“I’ll send Betsey up to you shortly. Your hair is always glamourous, but I believe, given the time, Betsey can place it so that even a crown would pale in comparison.”
I doubted my aunt’s fanciful belief, but it was no hardship to sit for Betsey and let her do what she would with my hair. I had wanted to trim it for so long, but mother refused. The heaviness of my auburn locks often caused my head to ache. However, mother seemed to believe it was one of my finest attributes. I disagreed, but my opinion was of no value, it would seem.
“Thank you, Aunt Harriet,” I replied simply. For I was thankful. For many things. I was thankful that she wasn’t an uptight bore. I was thankful she was happy with the fact my uncle had dumped me on her to marry off. I was thankful that if I behaved properly, I’d have a good chance at giving my sister a better life.
“I can’t help but notice that you aren’t happy about all of this,” Aunt Harriet said with a small frown on her lips. She rarely frowned. I felt guilty to have caused my ever-chipper aunt to frown.
“I am thankful,” I said, because I couldn’t describe myself as happy and mean it. “I miss my sister,” I admitted. “But I am grateful that Uncle Alfred and you have given me this opportunity. I want nothing more than to make sure Whitney is properly taken care of.”
My aunt continued to frown. “What about you, honey? You always mention your sister’s happiness and that’s a very commendable attribute but what of your own happiness? Do you not want to enjoy the London season and be the bell of the ball? Are there no dreams of your future that you think about? All girls have dreams. I was once a girl too, you know. I do remember all my dreams.”
I had dreams. Dreams that would not be because they couldn’t be. I knew if I told Aunt Harriet these dreams, she’d understand and not look down at me for them. But they were my dreams, my secrets, and I wanted to keep them that way.
“Finding a husband who will be kind to me and my family is my dream,” I lied. That was why I was here. It was my duty, but it was not my dream.
Aunt Harriet sighed and walked over to pat my shoulder, as if she must console me. “Perhaps one day you’ll realize I’m a good listener. I have several younger sisters, you know. I’m more wise than I appear.” She then turned and with a swoosh of her skirts, she walked out of the room. Before the door closed behind her, she called out much too loudly, “Betsey!”
I winced at her shrill voice and then I had to cover my mouth to muffle my laughter. The stories I would send back to Whitney after tonight’s ball would be colorful indeed. Aunt Harriet would steal the show without meaning to. I wondered if she would shout at everyone she spoke to… I truly hoped she would. That would entertain me for a fortnight, at least.
Standing, I walked over to the blue gown. It was the most beautiful dress I had ever owned. When I was younger, much younger than Whitney, I too had dreamed of wearing a gown such as this. I’d never seen so much silk. I touched it briefly and smiled. Whitney would truly love this gown. I would describe it for her perfectly in my next letter.
There was a very small part of me who wanted to hope for something more than just a marriage of convenience. My parents hadn’t been a love match by any means. I hadn’t believed that was part of a marriage until now. My uncle truly adored his wife and she very nearly worshiped him. They were refreshing to watch and I feared the more I was around them, the more I’d wish silently for a match like theirs. The idea was unrealistic and I had no time to waste with such a whimsical idea of falling in love. What did I know of love? Very little indeed.
Turning my attention elsewhere was for the best, as not to let vanity take hold of any of my thoughts. The street outside my window was busy as usual. I often watched the people as they strolled by in their day gowns, wanting to be seen. This was all so different from my home in the country. We rarely had company and the need to outshine others wasn’t understood. At home, I had found myself in the kitchen most days, attempting to cook food that was edible or washing bedding. We all had taken up household tasks since father had passed away. Whereas my mother often complained and sighed in weariness from the work, it had made me feel useful. There had been a purpose to it all that I greatly enjoyed.
I saw nothing useful about the activity on the street below. The people out there had no worries in the world, except what they were wearing to the next ball or reading whatever gossip paper they could find. Sinking down on the window seat, I sighed once more because that was what would become of me too. My future sounded very boring. Even I couldn’t write myself out of this if I wanted to.
Chapter Two
The Earl of Ashington
The last time I poured a glass of brandy before noon had been the day I removed my stepmother from this house. That had been for celebration purposes as well as preparation for when my brother would return from Paris irate with me. Today, however, was not celebratory, in nature but rather, solely preparatory. I did not attend the ridiculousness that the London season entailed. It was a marriage mart, and I had no need of it until recently.
If marrying and having an heir meant that at my death, my brother would not become the next Earl of Ashington, then that was a strong push for me to do so. However, it wasn’t my priority. If it was, I would have been in search of a wife before now. I had something more important than a title to protect and it was indeed time I married. Finding a wife that could step into the role as countess was easy enough. There were plenty young women in London who had been groomed to become a proper countess. However, I didn’t require just a properly trained lady, but one who would fulfill yet another role much more important to me. Finding a lady who would do so, without issue, would not be an easy task.
Being a countess was one thing but being my wife was another. I was a package deal and no one realized it… yet. I took another drink of the brandy in my hand and leaned back in my chair with a long, deep sigh. This past year had been chaos indeed. I’d found I had more patience than I had previously believed. No doubt the memories of my childhood had played a factor in my willingness to keep from giving up and tossing my responsibility aside.
At this point, I had done all I could do and a wife was beyond a simple decision. It was a requirement. I would rectify that as swiftly as I could. After much research, I had my intentions set on a one Miss Lydia Ramsbury. She was the granddaughter of a Duke. Her demeanor was soft and quiet. She was quintessentially English and exactly what this house needed. I did not take choosing a mother for my children lightly and a pretty face would not be enough.
The heavy door to my office swung open with more force than necessary, and I knew who the intruder was without looking. She would have been informed of my plans for the evening and I had no doubt that she was going to have her own set of questions. Sitting up from my relaxed state, I met the curious eyes of my inquisitor.
“You are going to a ball?” she asked, her eyes slightly brighter as she said the last word. I was sure she believed balls to be much different than their reality.
“I am sorry, my lord. Miss Emma was supposed to be taking her rest. I realized too late that she had escaped, again.” Alice, the most durable governess in England I’d wager, said as she entered the room.
“I want to go to a ball,” Emma added as she did a twirl in front of my desk before giggling. “I dance like a princess.”