Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

“ T his is your last chance, Lavinia,” her father, the Marquess of Feverton, warned her.

Lavinia Andrews nodded, keeping her eyes down. She had been told this many times already. “Thank you, Father,” she said again, for she knew it was what he wanted to hear.

She’d hoped that her compliance would quiet him and allow her to return to her daydreaming, but he was clearly in a mood to talk. “Your first season was an utter failure,” he said. “Not a single gentleman expressed interest in you.”

“I know, Father.”

“You tell me you know, and yet you do nothing to improve yourself—nothing to make yourself more desirable to gentlemen. How am I to reconcile that? I could understand failing at your first ball, though I didn’t like it. But you continued to fail at one event after another, all season long!”

“Father, don’t be so hard on her,” Edwina said. She was bouncing a little in her seat, and though that sort of thing would have compelled their father to reprimand Lavinia, he said nothing to Edwina. He had always been more indulgent of her. Perhaps it was simply the fact that she was younger and therefore had more time to find herself a husband—certainly longer than the twelve days their father had allotted to Lavinia. But Lavinia suspected it was also the fact that Edwina was prettier than she was. Edwina would have no trouble at all finding someone to marry. Her problem was more likely to be narrowing her list of suitors down.

“I don’t mean to be hard on you, Lavinia,” her father said. “But I believe you need to hear these things. And you need to know that if you have not secured a match for yourself by the end of this house party, I will be choosing one for you.”

“I’ll try, Father.”

“You’ll need to do more than just try. I was willing to accept answers like that last season, but that turned out badly, as we all saw. I thought Lord Haverhill was interested in you last year, but you turned him away so quickly. I don’t know what’s wrong with you sometimes. Why can’t you be more like your sister? Why can’t you just smile at gentlemen and say flattering things to them? Why do you have to be so odd?”

“I don’t know,” Lavinia admitted. “When I feel nervous, I have a hard time thinking of things to say, and sometimes I fill the silences with things I think are interesting. But gentlemen don’t seem to find them so.”

“I think the things you say are interesting,” Edwina said loyally, and Lavinia smiled at her.

“Gentlemen don’t want ladies to tell them things,” their father informed them. “Gentlemen want ladies to listen to them. I don’t know why this is a difficult concept for you to grasp, Lavinia, but you’ll have to try harder this year than you did last year. Twelve days isn’t a very long time, you know.”

“I know it isn’t, Father. Do you think you might be willing to grant me a bit longer? If I could have one more season, I’m sure that I could find someone.” She wasn’t remotely sure, but anything was better than twelve days. That was hardly any time at all.

But her father shook his head. “You should count yourself lucky I’m even giving you these twelve days,” he said. “I could have you married tomorrow if I wanted to. There are plenty of gentlemen who would be happy to marry the daughter of a marquess, even if she is a bit odd. The problem is not that these men don’t exist, it’s that you haven’t made connections with any of them. And the gentlemen you have spent time with are all looking for something more than you seem willing to provide.”

“The gentlemen I’ve spent time with are the ones of my own age,” Lavinia pointed out. “What’s wrong with that?”

“If you aren’t able to successfully charm a gentleman of your own age, you may have to settle for one who is a bit older—or perhaps one with some physical flaw that makes him unfit for the company of more charming ladies. But I suppose you think yourself too good for that sort of gentleman.”

“I don’t think I’m too good for anyone,” Lavinia protested. “It’s just that I want to fall in love. I want to marry someone I love. How can that happen if I force myself to look only at gentlemen who are older than I am? I wouldn’t be bothered by a man with a physical flaw if I loved him. But I’ve never seen such a man, and I don’t believe I should hunt for men with physical flaws deliberately.”

“And I’m telling you that it might be your best choice. If you truly wish to choose your own husband, Lavinia, you will simply have to become more realistic about things than you have been so far.”

Lavinia chose not to respond. This was an argument she knew she couldn’t win—she’d tried many times already, and it never worked. Her father simply couldn’t see this her way. And even her brother, Matthew, who was much more kindly disposed toward her and genuinely desired her happiness, seemed to feel that she ought to take any marriage she could get.

Maybe she was the one who was in the wrong. Maybe she ought to let her father pick someone for her, the way he so clearly wanted to—at least then she would be assured of having a marriage. She would know that she’d be provided for all her life. And then everyone could turn their attention to Edwina, who was infinitely more desirable. Of course Edwina was the one her father wanted to focus on. Of course she was the favorite.

