in high society.’
‘But we have our looks on our side. Why, Lord Redbridge called me an Incomparable the other day! And, oh, Liberty! Isn’t Lord Avon the most handsome, well-set figure of a man you have ever seen?’
‘Hmmph. A person might think that, if she cared for the Corinthian type, but he is also arrogant, haughty, conceited—’
Words failed her but, next to her, Hope unexpectedly giggled.
‘He has made you cross, hasn’t he, Liberty? Do you not realise all those words have the same meaning?’
Liberty pursed her lips. ‘Unfeeling. Rude. Superior—’
‘Superior means the same again,’ crowed Hope.
‘Well, we can’t all have a way with words like you, Hope.’
Now Hope was relieved of the necessity to earn a little money by teaching in the local school, she either had her head buried in a novel, or was madly scribbling poetry and plays, while Verity was rarely seen without a sketchbook in her hands.
They were happy to leave the practicalities of running the family to Liberty—a responsibility she had taken on after their parents died, having promised her dying mother that she would look after the family and keep them safe.
‘Well, it matters not what your opinion of His Lordship may be, Libby, for I am very certain he would not consider you as marriageable after the way you spoke to him.’
‘I said no more than the situation warranted.’ Liberty turned aside and stared pointedly through the window as she continued her diatribe against Lord Avon inside her head.
How dare he look down on us? Just because we weren’t raised in the lap of luxury it does not mean we are worth less as people.
She glanced down at her gown. Admittedly, it was not today’s fashion, but it had hardly been worn, and surely it was wasteful not to make use of the gowns made for her five years ago.
At least His Precious Lordship can’t fault Hope—her gown is the very latest fashion!
The carriage pulled up outside the Green Street town house they currently called home. Lord Avon might have tried to divert her by claiming the Wendover estates could stand such losses as two hundred pounds a night—even thinking of such a loss made Liberty feel quite faint—but Gideon’s inheritance did not even include a house in London and his country house needed complete rebuilding, which would cost a fortune, so she was right to worry about money. Someone had to. She’d wager Lord Avon had never had to worry about money, with a father who was a wealthy duke. They were clearly so vastly rich and so elevated on the social scale that ordinary people’s fears simply did not register with them.
Hope jumped from the carriage and scurried to the door, leaving Liberty to follow. As she shrugged out of her pelisse and handed it to Ethel, their housemaid, Hope’s tones of outrage floated down the stairs.
‘And, would you believe, she dragged me to the house of none other than the Duke of Cheriton to confront him about his son’s behaviour.’
Liberty sighed.
‘Thank you, Ethel. Has Miss Hope ordered a tea tray?’
‘Yes, miss.’
Liberty trod up the stairs, reluctance to face her sisters and Mrs Mount slowing her steps. Of course they would all three disapprove of what she had done, but what choice did she have?
She had kept to her word to Mama, working hard to help keep their small family estate solvent. Gideon—who had inherited the estate from Papa—had left university and thrown himself into the life of a country squire and farmer. He’d never complained. She’d thought he was content enough.
Gideon and she...they had been a true partnership through those hard years. But then, last year, summer had never materialised and harvests had failed the length and breadth of the country, leaving many in hardship and the poorest starving. Gideon had become morose and withdrawn, worrying about the survival of their family home. And then had come the most unexpected news of all. Lord Wendover and his entire family—distant family members they had never even met, so obscure was the connection—had perished, leaving Gideon as the nearest male relation and thus the new Earl of Wendover.
Gideon had changed. It had been as though he had been incarcerated in a prison, and freedom had taken him and turned him from a hard-working, considerate brother into...a stranger. That familiar hollow ache filled Liberty’s chest and she rubbed at it absentmindedly, tears burning behind her eyes. Her beloved brother. The other half of her. Her twin. They’d always shared a close bond but now...she feared he was lost to her for good.
What does Lord Avon know? Supercilious, over-privileged, condescending... He seemed to think this behaviour was normal. Well, Liberty knew Gideon as well as she knew herself and this was as far from normal for him as it was possible to be. It had to be the influence of Avon’s wicked brother.
Head high, she walked into the drawing room and a deathly silence. Before she had taken a seat by the fire, however, all three occupants spoke at once.
Hope, accusing. ‘I told them what you did.’
Mrs Mount, regretful. ‘My dear—how could you possibly think that a wise course? If only you had sought my advice. You know how important it is for you all to get vouchers for Almack’s—this sort of transgression will do nothing to help your cause.’
Verity, condemning. ‘Isn’t that just like you, Liberty—charging in without a thought as to how your actions will reflect upon the rest of us?’
Liberty sat down and arranged her skirts, then folded her hands in her lap.
‘If you have all quite finished—I did what I thought needed to be done and I shall not apologise for it.’
She sensed the others exchanging glances, but she kept her attention on the flickering flames and concentrated on keeping any tell-tale tears at bay as she hoped Lord Avon would not spread the story of her visit far and wide. She had taken a risk, but she was growing desperate and she felt so alone. Where else could she turn for help? Even Godmama was gone now, having passed away last year. The alternative was to ignore Gideon’s ever-wilder behaviour and simply pray he would come to his senses. Well, that approach might have been Mama and Papa’s solution were they still alive—they had always put their total faith in God and the Bible—but Liberty had long ago stopped trusting in Divine intervention. Where had God been when first Bernard, then Papa, then Mama had all succumbed to the cholera, even though Liberty had spent the entire journey home from London in desperate prayer? Nowhere, that was where.
No. It had been worth the risk to visit the Duke, even though only his arrogant son had been in residence. Lord Avon had given his word to speak to Alexander, although his warning that his brother would be unlikely to pay any heed rang in her ears, reviving her feeling of utter hopelessness.
Ethel brought in the tea tray and Verity poured the cups and handed them round. Liberty accepted hers and sipped, relishing the slide of the hot tea as it soothed her paper-dry throat.
‘What did the Duke say?’ Mrs Mount’s tentative enquiry broke into Liberty’s circling thoughts.
‘Ah.’ Liberty placed her half-drunk cup carefully in its saucer. ‘He is not in residence. We did, however, speak to his son, Lord Avon. Lord Alexander’s older brother. Do you know him?’
‘Yes, of course, although not as well as his father. He and I are of an age, you know—such a tragedy, his first wife dying like that...but there! That’s all in the past now. Avon, now...he is a very different man to his brother—very serious and correct. And he is the most eligible bachelor in the ton.’ Her reproving look scoured Liberty. ‘I did harbour hopes he might develop a tendre for one of your sisters, but that is now a lost cause. Avon’s behaviour is very proper. Beyond reproach. I dare say he was shocked at a young lady having the temerity to call upon him without prior introduction and unchaperoned