Chapter Two

There was a hint of rain in the air, unusual for July. Some drops came on Lavinia’s cheeks as she hurtled through the forest, hunched over the neck of her horse.

Stepper was a fantastic beast, an almost blood-red stallion with a thick mane of blond-gold hair, seventeen hands high if he was an inch, and frankly the fastest beast Lavinia had ever ridden.

And, more to the point, he was hers . He was the foal of the first horse she’d been given, a mare called Rosemary, and she had chosen the stud herself. And now, here was Stepper, the two of them having long since outdistanced the groom who was meant to be accompanying her.

The two of them abruptly burst out of the forest, coming to a gradual stop at the top of a steep, treeless hill, its rocky slope overlooking the house and grounds below.

Panting for breath, Lavinia sat up in the saddle, combing back long red hair from her sweaty neck. It had come undone from the hasty plait she’d tangled it into that morning, hanging down to the middle of her back. The sun was shining again, regardless of the hint of rain, and her skin was entirely too pale to withstand the sunshine for long.

From her vantage point, the Brennon estate looked luxurious and beautiful. One couldn’t see the missing roof tiles and overgrown garden from here, on account of them having to dismiss most of the gardeners. She couldn’t even see the tiny outbuilding where she and her younger sister, Gillian, had hidden from debt collectors for close to two hours.

Shivering, Lavinia felt the joy from her ride begin to fade away. Their finances were so bad that they had only half participated in the Season, bouncing from place to place instead of having a proper residence, staying with friends and hiring lodgings. The humiliation was intense. It was meant to be Gillian’s first Season, and they had to count their pennies. It was awful.

Abruptly, Lavinia turned Stepper’s head away from the view and began heading back into the forest. It was almost time for breakfast, and her mother would not be pleased if she was late.

Again.

***

“You are late, Lavinia,” Lady Brennon said peevishly, glowering at her oldest daughter over the rim of her teacup. “ Again .”

“My apologies, Mama,” Lavinia answered brusquely, throwing herself into her usual seat. “Lord, I’m famished.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Could you be a little more ladylike?” Lady Brennon burst out.

“I never say that I am hungry,” Gillian chipped in smugly. “I always say that I’m not hungry, even if I am. It is much daintier and more ladylike, don’t you think, Lavvy?”

“Is it ladylike to starve to death?” Lavinia wondered aloud.

“Probably,” Gillian shot back. “Also, you smell badly of horse.”

“Oh, that is enough,” Lady Brennon sighed, waving her hand. “I relinquish all hope for my daughters. Owen, do convey your sentiments to them.”

Lord Brennon, a short, good-natured man with a happy, round face, put down his newspaper and pulled a face at Lavinia.

“Pray, leave the young ladies be, Faye. They may find solace and enjoyment in the tranquility of the countryside, may they not?”

“Pray do not remind me," Lady Brennon replied with a sharpness in her tone. "It vexes me greatly that we are forced to seclude ourselves in this remote location, whilst the season unfolds in London and suitable matches are to be had.”

Lord Brennon’s smile faded just a little. “I apologise, my darling.”

His wife shook her head, lips set in a dissatisfied line. “I know it can’t be helped, but still. It’s a pity we ran out of friends to stay with.”

Lavinia bit her lip, concentrating on filling her plate. For her first Season – this was her third, and it was nearly over – they had stayed in their London townhouse. Shortly after that, their finances tightened again and they were obliged to sell it. Nobody knew, of course, and they often simply rented their old house from the new owners, and pretended it was still theirs.

But the rent was steep, and they could not afford to stay in London for the whole Season. So, Lord Brennon would retreat frequently to their country estate to attend to business, bringing the whole family with him, for a month or two at a time. When they were in London, if they wanted to entertain at all while they were there, they were obliged to save up by staying with friends and family. There were ways to live on nothing at all in London, but it required stronger nerves than Lavinia and her family possessed. They were not doing well, not at all.

It was most inconvenient, and Lady Brennon lamented the lack of opportunities it brought. Perhaps it was just because she was then forced to look their situation in the eye and admit that they could no longer afford to even rent the house they had once owned.

Gillian cleared her throat, sitting up a little straighter.

“Do not you worry, Mama, this is the last year we shall have to do this. I intend to make a splendid match, and then you can all come and stay with me every Season. I’ll save up my strength and energy, and make sure I do everything I can. Maybe I’ll even find Lavvy a half-decent husband.”

