Chapter One

Lady Madeline Cole, only child of the Earl and Countess of Winthrop, calculated her next move. She was in the throes of the endless battle to get her to Town, foist her upon some gentleman, and set her life’s course forever.

Just now, the modiste was poking her with pins as she did a final fitting on one of the dresses Madeline was meant to wear in the foisting upon some gentleman. She did not blame Mrs. Gupton for being involved in the whole palaver, the poor lady was only doing what she’d been paid to do. Her mother and father, on the other hand…

“Gracious Madeline,” the countess said, “do cheer up. We are going to Town, not an execution.”

Madeline was very tempted to say that it felt like an execution. Of course, she knew perfectly well that was too dramatic. It did amuse her to think dramatic thoughts, though. Her mother had once advised that while she might not say what she pleased, she was free to think anything at all with none the wiser.

She had taken full advantage of that advice. Her thoughts were often teetering on high dramatic cliffs or wallowing in deep dark valleys while her expression spoke of perfect equanimity.

“And for heaven’s sake, do take off those ridiculous spectacles. Everybody knows they are only glass and you have no need of any corrections to your vision.”

“Mama, you know perfectly well that I had them made on Miss Price’s counsel. Pupils take a teacher more seriously if they wear spectacles.”

“You are not a teacher,” the countess said. “I find myself aggravated that I have to point that out for the hundredth time. I should never have allowed your involvement with that school.”

“That school,” Madeline said, “is our village school teaching our people.”

“I am well aware,” the countess said.

Madeline toyed with the idea of having another debate with her mother regarding the importance of the village school. She decided to forgo it, as they’d had so many of them. Madeline was of the firm opinion that all human potential must be recognized and realized. The countess was of the opinion that there was only so much a tenant farmer’s son needed to be taught by her daughter.

The past year assisting Miss Price at the school had been glorious. Was there anything more rewarding than seeing all those bright young faces gazing up at her, eager to take in what she had to teach them?

Of course, not all the faces were bright. Some were downright sullen, and others were in the habit of throwing small stones at her head when her back was turned. But that was only to be expected. When one looked up to the stars at night, were there not some that shone brighter than others? So it must be in a classroom. She had been well satisfied to find at least a few bright faces.

Particularly, young Johnny Shepardson and little Maisie Jennerson. They were both so intelligent! So curious! So polite and not inclined to sullenness or throwing stones at her head.

Madeline had felt that she finally had a purpose in the world. She contributed something vital. Up until she had become involved in the school, what had she been?

Just a fancily dressed girl taking up space. A lump of pointless human flesh doing no good for anybody. She’d read and read and read in her father’s library and what good had it done anybody to fill her mind with information that was shared with nobody? It had begun to feel uncomfortably selfish.

And then, she had met Miss Price and begun volunteering at the school. Then, everything she’d crammed into her mind became worth something. She became worth something.

Now, she was forced to leave it all behind and go to Town for the great matchmaking season. It felt rather like the season when every gentleman grabs his gun and shoots pheasants from the sky. There they would all be, all the unmarried young ladies, drifting across the sky in their finery, waiting for somebody to take aim and fire.

If she must go, and it seemed as if she must, she would not go empty-handed. She would not give up everything she’d gained. Therefore, she had a plan.

“Mama,” she said, ready to launch the well-considered plan, “I will consent to going to Town and making myself pleasant, even to this Lord Bumbledon Papa keeps raving on about.”

“Excellent,” the countess said, seeming vastly relieved.

“I will do all that on one condition,” Madeline said. She ignored her mother’s wary expression and plowed on. “I must be allowed to found and lead my own charity.”

“A charity?” the countess asked. “Goodness, girl. That is the sort of thing matrons get up to when they have too much time on their hands.”

“The charity is The Impoverished Pupil Fund and it will raise money to supply books and tuitions and such to poor students who show real promise.”

“I see,” the countess said drily, “and how will you go about raising this money when, as yet, you have no connections in Town? Even if you did have connections, a young unmarried lady can hardly arrange to hostess her own charity events.”

Madeline shrugged, which caused Mrs. Gupton to stick her with a pin. “I do not yet know how it will be best to proceed,” she said, suppressing the urge to shout from the poke.

The countess eyed her critically. Then, she took a little breath in, which Madeline was well aware was a sigh that would not be allowed to express itself. The countess was often in the habit of swallowing a sigh.

Then, inexplicably, her mother’s countenance brightened. She said, “I think you have been too alone here. With no brothers and sisters, you’ve grown up with your head in books, and then the involvement with the school… Well, I think when you get to Town you will be far too busy to worry about a charity that has no hope of existing. I do not think you realize how large Town is or how many new people you will encounter.”

Madeline considered that opinion complete nonsense. There was no place on earth so large that it would turn her head away from her purpose in life—to recognize and realize all human potential. It was her raison d’être—her reason for taking up air that other people might be breathing.

