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Prologue
Autumn 1812
Everything would have been perfect, if it hadn’t been for the dress. Rose Matilda Carnack—or Tilly as she preferred to be addressed—was absolutely certain of that. She had looked forward to sipping tea and sharing gossip with some of the most refined members of the ton.
But her dress was completely wrong, and it was turning what should have been a pleasant initial foray into Society into a discomfiting ordeal. And worse, far worse for a young lady of her position, an embarrassment.
Now, she was relegated to one side, drink in hand, watching as her cousin Madeline made the social rounds. Her own interactions, what few of them she had dared to engage in thus far, were mostly of the sort to try and avoid notice, rather than court it. And in that, she knew, she had not been at all as successful as she would have liked.
People were whispering about her. She could see it in the sidelong glances and the low voices, and the way some of Lord and Lady Langdon’s guests wouldn’t quite meet her eyes. Their gaze would skim over her attire, their smiles turning cool and polite in that manner which indicated they were restraining unkind remarks.
Had she been of age, she was certain they would not have been so reserved in their criticisms. That was the only thing that kept the event from being a complete and utter disaster—she had not yet been presented for her first formal Season, and as such, people would assume that she was merely too young and foolish to know better.
Which, so far as Tilly was concerned, was little better than being seen as an absolute disgrace.
A group of ladies walked past, intent on each other to the point that they took no notice of her. Or so she assumed, until her ears caught the thread of their conversation.
“And did you see her dress? Such a shade is entirely unbecoming for her. I know that her name is Rose, and I can see why she might wish to dress accordingly, but that color, with her hair? Atrocious.”
“Indeed. And in any case, dressing to play upon a name? It is rather…plebian. And more an aspiration for the young, if you ask me. But if she must, she might remember that there are more colors among the flowers than pink.” There was an edge of laughter to the words, laughter and contempt. “At eighteen years of age, she might at least understand that.”
“Now, dear, do be charitable. It is not as if the poor child has a mother to teach her properly in regard to such things as fashion and deportment. And Lady Harcourt, bless her soul, does have her own young lady to be looking after. I shouldn’t be surprised if…”
The ladies moved beyond Tilly’s ability to eavesdrop, but the words she had heard were enough to make her stomach churn, and her face burn with humiliation.
She moved to set her cup on a small table that had been set out for the tea, then turned and made her way as quickly as she could manage into the arbor, seeking a place to acquire some solitude. She was disgraced enough—she would not allow anyone the petty satisfaction of seeing her attempting to hold back tears. Nor would she give anyone any cause to think her even more of a child.
She might not be able to return home until Aunt Agnes and Madeline were prepared to leave, but she could remove herself from the company until then, and claim a headache or something of the sort. It might help minimize the damage to her reputation.
Tilly clenched her hands at her sides and blinked hard against the stinging in her eyes. It was all so unfair—and to think she’d been anticipating this day!
She had been so pleased to be invited to accompany Aunt Agnes—known among the ton as Lady Harcourt—and her cousin Madeline to Lady Langdon’s Afternoon Tea. Lord and Lady Langdon were known for their highly fashionable afternoon teas and garden parties, and invitations were much sought after. The chance to attend, particularly when she was still too young to have had her coming out, or her first official Season, had seemed like a dream come true.
Normally, young women of her status would enjoy only token introductions at family events—and her family had hosted no events since her mother’s passing—but Lady Langdon had needed additional female guests and graciously offered the remaining invitations to younger daughters and sisters of her acquaintances.
It was a matter of arranging the attendance and guest lists just so, though Tilly was not conversant as to the details. She had not particularly cared, not when she had heard that Aunt Agnes had secured her an invitation as a treat for her excellence in deportment lessons. She had been thrilled and eagerly anticipated the opportunity.
Until she’d seen the dress her aunt had selected for her to wear. It was pink—a color that never went well with her strawberry-blond hair and often made her complexion look either too sallow or too flushed, depending on the shade. This particular gown was of a deep rose hue, possibly the worst possible color for someone of her coloring to wear. And worse, the style was at least three Seasons out of date. The neckline was all wrong, the sleeves were mere cap sleeves, and there were no multi-hued layers such as other ladies were wearing.
