Chapter One

"P arthena, hurry along." Mama gave a frustrated wave. "We are the last guests to arrive."

Miss Parthena Holm dutifully lifted her skirts and trudged forward, pausing only to take in the splendor of Lady Baldwin's estate rising majestically out of the perfectly manicured lawn. Her ladyship must employ an entire herd of gardeners. A line of carriages stood in the drive, the Holm carriage being the last. No surprise there. They would need to trudge to the front door deftly avoiding the footmen hauling baggage about.

"Fedelia!" Mama said shrilly. "Stop gawking. You've been here before."

"Yes, but not as the entertainment," Parthena said under her breath. Mrs. Holm in all her wisdom, had convinced the austere Lady Baldwin to allow Parthena and Fidelia to perform during this impromptu house party, showcasing their talents in the hopes some gentleman would be struck speechless and offer to wed them. A valiant effort on Mama's part.

Parthena was only passable on the violin. Fidelia not much better on the pianoforte. Any gentleman whose attention they drew would likely be half-deaf.

"I worked tirelessly to have Lady Baldwin grant us this honor," Mama intoned. "One day you will appreciate my efforts on your behalf."

"An honor," Parthena muttered, as Fidelia took her arm. "Mama probably begged Lady Baldwin to put us on display. As if we are horses for sale at Tattersalls."

"Oh, far worse than that," Fidelia said with a mysterious air.

"Worse than trying to entice a suitor with our poor playing? I suppose Mama has tried everything else."

Mrs. Holm's pursuit of decent matches for her daughters was no great secret in Hampshire. The entire county knew of the dreadfully named Holm children. In addition to Parthena and Fidelia, there was also Leta, and a brother, Ovid.

Mr. and Mrs. Holm assumed, for some odd reason, that such names would give their children notability. Which they did. Only not in the way Parthena's parents hoped. She despaired of her name, which made her sound like architecture, not a young lady. Also, the literal meaning of Parthena in Greek was perpetual virgin, which did not give her hopes for the future.

"Stop dragging your feet," Mama urged. "I prevailed upon Lady Baldwin for this privilege, a difficult task, and we must make the most of it." She shot a pointed glance at Parthena.

"So you've said," Fidelia said.

"I've apologized profusely, Mama," Parthena added. "It isn't as if I planned the events which took place on our previous visit. Indeed, I did not enjoy the attention it brought me."

"Humph." Mama raised a brow.

"I did not." Parthena possessed the unfailing ability to attract bad luck in the form of tripping, speaking out of turn, catching clothing on capons and an assortment of other—well, Mama referred to them as tragedies . Thus her lack of suitors. What gentleman in his right mind would want to saddle himself with a wife who was given to such catastrophe?

Her mother's exact words.

"The expectation is that you restrain yourself." Mama strolled ahead of her and Fidelia.

Parthena wanted to state, rather emphatically in her own defense, that naming her Parthena did not help matters.

"I do not want a repeat of the incident , Parthena," she said over her shoulder.

"You will not be disappointed. I swear."

"Splendid. Now, you and Fidelia are to accompany Lady Belinda tomorrow evening." Her mother paused. "Fidelia on the pianoforte, you on the violin."

"We are accompanying Lady Belinda?" Belinda was Lady Baldwin's all too perfect niece. She was pleasant enough, if one admired willowy, demure young ladies of good breeding. "As if we are common musicians for hire?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Fidelia whispered. "We aren't at all that good."

"But I thought the entire point of this visit was for us to perform for Lady Baldwin's guests," Parthena said.

Her mother made an exasperated sound. She did that often in Parthena's presence. "You will be performing. Think of yourselves as a foil, if you will, to highlight Lady Belinda's lovely soprano. There is a match in the making at the house party. A duke. As a foil, you are helping to facilitate such a match. Lady Baldwin will be most grateful."

"A foil?" And a duke present, though that was the least of her worries. More concerning that Lady Belinda's voice sounded like a wounded cow and was an assault to the ears.

"Yes." Her mother turned, pinching her fingers together, admonishing Parthena to not speak another word. "Do keep your limbs close to your body, Parthena, so as not to cause anyone bodily harm. No verbal sparring in which your opinion is the only one that matters, which is rarely the case. And play the violin to the best of your ability. Possibly invite the admiration of a gentleman." Mama looked skeptical. "That is all I ask."

"But Lady Belinda—"

"Or I will entertain the suit of Captain Percival Rogers." Her mother gave her firm look. "Do I make myself clear."

"Abundantly." Captain Rogers was two years older than Parthena's father, deaf in one ear and ate only soft foods as he lacked most of his teeth. He'd offered for her at least three times and while she liked Captain Rogers, the idea of kissing him was repulsive. Besides, what did it matter if Parthena's only reason for being at the house party was to help Lady Belinda land a duke? She didn't care. It was only Lady Baldwin's assumption that her niece would shine far brighter with the Holm daughters at her side that Parthena objected to.

Rather insulting.

They hurried inside, ignored by most of the footmen and servants rushing about, searching for any sign of Corman, Lady Baldwin's butler, or Lady Baldwin herself. But their hostess was not in evidence, which meant she was already entertaining her more important guests out on the terrace. Not waiting for her poor relations to arrive.

Lady Baldwin and Mama were cousins, once removed. An association Mrs. Holm touted frequently but their hostess did not. Still, Lady Baldwin did welcome Mama over for tea several times a year. When Lady Belinda's birthday was celebrated with fireworks and a picnic, the Holm family had come to enjoy the festivities. The Holms had even been invited to dine once, but after the incident , no longer.

