bluestockings?”
Dorothea nodded. It was true. Girls were taught from an early age not to appear too clever or bookish in front of a gentleman. “Did you conceal your interest in business from Lord Dardington before you married?”
“No.”
“Did he object to it at all?”
“Initially, he ignored it. Then again, he also ignored me. Entirely.”
Dorothea’s eyes widened. “I always thought yours was a love match?”
“Hardly. When we first married, there were numerous difficulties that kept us apart and unhappy. Thankfully, those were eventually resolved and we discovered the love we shared for each other.” Lady Meredith gestured politely to an elderly couple they passed, then smiled with kindness at a young man with shirt collar points so high he could barely move his head from side to side.
“Once our marriage became a happy one, I think Trevor might have wanted me to forgo my financial activities, but he soon realized it gave me a sense of fulfillment and accomplishment,” she continued. “’Tis only because of him that those in society who are aware of my activities say very little about it. At least in public. Plus my father-in- law has long been my champion in society. One can never underestimate the power and influence of a duke.”
Dorothea took a moment to ponder Lady Meredith’s words. “You said that you had no interest in marriage. But if you did not marry, what did you plan to do? How did you plan to live?”
“However I wished. Thanks to my solid investments, having enough funds at my disposal gave me a degree of independence, a rare freedom. That is why I have insisted on very specific financial arrangements for each of my daughters. When they have reached their maturity, they are to be given an independent income that cannot be touched by any male relations, including their husbands.”
“So you want your daughters to marry?” Dorothea asked, doubting she would take the independent road, even if it were offered. To her, marriage seemed a more natural, protective state for a woman.
“If my daughters find men who they care for and are worthy of them, naturally I would like them to marry. Though according to their father, as of yet, no men exist with the qualities that would deem them acceptable.”
Dorothea joined Lady Meredith’s laughter. “Lord Dardington has been excessively critical of my potential suitors and he is not even a blood relation. I cannot begin to imagine his reaction when a gentleman comes to call for one of his girls.”
“I know one thing with certainty,” Lady Meredith said, with a twisted smile. “Those young gentlemen will not be faint of heart. I may even have to remove Trevor from England for a while, just to give my daughters some peace.”
Having completed the circuit of the ballroom, the two women returned to their original spot. Dorothea’s nerves had settled. She felt calmer, more in control. “I suppose for some, married life will never be dull,” she remarked.
“Oh, my, yes.” Lady Meredith squeezed her arm in encouragement. “I know you are feeling anxious about finding a husband and I agree ’tis a most important decision. But your situation is not so dire that you must rush it. Take your time, be sure of whom you choose.”
Dorothea smiled wanly. She knew Lady Meredith believed she was imparting sound advice, but Dorothea had to disagree. Her situation was dire. If she did not find a husband by the end of this Season, she would be relegated to life back in Yorkshire, where the pool of potential husbands was much smaller, and lacked the inclusion of a certain devilish marquess.
“I shall endeavor to do my best,” Dorothea said with a small sigh.
“That is all anyone can ask of you,” Lady Meredith replied. “You must remember, Dorothea, that marriage, like most everything in life, is what you make of it.”
Chapter Six
“Several bouquets have been delivered for you, Miss Ellingham,” the butler said to Dorothea as she joined Lord and Lady Dardington the next morning at the breakfast table. “Shall I leave them in the yellow salon so you may look at them after your meal?”
“Nonsense, Phillips. Bring them in here immediately,” Lady Meredith said with a smile of enthusiasm. “I vow I am as curious as Dorothea to see what’s been sent.”
Dorothea settled herself in the chair opposite Lady Meredith’s. She accepted a cup of hot chocolate from a footman but declined anything more than toast, forgoing the array of hot items in silver chafing dishes set on the sideboard.
As ordered, Phillips returned to the dining room with two footmen trailing on his heels, each carrying an assortment of flowers in their arms.
“How beautiful,” Lady Meredith declared as she hastily pushed her empty plate away to make room on the table for the numerous bouquets.
Dorothea smiled and reached first for a lovely bouquet of pink and white primroses. The stems were all cut to the same length and wound with white and pink striped satin ribbon. “Oh, smell these,” she said, holding them out toward Lady Meredith.
“Delicious,” Lady Meredith declared. “Who are they from?”
Anxiously, Dorothea tore open the card. “Major Roddington,” she answered with surprise. How sweet. Apparently he had enjoyed their dance together last night. “He’s asked to take me out for a drive this afternoon and hopes I will consent to enjoying a quiet picnic lunch with him in Banberry Park.”
“A picnic. That sounds charming.” Lady Meredith reached for a nosegay of yellow peonies. “I bet I know who sent these.”
Dorothea and Lady Meredith glanced at each other, smiled, then both pronounced at the same time, “Sir Perry!”
“Poor man, he suffers from an extreme lack of imagination,” Lady Meredith commented. “He sends the exact same bouquet every time. Twelve yellow peonies, tied with a satin ribbon in a paler shade of yellow. Is there a poem today?”
Dorothea met Lady Meredith’s amused gaze across the table as she unsealed the card that accompanied the flowers. She quickly scanned the contents. “Yes, unfortunately Sir Perry has seen fit to regale me with another of his original sonnets. It is written in his customary flowery, overblown style and pays homage to my-” Dorothea sputtered, blinked, then finally managed to choke out, “wrists.”
The marquess, sitting at his usual place at the head of the table, slowly lowered the newspaper he had been reading and peered at Dorothea over the top of the page. “Your wrists? Sir Perry wrote a poem praising your wrists? Surely, I misheard.”
Dorothea giggled and Lady Meredith joined her. “Oh, no, my lord, this epic poem is most assuredly an ode to my
“The man’s mad as a March hare,” Lord Dardington pronounced. “I ask you, what sane person would single out that particular part of a woman’s anatomy for praise?”
“Not so much mad as desperate, I believe,” Dorothea said before she burst into another round of giggles. “Poor Sir Perry has written me no fewer than a dozen poems. Obviously, he is beginning to run out of body parts to extol.”
Dorothea’s comments sent Lady Meredith into another fit of laughter. When the older woman finally regained her composure, she once again turned her attention to Dorothea’s flowers.
“Who sent this exquisite orchid?” Lady Meredith asked.
Dorothea thoughtfully fingered the delicate bloom before reaching for the card, but her momentary blush of anticipation soon turned to disappointment when she read the signature.
“It’s from Lord Rosen. I remember he once told me that he cultivates them in his hothouse,” Dorothea said with a casual air she was far from feeling. Turning to one of the footmen, she added, “Please give the orchid to Cook, with my compliments. I remember that she has a fondness for them.”
Lady Meredith’s brow lifted fractionally. Dorothea glanced away, then hastily broke off a piece of toast and began to eat. She had not told her guardians about her encounter with Lord Rosen and she had every intention of
