Mother’s brow gave the impression of a lift. “Agentleman?” Her gaze swung toward Artemis as if seeking confirmation of such an improbability.
“A baron,” Artemis clarified. These things mattered to Mother.
Lady Gwyneth found the wherewithal to say, “His lands border my brother’s.”
“Oh, Lady Gwyneth,” Mother tutted. “That is not as it should be. Here,” she continued, “I’ll tell you how it should be.”
Though her stomach turned over itself, Artemis reached for another sweet—a lemon tart.
“You won’t have known this,” began Mother, “but I hail from the harsh wilds of Cornwall. My father was a country squire, and many lands adjoined his and many offers of marriage for me proceeded forth.” She allowed a beat of time to tick past. “I refused every single one.”
Lady Gwyneth nodded, opaquely.
“You see, like you, I was to have a season. But what’s the use of a season if a lady has already limited her prospects?” Mother took a sip of her tea. “Do you have a copy of Debrett’s, Lady Gwyneth?”
She shook her head.
“Purchase one and study it. Before I ever stepped foot in London, I’d researched all the available lords for that season,and do you know who was right at the top?” She didn’t wait for a response. “The Duke of Rakesley.”
“Before you’d even met him?” asked Lady Gwyneth in a near whisper.
Mother flicked a dismissive wrist. “One doesn’t capture the attention of a duke by chance. It’s through careful and meticulous planning.” A smile tipped about her mouth. “And one other thing you and I share in common, Lady Gwyneth.”
Lemon tart consumed, Artemis’s hands had taken to twisting the fabric of her skirts. She flattened them against her knees before she ruined the delicate muslin.
“Beauty.” Mother let the word stand on its own, unadorned, for three full ticks of the clock. “You and I, Lady Gwyneth, possess the sort of beauty that can stop the words in a man’s mouth.”
It went without saying that Artemis did not possess that sort of beauty. Although, Mother had said it—more than once. Artemis was a nice-looking woman. A nice-looking woman with a large dowry and a duke for a brother. She had her own value on the marriage mart.
Mother went on. “It’s the sort of beauty that can win a duke, Lady Gwyneth.”
Again, Artemis felt it her duty to protest. “But she’s already in love with a most eligible gentleman, Mother. A baron,” she added, lest anyone forget.
“What is love?” scoffed Mother.
Poor Lady Gwyneth, avid reader of the novels of Miss Jane Austen, had likely never encountered anyone like this duchess in her everyday life.
“Love can come later,” continued Mother. “Secure the title, Lady Gwyneth.Thenhave all the love you want. You’ll find, actually, it rather amplifies the feeling.” Her eye sharpened toa point. “Stoke’s earldom is presently in reduced circumstances, no?”
Lady Gwyneth’s eyebrows crinkled together. Genuine distress slowly replaced stunned awe.
“Mother,” said Artemis, “I’m not sure this is an appropriate conversation to be having with?—”
“Appropriate?” Mother pinned Artemis with a look that had turned lesser mortals to stone. “Iam the duchess in this room.Idecide what is appropriate.” She returned her attention to Lady Gwyneth. “Now, what I’m speaking of, of course, is money. A vulgar subject, to be sure, but a most appropriate one. It suits men for us women not to worry our little minds with it, but make no mistake, Lady Gwyneth, money iseverything.”
One would be able to hear the drift andshushof a feather hitting the floor, so quiet and expectant the room was.
“But here is the vital thing about money,” said Mother. “Only use it to buy what is necessary. Most young ladies your age think money’s primary function is for the acquisition of pretty silk dresses and shiny baubles.” Eyes bright with conviction, she continued. “I’ll let you in on a little secret—it’s not. That’s all decoration. Would you like to know what money is truly necessary for?”
She picked up her teacup and blew across the hot surface before taking a delicate sip. Artemis’s fingernails dug half-moons into her palms. At last, Lady Gwyneth realized an answer was expected. “Yes, please, Your Grace.”
Mother’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes—it never quite did—as she held up a finger. “The first thing money will buy you, Lady Gwyneth, is access. For example, your first season will require the acquisition of those pretty silk dresses and a shiny bauble or two.”
A second finger joined the first. “The second thing money buys you is respect.” She shrugged a shoulder, resigned tothe realities. “A title is a precious thing, but money behind it makes you formidable in the eyes of the world—an untouchable goddess.”
She held up a third finger. “Which leads me to the most important thing money buys you. Can you guess what it is?”
Artemis knew the answer, of course—she’d been given this exact talk a decade ago—but Mother was addressing a visibly stunned Lady Gwyneth, who shook her head.