Parthena searched about the foyer for her violin case, almost hoping that the instrument had been misplaced to save them all a great deal of misery. No such luck. She saw the case clearly sitting at the bottom of the stairs. Making her way over to retrieve the instrument, Parthena halted at the sound of trunks colliding and falling to the ground. She whipped about, clasping a hand to her throat.

Good grief. I've only just arrived.

Corman, stiff-lipped and annoyed, strode forth, glaring at the footmen who had all come to a standstill. "What has happened— oh ." He swung his gaze in the direction of Parthena who had frozen in place, staring at the mass of clothing, underthings and a pair of slippers spilling out across the floor from her battered trunk, mixing unpleasantly with the contents of a larger, much finer trunk.

"Oh, no," Mama whispered, pressing a palm to her lips.

Parthena's well-used trunk, one purchased secondhand, had a lock which hadn't worked well in some time, though she'd latched it tight. Her trunk had been dropped on the larger, breaking the lock and opening the latch on its own.

Corman turned red. "That is the duke's trunk."

Well, of course, it had to be, given Parthena's luck. Fine, black leather. Crest stenciled across the edge in gold.

Her underthings. Hose. Slippers. All had all fallen to mix somewhat intimately with the duke's personal items. And she still didn't know which duke, exactly. Which was off-putting, not knowing whose shirts your petticoat was splayed over.

Parthena thought she might swoon. Or expire of mortification. And in doing so would have to be carried out, causing her family further embarrassment.

"Wexham," Mama said under her breath, eyeing the crest on the trunk answering Parthena's earlier question of which duke was in attendance.

"Mrs. Holm." Corman raised a brow. "Shall I assume these belong to Miss Holm?" He sent a pointed look in Parthena's direction. Lady Baldwin's butler had never cared for Parthena, much less so after the incident.

Her mother nodded. "I regret to say it is."

His lips rippled with dislike. "I'll have to inform Lady Baldwin. And the duke. His trunk has been damaged. The lock broken by that of Miss Holm. This entire affair," he gestured towards the pile of clothing. "Is most alarming."

Parthena eyed Corman. It wasn't as if she'd tossed her bloody trunk at the duke's. And the sight of her underthings was far more alarming to her than Lady Baldwin's butler or her herd of footmen. But perhaps this Wexham was a bit of a prig. Didn't care to have his things mingle with that of a young lady so far beneath him. The duke might find the fact that her petticoats had touched his—she looked to his trunk—shaving kit to be offensive.

"There's no need for that, Corman." A gentleman came forward dressed in a coat the color of toast. Amusement had the corners of his bright blue eyes crinkle as he took in the foyer. "I'll inform His Grace." Corman looked as if he might argue but the gentleman held up one hand. "Find Laraby. I believe he's having tea in the kitchen. He'll put things to right."

"Very good, Mr. Shore." Corman spun on his heel and moved in the opposite direction.

Mama let out a visible sigh of relief.

"Allow me to introduce myself, the gentleman stepped forward. Mr. Duncan Shore, ornithologist." He laughed at her mother's blank look. "A fancy way to say I study birds."

"Oh." Mama smiled. "I am Mrs. Holm, and these are my daughters. Miss Fidelia Holm and Miss Parthena Holm."

He smiled politely at Parthena before sliding his gaze to Fidelia, eyes alight with interest.

A blush rose on her sister's cheeks.

"Don't worry about Wexham, madam. Corman is far more distressed than the duke will be. Laraby will put things to rights. He's the duke's valet."

Mama nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Shore."

"Mrs. Holm." He bowed. "Miss Holm. Miss Holm." Striding off he headed in the direction of the terrace.

Fidelia let out a long, drawn-out breath, gaze fixed on the departing Mr. Shore. "What a lovely gentleman."

"Indeed. And educated. A scholar. You could do worse, Fidelia." Mama said, as she began shoving Parthena's clothing back into the trunk, careful to avoid the duke's things. "I begged you for one instance in which you did not embarrass the entire family, Parthena. We haven't even been here an hour. Must I lock you upstairs, only allowing you out for Lady Belinda's performance?"

"How is this my fault?" Parthena whispered back, conscious of the servants watching. "The trunk is as ancient as the duke likely is."

A throat cleared. "May I be of assistance?" A short, dapper man stood to the side. "I am Laraby, His Grace's valet. If you wish to join the other guests, I can wait for your maid, Mrs. Holm."

The Holm ladies did not have a maid, but there wasn't any need to announce the fact. "That won't be necessary," Mama nodded. "But I thank you, Mr. Laraby."

"Stop gawking." Laraby clapped his hands at the footmen who were all still standing about. "Take Mrs. Holm's trunks upstairs. The two rooms at the end of the hall."

Their usual rooms no matter the number of guests Lady Baldwin would invite. Two small bedchambers with a connecting door that overlooked the side of the driveway.

Within moments the entire affair had been rectified, the duke's trunk once more shut tight and Parthena's, well, she hoped that hers stayed closed until it found its way to the rooms assigned them. If Lady Baldwin was feeling charitable, she might even send up one of her own maids to help them unpack.

Mama bustled up the stairs, behind two footmen carrying their things. "Let us freshen up before making our appearance. Hopefully, Lady Baldwin won't have Corman escort us out the moment we step outside."

"I didn't drop my trunk, the footman did." Parthena fumed. "I am the offended party. What about my dignity?"

"Enough Parthena," her mother smiled, seeing a plump maid appear with a bow. "Let us unpack."