“Yes, indeed,” the countess said. “We will simply allow nature to take its course. And goodness, my dear, do have Meggy scrub the ink stains off your hands. They are worse than a clerk’s and it is very off-putting.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Owen Palmerton, Marquess of Souderton, eldest son of the Duke and Duchess of Redmond, found himself in a bit of a spot. For the past three years he’d waved to his duke and duchess and set off for Town, those two people having been assured he’d be returning with news of an engagement. For three years, he’d arrived back home sans engagement and told them a tale of coming very close to an engagement before something occurred to sink the whole idea.

Last year’s story was that he was on the verge of proposing to a certain Lady Mary when she’d suddenly accepted Lord Bakerston. The truth was Lady Mary had not once looked in his direction, nor he hers. He had spent a happy season gambling at his club and he hoped to continue with the habit. His preferred game was Vingt-et-un; he had an affinity for the elegant simplicity of it. Let others tie themselves in knots at piquet if they liked it.

His game had the advantage of being easily picked up by would-be gamblers who did not see that there was skill behind it. He’d won a lot of money due to that fact.

He'd hoped to continue on with that state of affairs—wave adieu to the duke and duchess, gamble all season, and then return the prodigal son with a tale of woe regarding a lost opportunity at marriage. That’s what he had hoped, anyway.

His parents had announced they were coming to Town too this year. After three failed seasons, they were certain he was going wrong somewhere and would be at his side to guide and assist him. The duchess was driven by affection for him, and the duke was driven to get some grandsons on the ground.

As if grandsons would solve every problem in the world!

He knew he would have to step lively this season, lest he find himself lively stepping into a church. He was particularly leery of Lady Agatha. His father had been talking about that particular lady near non-stop.

Owen would rather hang himself from the highest tree before finding himself chained to that dry lady. Lady Agatha came with a heavy purse, but he knew very well that if he were to attempt to use any of it to gamble or do anything at all amusing, the complaints would be night and day.

He had made himself scarce all afternoon, well aware that it was the date his duke and duchess were set to arrive to the house on Portland Place. He would have made himself scarce all night too, had the duke not sent a note into White’s—they had arrived and he was wanted for dinner.

Owen braced himself and went into the dining room. He kissed his mother’s cheek. “Father,” he said, taking his seat.

“Oh my dear,” the duchess said, “you are looking very well. I cannot imagine what lady would not swoon were you to make eyes at her.”

Owen pressed his lips together. He was not certain what she meant by making eyes, but he was determined not to try it out.

“He looks just the same as he did last year, though,” the duke said. “Why weren’t the women swooning then?”

That of course was a very reasonable question, and one that Owen had no intention of answering.

“I suppose they were though, my dear,” the duchess said. “You see, our dear boy was simply looking in the wrong direction. He was looking toward Lady Mary, if you recall. And then she went and engaged herself to some earl or other.”

“So that’s the problem, eh?” the duke said as the footmen came round and filled the wine glasses. “He keeps looking in wrong directions. Well, we’ll fix that—Lady Agatha is the right direction in my view. Or if not her, there are others.”

Owen took a long draught of his wine.

“I look forward to getting acquainted with Lady Agatha,” the duchess said. “Souderton, your father has said so much that is marvelous about her. I am sure I will adore her.”

“Adore would be a very strong word regarding Lady Agatha,” Owen said.

The duchess looked perplexed. “Why do you say so? Your father assures me she is charming.”

Owen noticed the duke shift uncomfortably in his chair. As well he should. Owen presumed his father’s obsession with pushing Lady Agatha forward was his long friendship with that lady’s father. Still, to sing her praises to the heavens…

“You will see for yourself, Duchess,” the duke said. “They are sure to accept our invitation to dine.”

“To dine?” Owen said. “We are to have a dinner?”

He had imagined dodging the duke and duchess all over Town, but he had not considered having to dodge their schemes inside the house.

“Of course we will host a dinner, dear,” the duchess said. “Gracious, I have been up to my eyes with the planning of it. It is Tuesday next. Now, you are not to think that anything with Lady Agatha is positively settled.”

Owen looked at his mother in alarm. Why on earth would he think anything was settled?

“We have invited a few other eligible young ladies too,” the duchess went on. “After all, there is no telling where your heart will lead you.”

“As long as it leads him somewhere suitable!” the duke cautioned. “Which I still say is Lady Agatha.”

“You may well be right,” the duchess said. “But we have already heard back from the Earl of Winthrop and he will bring his girl—Lady Madeline Cole. And then, Baron Muncy brings Miss Welter and Viscount Hedwig brings Miss Smollen. A veritable cornucopia of appropriate young womanhood.”

Owen drained his glass. About the last thing he was interested in encountering was a cornucopia of appropriate young womanhood.

“Oh, and also dear,” the duchess said, “we have tickets for Almack’s on the morrow.”

“Attendance is required,” the duke said darkly.

The dreaded Almack’s. A roiling den of determined mamas and fan-waving young ladies, bad food, no drink to speak of, and the chatterings of the patronesses. It would be a very, very long evening.

For that matter, it was shaping up to be a very, very long season.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mr. Penny’s spirits had been in danger of dipping very low, which they rarely had the audacity to do.