To add insult to injury, she had no proper afternoon gloves. Aunt Agnes hadn’t thought it reasonable to put forth the necessary expense, and so she was forced to make do with a pair of her aunt’s gloves from last Season, which went to above the elbows (unfashionable this Season, and too early in the Season to be practical), did not match the dress, and were slightly discolored at the fingers.
The gloves, coupled with the dress, made her look altogether like a gardener’s daughter playing at being gentry.
The whole event had turned into an utter debacle. She would be lucky if anyone thought to give her a second glance after her presentation. Especially if she continued to gain a reputation for the inability to dress fashionably or appropriately.
Tilly found an alcove, a small bench surrounded by green bushes, the sort of place where a lady might go to seek solitude for reading or contemplation. It looked perfect for her purposes. She strode toward the bench, intent on taking a seat and some time to recover her composure.
She was nearly to the seat when a hand seized her from behind and dragged her back. A masculine voice spoke, his tone sharp with irritation that bordered on anger. “Where have you been? Running off in such a manner…”
Tilly spun around to face the man who’d grabbed her, yanking her arm free as she did so. “And who might you be, to accost me in such a manner, good sir?”
The man blinked and stepped back. Tilly studied him as he studied her.
He was tall, with hair the color of a raven’s wing, and deep blue eyes. His demeanor was stern, the harshness accented by the chiseled jaw and hawk-like nose. His hair was short on the sides, longer across the top, arranged in a carefully windswept style.
His clothing was neat, the seams pressed to sharp creases, his fine linen—no, muslin, she amended—cravat impeccably tied. He wore breeches in a shade of pale cream, cavalry boots that were strapped just above his knees, and a dark blue jacket over a well-fitted waistcoat a few shades lighter in color. The only decoration he wore was a thin gold chain, similar to the chain her father wore with his fob watch.
In short, he was a fashionable, well-dressed gentleman some years older than Tilly herself, and he was staring at her with a raised eyebrow and a faintly quizzical expression. “You are not the person I was expecting.”
“And I was not expecting to be grabbed in such a rude manner by a mannerless lout.” Tilly shot back. “What do you mean by such behavior?”
A brief, small smile quirked the left corner of the man’s mouth for a moment, before he dipped his head and bowed to her. “My apologies, my lady. I was searching for someone, and I fear I mistook you for my companion. Perhaps you have seen her? A lady of similar age to yourself, wearing a dress in the same rather…challenging…hue of pink?”
Tilly’s cheeks burned, and she knew even without recourse to a mirror that she had flushed a most unbecoming shade of red. “Do you treat your lady companion—who must be your wife to put up with such behavior—with such a disdainful attitude? If so, it is no wonder she fled from you into Lady Langdon’s gardens.”
She expected to see the man’s expression darken with ire. Instead, he appeared amused by her sally.
“I meant no disrespect nor disdain, Miss…”
“Tilly.” She saw no reason to give a proper introduction to such an impolite individual. Besides, she had endured enough of being teased for the obvious correlation between her Christian name and the hue of the dress for one such engagement.
“Miss Tilly.” The tilt of his head and the upward quirk of his brow said quite clearly that he knew it wasn’t her proper name but that he was willing to indulge her just the same. Tilly had a brief urge to slap the self-satisfied assurance off his face.
“I am…Brand.”
“Just Brand? I’ve heard of no one by such a name.” Tilly read the Society and scandal sheets almost religiously. So close to her presentation, knowing the major personages of Society and their doings was of paramount importance.
“And I’ve not heard of anyone by the name Tilly,” Brand replied. “Though I will own, I am not so versed in the Society sheets as many others.”
“You assume that I have ever been mentioned by any reputable, or even a disreputable, publication.” Tilly snapped the words out, her mind racing.
I have no desire to be mentioned in the scandal sheets, which I will be, if I cannot find a way to excuse myself or make him leave. A scandalous, unchaperoned discussion with a man in Lady Langdon’s gardens would be a blow I should never recover from, especially after the other disasters of this day!
“A beautiful young lady such as yourself must surely have received some mention in the Society pages.” Tilly felt herself flush at the compliment, not unfamiliar but somehow bearing more weight from this man.
