No… notanyone. Who she longed for was Mr. Grenville.
Even though she knew it could never be.
“Oh, here comes Lady St. John!” the baroness squealed. “Amelia’s a viscountess now, when we’d all been so certain she’d never settle for less than a duchy. Still the biggest busybody this side of the Thames.”
Nora jerked her gaze toward a striking couple smiling and waving from a mind-bogglingly extravagant carriage. Between the couple’s obvious wealth and the equally obvious lovestruck glances they exchanged between conversations, Nora doubted the viscountess had “settled” one whit.
Nora was unable to hide the wistful note in her voice. “She looks happy.”
“She’s related to a duke,” the baroness replied. “Of course she’s happy.”
“I meant they seem like a well-matched couple,” Nora clarified. “A love match.”
Lady Roundtree was no longer listening. “Make certain she sees my puppy. She’ll be beside herself with jealousy, and with a memory like hers, she won’t be able to forget it. Captain Pugboat’s sweet face will haunt her for days. Don’t be surprised if everyone you see suddenly starts bringing pugs with them to Society events.”
Nora did her best to ensure she stayed in the background and Captain Pugboat in the foreground as the endless parade of dandies, debutantes, and aristocrats streamed past the landau to pay their respects to her patroness. Her visitors were quite the colorful lot.
Lady Roundtree wasn’t always ill-tempered, Nora decided as she watched the conversations unfold. Perhaps she simply liked to hear herself speak.
Although she was fairly certain Lady Roundtree held no ill will toward any of her contemporaries, Nora could have filled dozens of sketchbooks with biting caricatures based solely on the baroness’s pithy “hasn’t a shilling to her name” or “cuckolded him with his own brother” gossip between each visit. Or the shockingly candid comments the well-wishers themselves made, as if a companion’s presence was no more consequential than a lamp post.
Indeed, Nora yearned to have her sketchbook handy. But not for drawing caricatures.
When the idea of leaving for Hyde Park had occurred to the baroness, Lady Roundtree had noticed that Nora was in the middle of drawing the scene outside the sitting room window, and had graciously suggested that Nora bring her book and pencil with her. How she wished she could!
She longed to faithfully capture the beautiful clothes, the towering bonnets, the prancing horses, the ducal carriages. At night before bed, she did her best to illustrate all the finery she’d witnessed over the course of the day, and hated that many of the small details were lost forever.
But she could not risk other members of thetontaking note of any particular artistic tendency. At present, High Society did not tend to notice Nora at all, and while their complete disinterest did little for one’s personal esteem, her relentless invisibility was the gift that allowed her to earn desperately needed funds for her grandparents’ struggling farm.
If that meant a month or two of awkwardness and discomfort for Nora, then so be it. Family was worth any sacrifice.
Besides, it was no hardship to be draped in warm, fashionable gowns, served sumptuous meals with multiple courses, to be seated on a comfortable carriage cushion with an adorable pug wagging his curly puppy tail. She wasblessed.
Nora slipped her gloved hand into Captain Pugboat’s wicker basket. She couldn’t snuggle his soft, wrinkly face against her cheek with the baroness right in front of her—Lady Roundtree frowned on such unseemly behavior—but surely no one could object to her giving the very good puppy a quick rub behind his floppy, coal-colored ears.
When he rewarded her with an instant tail wag so emphatic that he nearly lost his balance, Nora forced herself not to laugh out loud. He was adorable. When the weeks were up and it was time to move back home, what she would miss most was not the exposure to finery, but silly moments like these with her best and only London friend, the delightful Captain Pugboat.
“It’s Dorothea!” Lady Roundtree’s spine snapped even straighter and she motioned for Nora to do the same. “Sit up, sit up! You mustn’t hunch over the basket. Straighten your shoulders. She’s almost here!”
Nora wiped the smile off her face and snapped up straight.
An even fancier open carriage approached.
It had been less than a fortnight, but she had quickly learned that “Dorothea” was Lady Pettibone, ruler of theton. That the society matron and Lady Roundtree were related did not afford the baroness any exemptions to the consequences of her displeasure. One cross word from universally feared Lady Pettibone, and the life of even one as lofty as a baroness would be ruined.
Nora dutifully affected what Lady Roundtree referred to as “solemn but subservient” composure, as befitted a paid employee. She tried not to allow the subtle reminders of how expendable she was wear her down.
That Nora was also the baroness’s cousin had merely landed her this opportunity. Only by never disappointing her patroness could Nora hope to maintain her post.
She could not help but note the irony as the baroness affected a similarly false posture and expression. A wry smile curved Nora’s lips. At their core, she supposed they weren’t so different after all. Everyone’s position in Society depended upon the whim of someone else.
“What’s this I hear about adopting some animal?” Lady Pettibone barked in lieu of a greeting.
Her companion, a blindingly bejeweled lady, gasped and clutched a hand to her powder-pale throat. “Never say there’s a filthycurin that carriage. How did such base animals suddenly become all the rage?”
“He’s not filthy,” Nora protested without thinking. “Captain Pugboat is bathed twice daily.”
The fine lady’s nose wrinkled as if Nora, and not Captain Pugboat, were the filthy cur. “And who, pray tell, isthisunfortunate creature?”
