Chapter One
Miss Lucretia Scranton was well aware there was a sour expression on her face. Normally that would be perfectly dreadful but in this case, she was relieved to know it was there.
Roderick Northcott was expounding upon the value of education.
That wasn’t the sour thing in Lucy’s less than humble opinion, but it was expected that she would think so. Everyone expected it. Including her long dead father who, despite everything, Lucy was still trying to please. And thus, as the empty-headed debutante she was expected to be, she couldn’t possibly express any interest in whatever the self-purported Gentleman Scholar had to say about – what was it? – steam engines or quadratic equations? It was a challenge to keep track of which avenue of science Mr. Northcott was obsessed with from day to day. The man couldn’t seem to settle upon a particular line of study. Not that Lucy minded, she found it all equally fascinating.
Or rather, deadly dull, of course, Lucy reminded herself with a roll of her eyes that she didn’t try to hide. It would be better if people saw her roll her eyes, perhaps not too much, that would be rude, but a little bit of an expression of disdain for Mr. Northcott’s studious spoutings would ensure no one thought she was actually interested in them.
That would certainly never do. She was a proper lady, even if she wasn’t titled as such.
Her hard to please father had always insisted that she needed to conceal any intelligence she possessed. “Ladies are for running the household and looking lovely, Lucretia,” he had often said to her, in a tone that was probably supposed to be kind but hadn’t quite managed to be. “Books are for bluestockings. You wouldn’t want to be thought a bluestocking, would you?”
It was one of her earliest, most enduring memories of her father. Lucy still wasn’t sure what would be so dreadful about being a bluestocking, but she had shaken her head and put the book she had been contemplating back on the shelf. To this day, whenever she thought about books or learning she experienced a sense of guilt in the pit of her stomach and she wondered what her father would think of her for the temptation. Actually, she didn’t really have to wonder since they had discussed the matter often enough. What she should wonder was if he would be able to tell that she had never overcome the tendency, if he were alive to see her now. Of course, now, she was old enough to acknowledge that there was nothing inherently wrong with books or learning. Knowledge ought to be commended not condemned. How was a lady expected to run a household if she couldn’t read or do sums?
But her various reasonings on the matter didn’t change the fact that Lucy Scranton had been conditioned from a young age to aspire to be a beautiful, empty-headed leader of Society. If fashion left her feeling empty and endless conversations focused on gossip made her want to throw something across the room, no one would ever be able to tell, and she would never admit to such a scandalous condition.
For all anyone could tell of her, Miss Lucretia Scranton had achieved the highest heights she could aspire to. Except, of course, for marriage. She was late making her full debut due to various tragic deaths in the family. Not terribly tragic when all those who had passed had been elderly and long ill, but their deaths had been deemed unconscionably inconvenient for the social aspirations of Miss Scranton.
Here she was, though, finally, reigning over the current crop of debutantes who were also making their first official curtsies to Society that year. Thankfully, no one had remarked upon the fact that she was a couple years older than the rest of the girls she was sharing the Season with. Or rather, if itwasremarked upon, it was in the most complimentary of manners, as she displayed to advantage next to the young girls who perhaps shouldn’t have yet left the schoolroom.
Unfortunately for Lucy, though, those extra years at home had allowed her to mature to the point where the things she had always thought were so incredibly important no longer were. For instance, while she would like her husband to be reasonably easy to look upon, handsomeness was far from the most important quality she was looking for in her future mate. She would far rather he be kind and companionable.
And if she had to listen to Roderick Northcott for much longer Lucy was afraid she was going to find herself wishing for an intelligent and well-educated husband as well. And that would never do.
Lucy glanced down at her beautiful gown, running her fingers over the appliqued flowers on the sheer overlay. The physical touch combined with the visual stimulation helped distract her from the unwelcome thought pattern. Roderick was her friend. They had known each other since childhood. He would understand that she needed to keep her focus on her determination to marry well. He certainly wouldn’t expect her to be hanging on his words; he probably wouldn’t even suspect that she would like to do so.