The operation of moving the family to Grosvenor Square had not been as straightforward as he’d hoped it would be.

His part of it had been accomplished in a straightforward fashion—all manner of trunks had been packed carefully into the luggage carriages. The housekeeper, housemaids, and kitchen maids had been loaded into their carriage. The footmen had been given a stern lecture on how they were to comport themselves, with Cook staring down his nose to supervise the lot of them. Of course, the two lady’s maids had insisted on their own carriage. Mr. Penny, himself, had arranged to ride in a carriage with the earl’s valet and secretary. All suitably organized.

What had not been suitably organized was the family itself. While it had been hoped that Lady Madeline had given up playing at schoolmarm and turned her attention to the practicalities of marriage, that had not exactly been the case.

She was determined to carry on with such ideas in London. She was set on starting up her own charity for impoverished pupils. Nobody, least of all Lady Madeline, had the first idea how she would do it. As for why, well she seemed to know that , though nobody else could quite understand it.

Her father named it impossible and foolish. The countess was content to ignore all talk of it and claimed the idea would pass like a whisper in the wind.

And there was a lot of talk of it, day in and day out, and all coming from Lady Madeline.

Was there any possibility in the world that she would not assault every gentleman coming into her sphere with these ideas?

He rather feared not.

At least she had been convinced to put away her spectacles and somebody had scrubbed the ink stains off her hands.

They had finally arrived to their beloved Grosvenor Square and Mr. Penny shuddered to think what had been the conversations in the family carriage. Lady Madeline had been helped down to the pavement and strode into the house, saying, “I won’t give it up. I cannot be pressed to give it up.”

Mr. Penny was only grateful that none of the other butlers of The League had been out of doors at that particular moment to overhear that pronouncement.

Since then, he had been distracted by the flurry of activities that must always occur upon opening a house for the season. He was not unaware that the conversations about impoverished pupils continued, though he rather wished he was unaware. Lady Madeline was like a fox with a stolen lamb chop on the subject—she could not be convinced to give it up.

Now, the family were to set off to Almack’s. This was the moment when all in society who mattered would first set eyes on Lady Madeline. And set ears on her, too.

Whatever she said and did would be widely reported. A lady making her debut was always scrutinized and talked about. Lady So-and-So would mention her impression to her lady’s maid who would mention it to all her acquaintance in Town. Lord So-and-So would joke with his friends within hearing of footmen who would do just the same. The servants of the ton traded in information, for good or ill.

The earl and countess were already downstairs. Finally, Lady Madeline appeared.

It was at this precise moment that Mr. Penny’s spirits began their rise.

She looked entirely smashing! Her hair, usually on the messy side and often with a stick of graphite making an appearance in it somewhere, was elegantly done. Her dress, usually a muslin with graphite and ink stains on it, was transformed into a dark blue silk confection. Her hands had not a trace of ink. And most marvelously, there were no spectacles sliding down her nose.

Indeed, there was every hope that she looked so smashing that it would drown out whatever she said. Could a gentleman regard that visage and pay too terribly close attention to any mention of impoverished pupils? There was every hope he could not.

Mr. Penny’s spirits took flight like a hot air balloon soaring toward the heavens.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Madeline’s ideas of Town had undergone somewhat of a transformation, though not precisely the transformation her mother had been hoping for.

The countess had been right about one thing, as it happened. The town was far bigger and busier than she had imagined. There were so many people of all sorts! She had not thought there were that many people in all of England. At home, she might walk a mile without seeing another person. Here, one could not walk a foot without bumping into somebody.

And then, the house on Grosvenor Square was lovely. She had seen drawings of it that her mother had sketched, but those had all been the outside of the house. The inside was charming indeed. It was more compact than their house at home, that being a rather sprawling sort of place. This house had everything that was needed without making it all so far apart.

As well, she quite liked her bedchamber and adjoining sitting room overlooking the trees of the square. How odd to look out one’s bedchamber window and see people wandering round. At home, she would see nobody or if it were to be a busy sort of day, the steward and his young assistant walking the grounds.

It would all be rather perfect but for the lingering matter of how to start a charity for impoverished pupils. It was, after all, her raison d’être.

It seemed impossible that no likely ideas had come to her. She’d looked at the question backwards and forwards. She’d even asked Miss Price before she’d left for Town, but neither of them could think how to go forward with such an endeavor.

Then, Madeline had finally realized why. She did not yet understand the ins and outs of Town. That was what was missing, and that realization set her direction.

All she needed to do was talk to people and inform them of what she wished to accomplish. She would gather information, and then she could proceed with the real work of the thing.

She had begun by talking to her parents, unwilling listeners that they were. She was not put off—it had been excellent practice in composing what she would say to other people.

Now, she had been wrestled into silk and was to set off to Almack’s. Madeline had once felt dread in considering the excursion, but now she was eager to go. There would be so many people there who were bound to be interested in her charity.

Madeline threw her chin up and marched toward the carriage.

Stand aside, Patronesses. The impoverished pupils will be heard!