“Of course, I will do so.” Managing the estates was far easier than taking a bride.
“You must promise me, Angelo, that you will marry by Christmas.”
He looked into her eyes, noting for the first time the smudges beneath, as if she had not slept well, and the fine crinkles at the corners had grown deeper. Some of his panic may have eased, but his stomach was still tight. Yet, he knew his duty and it was time. “I promise to wed by Christmas.”
Chapter 1
London, England, April 1817
Lady Octavia Murphy, formerly Tilson, and now the widow Countess of Kepple, paused at the top of the grand staircase. She took a deep breath and tried to push aside her nervousness. She had not attended a ball in a year and a half. What was once familiar, now seemed foreign, yet full of opportunities never allowed previously.
How many of those gathered below recalled how she had become a widow?
Most likely all, she answered herself. Every person who had turned to look when she and her sister were announced held expressions of shock, disappointment, curiosity, or disapproval. Then there were the matrons who had lifted their fans and earnestly whispered behind them.
“Is this even wise?” Lavinia, her sister asked.
The two stood side by side. Both widows, and both returning to London after being in mourning.
“Yes.” Octavia lifted her chin. “I will not remain in Westmoreland to be hidden away at Clarington Abbey as if I am ruined or ashamed. That is where we have been for over a year, and I am in no hurry to return.”
“Yes, but if we receive no invitations, why remain in Town?”
“We will receive them if for no other reason than to be gossiped about.” The ton could never turn their back on a good scandal and her family had offered them a few already. They were probably anxious to see what her family did next, not that she would be the subject of new gossip. The old was bad enough.
“The Season has been in full swing for a sennight, and this is the first ball to which we have received an invitation.”
Octavia was well aware. “Perhaps nobody knew that we had returned to Town.”
“We have only been invited here because it is in honor of Crispin and Vanessa’s marriage.”
It had come as quite a shock when her brother announced his betrothal to Miss Vanessa Claxton, and a part of Octavia was still amazed it had happened even after watching them take their vows earlier. Though the courtship may have been short, her brother was in love, and for that reason, Octavia was happy for him. As for herself, she would never marry again.
“As it is the bride’s uncle, the Duke of Arscott, hosting the ball and welcoming us, I do not believe that we will be shunned this year,” Octavia assured her sister. “I am also certain the situation will change now that Leopold has finally come to Town.” Leopold, the Duke of Claybrook, was their younger brother, older twin to Crispin. One did not snub a duke or his family, especially when said duke was a bachelor in need of a wife. Though Leopold may argue that last point, he was soon to be eight and twenty and could not put off his duty much longer.
With a notch of her chin, knowing her worth and connections, Octavia grasped the satin skirt of her teal gown and descended to the crowd. Former friends she recognized, though she was uncertain if they were truly former, or if they had simply lost touch and would renew their acquaintance once again.
Only time would tell.
She also spotted one of her newest friends in the crowd, Elizabeth Cates, Lady Andover, also a widow. It had been a chance meeting in Hyde Park, just after the family had arrived in London, that had helped settle some of her initial unease for the upcoming Season. They had become quick friends and Octavia had found herself confessing what she hoped would come from the Season when she had not even informed Lavinia of her intentions.
Lady Andover, in turn, had introduced Octavia and Lavinia to another group of widows and she would be forever grateful that they were accepted and invited into their ranks—the secret league of widows. She and Lavinia had attended meetings and enjoyed teas with the widows and had come to know and trust them. It was also because of those widows that Octavia found the confidence to enter a ball with her head held high and seek what she wanted for herself. They did not judge her. Further, nobody could understand her situation better than they. Though only Lady Andover knew what Octavia truly hoped to gain this Season.
“Sometimes I wonder at the purpose of it all,” Lavinia murmured.
“What?” Octavia questioned.
“Why attend the Season if we are not in search of husbands?”
“For the entertainment, and because of whom we might meet.”
“Why must we need to meet anyone?” Lavinia asked. “While we are forced to rely on the generosity of our brother, the only freedom from him comes with marriage, which is no freedom at all. Who else is there to meet if one does not wish to wed?”
Lavinia had been despondent of late, which had Octavia concerned. Where Octavia had gained further confidence through her association with the widows’ league, Lavinia had withdrawn, thinking them all quite mad. Lavinia believed her life over, despite what others had tried to convey and attempted to convince her that there was still much to accomplish and enjoy, especially when she was soon to be nine and twenty, barely a year younger than Octavia who would turn thirty in the coming weeks.
Except Lavinia had disliked Society even before she wed and resented that she could not pursue her passions simply because she had been born a female, easily dismissed, and not appreciated for her intellect.
“Had there been a child…” Lavinia trailed off.
