Thank goodness she’d managed to talk Tilly and Kit out of remaining in London for the season! After much cajoling on her part, she’d at last persuaded them to go to Oxfordshire to await the impending birth of Juliet’s first child. She missed them horribly, but the last thing this season needed was another Templeton sister for thetonto fixate on.
“I don’t mind telling you, Euphemia, that I’m a trifle worried about Harriett’s season,” Lady Fosberry murmured. “Thetonhas a long memory for scandal.”
“I know, my lady. I’m worried, as well.” Phee gave her ladyship’s hand a reassuring squeeze, but all the reassurance in the world didn’t change the fact that Harriett’s circumstances were decidedly precarious.
Last season had been Harriett’s first foray into London’s marriage mart. It should have been her last, but things had goneso drastically, so spectacularly wrong that poor Harriett’s season had ended with near ruination, instead of a betrothal.
If such a thing happened again this season— indeed, if Harriett set so much as a toe out of line —thetonwould finish her.
“I do hope James hasn’t changed his mind about Harriett’s having a second season.” Lady Fosberry ducked closer, hiding her face under the edge of her new beaver fur hat, and setting the large feather fixed to the brim quivering. “He threatened at one point to keep her in Hereford. He put up rather a fuss about it, but I insisted we can’t hide Harriett away in the country as if she’s done something wrong.”
“Of course not!” Why, of all the young ladies in the world, Harriett was the last one who deserved such a fate. It would be wrong of her brother to treat her as if she’d done something to be ashamed of, or as if she were a disgrace to the family name. “Surely, he wouldn’t do such a thing?”
“I don’t think so, no.” But despite her denial, Lady Fosberry was worrying at the rug they’d tucked over their knees, twisting it between her fingers. “He only wants to keep her safe, you know. In the end, he seemed to agree that she must have another season, but perhaps he’s changed his mind. One can never tell with James.”
On the contrary, one could tell a great deal about Lord Fairmont, and on quite a short acquaintance, at that, but Phee kept that opinion locked tight behind the rigid smile on her lips.
If shewereto say something, however, she might justhintto Lady Fosberry that Lord Fairmont seemed to her to be the sort of gentleman who had very decided opinions about matters he knew little about.
Denying Harriett a second season would almost certainly condemn her to a lifetime of loneliness. “Does Lord Fairmont not wish for his sister to marry?”
“He does, indeed.” Lady Fosberry continued to pick at the rug, her face clouded. “So much so, he’s chosen a gentleman for her.”
“He’schosen?” Goodness, he was determined to protect Harriett from theton’s wagging tongues, wasn’t he? Then again, she didn’t know why she was so surprised at it. It wasn’t unusual for a brother to choose his sister’s spouse. “Given Harriett’s circumstances, it might be the wisest course of action, as long as she approves his choice.”
“She doesn’t,” Lady Fosberry said shortly. “Not at all.”
“Oh, dear. Who did he choose for her?”
Lady Fosberry had been staring down at the rug in her lap, but now she pushed it aside and turned to face Phee. “It’s rather bad, I’m afraid.”
“Who? Not Lord Bourke, I hope?” Poor Lord Bourke was as dull as a Sunday sermon, which might have been forgivable, if he hadn’t also been as condescending as one. “Or… oh, no! It’s not Lord Winchell, is it?” Lord Winchell had the temperament of a secondary school headmaster, and alas, also the face of one.
Lady Fosberry shook her head. “No, it’s neither of them. I’m afraid it’s worse than that.”
Worse than Lord Winchell? Dear God. “Who? Who is it?”
Lady Fosberry closed her eyes. “The Earl of Farthingale.”
“Farthingale!” Phee stared at Lady Fosberry, horrified. “But he won’t do at all! He’s much too old for Harriett!”
“He’s not, actually. He’s only twenty-eight.”
“No, that can’t be right. It’s impossible!” Why, the man was forty years old if he was a day.
“Indeed, it isn’t. He and James were at Oxford together.”
Phee fell back against the squabs, aghast. Of all the gentlemen Lord Fairmont might have chosen for Harriett, Lord Farthingale was the worst of the lot.
Although… well, it must be said that from a strictly practical point of view, Harriett and Lord Farthingale weren’t an entirely unlikely match. They came from similar backgrounds, both of them having been born and raised in Herefordshire, and in similar circumstances.
There wasn’t a thing in Lord Farthingale’s background to give an overprotective brother a moment’s concern. He was a wealthy earl and a man of impeccable reputation. In a logical, mathematical sense, they were well suited. If she hadn’t known Harriett as well as she did, she might even have matched her with Lord Farthingale herself.
The trouble was, therealityof Lord Farthingale was a different matter entirely than theideaof Lord Farthingale. On paper, they weren’t a bad match, but from ahumanstandpoint, there weren’t two people in the world more ill-suited to each other than Harriett and Lord Farthingale.
How ironic, that she, of all people, should be arguing against a logical match! Perhaps there were still a few new things to be found under the sun, after all.
There’d been a time before each of her sisters had fallen in love when she’d insisted on the superiority of a logical, mathematically sound match. It was how this ill-fated matchmaking business had begun.