But Lavinia couldn’t help thinking that there was a possibility no marriage at all would be preferable to a marriage in which there was no love. Her father would call her a fool for thinking that way, and yet it was an idea she couldn’t seem to shake.

Dinner was a mixed blessing, for Lavinia had been separated from her father in the seating arrangements, but she was seated separately from her sister as well. She found herself between two gentlemen, both of whom looked familiar. After a moment, she placed the one on her right—it was Lord Billings. She had met him at a ball last season, though only briefly.

He was not unattractive, with his curly black hair and rather round face, but he also wasn’t so attractive that she found him too intimidating to look at. Her spirits lifted. Perhaps tonight would be the beginning of something. Perhaps the two of them would forge a connection. She didn’t feel any romantic interest in him right now, but surely that was something that could grow? Maybe by the end of the twelve days, that would change. And then her father would be happy, and she would be happy…

He looked over at her. “Good evening,” he said pleasantly. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

“Oh,” she said, surprised. “We have met, Lord Billings. Perhaps you don’t remember. We met at the duke’s party last year.”

“Oh,” Lord Billings said. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t recall.”

“That’s all right,” she assured him. “It was a very large party. The largest of the season, as a matter of fact. I’m sure you met many people that night, and I’m sure I wasn’t the most memorable of them.”

“Well, I’m glad we had the chance to meet again now. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to remind me of your name?”

“Oh.” She blushed at her own forgetfulness. “Lavinia. Lavinia Andrews.”

“Ah. Then your father would be the Marquess of Feverton, I believe?”

“You know my father?”

“Not well, but we’ve been introduced, yes. He seems to be a pleasant enough fellow.”

“I’ll tell him you said so.”

He started to turn away, as if to make conversation with the person seated to his other side, and Lavinia felt a rush of panic. She couldn’t afford to lose his attention now that she had captured it. She had to do something—find some way to bring him back to her.

“Did you see the finches on the lawn?” she blurted.

It worked—he turned back. “Finches?”

She nodded, warming to the subject. “There were several of them. I love finches. They’re my favorite bird.”

“You have a favorite bird?”

“Oh, yes, don’t you? Finches are so social. I think it’s fascinating.”

He shook his head. He was smiling, but he didn’t look charmed. He looked as if he found her ridiculous. “I remember you now,” he said. “You’re the young lady who was talking about wine at the duke’s ball—as if ladies know anything about wine.” He chuckled. “It was quite amusing.”

“The things I said about wine were accurate,” she said. She couldn’t remember the details of what she had said, but she was sure it had been right. She wouldn’t have gone around talking about something she didn’t understand.

But Lord Billings didn’t seem willing to give Lavinia the benefit of the doubt. “No doubt you were repeating something you’d heard a man in your life say,” he said. “Without having the proper knowledge to really understand what you were speaking of…well, it was a good attempt, but you’d never get it right.”

“I got it from a book,” she told him. That was certain. “I remember the cover of the book. It had grapes on it.”

“A book with grapes on it,” he said skeptically. “Well, if you say so.”

And he turned away.

Lavinia was tempted to argue further, but it occurred to her that if he had truly been bothered by the idea that she might be lying, he would have continued the conversation. The problem wasn’t that he was sure she was misleading him—it was that he had no interest in this subject. He didn’t want to talk about how interesting finches were. He didn’t want to hear that she had read a book about wine.

This was what her father had warned her about. He had told her that gentlemen didn’t want this kind of conversation. They weren’t interested in hearing all the things she knew. They wanted her to listen to them .

And she knew that—but she seemed to forget it every time she felt nervous. What was she supposed to do? She had twelve days in which to find a suitor, but how could she make that happen if the only thing she was allowed to do was smile charmingly and let the gentlemen choose whether they wanted her company or not?

There had to be more to it. Edwina knew how to do this. Lavinia was alone in finding it impossible, and she knew it. She had to try to figure out what she was doing wrong.

But she was running out of time in which to do it.

She glanced across the table and caught her father’s eye. It was clear that he was disappointed in her. He was frowning, and when he saw her looking his way, he shook his head slightly as if to indicate that he understood what had just happened with Lord Billings and he didn’t like it.

She could have predicted that. To his way of thinking, any opportunity to forge a connection with a gentleman was one she had a responsibility to take, and any gentleman who didn’t want a courtship following a conversation with her meant failure on her part.

He wanted her to do better, and if she didn’t—well, she knew what the consequences would be. She would be forced to marry against her will.

Twelve days.

Twelve days were all she had been given. After that, her last chance at the kind of marriage she dreamed of would fly out of the window.

From where she was sitting right now, it seemed impossible.