Page 2 of A Lady Never Tells
“I don’t have enough gowns. Do you have any sense of the amount of balls, soirees, and picnics we are about to be invited to?” Roslyn lifted a brow. “More than even I can imagine, and I can picture many.” The girl sighed. She was standing in the center of the seamstress’s dressing room while the woman frantically pinned her hem in place. “I have been waiting so long for this and I do not want to be a failure because I lack the necessary attire.”
Roslyn had a similar coloring as Eden. They could be mistaken for sisters in truth, and not just by marriage. Though Eden was a head shorter than Roslyn, they both had golden blonde hair. Their eyes were both a light shade, but Roslyn’s was blue and Eden’s green. “I understand that you feel you’re at a disadvantage.” Eden didn’t get to finish her thought before Roslyn turned her head to glare at her.
“My brother is, was, a fool,” she said with enough vehemence to slice a person to ribbons. “His death, while unfortunate, was easily preventable if he’d had the good sense to use the intelligence his birth had given him.”
“Some might say that his lack of intelligence is what led to his demise,” Eden said drolly. Her marriage had not been a love match. Her father, and the late Lord Moreland’s father, had wanted the union. Neither of them had been given a choice. Perhaps if love had been a part of their marriage, William never would have strayed, and with Eden’s dearest friend at that. She lost her friend and her husband in one act of selfishness.
Roslyn laughed. “I shouldn’t find that funny,” she said between chuckles. “But there is too much truth in that statement to ignore its veracity.” Roslyn took several deep breaths in an attempt to get her laughter under control. “In all seriousness, most gentlemen don’t stop to think about how an amorous affair might lead to disastrous consequences. My brother was more foolish than most. Not only did he tup his best friend’s wife, that very wife was your friend too. How did he not realize that was a horrible decision?”
Eden shrugged. “I stopped trying to deduce the inner workings of your brother’s mind many months ago.” While she’d been grieving the loss of her reputation more than his death. The ton spoke about her in hushed tones that were not as hushed as they thought them to be. Eden didn’t know if Roslyn realized how much the ton was gossiping about their family, and that it might make her chances of finding a husband harder than it should be. Even though they were about to enter society and it might be a battle, Eden was determined that Roslyn would not have a husband like William. One of them should find a gentleman that believed in marriage and love. Eden had given up on that for herself. It was enough that she didn’t have to worry about how she’d survive and that her young son would always be safe.
“Set that fabric over there,” Roslyn gestured with her hand. “I’ve already discussed with Madam Broussard what type of gowns I would like. She’ll know what to do with them.” She smiled. “I hope you have had some new gowns made as well.”
She had, but not nearly as many as Roslyn had ordered. “I won’t embarrass you.”
“You never would.” Roslyn’s smile faded. “You’re too young to be alone. You should reconsider your decision to never remarry.”
Roslyn was only four years younger than Eden. She had turned three and twenty a couple months earlier, and she couldn’t imagine ever trusting another man with her life again. She was finally free from the dictates of a man, and she had some trusted friends, widows like herself, she could rely on. Eden didn’t need to remarry. “I am content with my life.”
“But we’re finally out of mourning…”
“And that’s a good thing. It allows you to finally have your debut. It is enough that you wish to marry, and we will ensure you have a good husband.” One that wouldn’t be unfaithful and hold her in the highest regard. “I’m happy with my circumstances.” She smiled as brightly as she could, even though she didn’t feel particularly happy at that moment. Eden was hot and irritable. All she wanted to do was go home and just rest. It had been a trying day. “Don’t distress yourself unnecessarily. I promise that I’ll be all right once you marry and move away.”
Roslyn stared at her for several moments in silence, then nodded. “Have it your way. The lord knows you always do. I swear you’ve become more stubborn since William’s death.” She tilted her head to the side. “I suppose that was bound to happen, wasn’t it? His actions, while shocking, affected us both in ways neither of us could have foreseen.”
“That they did,” Eden agreed. William had always been selfish, but that had been the worst thing he’d ever done, and it had led to his death. “At least he had the good sense to ensure that we are both taken care of, and that Caden has a suitable guardian for his estates until he reaches his majority.” Eden had funds of her own, so she didn’t need to seek anything from her son’s guardian and Roslyn had a dowry set up by her father, but William had added to it. It was almost as if he had known his scandalous behavior might prove a detriment to his younger sister.
“I’m done with the hem, Lady Roslyn,” the seamstress said. “We can remove this gown and then start on the next one.”
