinor's strong suit.

  "Why, she could wear it to our dinner party next week," said Rosalind reasonably. "It will be her formal introduction to Society, you know, as well as mine."

  This reminder that the Town house they were renting for the Season possessed no ballroom failed to sweeten her mother's mood. She would dearly have loved to present her dazzling Rosalind properly, at her own come-out ball. "She can wear your yellow silk, if you are so certain the colour will become her. It is too tight for you, anyway," she said sourly.

  "Oh, that would be lovely," said Ellie, sorting through a box of buttons at the counter. "You know I have always admired that gown, Rosie."

  "Rosalind, if you please, Elinor," admonished her aunt. "I will thank you to limit your use of vulgar nicknames to the house. Ah, yes," she continued in a completely different tone, turning to the modiste as she approached, "that sky blue velvet will make a perfect habit for my daughter, Madame Francine."

  "A riding habit?" asked Rosalind in dismay, completely forgetting Ellie for the moment. "Mama, you know I do not ride."

  "Tush, anyone can ride. You had lessons as a child. At any rate, you must, for I have recently discovered that Lord Dearborn rides in the Park almost every morning at eleven o'clock. 'Twill be the perfect opportunity to further your acquaintance with him."

  Rosalind looked stricken, and Ellie, well aware of Rosalind's fear of riding, was moved to speak. "'Twill not be so bad, my dear," she said soothingly. "No one goes above a trot in the Park, I have heard, and you know you can manage that." Ellie hoped that this reassurance might bolster her cousin's spirits; she herself dearly loved to ride. Trying not to sound too eager, she enquired of her aunt, "Will I be expected to accompany her, ma'am?"

  "Why, yes, I suppose you must," replied Mrs. Winston-Fitts, regarding her closely. Ellie kept her expression carefully neutral. "You ride well, as I recall, and may give Rosalind a few pointers. Lord Dearborn is a first-rate whip, and will doubtless prefer a girl who is at ease on her mount." She gave her daughter a significant glance.

  Rosalind suddenly smiled. "Then you will have to buy Ellie a habit as well, Mama, since I have no old one to pass on to her."

  Mrs. Winston-Fitts grimaced, but she was neatly caught and she knew it. "Very well." Turning back to the modiste, she said, "Have this velvet made up for my daughter and show us something in wool for my niece, if you please, Madame Francine."

  * * *

  Three days later, Ellie and Rosalind prepared for their first ride in Hyde Park. Rosalind looked absolutely divine in her new habit, Ellie thought, with the pale blue velvet just matching her eyes. She could not be displeased with her own appearance, either, for while her habit was of wool rather than the more fashionable velvet, the deep peach colour with chocolate brown frogging set off her pale skin and dark hair admirably.

  "Aunt Mabel said that I might select our mounts, so we might as well step round to the mews ourselves. 'Twill be quicker than having a succession of horses brought to the door for our inspection," said Ellie as she finished tying the dark blue ribbons on Rosalind's sky blue shako hat. She herself was wearing her usual chip straw bonnet.

  "To the mews? Ourselves?" asked Rosalind uncertainly. "Is that quite proper?"

  "I can't see why not. It is not as though we are going to Tattersall's, and the stable is just round the corner behind the garden."

  Ellie was correct. After only two minutes walking, the two young ladies, accompanied by a footman, entered the warm dimness of the boarding stables on Market Mews behind Curzon Street. Ellie breathed in the pungent equine scent with relish, but Rosalind coughed at the unfamiliar smell.

  "Miss Winston-Fitts! Miss O'Day!" exclaimed the groom in surprise when he saw them. "I had a pair of horses all ready to lead round to the front door as soon as the missus sent word."

  "We decided to look at the horses ourselves," replied Ellie calmly. In truth, she feared they would be mounted on slugs otherwise. That might be well enough for Rosalind, but she intended to select a beast with some spirit, if one could possibly be had.

  "Certainly, miss, right this way," said the groom, leading them to a selection of four or five riding horses. To Ellie's delight, she recognized the spunky little mare she had ridden in Birmingham before the family's removal to London.

