Four

FOUR

Stockworth Manor—Templetons’ estate,

Westerham, England

19 December 1818 – Breakfast

God had not dumped several feet of snow on London and answered Aubriella’s fervent prayers that she might be spared the Templetons’ Christmas house party. The day after Emmet’s birthday dinner, she’d awoken to a mere dusting, as disappointingly light as confectioners’ sugar sprinkled on almond cake.

Regardless, the holiday gathering mightn’t be a complete loss. With just over thirty people in attendance, half of which were women, there could be multiple opportunities for placing discreet wagers and bets.

Taking a sip of cocoa, she surreptitiously swept her gaze around the Templetons’ expensive but tastefully decorated dining room. Only a few of the more intrepid guests had arisen early and ventured below to break their fasts.

Most of the ladies— and potential clients —either remained snuggly asleep or had ordered trays in their chambers like Mama usually did. Jessamine never rose a minute before ten, and Papa had probably already ridden out with the other men for an early morning constitutional.

At Mama’s insistence, Aubriella had only packed her newest gowns, outerwear, and slippers. She’d been forbidden to wear her faded work frocks and apron.

Dear Mama still held an unrealistic hope that Aubriella might find herself a suitable husband. It escaped her what gentleman her mother thought would attend the Templetons’ party that Aubriella didn’t already know and would show an interest in her.

For the most part, men looked past her as one did an urn in the foyer or a statue in the garden. One knew something was there, but the object wasn’t riveting or intriguing enough to garner one’s full attention.

She was unremarkable.

Ordinary.

And above all, a realist.

It was as unlikely as jewels falling from the sky, for an unattached man Aubriella would find striking to find her attractive, too.

“You cannot be seen in those rags, my dear. What man would consider you if you don’t take care with your appearance?” Mama had patted her cheek and given her an indulgent smile. “You might not have mine and your sisters’ fair coloring, Elli, but you are not unattractive.”

Mama had intended to encourage Aubriella, but the backhanded compliment fell short of the mark. Mama loved her. Aubriella didn’t doubt her affection. But the truth was, her mother didn’t understand her middle daughter.

Mama wished to talk of fashion and soirees and to share gossip, recipes, and scandal. All of which Aubriella had no interest in. Should her parents ever learn of the outrageous da Vinci drawings hidden in her bedchamber…

A shiver tripped across her shoulders.

Lord, Aubriella didn’t want to consider what her mild-mannered parents would do. Even they drew boundaries at what was acceptable and what was not, and she’d crossed those marks long before now.

When she’d dressed as a man and sneaked into the biology laboratory at university seven years ago, her parents had expressed their disappointment in the calmest tones. They’d sent her to her prissy spinster aunt’s outside of London for the summer.

They’d undoubtedly prayed Aunt Astrid’s prim, proper, and boring-as-Hades decorum would rub off on Aubriella.

It had not.

After Aubriella volunteered to assist the local doctor in setting an unfortunate lad’s badly broken leg—really, the blood didn’t make her the least faint, but poor Aunt Astrid had swooned—she’d been sent home as incorrigible.

However, in an odd and unforeseen twist, Aunt Astrid had bequeathed Aubriella her small house. Possibly because her aunt believed her irredeemable, unmarriable niece might find herself in need of a home someday.

If it hadn’t been for Jackson Matherfield, Aubriella felt certain her subterfuge would’ve worked—another reason to dislike the scoundrel.

How was she to know he was in that class?

Fate must, indeed, have something against her.

Despite what she believed to be a remarkably good disguise, he’d recognized her immediately. She still hadn’t forgiven him, though instead of revealing her to the professor and other students, he had let her escape with her reputation intact.

He had, however, told her parents, the rotter.

Had he wanted to, he might’ve ruined her that day.

Women were strictly prohibited from such courses.

Another stupid rule made by men.

Since marrying had never been at the forefront of Aubriella’s desires, her disappointment in her continued spinsterhood was less significant than Mama’s discontent.

To appease her mother, Aubriella wore a long-sleeved navy-blue velvet day gown trimmed in black today. The pretty gown complemented her coloring and lithe figure, bolstering her confidence by a small degree. Nevertheless, she felt as out of place as a dull river rock among glittering, polished gems.

This morning, Roxina sat beside Aubriella with Matilda Fitzlloyd across from them. Aubriella hadn’t met the two couples babbling away like magpies at the foot of the table, nor the pair of indolent gentlemen halfway down the large rectangle and currently engaged in low conversation with Emmet and Quinten Honeybrook.

No doubt, Mama and Mabel Templeton would play matchmaker and devise a scheme or several to throw Aubriella into the company of the newcomers. She couldn’t help but suspect the cousins had plotted together toward that very end.

