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Her aunt didn’t answer.

CHAPTER SIX

THE RIGHT HAT BRINGS ATTITUDE WITH IT

By the time they arrived home, Livie was wracked with sorrow and fear. She sobbed on and off through the night and woke in the morning with her face wet.

Lady Wharton greeted Livie and Daisy at luncheon with the news that Captain Sir Tyron had been accused of “adhering to the King’s enemies”—a charge tantamount to plotting an armed insurrection against the government. She squawked with derisive laughter. “My brother is a decorated naval commander! This is nonsense, utter nonsense. It will be resolved.”

“What does the charge mean?” Livie asked.

“I don’t have the details yet,” her aunt said. “Take a slice of beef, if you please. We must keep up our strength. I intend to go out directly after breakfast and begin marshaling the troops.”

Livie thought, not for the first time, that Lady Wharton would have made an excellent commander in the Navy. All the same, she couldn’t eat a bite. Thankfully, a somber, yet cheering letter from her father arrived an hour or so later—along with a large packet of all the daily letters he’d written since the last time the Royal Oak docked.

“Father’s solicitor visited last night,” Livie exclaimed. “He writes that it will take some time to clear up these erroneous allegations, but the outcome is assured. Men are being sent to France to bring back witnesses.”

She frowned. “Apparently, his arrest stems from an event two years ago! Back when Father received a fraudulent message saying that an Englishman needed rescue from France. Do you remember that, Aunt?”

“Only vaguely,” Lady Wharton answered. “Your father will supervise the investigation from his confinement. I shall undertake the equally important task of rousing the most important people in the land to rally to his aid.”

“If anyone can do it, you can, Mama,” Daisy declared.

“I shall demand an apology from Lady Castlereign,” Lady Wharton said broodingly. “We will simply wait this out, my dears. Luckily, you are both young. Hopefully your mother will feel well enough to join us during the next Season, Livie.”

Livie’s aunt might be a bit dictatorial at times, but she was always kind. The fiction that Lady Tyron would someday feel well enough to spend time with her daughter had been endlessly repeated since Livie first joined the Wharton household at the age of five.

“Mother and I am so grateful for your help,” Livie said. “I know that Father will feel safer with you supporting him.”

Lady Wharton squared her shoulders. “I fancy there are few women with as much power as I have in society. I have never enjoyed my consequence, but now it will be of use.”

“I do wish we could ride in the park,” Daisy said, bouncing a little in her chair. “We cannot remain indoors for a whole year, Mama.”

“I suppose you’re going to be as obstinate as a mule about it,” Lady Wharton said, eyeing her daughter.

“My cousin is not suited to being cooped up,” Livie said, trying to soften the truth.

“You and Livie will be given the cut direct by people who have professed themselves your friends,” Lady Wharton pointed out. “It will be most unpleasant.”

“I don’t care,” Daisy said. “We were prepared to be wallflowers, weren’t we, Livie?”

Livie nodded. Back in the nursery, Daisy had spun marvelous tales of what would happen when they debuted. Often they were wallflowers and then spinsters, left to find their way in a world full of rapacious squires.

“I suppose you may leave the house, though we certainly shall not attend any society events,” her aunt decreed. “Be it on your shoulders if you or your cousin are treated unkindly, Daisy. I told you that Mrs. Hedborough attempted to give me the cut direct this morning, did I not? I cooked her goose; I inquired about her son, and everyone knows he is a degenerate. She hurried away.”

“Yes, you did tell us, Mama,” Daisy said. “We shall ignore people like Mrs. Hedborough. I simply cannot stay in the house for eight months until my uncle has his trial. I shall wither and die.”

Lady Wharton rolled her eyes.

“If anyone is unkind to me because of my father’s circumstances, I shall not care about them, for they are quite unlikable,” Livie declared.

“And we shall have no hesitation in informing them just that!” Daisy added.

“Your generation is remarkably different from mine,” Lady Wharton commented. “At your age, my sister and I were crushed by the slightest insult.”

Daisy said what Livie wouldn’t have dared to. “I don’t believe you, Mama. Not for an instant. Most of the ladies in the ton are terrified of you. Even Lady Regina is polite to you, and she is horrid to everyone!”

As the month wore on, the household adjusted to its new circumstances. A letter arrived from the country announcing that on receipt of the terrible news, Livie’s mother had suffered a serious relapse, which surprised no one. Lord Wharton was presumably making his way from Scotland. Lady Wharton left the house nearly every day, often staying out into the evening, rousing support for her brother.