“You make many assumptions, good sir. My mere presence here does not prove much in regard to my exposure to Society as a whole.” In truth, Tilly knew she had been mentioned once or twice—though mostly as the ‘enchanting younger cousin of Miss Madeline Harcourt’ or ‘the lovely daughter of former society darling Rose Frampton’. But there was no reason to give this man such information.
Far from being offended, the gentleman only inclined his head. “That is the truth, I will confess. And it is a bold assumption indeed, considering other knowledge I hold.”
Before Tilly could answer him or inquire about the meaning of his words, he continued, a wry smile on his handsome, aquiline features.
“In point of fact, Miss Tilly, it is my younger sister whom I seek. She is dressed in much the same fashion as your current attire. It is for that reason that I mistook you for the young lady in question. However, as you are not my sister, and she is apparently not within this arbor, it appears I must seek her elsewhere.”
With that, he gave an abbreviated bow, almost mocking in the shallowness of it, turned on his heel, and strode away. Tilly watched him leave, altogether too bemused by the entirety of the exchange to consider following after him or to even recall the sentiments which had driven her to seek refuge in the arbor in the first place.
Chapter One
The Earl of Barynton’s Residence, 1814
“Rose, whatever are you doing here? Are you not meant to be preparing for another event?” Earl John Carnack stared at his daughter from the doorway of his well-appointed study, a heavy tome of what looked to be Latin text nestled in one arm.
“Father. You know I prefer to be called Tilly.” Tilly held her father’s gaze, then slumped further back into the heavy upholstered chair under her father’s favorite reading lamp. She would never have dared to slouch so in Aunt Agnes’ presence, but she was well aware her father would never scold her for unladylike behavior. “And what is the point of my preparing for any event, when I am certain it shall be an utter disaster?”
“An utter disaster? Whyever should it be? Your aunt assures me she is making every effort…”
“Aunt Agnes is making hardly any effort, at least on my account.” Tilly surged to her feet and indicated the day dress she wore. “She purchases the most unsuitable dresses—have you noted how many of them are pink? I look positively horrid in pink, Father. And most of them, such as this one, are from last Season, or the Season before.”
Her father frowned. “I see nothing wrong with your attire. Perhaps it is not the latest in fashion, however…”
“It is not only not the latest fashion, it is unsuitable in both color and design for a person of my build and coloring.” Tilly gritted her teeth against a wave of frustration. “My presentation is in a matter of weeks.”
“My dear, I understand your frustration, however, your aunt Agnes is doing the best she might.”
Tilly took a deep breath. “Perhaps she is, but she is not doing her best on my behalf, Father. She takes Madeline to all the finest dress shops—almost weekly visits to the modiste, the haberdasher, the bootmaker—Madeline has some of the most fashionable attire among the female members of the ton! Whereas I…”
Tilly cut off the words before she could say something she might regret later. She loved her cousin, and Madeline could be enjoyable company when she permitted herself to relax, but often, Madeline’s devotion to ‘marrying well’ and ‘proper appearances’ wore terribly on her nerves.
And the way Madeline often acted as if her two years of greater exposure to the ton should make her somehow a more suitable prospect for any sort of social engagement, particularly marriage—well, it would have been vexing in and of itself, but it was nigh on infuriating when Tilly considered that her cousin was the reason she had been deprived of her official debut thus far!
She and Madeline might be cousins, but Tilly fancied she understood the concept of sibling rivalries quite well nonetheless, for surely a sister could not be frustrating to live with.
Her father made a soft, noncommittal noise that was likely meant to soothe her temper, but only succeeded in making her feel more irritable. “Your cousin is in her third Season, darling. It is no surprise your aunt would wish to do well by her. After all, there are only so many Seasons a young woman might have, before she is relegated to the position of a spinster.”
Tilly felt hope. At last, perhaps, her father was starting to understand her dilemma. “That is exactly my concern, Father. My presentation has already been delayed a year, and with such attire, people will make entirely incorrect assumptions…”
“You know your presentation was delayed because your aunt and cousin were feeling too poorly to attend, or to chaperone you to all the necessary events.” Her father’s voice had gained a stern tone. “I am aware it might be difficult for you, my dear, but you know there is no one else to attend the Season’s events with you.”
