Arnsworth gave an approving little nod. ‘Excellent. Very sensible, my dear.’
By the time Thea left the modiste she had ordered an entire new wardrobe from the skin out, and was garbed in a new walking dress and a pelisse of turkey red. She still couldn’t quite believe that she had spent so much money. And she felt completely different—just as Lady Arnsworth had predicted.
‘That bonnet,’ announced the other woman as she settled herself in the barouche, ‘is an abomination. It always was, I dare say, but it is far more noticeable with your new clothes. We shall have to buy you a new one. Several new ones. Now.’ She leaned forward to give directions to the coachman. ‘And afterwards,’ she said, ‘we shall drive in the park.’
Her old bonnet consigned to a dust heap, Thea found herself being driven at a snail’s pace through the leafy green of the park. Fashionable London had returned to life after the festivities of the previous evening and their progress was impeded by the number of times the coachman was obliged to stop so that Lady Arnsworth might exchange greetings with her acquaintances.
Just as Thea had expected, no one seemed terribly surprised to learn the identity of Lady Arnsworth’s companion; most remembered her from her first Season.
The carriageway was crowded, horses ridden by nattily turned-out gentleman and elegant women, weaving between the carriages, chatter and laughter filling the air as society preened itself. A show, she reminded herself. Like a peacock’s tail. Nothing more. And she wasn’t frightened of peacocks after all.
‘Oh!’ Lady Arnsworth’s exclamation pulled her back. ‘Goodness me—’tis Laetitia Chasewater. I dare say given your connection, Dorothea, that she will call. Nothing could be more fortunate.’
Thea’s breath jerked in. The lady in question was seated in her own barouche on the opposite side of the carriageway a little further along. Elegantly gowned in soft grey, tastefully trimmed with black, the lady smiled and inclined her head.
‘There … there is no connection, ma’am,’ said Thea, her stomach churning. ‘I should not like her ladyship to feel obliged—’
‘Nonsense,’ said Lady Arnsworth. ‘Why, ‘tis common knowledge that poor Nigel was by far her favourite child, and that she was very happy about the match between you. There! She is beckoning to you! Of course you must step over to greet her. Edmund …’ she indicated the footman perched up behind them ‘ … will attend you.’
Immediately the footman leapt down from his perch and opened the door. Thea dragged in a breath as she stepped out, bracing herself to greet the woman who would have been her mother-in-law. It would have been quite distressing enough without the awareness that a large portion of fashionable London had stopped in its tracks to view the exchange of greetings. Peafowl, she reminded herself, were harmless.
‘My dear Miss Winslow,’ said Lady Chasewater, with a sad smile, holding out her hand. Hesitantly Thea laid hers in it, and thin gloved fingers tightened like claws. ‘How delightful to see you again,’ said her ladyship. ‘I think I have not seen you since, well …’ The grey eyes became distant for a moment, before she went on. ‘’Tis all a very long time ago. I am glad you have come up to town again.’ She patted Thea’s hand. ‘One cannot mourn for ever, my dear.’
No. One couldn’t. Nor could one jerk one’s hand away from an elderly lady.
Cold and clammy, Thea managed a polite response, her stomach tying itself in knots.
‘And how does Aberfield go on? I understand him to be suffering dreadfully from the gout at the moment.’ She did not pause for a response, but continued, ‘I found some letters from him to Chasewater some time ago.’ Her smile became reminiscent. ‘After Chasewater died. Such memories as they brought back! All our hopes!’
Nothing in Lady Chasewater’s languid voice betokened more than polite interest, but Thea’s heart raced.
‘Did you, ma’am?’ she said with forced calm. ‘I am sorry if it was distressing for you.’ Of course Aberfield had corresponded with Lord Chasewater … it would have been unavoidable.
Lady Chasewater patted her hand again. ‘Oh, no. Why should you regret what is past? I shall do myself the pleasure of calling on Almeria very soon. Now, I must not keep you.’ And she gave Thea’s hand another gentle pat as she released it.
‘Good day, ma’am,’ said Thea, relaxing slightly as she stepped back from the carriageway.
The barouche moved on and Thea breathed a sigh of relief, trying to quell the shivering that persisted despite the warmth of the sun and her new pelisse.
Upon reaching Arnsworth House again, Thea retired to her chamber to remove her gloves, bonnet and pelisse. Several dress boxes were already piled on her bed, having been delivered from the modiste’s in her absence.
Not bothering to summon a maid, Thea set about unpacking them. These were only a fraction of what she had bought. The rest had required alteration, including the dusky pink evening gown which madame had promised would be delivered that same day, assuring Thea that her minions would not rest until it was done.
Thea could only gulp at her expenditure. In one afternoon she had spent ten times more than she had in the preceding eight years. And that was just at the modiste. She had—she was forced to admit—enjoyed it, once she had let herself go. Not that she wanted to fling her money about all the time. After this spree there would be no need. But, oh, it was lovely to know that when she dressed tomorrow morning there would be something pretty to put on. That—
‘Ah. There you are, Dorothea.’ The door had opened and Lady Arnsworth looked in. ‘Do come down when you are ready. I have asked for tea to be brought to the drawing room.’
She looked critically at the new dresses on the bed and hanging over the back of the chair. ‘Hmm. That will do for a start. Once a few more invitations have arrived, we shall think again. Do be quick, dear.’
Thea gulped as the door closed behind her godmother. A few more invitations sounded as though some had already arrived.
She hurried with the dresses. No doubt Lady Arnsworth had further plans to unveil for the Season. Balls, routs, dinners, soirées, making calls. All the activities of the social whirl. At least she had a day or two before she must plunge into it. Hardly anyone yet knew that she was in town, which meant she was safe for a couple of nights at least …
‘Good God! That’s … it can’t be! Not the Winslow chit!’ Richard, whatever he’d been saying to Braybrook forgotten, stiffened as he heard the middle-aged matron’s amazed tones ring out in the middle of the Fothergills’ very crowded drawing room that evening. Forcibly he resisted the temptation to turn and stare her down. Whoever she was.
Instead he looked around for Thea. He found Almeria almost immediately, regal in purple, and …
The unknown female behind him continued. ‘I had the most interesting letter, my dear! Why, she was barely out when …’ Her voice dropped, and turning his head slightly, Richard could see several be-turbaned matrons, feathers a-quiver, nodding and casting startled looks at Thea as the knowledgeable one disgorged her burden of gossip.
‘And you say there was something more to it? Some indiscretion? I understood that story about her grief to be …’ began one. Damn it all! Could a girl not be absent from society for a few years without the tabbies deciding that there must be ‘something more to it’? Were their own hearts so withered that they could not understand grief?
Another lady leaned forward, murmuring behind her fan. All he heard was, ‘—hurst!’
‘No!’ Eyes popping, the first lady cast another, disbelieving look at Thea. ‘How much? And Almeria actually has him staying with her? In the very house?’
There were times when the mercenary tendencies of society amused Richard. This was not one of them.
Braybrook caught his