One
London, England
Early Summer, 1802
The whispers were not whispers at all, for they could be heard clearly among the fashionable guests preening about the lawn at the Duchess of Suttington’s afternoon garden party.
“She might be worth nearly five thousand a year, but the Earl of Portersville said he wouldn’t take her if she were a royal princess—with ten thousand a year. Too much spirit and opinion for aproperyoung lady,” a portly matron declared vehemently.
Her female companion nodded enthusiastically. “I heard she actually had the audacity to correct the Duke of Hastings last week when he was showing her the latest acquisition to his art collection. Claimed it was most likely a fake and that he had been swindled. Utterly shocking!”
Eighteen-year-old Lady Meredith Barrington, the subject of this disapproving conversation, sat only a few feet away. She tossed her blond curls regally over her left shoulder with feigned indifference, determined these old biddies would not have the pleasure of seeing how deeply their criticism wounded her.
Their conversation continued, and Meredith forced herself to ignore the words, to treat them as only irritating sounds, not spiteful slander. She felt the onset of a numbing headache and longed to retreat inside the castle, away from the guests, yet she stood her ground, trembling but calm.
“What else can one expect from the Earl of Stafford’s daughter? He has always been far too scholarly and outspoken for my tastes. One can learn to excuse that sort of behavior in a man, but certainly not in a young woman.”
Meredith’s concentration slipped as she comprehended the last statement. Her first inclination was to turn and snap at these catty gossipmongers, but that sort of scandalous behavior would only lend credence to their lies.
Dear Lord, would they never leave her alone? Was it not enough that she was considered unacceptable, branded a bluestocking because she had the effrontery to offer up an intelligent opinion that often differed from that of her male escort? Must she constantly be maligned also by the members of her own sex, too?
Deep within her, Meredith seethed with the injustice of it all. Her father’s differences were labeled eccentric, while hers were considered unacceptable. And, yes, she had indeed told the Duke of Hastings his Venetian goblet had most likely not been owned by Pope Pius II, since that holy man had lived and died nearly 100 years before that particular shade of green was being blown by Venetian artisans.
Meredith’s reason for divulging this fact had not been to showcase her knowledge, nor to embarrass the duke, but instead to distract him. The man had cleverly managed to get her alone and was in the process of making the most improper advances toward her at the time she sputtered her revelations.
It was either wound his pride or wound his person. Meredith gritted her teeth, now regretting her decision to wound his pride. A swift kick in a most indiscreet location would certainly not have been so eagerly discussed by the duke to his cronies. Perhaps then this latest tale never would have come to light.
But the duke’s unwanted advances had been deliberately left out as these two matrons recounted the episode, giving credence to the theory they had no idea what actually occurred.
In an odd way, Meredith was almost disappointed. Revealing the true nature of the duke’s behavior might produce a scandal of such magnitude Meredith would be placed solidly beyond the pale and thus put an end her disastrous debut into Society.
For the simple truth was that Meredith had never been more miserable in her entire life. She had started the Season with such high expectations. As the beautiful daughter of a wealthy and noble family, she had initially been embraced by theton.However, that acceptance quickly turned to disapproval.
And it was not a one-sided disillusionment. Meredith equally disliked thebeau monde, with its rigid rules that seemed designed to exclude anyone or anything that had a slightly different view of the world. She had quickly and disappointedly learned that if one did not embrace Society in its entirety, one was systematically shunned.
“Ahh, so that is where you have gotten to,” a musical female voice declared. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Lady Meredith.”
Meredith lifted her head and smiled. Lavinia Morely, the young Marchioness of Dardington, came gliding gracefully toward her, arms outstretched in greeting.
“How lovely to see you,” Meredith said truthfully as she embraced her friend. “I was unsure if you would be in attendance this afternoon.”
“Oh, we would not miss today’s little gathering,” Lavinia replied as she returned the hug. “The Duchess of Suttington is my dearest Trevor’s godmother. She would be crushed if we did not make an appearance at her afternoon soiree. The moment we arrived she spirited Trevor away to discuss a matter she proclaimed to be of utmost importance.
“I have a feeling it has something to do with the latest horses she purchased at Tattersall’s. The duchess really is horse mad, yet she lacks the good sense to trust her own judgment. Poor Trevor. I promised to go and rescue him if he does not reappear within the hour.”
“What a noble wife you are, Lavinia.” Meredith clucked her tongue in mock horror. “And so very unfashionable to be seen so often in your husband’s company.”
Lavinia gave an exaggerated sigh. “We are quite the pair, are we not?”
“Indeed.” Meredith leaned forward and whispered in her friend’s ear. “You are the envy of every woman here because you have such a handsome, dashing husband who is totally besotted with you, and doesn’t care in the least who knows it.”
Lavinia smiled charmingly. “Well, not every woman envies me. I daresay your mother enjoys equal devotion from your father. And they have been married nearly twenty years.”
Meredith lowered her chin. “Yes, my parents are unusual in many regards, including the loving state of their marriage. Something I believe thetonfails to understand at all.”
“That is because loyalty, devotion, and true love are foreign ideals to most of them.” Lavinia cocked her head, her rich brown eyes alight with suspicion. “That scowl marring your lovely brow has me worried. I suspect it has nothing to do with your parents. Don’t tell me the Duke of Hastings has had the audacity to approach you again?”
Meredith’s head swung around sharply. “Is he here?”
