CHAPTER 1
“Perhaps you will find love soon, dearest. It is time for you to marry, after all.”
Miss Lavinia Fitzroy was stunned. She sat at a desk in the corner of her room, writing a lengthy letter to one of her favorite correspondents in London, Miss Cordelia Foote.
With ink-stained hands and a head full of questions for Miss Foote, she would have normally smiled, nodded, and then proceeded with her work, had the subject of this conversation been light and breezy. But marriage talk? Again? After all these years? She was concerned.
“Mama?” she questioned. “What is the matter?”
“Henrietta Linfield wrote to me the other day. Her son will be accompanying her and Madeline today, and I believe he has yet to be married,” Tabitha Fitzroy, the Baroness Crawford, answered, her face wrinkling as if she were struggling toremember her conversation with the Dowager Duchess of Pemberton.
She lifted her hand and brushed a stray lock of chestnut brown hair from her forehead. A set of bangles on her thin wrist jingled and jangled as she did.
“Maybe that’s something that might interest you, dearest?”
Her unruly forelocks fell into her eyes once more, and she made a show of inhaling deeply before blowing a gentle puff of air skyward, making them flutter.
The rather quiet drawing room began to lose its peace as soon as the Baroness broached the subject of marriage, so Lavinia placed her quill neatly in the inkpot, turned all her attention to her mother, and cleverly steered the conversation away from the marriage mart.
“I do hope the Dowager Duchess mentioned Lady Madeline when you last spoke to her,” Lavinia said, sitting straighter and giving her a pleasant smile. “It has been an age since I’ve seen my friend, and she has not been keeping up with our correspondence lately.”
“Lady Madeline…” Lady Crawford mumbled the name as if she had never heard it before. Then, with a dismissive flick of her wrist, the bangles on her arm tinkled once more. “I am sure everyone is excited to attend our house party. Your friend will surely be welcome here.”
“Of course,” Lavinia said softly. “But Lady Madeline is not just my friend, Mama. You know her well. She is the daughter of the Dowager Duchess of Pemberton.”
“Lady Pemberton…” Her mother tapped a long index finger on her chin. “What was it I heard about her the other day?” She did not pause for longer than a fraction of a second. “Oh, yes! She is bringing her son to our event, and I hear that he is quite the eligible bachelor.”
“Oh, I only hope for a marriage quite like yours, Mother.” Lavinia got up from her chair and crossed the room so that she might stand nearer to her mother.
The Baroness looked up at her. “My marriage is unique, darling. Your father and I were a love match, and our feelings have grown over time. A lady, especially one of your age, cannot anticipate having my good fortune.”
Lavinia did not bristle at the comment regarding her age. Instead, she replied, “I cannot and will not marry a man I do not love. It is… illogical. So, I shall wait until I find a man I can love completely and who is worthy of the fanfare.”
She pointed at the massive wedding portrait of the Baron and Baroness. It had been finished two weeks prior. The painter, Delphinus Rossetti, had spent days painting it. It showed a couple who profoundly admired each other. They were not just a man and wife posing stiffly and having their portrait made so it could hang in the hall for years to come. No, the Baron and Baroness Crawford were more in love with one anotherthan ever, and Master Rossetti had captured their warmth and adoration for one another with every brush stroke.
Lavinia sighed and, feeding her mother’s ego, feigned yearning.
The Baroness was easily persuaded, almost impelled by her daughter’s guise. Unfortunately for Lavinia, her brother was ready to reveal her mummery.
“And what are your prospects so far, Sister?” Charles walked up behind them, almost making her jump in surprise.
Lavinia and Charles were twins, born just minutes apart. But because Charles was older by a few minutes, he seemed to find joy in making her feel like she was way younger, infinitely worthy of teasing.
He gestured to the letter she had left unfinished on her writing desk. “Were you penning a missive to a potential suitor? Is there a duke waiting in the wings for you to call him to our little piece of the countryside?”
The Baroness shushed her son, while Lavinia rolled her eyes.
“Silence, Charles. I am quite certain the Duke of Pemberton will be as accepting as his mother will be. And your sister would never dream of writing a letter to a gentleman who had not already offered for her,” the Baroness sputtered.
Charles only chuckled and squeezed his sister’s shoulder, reassuring her that he was only in jest.
“I am writing a letter to my friend, Miss Foote, my dearest brother. You may remember her. I introduced you to her last spring when we attended her father’s supper and cards party.” Lavinia wiggled her eyebrows, reminding her twin that she, too, could be playful and teasing.
“I remember Miss Foote quite well.” Charles tugged uncomfortably on his cravat. “It has been some time since our paths crossed, though. Do send her my best wishes.”
Lavinia laughed lightly when she saw the bright pink spots of color on his cheeks. She could not say precisely why he was embarrassed, but she thought this change in his countenance was rather charming. “I shall do just that.”
She returned to her writing desk and scribbled a quick note to Miss Foote, mentioning her brother.
