“A parcel for you, Lady Lily.” Burton, the butler, presented it on a silver tray.
Lily seized the small oblong packet and unwrapped it eagerly. “It’s a book,” she said in surprise. “Who would send me a book?”
“There’s a note,” Rose pointed out.
Lily broke the note open, stared at it for a long frustrating moment, then passed it to Rose, who read it aloud. “‘To Lady Lily, with my sincere regards, Edward Galbraith.’ And there’s a postscript.” She squinted at it. “His writing is atrocious, but I think he’s asking to escort you to Almack’s on Wednesday.”
“Almack’s? But Galbraith never goes to Almack’s,” George said. “He’s famous for it.”
“Well, that’s what it says.” Rose pursed her lips and contemplated the note thoughtfully. “I wonder if he knows he must have a voucher to be admitted.”
“I’m sure he does,” Lily said. “Everybody knows it.” Emm had been granted vouchers for them all since the start of the season.
“Then there’s the question of whether the patronesses will approve him or not.”
“But surely they will,” Lily said. It would be terrible if they didn’t.
Rose shrugged. “He is a rake, after all. And they might wish to punish him for his refusal to attend in the past.”
“They’ll approve him,” George said cynically. “He’s young, handsome, well born and about to be tamed by marriage. They’ll want him as an object lesson, like a butterfly displayed on a pin.”
“Don’t be so horrid, George.” Lily retrieved the note, folded it carefully and tucked it away. “Write a reply for me, will you, Rose?”
“An acceptance, I presume.” Rose fetched her writing desk and took out a small sheet of hot-pressed notepaper. She began to write.
George picked up the book, a very pretty volume bound in red leather. “Poetry and notes. You’re going to have to tell him soon, you know.”
Lily sighed. “I know. And I will. But not yet.” He’d sent her flowers—a sweet-smelling posy—and now a book. He was making an effort to court her. She couldn’t bear to expose herself to his judgment just yet.
“Girls, I’ve had a curious invitation.” Emm entered the room, holding a note in her hand. “Do any of you know a Lady Davenham? Beatrice, Lady Davenham?”
They shook their heads.
“She’s invited us—all of us, by name—to the next meeting of her literary society.”
The girls exchanged blank looks. Lily thought of the book-reading group that Miss Chance had mentioned, but it was highly unlikely that a Cockney dressmaker, however wonderful her designs, would attend a literary society run by a titled lady of the ton.
Emm tapped the note against her fingers. “Well, shall we accept? The next meeting is tomorrow afternoon. None of you have any particular engagements, do you?”
They didn’t, so Emm penned a swift acceptance and sent it off, along with Lily’s note to Mr. Galbraith. Lily watched with a frown. How was she going to manage without Emm or Rose on hand? Handling a few invitations and notes was nothing to running a household.
Her stomach clenched. She was going to have to tell him soon.
• • •
Lady Davenham’s literary society meeting was held in her large home on Berkeley Square. Arriving shortly before the time indicated, the Rutherford ladies were escorted by a burly footman to a large room on the first floor. Chairs had been set out in semicircular rows around a small raised platform. A number of people had already arrived and were chatting in groups. Emm and the girls were pleased to find a number of friends and acquaintances among them.
They were introduced to Lady Beatrice, a vivacious elderly lady with surprisingly vivid red hair beneath a striped turban bristling with ostrich feathers. “Delighted to meet you at last, Lady Ashendon, and these are your pretty charges, eh?” She smiled at the three girls as they were introduced. “Such lovely gels—I hope you’ll come often to my literary society. I adore the company of young people.”
She glanced at Emm’s waist. “I see you’re increasing, Lady Ashendon—indelicate of me to mention it, I know, but I have no patience with such mealymouthedness—why should women hide away a swollen womb as if it’s an embarrassment? Pshaw! It’s a triumph, my dear, a female triumph! And I’m delighted for you.” She sighed happily and patted Emm’s hand. “I can vouch for the joy of having a baby in the house. I was never blessed with children, not until I got me some nieces, and now I have a little great-niece living here with me, and she’s the delight of my autumn days.”
“Thank you, Lady Davenham—”
“Call me Lady Beatrice, my dear, everyone does. So much better than being the Dowager Lady Davenham”—she pulled a face that made the girls giggle—“and besides, my papa was an earl, so I was born with the title, just as your girls were.
“Now, which of you is Lady Lily—ah, yes, of course.” She raised her lorgnette and Lily braced herself, but the old lady simply beamed at her. “I’ve heard you’re the first to be fired off—Galbraith, ain’t it?—a fine, handsome boy. Takes after his grandfather. I hope you’ll be very happy, my dear, very happy indeed. Now here is Featherby, to tell me we’re about to start. Off you go and find a seat. My niece Abby’s reading today and you won’t want to miss a word.”
Looking around for somewhere to sit, Lily was surprised to see her dressmaker, Miss Chance, sitting in a seat nearest the wall. A basket of silk threads sat at her feet. The chair next to her was vacant.
She hurried over. “Good afternoon, Miss Chance. Is anyone sitting here? May I sit with you?”
“Course you can, Lady Lily.” Miss Chance patted the seat. “But best call me Mrs. Flynn in this company. They know both me names of course, but when I’m here, I’m here as Lady Bea’s niece, not the dressmaker.”
“You’re Lady Beatrice’s niece too?”
“Sort of. Wrong side of the blanket, but the old lady don’t care. Now, shush. Abby’s about to start.”
As Lily sat, a gong sounded,