She had already been a little too vocal about the fact that she expected to wed with a Marquess at the very least, and everyone knows they were the least likely to have spent overlong at Cambridge or Oxford. Of course, her own lack of education had shown when she had made such a declaration. If she had done her maths better, she would have known there weren’t so very many dukes or marquesses wandering about in an unwed state. Even fewer of an age that she could expect a very long marriage with one of them.
Perhaps she could add any available earls to her list of eligible partis. Truly, she didn’t even need a list since Lord William Hastings, the Earl of Wiltshire, had all but declared himself. She wanted to allow him to think she was making a charitable concession by accepting his suit. If she could bring herself to actually accept his suit, that was.
Her thoughts churned as he bowed over her hand upon first entering the countess’ salon.
“A pleasure to see you my very dear Miss Scranton,” he murmured against her knuckles as he raised them to his lips. She didn’t have to force her simper this time. There was something quite delicious about a gentleman’s pursuit.
“I haven’t yet escorted you to the Park,” he said. “Might I have that pleasure one day this week?”
Really, there was nothing Lucy could say other than offer a delighted acceptance, even though she still wasn’t completely certain she was delighted over the prospect. Perhaps the outing would give her clarity on the topic. Ever proper, though, Wiltshire didn’t linger overlong by her side, wandering the room to greet others after they’d exchanged a few pleasantries, leading her to think his feelings weren’t quite as warm as he was trying to make her think.
Lucy recalled herself to what she had been contemplating before Wiltshire’s arrival interrupted her thoughts. Really, any title higher than her brother’s would do. She couldn’t have even explained why it was so very important to her, but she feared it too stemmed from her father’s long ago lectures about what he expected of her. She was to remain empty-headed and yet wed very well. She had thought she had learned those lessons well.
And yet here she was, straining to hear what Mr. Roderick Northcott was saying while also trying to look as though the very thought of it bored her. Apparently, she hadn’t learned so very well. Not in reality, in any case, only in how to fake it. She was very good at that.
Lucy tried hard to prevent her sigh from being audible. She wasn’t sure if she had succeeded or if her sister-in-law was just that attuned to her. Belle’s eyes narrowed upon Lucy even as one of her eyebrows rose in question. Lucy offered her best, most innocent smile, hoping Lady Isabelle wouldn’t question her, at least not publicly.
They were at a rout, Lucy’s very favourite social engagement. Routs were the best because they had pretty much everything one could wish for socially. There was food, drink, conversation, music, games, and often even dancing, all under one roof, without the need to venture to other venues in the same evening. And they were usually not quite as crowded as a ball. One could actually hold a conversation, or eavesdrop upon one, if one so chose. Or you could flit from activity to activity like the inattentive debutante she was trying to be. She felt a little like a magpie but didn’t mind in the least. Routs were her favourite, she thought again with a small smile at her chaperone that widened slightly as she turned back to face the crowd. She wouldn’t allow it to dim. Determination bolstered her.
Lucy was starting to question her strategy, though, after two weeks into the social whirl at the height of the Season. Did she really want to wed a gentleman who wanted to wed with a simple-minded debutante as she portrayed? It was a loaded question, but one she needed to find an answer to. Even the nearly perfect Wiltshire thought she was pretty but dim. Was that how she wanted to live for the rest of her days?
“Is everything well with you?” Isabelle asked almost under her breath from behind her fan, likely not wishing to draw any attention.
“Of course,” Lucy replied in an airy tone even as she cursed herself for not hiding her feelings better. She ought to have known Belle would notice everything.
“Are you certain?” Lady Isabelle persisted.
“Do you really wish to discuss this here and now?” Lucy countered.
She shouldn’t have done so. Lucy wanted to smack a hand over her mouth. She had basically just confirmed to her very attentive sister-in-law that there was, in fact, something amiss with her. And Lucy had no intention of telling her much loved family what that was.