Three days ago, Aubriella’s family had rumbled up the circular drive to the Templetons’ grand estate. As always, they were the first guests to arrive so that Mama and Cousin Mabel might enjoy a short, intimate visit before the other invitees descended upon the estate.

At least Aubriella had Jack’s promise that he’d help her through the next two weeks.

If he came.

How peculiar that she anticipated seeing him when she normally went out of her way to avoid him. His presence was less objectionable than making a fool of herself—that was what she’d been telling herself since she’d impulsively accepted his offer.

So far, he and his brother remained absent, and something between disappointment and lack of surprise sat heavy and dull in Aubriella’s belly. As she’d descended the stairs for breakfast, she told herself she didn’t need him to manage the festivities. After all, she’d endured these annual gatherings her entire life. Another fortnight shouldn’t be so unbearable.

Even as she tried to convince herself, doubts lingered.

Why this year should be different, she didn’t know.

If only Jack hadn’t raised her hopes that she might be spared indignity and humiliation during this holiday season.

So stupid of her to have trusted him.

Although, to be fair, he had said he’d attend if he could get away from his business obligations. Aubriella imagined there must be many responsibilities with four successful ventures. Regardless, she shouldn’t have counted on him, and annoyance at herself for doing so chaffed her pride.

Aubriella squared her shoulders as she picked up a triangle of toast.

She’d simply do as she’d always done at these assemblies.

Find an out-of-the-way spot to retreat to whenever possible, and when she couldn’t escape, paint a benign expression on her face and pretend she didn’t care that she was a dismal failure. She’d laugh at her maladroitness with the others, and no one but her dearest friends or family would know how keenly she suffered.

“Do you suppose they are without family, and Mrs. Templeton has taken them beneath her wing?” Roxina nudged her chin toward the babbling foursome. “If she keeps it up, we’ll be four to a chamber.”

As it was, everyone shared their chamber with at least one person and, in some cases, with two others.

Aubriella didn’t mind.

At Blenstock the women arm in arm and the gentlemen with their heads together.

Were they related?

“I must work on my charades clue.” Matilda rested her elbow on the table, her chin on her fist. “I don’t want to make it too easy.”

For variety, Mabel insisted each guest create at least one clue per game.

Aubriella loathed charades.

All that ridiculous posturing and gesturing, not to mention the preposterous clues.

How did one contrive such absurd rhyming riddles and conundrums?

For certain, she’d never been able to compose anything remotely clever and had long since stopped trying. Jessamine had written a riddle for Aubriella’s topics for the past three years, and they’d been ghastly.

Hives. Sleepwalking. Gout.

She still shuddered at the memories.

Hopeless at everything but sketching, Aubriella had already decided to hide away in the library’s loft. Over the years, she’d learned her presence was rarely missed. Except sometimes by her family and dearest friends, who understood her desire to remain elusive.

That unfortunate truth ought to sting more than it did, but always pragmatic, she refused to sulk or pout over what she couldn’t control.

She had hoped that with Jack’s help, this yuletide might be different. That she might look forward to the caroling, games, decorations, stirring the Christmas pudding, and mayhap a sleigh ride.

Foolish ninny. Goose.

A tiny sigh escaped her, earning her a sharp look from Roxina, who knew her better than any other living soul since their days in finishing school together.

“Are you quite well, Aubriella?” Roxina asked. “You seem a trifle preoccupied.”

“Fit as a fiddle. Content as a cat.” Aubriella fashioned what she hoped was a bright smile. “Bright as a button. Happy as a hare.”

Mayhap too much?

Sable eyebrows high on her forehead, Roxina snorted in disbelief.

Yes, definitely too much.

Aubriella tempered her expression and tone to a more believable mien. “And looking forward to today’s activities.”

Liar.

“Now I know you’re either ailing or touched in the head.” Suspicion narrowed Roxina’s chestnut-brown eyes. “I’d wager you’d rather eat slugs and grubs than participate in today’s events. Or the activities scheduled for the entire fortnight.”

“You’re wrong, Roxina, and you’d lose that bet.” Aubriella widened her smile to such a degree her face might crack. “I’ve determined to enjoy myself this year.”

She leaned near her friend. “We might even add a few wagers to our books. There’s always something worth betting on at an extended house party.”

Matilda and Roxina exchanged a she’s-blathering-like-a-madwoman glance.

“And what makes this year different?” Skepticism riddled Roxina’s question.

But then again, Roxina was the most sardonic woman Aubriella had ever known. She trusted few women and men not at all.

That was her brother’s doing as well.

“May I join you?”

Glancing over her shoulder, Aubriella barely suppressed her astonished gasp.

Jack.