Page 4 of A Lady of Means
“A union with an army captain that I’ve been having a clandestine affair with?”
Miss Kelley nudged her good naturedly in the ribs, “If it helps, considering how terrible your lady’s maid is at lying and keeping your secrets, I’m not terribly surprised.”
Moria gave a watery laugh, taking the blooms from her companion and adding them to a vase.“I’m not sure how, but oddly it does.”
“Tell me how I can help.”
The woman in front of her looked determined, like she was willing to do battle for Moria: hands on her hips, her chin tilted at a defiant angle.Moria had never been particularly kind to the woman, in fact she and her younger sister had pulled their fair share of pranks on Miss Kelley since she’d arrived the previous season when she’d championed Lady Noelle.Miraculously, the red-headed Irishwoman had handled them all with grace.
Moria picked a few blooms to add to the others.“Aren’t you worried about jeopardizing your position?”
Miss Kelley didn’t hesitate.“Do you mean to tell me thatyou’reworried for my position, Lady Moria?”she questioned, handing Moria her pruning scissors.
Okay, she deserved that.“I do happen to find you somewhat hard to have to replace, Bridget,” she said, trimming the stalks of the blooms she was preparing for a bouquet that was to be anonymously delivered to the charity hospital.
It was the first time she’d ever called the woman, not quite a servant, not quite a friend, by her given name and the first time she’d complimented her (audibly at least).
“Then we will just have to be discreet about our plans then if we are to make your epistolary and secret courtship more palatable.If you are willing to accept my help, that is.”
Moria removed the tulips and added several hydrangea blossoms in their place, and then met her eyes.“You think you could do that?”
“I might.But you’ll have to tell me everything first.”
Moria gave a nod of approval to the floral arrangement and sat on the bench on the opposite wall.She’d picked this tale apart herself and knew exactly where to begin.
ChapterThree
February 1840,One year prior
Lady Margaret,
Our meeting, like some kind of fever dream, feels like an occurrence that only happens once, to those very fortunate.I have never counted myself among their number, until now.I’ll always consider myself damned lucky to be the man that got to know your name underneath a willow tree.Please write back to me and tell me when and where I can be so lucky again.
DW
* * *
She hadn’t been lookingfor a man like him; but in a moment of solitude and weariness, there he’d appeared like a conjured fantasy.
For the length of the entire carriage ride from her family’s country estate to London for the opening of the first season out of mourning, Moria had been uncharacteristically silent unless required to speak.
There was much talk about London, and places her family members were excited to revisit, familiar faces to pay calls to after spending the last two social seasons in mourning after the loss of both their parents.It all felt so much like a repeat of her earlier season, only now, her younger sisters were the hopeful ones, and Moria was…jaded.
She’d been the incomparable of the season when she’d debuted almost two years before, she’d caught the attention of the man she’d wanted…but it had all ended like a Greek tragedy.More than the ton or her close family members even knew, most of which she kept all to herself wrapped under layers of haughtiness and pink silk.
If she just armed herself with enough, she could hide how much every thought of ballrooms and paying calls reminded her of Marcus.Of her parents who she wished were still here with them.Of what she had lost.
When her younger sisters asked why she was so reserved, she merely said that the carriage ride made her sleepy.The truth was entirely more than she was willing to share just yet.If she could just hold tight to the reins of her composure, she could make something good come of so much bad.For her sisters’ sakes, if not for her own.
She sucked in a sigh of relief as the carriage rolled to a halt at a coaching inn to rest for the evening.From the carriage drive, she spotted a quaint little tree-lined stream a short walk from the coaching inn, covered with a stone bridge and ducks swimming across.It was mid-afternoon, and the way the sunlight poured out its droplets of light across the water was like something conjured from a dream.
It reminded her of a painting that had hung in their shared nursery when she and her sisters were small.
She tied on her bonnet before exiting the carriage, and as soon as the footman
had taken her gloved hand to help her down, she broke her hours-long silence.
“I think I’ll go for a stroll by that picturesque little pond just over there.”