That brought a smile to everybody’s face.

“I certainly hope not,” Lavinia remarked tartly, and that even made Gillian laugh a little.

Some of the tension dissolved, although Lavinia was under no illusions that it would stay gone.

A tap on the door heralded the butler, carrying a silver tray in white-gloved hands.

“For your, your Ladyship,” he said sombrely, handing it to Lady Brennon. Oddly enough, the lower the family sank, the more determinedly the upper servants clung to their proprieties and traditions. Lavinia knew that they were lucky to have such a faithful household, and that only made her more miserable to think about the inevitable day when they would all have to be dismissed, one by one.

Lady Brennon gulped the last of her tea and took the letter. No, not a letter – Lavinia could see that it was a gilt-edged invitation. Abruptly, the woman gave a squawk of delight, causing her husband to spill his coffee.

“You will never guess who this is from,” Lady Brennon crowed, beaming around the table and pressing the invitation to her chest.

“Is it from Lord Tuppers?” Gillian asked hopefully.

“What? That simpleton? No, of course not. It is from the Dowager Duchess of Dunleigh . She invites us to a ball at their Bath home, in two weeks’ time! That is the famous Rosewood House! Can you believe it?”

Lavinia set her cup down with a click. “We aren’t acquainted with the Willenshires, Mama.”

Not officially, at least. She had met the new duke once, in a meeting that Lavinia still cringed over. She had had a headache, and felt sick and miserable, longing to be anywhere but that overheated ballroom. As a consequence, she’d found herself out on the balcony with the young duke, and had spoken entirely without propriety, even without thought. No doubt he’d been amused and disgusted all at once, and she ought to consider herself lucky he hadn’t thought to ruin her.

Besides, that was the fateful evening when she’d lost Hugh’s precious locket. Tears pricked at her eyes at the thought, and she furiously blinked them back. The necklace was gone, and that was that. She was careless. She’d lost it. The last bit of Hugh was lost.

“I met the duchess briefly at Lady Clarissa’s ball,” Lady Brennon said dismissively. “The dowager duchess, I should say. Can you believe it, Owen? They’ve invited us – the Willenshires never invited us to anything before – and their Bath residence, no less! Oh, we ought to go.”

Lord Brennon bit his lip. “I thought we were staying here a few more weeks.”

“Yes, but only think of the benefits,” Lady Brennon answered eagerly, leaning across the table to take his hand. “There is a postscript here – the Dowager has invited us to stay! I could never have hoped for such a thing! She adds that my company was most refreshing, and that she would enjoy seeing me again, along with my two daughters! Think of what it could be like for Gillian! The opportunities she might have! The Dowager Duchess’ balls are always full of eligible gentlemen, everyone is aware of that.”

Everybody did know that. Everybody wanted an invitation to a Willenshire ball, and not everybody got one. Lavinia glanced sideways at her sister, whose face was taut and pensive.

She’s too young for this.

Gillian was nineteen, having already had her come-out delayed by a year. She was remarkably beautiful, with a grace and a sort of sweetness about her that Lavinia had never possessed.

Of the two of us, she resembles Hugh the most , Lavinia thought, and the idea sent a pang through her. She thought, as she often did, of the young, idealized version of Hugh – the sweet, fair-haired boy who had led his sisters through the gardens, creating exciting, imaginative games. That was why she’d chosen the miniature of him as a child to put in her locket, so that she could remember him when they were young and happy and everything was rosy and perfect.

It was childish, perhaps, but the locket was, after all, only for her. Automatically, Lavinia’s hand crept up to her neck, where the cool silver of the locket should rest against her collar.

It wasn’t there, of course, and she felt the familiar lurch of loss.

How could I have lost it? After all this time, how could I?

It was plain that their mother was pinning all of their hopes on Gillian. Lavinia was too blunt and headstrong to secure a desirable match – if the scandal sheets were to be believed – and besides, at nearly three and twenty, she was too old.

So, if either of the girls were to secure a rich man and save her family, it was going to have to be Gillian. Sweet, beautiful Gillian, whose hair was a much more respectable shade of honey-gold beside Lavinia’s vibrant red, with clear blue eyes set in a heart-shaped face, as opposed to her older sister’s boring hazel ones. Gillian was kind, biddable, good at the pianoforte, and generally keen to please.

Indeed, she was the one with great prospects before her. Assuming, of course, they could find a way to introduce her to those prospects.