Roslyn nodded, and the seamstress helped her out of the gown. Eden sighed. This afternoon would never end… She would survive it, though. Roslyn depended on her and she wouldn’t be another selfish person in the young girl’s life. Neither of them had a parent they could rely on. Roslyn was already in the next gown and the seamstress was pinning where the alterations needed to be made when Eden snapped back to attention.
“Is Claudine going to visit again soon?” Roslyn asked.
Claudine Grant was another widow that had befriended Roslyn. She had come to visit while they prepared for Roslyn’s debut season. She had left when her husband’s father noticed her in Hyde Park. Since Claudine avoided her father-in-law, she had bolted. “I think she is to return soon.” There would be a meeting with other widows that Claudine would need to attend at the Dowager Countess of Wyndam’s in the next week. “But I don’t believe she’ll be coming to Moreland House.”
“Oh,” Roslyn said, a little crestfallen. “I like her. We should at least invite her to dinner.”
That was a splendid idea, but she didn’t know if Claudine would want to stay in London long. She would likely wish to return to the widows’ estate, Matron Manor, that the Widow’s League owned. Eden had been invited to join the league after William’s death, and it had been her saving grace. Amongst other widows, she’d discovered what she truly wanted for her life. Recently, she had even been bold enough to attend a masquerade filled with scandalous behavior. Her cheeks heated as she remembered that night. It was one she would never forget, and also never tell another soul about. It was her secret. One she relished in on more than she wanted to admit. “I can invite her, but I cannot guarantee she’ll accept.”
“All we can do is ask,” Roslyn replied, then shrugged. “I do hope she accepts, but I understand if she cannot.”
Eden smiled. Roslyn was very much unlike William. He was selfish and only thought about himself. His sister was kind and loving. How could two siblings be so dissimilar? She hoped that Caden wouldn’t be anything like his father. It was her job as his mother to ensure that he would make better choices. Her son was her sole focus. “I’ll send her a missive when we return home.” She was almost certain she was already at Lady Wyndam’s, but even if she wasn’t, she would be soon.
Roslyn nodded and returned her attention to the seamstress. Eden found a nearby chair and plopped down on it, overheated and exhausted. After this fitting, they should be ready for the season. If only Eden was prepared for the vacuous gossip of some of the ton’s leading matrons…
Maxwell Holden, the Duke of Carrington, stared down at the missive on his desk. His mother was being her normal tedious self… She didn’t come to town often, but apparently she was going to deign to present her person in London, and soon. It was enough to drive a man to drink. Especially when his mother decided to be meddling, and she most definitely intended to be.
Apparently, she had decided it was time that Maxwell found a wife. While he understood the reasoning, and happened to agree with her, he’d never admit as much to the woman. She would only become even more unbearable then. He didn’t want a wife, but he knew he needed one. He had become guardian to his niece, Sarah, over a year ago. She’d been young enough that having a nanny to take care of her had been enough, but now he was becoming to realize that she needed more than that. The little girl needed a mother.
Which meant he would have to marry. He cursed his brother for dying. Sarah’s mother, Caroline, had died giving birth to her. She had never known her mother, and Maxwell’s brother, Owen, had barely paid any attention to his daughter. He’d drank himself into oblivion every day after his wife’s death. If Maxwell hadn’t hired a nanny for Sarah, he doubted Owen ever would have. His brother had lived that way for several years before his behavior had caught up with him. He had one too many glasses or decanters of brandy and went riding in a storm. The horse had become spooked and thrown him. Owen’s neck had broken on impact.
Sarah had become his responsibility the moment she’d been born, but he’d been able to pretend for a time it hadn’t. He had hired the nanny and went about living his life. Now he had to find a bloody wife for his niece to have a mother. He ran his hand through his hair and blew out an exasperated breath. He didn’t want a wife. But when did what he wanted ever truly matter?
He had too much responsibility in his life, and it had started before he even reached his majority. His father died when Maxwell was barely five and ten. He never attended school beyond Eton, and had taken his place as the new duke immediately. His family depended on him. That was his duty, and now finding an appropriate wife was another task expected of him.
Perhaps he should have a few drinks himself. He shook that thought away. Maxwell rarely overindulged in spirits. He had learned that lesson when his father, then brother, had died from too much excess. Hell. What was he going to do? Maxwell gave in and poured two fingers of brandy into a glass. One drink wouldn’t hurt…
“What are you brooding over?” Emmett North, the Marquess of Crawford, said as he sauntered into the room. “Pour me a glass, would you?”
