Tweedie’s puzzlement
London, Three Weeks Later
Their journey to London had been very smooth. They’d arrived three weeks ago and had quickly found a small house on Willow Street, a somewhat genteel neighborhood close to Hyde Park. They had hired a maid, Molly, and a cook. The rooms and furnishings were shabby, but the Lanscarr sisters set to work, and in no time, the house interior appeared very respectable, especially with Herald minding the door. Tweedie and Gwendolyn each had a bedroom while Dara and Elise shared as they always had.
The sisters had plunged into the enjoyments of the city. There were museums, exhibits, and people from every corner of the world walking thestreets and going about their business. Dara had never seen the like. Reading about experiences was far different from actually being present, from having the sounds and smells all around her. Dara had a powerful imagination, but it had not been large enough to encompass how magical London was.
Best of all was the shopping. Anything a person could want was readily available. Even a trip to the market revealed unexpected riches like fruits that were out of season in England but had been shipped all the way from Spain.
She and her sisters made almost daily trips to the linen-drapers or to seek out notions for the three dresses each of them owned. They couldn’t afford new gowns, but with ribbon and lace, they could easily refashion their old muslin ones. They were certain no one would be the wiser to the limitations of their wardrobes because no one had noticed back in Wicklow. They were very good with their needles. They prayed this held true in London.
The most wonderful gift of all was when Gwendolyn, who was the master of the money, had decreed that a subscription to a lending library was a necessity. They only had to join one of the many libraries in the city. It alone housed more books than they had seen in their lifetimes. They would never be able to read them all, but, as Elise said, they could try.
Of course, ever since they first arrived, Dara had been plotting how she and her sisters would gain admittance into the glittering world of parties and soirees known as the Season. The quickest way was to have a sponsor.
And that is when all her dreams and clever scheming came to a frustrating halt.
Her original plan of ingratiating themselves with the Marchioness of Blandford did not work out... because what her study of collected London papers had not told her was that the fourth Duke of Marlborough had sadly passed away in January. She had missed that important tidbit of information.
Granted, the marchioness—who was married to the new fifth duke—was now a duchess, but the family was in mourning. The duchess had left London and retired to the countryside. Dara had also ferreted out the information that, as a rule, the Duchess of Marlborough was not fond of London life. Society rarely saw her, even when she was in town.
Ever hopeful for this connection, and in spite of the odds against them, Dara had insisted they visit the duchess’s London residence and leave a letter expressing their condolences, as one should. She reasoned that the servants probably sent the duchess’s correspondence to her, wherever she was. That is what Dara would ask if she were a duchess. Perhaps Her Grace would take pity onthem. Remind herself how much she had liked her second cousin Lydia and perhaps suggest some friends invite Lydia’s daughters to a party? Or two?
Gwendolyn had been horrified. “We should not disturb the duchess’s mourning.”
Dara had disagreed. “This is the best time to disturb her. She may be looking for a distraction. I would be. One can only mourn so many hours a day. We read everything we could find when we were mourning Gram.” The truth of that reminder settled the matter. They sent a letter that had just the right touch of heartfelt, cousinly concern while also letting the duchess know they were alone in London.
There had been no reply from the duchess.
And the sisters found themselves shut out from Society. They knew no one, and therefore, they couldn’t be introduced to anyone. Or invited anywhere. They overheard women planning for balls and routs in the stores they visited, but they couldn’t gain even a toehold. They could not marry dukes if they didn’t have the opportunity to meet any.
Well, they did know someone—a fellow Wicklowian, Lady Byrne, had brought her daughters to London for the Season.
The Lanscarrs and the Byrnes had been rivals back in Wicklow. Helen and Sophie were twins and a year younger than Elise. Lady Byrne hadbeen caught several times speaking ill of the Lanscarr sisters, especially Gwendolyn. She liked to suggest that Gwendolyn’s hair was too black, or make a comment about how her mother had not been Irish. Gram had said Lady Byrne was sour because her daughters were not as well favored in face or personalities. When the Lanscarrs arrived at a Wicklow Assembly dance, the lads all lined up for them, ignoring the Byrne sisters.
Good manners should have dictated the Lanscarrs call upon their fellow Wicklowians soon after their arrival in London—something that Gwendolyn and Elise had passionately refused to do. Dara had allowed the lapse in manners because of sisterly loyalty and her belief that they would probably run into Helen and Sophie at some ball. Then they could pay their respects in that false way that satisfied propriety without having any true feeling behind the actions.
Of course, that was back when Dara had been confident she and her sisterswould beinvited to a ball.
Yesterday, desperate to do what she must to help her sisters enter Society, even knowing her sisters would hate the idea, Dara had grabbed their maid, Molly, and secretly left a calling card with the Byrne residence. That’s all. She just left a card.
Her stratagem had seemed worthwhile when, a few hours later, the Lanscarrs had received aninvitation to call upon the Lady Byrne and her daughters for this afternoon.
Her sisters had not thanked her. Dara had needed to prod them into honoring the invitation. Elise and Helen detested each other. “She is cruel,” Elise had declared, and she was right, although Sophie was little kinder.
“Their mother is no friend to me,” Gwendolyn had complained, but she had donned her bonnet and accompanied them with their maid, Molly, trailing behind as a chaperone.
Tweedie had refused to go. “Make an excuse for me,” she’d said.
In the end, Tweedie was the wise one to not attend. The Lanscarrs had been tricked in the rudest way possible.
The Byrne butler had escorted them to a Receiving Room and left them there. No one came to greet them. There wasn’t even an offer of refreshment. Instead, after what seemed an endless wait, the butler had returned to inform them that Lady Byrne and her daughters were so sorry but they couldn’t receive the Misses Lanscarr after all. They were no longer “at home.”
But they were. Dara could feel their presence.
Then the butler had opened the front door, letting them know they needed to leave.
Inviting guests and then ignoring them by leaving them to cool their heels in the front room as if they were intruders, was beyond rude. The Lanscarrs walked decorously away from the Byrnes’ London house, conscious someone might be spying on and giggling over their departure from a window. However, once around the corner, Elise let her true feelings be known.