Lord Brennon glanced thoughtfully at his youngest child. It was the manner in which he would appraise a particularly promising gentleman, noting her commendable attributes, her exquisite beauty, and the manner in which she would captivate a prospective purchaser.

It turned Lavinia’s stomach to see her father looking at Gillian like that.

Abruptly, she got up.

“I am not particularly hungry,” she announced. “I shall go and check on Stepper in the stables. Let me know what you decide.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and hurried away.

***

“Have you calmed down a little?”

Lavinia, standing in Stepper’s stable with a horse brush in each hand, glanced over her shoulder at her sister.

“Who said I was not calm?”

Gillian rolled her eyes. Standing in the entranceway to the stables, the light from outside silhouetted her figure, making her look like a Greek goddess. She was determinedly out of place in a stable.

“I am not a fool, Lavvy. We’re going, by the way. We shall be departing; I must inform you. We are bound for Bath, as the Dowager Duchess has graciously extended her invitation for us all to sojourn at her estate, and you are, of course, included in this.”

“How lucky I seem to be,” Lavinia muttered, brushing Stepper’s already glossy coat.

She hoped Gillian would take the hint, but no. After a moment’s pause, she heard the crunch of footsteps on old straw and glanced over to see Gillian picking her way towards her.

“Something has upset you, sister. Tell me what it is.”

Lavinia closed her eyes. “I don’t like the idea of you being sold like a prize mare.”

Gillian sighed. “That is simply the way the world is. They don’t call the Season a marriage mart for nothing, you know. Besides, I would like very much to get married.”

Lavinia paused, glancing at her sister. “Do you really?”

“Of course I do. Ladies do want to get married, don’t they?”

She snorted. “Not I.”

“Oh, no, I forgot that you are far too serious and special to engage in matrimony .”

“Do not be unkind.”

Gillian paused, nibbling her lower lip. “I didn’t mean to be unkind. I just… it never seemed as though you cared about marriage.”

“I do not,” Lavinia retorted, continuing to brush Stepper. “Who would want to attach themselves to some fool of a gentleman forever, on the shortest of acquaintances, only to avoid the so-called embarrassment of becoming a spinster? No, thank you. My life is not a display for gentlemen to gawk at and decide whether they wish to marry me or not. I am entirely happy with who I am and the life I lead now. Many women do not have loving parents as we do, and I intend to count my blessings.”

Gillian sighed. “If that is how you feel, Lavvy, I shan’t contradict you. But I desire to enter into matrimony. I yearn for my own family and to be blessed with children. There is no impropriety in such aspirations, is there?

“I suppose not.”

“How gracious of you. I came here just to… to check that you are not going to ruin anything for me at Rosewood House. Could you please come out from there, Lavinia, so we can talk properly?”

Lavinia flinched at that. She could feel her sister’s eyes boring into her. Carefully, she set down the horse brushes, gave Stepper one last pat, and emerged from the stall. Stepper’s large, liquid brown eyes followed her, mildly curious.

Gillian had found herself a seat on an upturned barrel, and was sitting bolt upright, just as genteel and collected as if she were reclining on a plush velvet stool in one of the finest houses in the land.

“What do you mean by that, Gillian?” Lavinia asked quietly.

Gillian flushed. “I mean that the Season is nearly ending. The Willenshires have gone to Bath, and it will not be long until other grand families follow. Nobody wants to spend winter in London, after all. Time is running out for me. I know quite well that we cannot afford another Season, so I must secure a suitable husband soon. But sometimes you can be… oh, don’t be offended, Lavinia, but sometimes you are entirely too blunt. It discourages others, and they are aware that they cannot invite me to a gathering without your presence. I just… I just want you to promise you’ll be on your best behaviour. Pray, do not be too disconcerting. Allow me to... to endeavour in seeking a suitable husband, for it shall contribute to our collective contentment.”

Lavinia swallowed hard. “I never intended to embarrass you, Gillian.”

In a flash. Gillian was on her feet, arms wrapped around her sister.

“You do not embarrass me, Lavvy! I love you with all my heart, you know that. I just need this trip to Bath to be perfect. You understand that, don’t you?”

Lavinia pulled back, forcing a wobbly smile. “Of course I understand. Now, shall we talk about which of your dresses we can turn into something a little more fashionable?”

Gillian’s face lit up. “Oh, yes, let us do that!”