Matilda overheard snippets from dozens of conversations. Horse races, a brewer’s field, pudding flavors, seven maidens fair.
She edged closer to a group of young women about her own age, in hopes of blending in and being welcomed.
“But Oldfield, Bernice?” asked a red-haired girl with a shudder.
“He’s old, all right,” said another girl in a big yellow bonnet.
“And he’s a viscount,” said Bernice, the finest dressed of them all. “His title is all that matters.”
“He’s spoken for,” said the red-haired girl. “I would’ve married his heir.”
“Medford already married someone else,” said Yellow Bonnet.
“I shall birth new heirs, you featherbrains,” said Bernice. “Heirs presumptive can be displaced. Think bigger. My son will inherit the title.”
Ugh. “Is there no unmarried lord not old enough to be our father?” asked the red-headed girl.
“Well…” her friend said slowly. “There’s the Marquess of Creslow, isn’t there? And the Earl of Gilbourne.”
“Gilbourne!” Bernice scoffed. “He never attends social events.”
“He’s attending this social event at this very moment,” said the red-haired girl.
“Turn around and see,” said Yellow Bonnet. “He’s sleeping against a tree trunk next to the labyrinth.”
Bernice whipped about—and came face-to-face with Matilda.
“You’re in my way,” she snapped. “Move.”
Matilda stepped aside reflexively, although she was not eager to share her guardian with this young lady.
“He is here,” Bernice breathed. “And an earl.”
“And a monster,” said yellow bonnet with a shiver. “Just the thought of that face anywhere near mine…”
“He’s rude and cruel and coldhearted,” agreed the red-haired girl. “I couldn’t bear a minuet with him, much less a marriage.”
“I could for the title of countess,” said Bernice. “He’ll do.”
Matilda couldn’t believe what she was hearing. That was it? End of necessary qualifications? Gilbourne won battles before they began, simply because he’d been born a lord. This woman wanted to marry him based on literally nothing else. She didn’t even like him. His title was all it took.
“But… Gilbourne?” yellow bonnet said dubiously. “He frightens everyone who steps into his path.”
“Rich as Croesus, but doesn’t spend a shilling,” added the red-haired girl. “Think of your pin money. Or lack thereof.”
“And he’s the terror of the House of Lords,” added yellow bonnet.
Bernice frowned. “Is he speaker of the house?”
“No,” yellow bonnet answered. “Gilbourne has no need for elected titles in order to have the last word. His arguments are unbeatable. All the other lords want him on their committees because whoever’s side he opposes always loses.”
“You are such a bluestocking,” the red-haired girl muttered. “Who cares about Parliament? The main point is that Gilbourne is a boring curmudgeon. He won’t take tea with others, much less attend a ball or a party.”
“I don’t care that he’s an ugly, off-putting beast,” said Bernice. “I’ll marry him and rule the female half of London.”
“You’re the one who’s off-putting,” Matilda burst out. “It’s your manners that are ugly. He’s a perfectly lovely man—”
“Gilbourne?” sputtered yellow bonnet in disbelief.
