“Claresta is still a relation.”
Claresta was the daughter of their cousin. “Our brother, Millard, tried to kill her future husband.”
“They hold no ill will for the rest of us. They knew that Millard acted on his own and that none of us knew what he was about until it was too late.”
“I am not certain it is wise that we attend,” Octavia considered.
“It is necessary so that Society will see that our family is still accepted. I would go if Leopold did not need me.”
“If we are going to present a united family, then it should be Leopold who accompanies our sisters.”
“He will be attending as will Augustus.”
This surprised her. “Then why is my presence necessary?”
“To assist Augustus in watching our sisters.”
“Then what will Leopold be doing?”
“Watching His Grace so that he isn’t foolishly trapped into marriage.”
Claresta’s father had died nearly a year ago, last summer. The next in line was his younger brother Samuel, who had lived in Louisiana and refused to return to England. He had succumbed to an illness this past December, which made Darius Copeland, their first cousin once removed, the new Duke of Ellings.
“Claresta is hosting the al fresco because Darius has kept to himself since coming to England…what was it, two years ago? Regardless, now that he is a duke, it is her opinion that he must be introduced to Society and wishes for the entire family to be present when possible.” Lavinia allowed a rare smile. “I also believe she is playing matchmaker.”
“And Leopold is going to watch out so our quiet cousin, a young and handsome duke, isn’t compromised by a female hoping to be a duchess.”
“Yes,” Lavinia clarified.
All she could hope was that Bolton was not present, though he would likely be invited because he was an earl, as would his cousin Shrewsbury, who was a viscount and has two sisters ready to wed.
Oh, why was she drawn to Bolton? He readily admitted what he wanted while searching for a wife.
Except, he wasn’t married yet.
She needed to avoid him to keep her name out of gossip rags.
Yet, there would likely be several guests and she might not even encounter Bolton.
This was maddening.
“What time?” she finally asked.
“You have an hour to prepare yourself before our brothers and sisters arrive to collect you.” Lavinia stood. “The drive is only an hour.”
“An hour?” She assumed they had a townhouse.
“MacGregor does not want to be confined in London. He found a home with land along the River Thames.” Her sister started for the door and paused. “Be careful of your encounters with Bolton or you will end up in the newssheets again,” she warned right before leaving.
During any other Season, Angelo would not be caught dead at an al fresco. Except, he hadn’t been given a choice. It was his mother who insisted that he attend because several marriageable misses had been invited. He reminded her that he had until Christmas, and she reminded Angelo that he had promised his father to make an effort. “If he knows you are not avoiding your obligation, he will rest easier.”
Thus, it was guilt that brought him to the MacGregor estate just outside of London and along the river. By all appearances his mother would believe that he was looking for a wife while not doing so until the last moment.
Before him on the lawn was a sea of ladies and misses in pastels. Sweet innocent women in need of a husband.
Then he saw her. Lady Kepple wearing not a pastel but a vibrant aquamarine.
He had read the gossip rag this morning and knew that any overture toward her would be reported, so he needed to plan carefully if they were to have a conversation.