  "They brought Firefly along! Saddle her for me please, William," she directed the groom. "And I think Molly will do well for Miss Winston-Fitts, won't she, Rosie?"

  Rosalind nodded dubiously. "I rode her once before, did I not?" she asked, eyeing the large chestnut mare.

  "Yes, and you stayed on perfectly well," Ellie reminded her. "Here, give her a carrot and she will remember you, too." She seized one from a bin behind her. "Hold your hand flat, like that. Right."

  "Her nose is so soft!" exclaimed Rosalind in surprise after the carrot had disappeared in one loud crunch.

  "Go ahead and stroke it. Molly won't bite," Ellie assured her. She was doing the same with Firefly, becoming reacquainted with her favourite mount. She wondered if her uncle had arranged to have her brought to London; he occasionally surprised her with such evidences of thoughtfulness, she thought with a smile. Just then, she felt something rubbing against her skirts and looked down.

  "Where did you come from, kitty?" she asked, reaching down to stroke the calico cat at her feet. "Look, Rosie, isn't she precious?" she said to her cousin, picking up the cat.

  To her surprise, Rosalind blanched and backed away. "Oh! Send it away, Ellie, please! I vow, cats frighten me to death!"

  "Goodness, I had no idea." Ellie quickly set the cat back on the straw. "Go on, kitty, shoo!" she said, gently nudging it away from Rosalind with her foot. The cat took the hint and went to dig through a pile of hay, no doubt in search of mice. "I'm sorry, Rosie."

  "You... you could not know," said Rosalind, her colour slowly returning. "My mother hates cats, and I have been afraid of them since I was a little girl. I'm not really certain why."

  "Doubtless something Aunt Mabel told you about them when you were young," theorized Ellie. "Never mind. I promise not to put one in your face again. Ah! Here are our horses."

  The groom helped them into their saddles before mounting the gelding he would ride to accompany them to the Park. Closely watching her cousin's inexpert riding, Ellie had no time to wonder why her own heart was fluttering at the thought of encountering Lord Dearborn there.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 4

  IT WAS a sparkling May morning, newly opened flowers wafting their scents on the gentle breeze while remnants of dew glinted in the sunshine. A perfect morning for a ride, thought Forrest as he urged his roan gelding to a brisk hand canter. Hyde Park was the most pleasant corner of London, in his opinion, particularly in the spring, though it was still a far cry from his own Huntington Park. In less than a month he would be back home, however, thanks to
his mother's planned house party.

  Idly, he wondered how Miss Winston-Fitts would like his country estate. He tried to envisage the delight on her face when she first beheld the rambling manor house with its mullioned windows and climbing ivy, but failed utterly. The only expression he could recall seeing her wear was one of shy politeness. Not that that detracted from her charm, he told himself hastily. No, it simply added a becoming modesty to her other sterling qualities —most desirable in a wife, surely.

  Turning his horse to canter back in the direction of the Park gates, he looked up to see the object of his devotion just entering them, along with her cousin— what was her name? Miss O'Something —and a groom. The Earl urged his mount faster.

  "Well met, ladies," he called out, executing a neat half bow from the saddle. "You make a lovely morning even more beautiful." His gaze lingered on Rosalind, who he thought looked positively celestial in her sky blue habit.

  As usual, Rosalind merely murmured her thanks at the compliment without meeting the earl's glance, leaving it to her cousin to fill the gap. "That's a prime looking animal, my lord. Your taste in horseflesh is to be commended."

  "Why, thank you," he replied, furiously trying to remember her name. "Your mare appears to have excellent lines, as well." He looked at the horse rather than the girl, vaguely embarrassed.

  "Yes, Firefly goes very nicely," she agreed. "Of course, I can take no credit for that, as my uncle purchased her before I joined the family."

  Lord Dearborn noticed how tactfully she refrained from mentioning her circumstances, though he had formed a fairly accurate opinion of what they must be. He turned back to Miss Winston-Fitts, and all thoughts of her companion fled at once.

  "I was just about to do the circuit. Dare I hope that you ladies will honour me with your company?"

  "We... would be delighted, my lord," replied Miss Rosalind timidly, after a prompting glance from her cousin.