return to their homes before night set in and the temperature dropped even further.
“Up to us,” Catherine confirmed with a nod. “Do you think you are up for the task?”
“Of finding Grace a husband before her family finds themselves on the streets?”
Catherine nodded again, and Josephine smirked.
“Darling, I have just the man in mind.”
CHAPTER TWO
Lady Henrietta Deringer was a determined woman. That determination had seen her through twenty years of marriage, two difficult childbirths, and the indignity of selling off her house piece by piece. For the first time that she could remember, her determination was beginning to fail her.
“What do you think Thomas? The painting or the vase?” Standing in the middle of her husband’s study with her hands planted firmly on her ample waist and a pensive expression on her carefully powdered face, Henrietta gazed back and forth between the last two remaining items of any value in the first floor of their London townhouse.
The painting had been a wedding gift and depicted a rather vicious hunting scene. She knew it was valuable because one of Thomas’ friends had offered a rather ridiculous sum of money for it six months ago, which she had laughingly refused. The painting meant nothing to her, but Thomas seemed to have some sort of wayward attachment to it, and what need did they have for money when her daughter was marrying a wealthy Earl? Oh, if only she had said yes.
Furrowing her brow, Henrietta stepped closer to the canvas and squinted to make out the details. It truly was a dreadful thing. Why anyone would hunt down a poor, harmless stag was beyond her. Her eyes flicked to the vase. White with trailing blue vines that had been painstakingly painted on by hand and then traced with gold, it sat alone atop a bookshelf that had once been filled to the brink with all sorts of treasures.
The painting it was.
Striding purposefully across the study she grasped the frame firmly with both hands and, tottering a bit unsteadily under the weight, hefted it off the wall and laid it flat on the floor. Glancing up from his ledgers, Thomas pushed his spectacles to the top of his head and frowned at his wife in bemusement.
“Whatever are you doing, dear?”
Dusting her hands off on her skirt, Henrietta spun around to face his desk. “We are selling the painting Thomas,” she explained patiently. “It should be enough to buy one more gown for Rosalind.” Or so she hoped.
With Grace teetering on the brink of six and twenty and no suitor in sight (which was not surprising, given the broken engagement), Henrietta had all of her hopes pinned on her youngest daughter to make an advantageous match and save the family from complete destitution.
It was ever so helpful that the two sisters were complete opposites. Where Grace was passably pretty, Rosalind was strikingly beautiful. When Grace insisted on speaking whatever wayward thought popped into her head, Rosalind wisely held her tongue. And when it came down to poise… Henrietta suppressed a shudder. Grace was forever stumbling over her own two feet. Why, just last week she had tripped over the hem of her nightgown and fallen headfirst down the stairs! The time she had tipped over into the pond simply did not bear thinking about, nor did the ball where she had lit her sleeve on fire. It continued to be a great mystery as to how she had attracted the attentions of Lord Melbourne in the first place, let alone gotten the man to agree to marriage.
Not , Henrietta thought darkly as her mouth tightened, that it matters anymore .
Oh, she had heard the whispers. She knew the gossip. From the very beginning bets had run rampant through the ton as to how long the betrothal would last. Even Henrietta, although she was ashamed to admit it, had questioned Lord Melbourne’s true intentions. But every time she asked Grace, her daughter had merely said they were “blissfully happy” and Lord Melbourne
“Up to us,” Catherine confirmed with a nod. “Do you think you are up for the task?”
“Of finding Grace a husband before her family finds themselves on the streets?”
Catherine nodded again, and Josephine smirked.
“Darling, I have just the man in mind.”
CHAPTER TWO
Lady Henrietta Deringer was a determined woman. That determination had seen her through twenty years of marriage, two difficult childbirths, and the indignity of selling off her house piece by piece. For the first time that she could remember, her determination was beginning to fail her.
“What do you think Thomas? The painting or the vase?” Standing in the middle of her husband’s study with her hands planted firmly on her ample waist and a pensive expression on her carefully powdered face, Henrietta gazed back and forth between the last two remaining items of any value in the first floor of their London townhouse.
The painting had been a wedding gift and depicted a rather vicious hunting scene. She knew it was valuable because one of Thomas’ friends had offered a rather ridiculous sum of money for it six months ago, which she had laughingly refused. The painting meant nothing to her, but Thomas seemed to have some sort of wayward attachment to it, and what need did they have for money when her daughter was marrying a wealthy Earl? Oh, if only she had said yes.
Furrowing her brow, Henrietta stepped closer to the canvas and squinted to make out the details. It truly was a dreadful thing. Why anyone would hunt down a poor, harmless stag was beyond her. Her eyes flicked to the vase. White with trailing blue vines that had been painstakingly painted on by hand and then traced with gold, it sat alone atop a bookshelf that had once been filled to the brink with all sorts of treasures.
The painting it was.
Striding purposefully across the study she grasped the frame firmly with both hands and, tottering a bit unsteadily under the weight, hefted it off the wall and laid it flat on the floor. Glancing up from his ledgers, Thomas pushed his spectacles to the top of his head and frowned at his wife in bemusement.
“Whatever are you doing, dear?”
Dusting her hands off on her skirt, Henrietta spun around to face his desk. “We are selling the painting Thomas,” she explained patiently. “It should be enough to buy one more gown for Rosalind.” Or so she hoped.
With Grace teetering on the brink of six and twenty and no suitor in sight (which was not surprising, given the broken engagement), Henrietta had all of her hopes pinned on her youngest daughter to make an advantageous match and save the family from complete destitution.
It was ever so helpful that the two sisters were complete opposites. Where Grace was passably pretty, Rosalind was strikingly beautiful. When Grace insisted on speaking whatever wayward thought popped into her head, Rosalind wisely held her tongue. And when it came down to poise… Henrietta suppressed a shudder. Grace was forever stumbling over her own two feet. Why, just last week she had tripped over the hem of her nightgown and fallen headfirst down the stairs! The time she had tipped over into the pond simply did not bear thinking about, nor did the ball where she had lit her sleeve on fire. It continued to be a great mystery as to how she had attracted the attentions of Lord Melbourne in the first place, let alone gotten the man to agree to marriage.
Not , Henrietta thought darkly as her mouth tightened, that it matters anymore .
Oh, she had heard the whispers. She knew the gossip. From the very beginning bets had run rampant through the ton as to how long the betrothal would last. Even Henrietta, although she was ashamed to admit it, had questioned Lord Melbourne’s true intentions. But every time she asked Grace, her daughter had merely said they were “blissfully happy” and Lord Melbourne
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