It seemed the relationship between father and son was not close, but before she could ask about it, the butler announced the arrival of Lady Pickering.
Overton pushed away from the table. “Excellent. Please show her to the drawing room and make sure Miss Lancaster joins us.”
“And Mrs. Tucket,” Fiona said. She would not leave the beloved woman out, even if she was to have a limited role.
“Of course, yes, Mrs. Tucket.” The earl sent her a look of apology, which she appreciated.
The butler departed, and the earl offered Fiona his arm. “Shall we go upstairs?”
Fiona cast a longing look at the map.
The earl chuckled. “You may have access to the library—and the maps—whenever you choose. I’ll also have all the atlases and books with maps moved to a more accessible location. That way, you’ll be safe.” He winked at her, and once again, the warmth of embarrassment flushed through her.
She clutched his sleeve more tightly. “You have atlases? As in, several of them?”
“Yes, I believe so. I’ll dig them out later.”
She’d never felt so delighted to be anywhere in her entire life. “Thank you. Sincerely.”
He blinked, then gave her a lopsided smile. “It’s my pleasure.”
A few moments later, they entered the elegant drawing room on the first floor. Overlooking Brook Street, the rectangular room had tall windows cloaked with pale gold draperies. Several seating areas occupied the space with comfortable chaises, tables for games or refreshments, and chairs and settees for conversation. She’d first seen the room yesterday when the housekeeper had given her a tour of the house. Then and now, Fiona easily envisioned a proper London family enjoying their evenings in this room just as she saw more formal entertainments. At least, she assumed those would be commonplace. What did she really know about any of this?
“Lady Pickering, how wonderful of you to come,” Overton said as Fiona withdrew her fingertips from his arm. He strode forward to take the woman’s hand and bowed. Then he pivoted to look toward Fiona. “Allow me to present Miss Fiona Wingate.”
Lady Pickering, between fifty and sixty years with a regal bearing, stood in front of a settee. She was of average height, but the sophisticated style of her still-brown hair and the quality of her clothes made her seem imposing. Or perhaps that impression was due to the manner in which she assessed Fiona with her green-blue eyes, as if she’d seen a great many things and possessed both the experience and character to pass judgment on anyone.
“Miss Wingate, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance and to sponsor you for the Season.”
Fiona dropped into a deep curtsey. “I am honored by your attention and support, Lady Pickering.”
“You’ve started without me?” Mrs. Tucket ambled into the room, and Fiona wondered if she really wouldn’t benefit from a walking stick. She’d broach the subject later and hope the suggestion would not be greeted with disdain.
“Not at all,” Overton said brightly. “We were just making our introductions. And here is Miss Lancaster too.” He looked to Lady Pickering. “This is Mrs. Tucket, Miss Wingate’s, er, chaperone from Bitterley, and this is Miss Prudence Lancaster, her new chaperone for London.”
“How lovely to meet you both,” Lady Pickering said. “Shall we become acquainted?” She lowered herself to the settee, and the skirt of her blue and gray grown draped perfectly about her lower legs and feet without any effort whatsoever. Patting the place beside her, she looked up at Fiona. “Come and sit with me, Miss Wingate.”
Fiona attempted to sit as elegantly as Lady Pickering had but still had to adjust her skirts.
“Keep your legs pressed tight, dear, from waist to foot. Angle your knees a bit.” She surveyed Fiona’s movements and smiled softly. “There you are.”
“She knows how to sit,” Mrs. Tucket said with a touch of defensiveness.
Lady Pickering’s expression remained benign. “Yes, of course. Do you like to play cards, Mrs. Tucket? There is a wonderful game every Sunday afternoon. I’ll ensure you’re invited.”
Mrs. Tucket’s lids fluttered in surprise as she sat in a chair near Fiona’s end of the settee. “Thank you. I do like cards. I played every Saturday at the vicarage.” While Fiona scoured the vicar’s library. By the time she’d left Shropshire, she’d read everything in it—well, everything that interested her—at least twice. Sadly, the library had possessed only one map encompassing western England and Wales.
“Wonderful.” Lady Pickering turned her attention to Fiona. “Lord Overton told you about your presentation to Her Majesty, the Queen? The drawing room is next Thursday.”
That was in just a week. Fiona’s stomach took flight. “Yes. He said I am to have a court dress made.” She glanced toward him, seated near Lady Pickering’s end of the settee.
“Indeed. We will visit the modiste shortly.”
“Today?” As keen as she was to visit Bond Street or any shopping area, she was surprised at the speed with which everything was happening.
“A court dress is quite extravagant, Miss Wingate. Yards and yards of fabric, and there will be much embroidery. We will also need to select jewelry, but most of it I will loan to you for the occasion since you won’t need to wear anywhere near that much again.” She paused to smile. “And there will be feathers, of course.”
“Feathers? Where do those go on the gown?” Fiona tried to imagine and came up with a rather ghastly costume.
“In your hair,” Lady Pickering clarified with a smile. “The taller, the better. I know the perfect place to commission your headpiece.”
Goodness, this sounded terribly expensive. Again, Fiona looked toward the earl. Prudence sat in another chair between him and Mrs. Tucket. Like Lady Pickering, she sat very prettily, her hands clasped demurely in her lap. Fiona copied her.
As she checked her hand position, Fiona noticed a loose thread at the hem of her sleeve. She tugged it gently in the hope that it was simply loose. More thread came out of the sleeve, but it seemed to still