“You could…”
“I have my work. And I am hardly considered an appropriate chaperone for a young lady. No, your Aunt Agnes has volunteered to be your chaperone, alongside your cousin. It is the best thing for everyone.”
Tilly very much doubted the truth of that assertion, not after dealing with Aunt Agnes’ refusal to see her properly outfitted for the upcoming Season, but she knew she had lost the argument. There was no arguing with her father when he brought up his work. His thoughts would already be turning to whatever tome or document currently occupied his time. Especially when he said, ‘best for everyone’. Even so, she couldn’t bear to simply surrender.
“I understand, Father, about needing Aunt Agnes as my chaperone. But if you could just speak to her about the dresses, and the necessity of proper attire…”
“There is no reason.” Her father set the tome on his desk, then moved to embrace her. “My dear Rose, you are lovely enough. What do the dresses matter? Surely you have all you need to make any impression you might wish to make. I am certain, with your beauty and elegance, your Season will be all you wish it to be, regardless of some slightly unfashionable attire.”
Rose. Sometimes Tilly wondered if her father ever saw her, or merely the ghost of the mother he had named her after.
Rose Frampton. In her day, she had been ‘The Enchantress’, the ‘most stunning beauty of the ton’, and the ‘most acclaimed and accomplished debutante of her Season, or indeed, many others’.
Members of the ton—and the writers of the Society pages—had been speculating ever since her seventeenth birthday about whether or not she could possibly live up to her mother’s reputation. Her failure to be presented at the proper time had led to whispers, and even a short speculation piece in the scandal sheets—‘Rose’s daughter wilted before her time—the missing heiress to the Enchantress’s name and title’.
She had managed, through a few appearances at select events as Madeline’s companion—teas and afternoon events of that sort—and some judicious letter writing to the proper individuals, to preserve her reputation, but it had not been easy, and there were sure to be rumors even now, which she would have to carefully navigate and disprove.
It was true, she had been described as a ‘lovely young woman’ by Society sheets, but a proper introduction to Society required so much more than beauty, if one was to make a suitable impression amongst one’s peers and maintain one’s reputation. Her father could not seem to understand that.
Still, she knew when it was better to concede gracefully. There would be no point in further argument at this point. So she sighed and returned her father’s embrace. “I suppose, if you believe it is so, then I shall simply have to make the best of the situation.”
The Earl of Barynton smiled at her encouragingly. “That is the spirit, my darling.”
She gave her father a wan smile. “Thank you, Father. I will admit, however, that I wish there were truly some sort of fairy godmother like those in the stories. I would ask her to wave a magic wand to make everything perfect so that I should not have to consider all these details simply for the sake of attending one Season.”
Her father chuckled. “We all wish for such stories to be true, my darling daughter. Alas, but we must live with the way the world is.”
“Yes. We must.” Tilly offered her father another smile, then excused herself. It was clear her father would not be of any help, either in speaking to her aunt, or in making other arrangements to aid her. She would have to find ways to improve her own fortunes, if she wished to have a successful Season.
***
Alone in his study, John Carnack, Earl of Barynton, frowned at the door in thoughtful consideration, his daughter’s last remark echoing in his ears.
He knew quite well he was far from an acceptable chaperone, or confidante, when it came to matters of Society. He had very little care for such things and had withdrawn from Society almost entirely since the death of his beloved wife.
However, if Agnes was not providing properly for Rose—no, his daughter preferred to be called Tilly—then it was incumbent upon him to find a different solution. There were no magical wands that could make the Season perfect for his daughter, but there was another possibility he might consider.
Still frowning, he settled into the well-padded chair at his desk and drew forth a clean sheet of paper, as well as a fresh inkwell and newly sharpened pen. When everything was in its proper place, and the words he wanted were firmly in his mind, he set pen to paper and began to write to James Ruthvern, the Duke of Daneford.
My dear friend,
I write to you concerning a proposition which may be beneficial to both our families, if you are agreeable and terms may be properly negotiated.
I believe you have a son, one Sterling James Framleigh Ruthvern, who is as of yet unattached to any young lady…
OFFER: A BRAND NEW SERIES AND 5 FREEBIES FOR YOU!
Grab my new series, "Love and Secrets of the Ton", and get 5 FREE novels as a gift! Have a look here!
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