When tea concluded, the viscountess rose and kissed her daughter on the cheek.
“We must go see to the preparations for Isabel and Patrick’s engagement dinner this evening,” she said. “Would you like to join us?”
Martha shook her head with another smile.
“I don’t want to get in the way,” she said. “Besides, I think I shall paint for a while before dinner, if that’s all right.”
Isabel beamed at her cousin and embraced her.
“You are so talented,” she said. “We can handle these preparations. Paint to your heart’s content, darling.”
Martha nodded, bidding her mother and cousin farewell. Then, she went to what used to be her schoolroom when she was a girl, which her father had allowed her to convert into her art studio before her teenage years. She opened the half-closed curtains, allowing the early afternoon sunlight to spill into the room and across her easel.
She prepared her paint palette with her watercolors and fetched some clean brushes. She put it off to the side and took her charcoals from their tray at the bottom of the easel. Inspiration immediately struck her, and she began sketching the first lines of Epsom Downs horse racing track. She didn’t often watch horse races. But when she saw horses run, she admired how fast and strong they were. The majesty and grace with which the lovely animals moved was fascinating to her. And the Epsom Downs stadium was majestic in its own right. She sketched away for over an hour, then lost herself in her painting.
She didn’t stop painting until Lily, her lady’s maid, called her for her bath a few hours later. She put the finishing touches on the painting, then moved it to the table just beneath the far window of the room to dry. The maid peeked over her shoulder, smiling shyly at her mistress.
“Miss Elwood, you truly are a wonder with watercolors,” she said.
Martha blushed. She loved painting, and she especially loved that people enjoyed her art. But she was always humbled by praise, no matter how many paintings she did.
“Thank you, Lily,” she said. “I believe that’s one of my favourites thus far.”
Lily examined the painting, nodding approvingly.
“I agree,” she said.
Lily led her to her bath, which she realized she only had about twenty minutes to take. She washed the paint off her hands and arms while her maid took her brown painting dress and smock to the laundry maid. She bathed quickly, ready to get out of the tub and dress by the time Lily had returned.
Her maid helped her into a white and ocean blue, high-waisted evening gown, with white gloves and shoes and blue parasol, and styled her hair in a simple chignon, with a few tight ringlets dangling in the back and around her face. When she was finally ready, Lily escorted her down the stairs and to the drawing room, where Martha, her parents and Isabel would await their guests.
“Oh, Martha, you look so beautiful,” Isabel said, practically glowing in her cream-colored engagement party dress. “I just know you will be a smash with the young, unmarried gentlemen this evening.”
Martha smiled at her cousin, shaking her head.
“You are very sweet,” she said. “But tonight is about you and Patrick. Not about me and any gentlemen.” What she didn’t say was that she knew that ball would be no different than all the others that had preceded it. She would be a wallflower, just as she always was, without a single offer for a dance. And she wouldn’t be foolish enough to allow herself to think otherwise. But she also wouldn’t voice the thoughts and spoil her cousin’s mood. She had been sincere: that night was in honor of her cousin and her fiancé. And Martha was happy just to be a part of that celebration.
Yet later that evening, as Martha sat predictably in the corner of her parents’ ballroom, watching all the other happy couples dancing, her heart longed to experience that kind of happiness. She had known after her second failed season that she would likely never make a marriage match. Now, five years after her debut season, she was sure of it. She wasn’t ugly, but nor was she especially beautiful.
She had heard the word plain used to describe her, even though her mother and cousin assured her that wasn’t the case. She knew there must be some truth to it, or she would have had more than three dances in the five seasons she had been out in society.
Even the gentlemen who were desperately looking for brides had overlooked her in their searches, at least as far as she knew. And now that her younger cousin was about to be married, she had finally come to terms with the fact that she would remain a spinster. There were worse fates, she knew. She could end up in the poor house, which would never happen, as her father had amassed considerable wealth during his rein as viscount, and his business investments became more fruitful every year. Or she could have ended up with a scandal smearing her name. That hadn’t happened, either. She could live a happy, quiet life reading her books and enjoying her art. How could she be dissatisfied with that?
And yet, as she watched Isabel dancing with her fiancé, and saw the way the couple looked at one another as they twirled around the ballroom floor, she felt wistful. It was clear that the pair loved each other very much, and Martha knew how rare that was. Love matches in London only ever happened by accident, and it was almost unheard of. But Isabel and Patrick had found true love. It was as beautiful as it was worthy of envy.
For the first time, Martha realized that she did wish to find love. Some deep, hidden part of her wanted to find a man with whom she had the kind of connection that Isabel had with Patrick. She had been so hopeful after her debut ball, even though she had only gotten one dance that evening. But over the years, that hope dwindled to almost nothing. Almostnothing…
She blinked and looked away from her cousin, scolding herself for woolgathering. She needed to be happy for her cousin, not wallowing in self-pity. Continuing to daydream about finding a love match of her own was foolish. Her time had passed, and her spinster future awaited her. In time, she would find the contentment in such a life that she desired. As long as she stopped giving herself false hope, she could learn to adjust to a spinster’s life. Couldn’t she?
Chapter Two
Albert mentally waved farewell to his countryside home of Billington Estate as the carriage turned out of the winding stone driveway and onto the country road toward London. He sighed heavily as he leaned against the window, staring wistfully at the country scenery until the carriage picked up enough speed that it passed in a blur. Then, he stared through it all, thinking about how he would rather have a tooth pulled than to return to London.
A few days prior, he had received a letter from his father. It was infrequent that his father reached out to him, as communication from his family usually came from his mother. Albert loved both his parents, but his father wasn’t one for overt affection, even for his own son. Thus, the two of them rarely communicated privately.
The lack of meaningless correspondence between him and his father was how he knew the contents of the letter must be serious. He just couldn’t have imagined that the earl would be requesting that he return to London to discuss a very important matter with him. Albert’s stomach had turned into a block of ice as he read the words. The last thing Albert had ever wanted was to return to London. Not after the accident, to be sure.
Albert had once been every bit as respected and admired as his father was in the high society of London. He had lucrative business deals in the works at the time that he was engaged to be wed to Cordelia, and his future as Earl of Balmere was promising, and something Albert looked forward to. But after the attack by the highwaymen on Cordelia’s and his carriage three years prior, everything changed.
