Alcott Hall: Second Sons Book Three

The carriage rolled to yet another stop, wheels rattling on the cobblestones. London traffic was always busy this time of day, but this was getting ridiculous. A trip that should have taken all of fifteen minutes had now stretched for well over thirty. Something about an overturned hay cart.

At this point, it would have been faster to simply walk, but Lady Diana Blaire, Viscountess of Raleigh, would never sanction an act so pedestrian as walking to one’s destination. As she so often said, walking to a social function ought to be reserved for prostitutes and Catholics on pilgrimage.

Her daughter Madeline sat across from her, shivering under the weight of a thick wool blanket. The winter chill was brutal this morning, forcing Madeline to bury her nose deeper inside her fur muffler. She resented having to leave the warmth and comfort of her favorite reading nook, especially for a task as arduous—and ultimately pointless—as taking tea at her aunt’s house.

“Don’t slouch, Madeline.”

Madeline huffed, the warm air moist on her lips inside the muffler. “Mama, it is just we two here,” she replied. “And it’s freezing—”

“It’s undignified,” her mother snapped. “Besides, you could pull a muscle. Now sit up straight, before you give me a headache.”

Biting back her retort, Madeline shifted her hips and rolled her shoulders back until she was in a more dignified seated position. Of all the fights she felt like picking with her mother today, her posture was low on the list.

The carriage rattled back into motion and both ladies gave little sighs of relief. The city bustled with life all around them as other carts and carriages passed by. The sounds of the horses shod hooves were sharp and metallic on the crisp winter air.

Her mother leaned forward, nestling her hands under her own thick fur muff. “Now, as I was saying, Aunt Judith wrote this morning just before breakfast to say she thinks Lord Everton will be at today’s tea. You remember him, dear? From the Cabot’s party?”

Madeline just nodded, already intuiting the instructions her mother was about to give her. They were the same every week: corner the gentleman currently at the top of her mother’s ‘most eligible’ list, two light touches and three polite questions within the first ten minutes, and don’t forget to smile.

Lord Bryson Everton was the current favorite in the race for Madeline’s hand. Only, after three years out in society, it was no longer a race so much as it was a leisurely stroll through the back garden.

“Now, when Lord Everton arrives, you’re to draw his attention to you straight away,” her mother ordered. “I know Judith has her eye on him for Mary, but they’re not well suited. And frankly, she shouldn’t even be out yet,” she said with a wave of her gloved hand. “She’s far too young. A flighty little frippet if you ask me.”

Madeline pursed her lips, glad her mother couldn’t see her incredulous look behind her muffler. “She’s a year older than me when I came out, Mama.”

Her mother scoffed. “Much good it did you. Three seasons out, and still unmarried. Your father is losing patience, you know. You cannot rely on his beneficence forever, Madeline. You have a duty to take this seriously.”

“I know, Mama,” she replied, swallowing down the nerves that were already mounting. She couldn’t help that she was frightfully awkward in social settings. She’d never mastered the ability to be at ease in a crowd. It didn’t help that the sharks of the ton loved to prey on weakness. Debilitating shyness in a lady was akin to bleeding straight into the water. The sharks were ravenous for her. After three years, Madeline was all but a social outcast, teased and wholly dismissed as a suitable candidate for marriage.

And yet, her mother persisted, much to everyone’s chagrin, especially Madeline’s.

Her mother leaned forward; eyes alight. There was nothing she loved better than the thrill of matchmaking. “I’ve had it from Lady Spencer that Lord Everton is a fan of horse racing, so that should be your opener. You could discuss the races we attended this summer.”

Talking point number one. Thank you, Mama.

“Oh, and remember we went with your cousin Bertie to those horse trials at Windsor? There was a chestnut we liked the look of very much. I think it was bought by the Duke of Devonshire—”

Chestnut horse at Windsor. Talking point number two.

“And perhaps you could invite him to come by our stables,” her mother went on. “We may have a champion in the making, our own diamond in the rough. I’m sure His Lordship would be pleased to take Lord Everton on a tour—”

Come see my father’s stables. Talking point number three.

“Yes, Mama. Thank you—”

“And don’t forget to offer the occasional warm look or touch,” her mother added. “Just because the weather is frigid, it doesn’t mean you must be too. Men like a little playfulness, Madeline. You’re always so serious. There’s demure and then there’s, well…you.”

Of all the expectations that came with courting, Madeline found touching strangers to be the most off-putting. For some, the dance was an act almost carnal in its level of sensuality. For Madeline, it was an exercise in patience as she fought to keep her body from flinching as strange men rubbed their calloused hands on her shoulders, her waist, her back, gripping her fingers too tight and stepping on her toes. She hardly tolerated intimate touches from her own family, let alone these endless strings of bumbling suitors. The only form of touch she enjoyed was the thrill of a hit when she landed a strike with her foil in fencing practice.

“I will do my best, Mama—”

“And for heaven’s sake, smile,” her mother urged, throwing her another pleading look.

There it is.

“I swear, the Lord cursed you with that pale skin and those big doe eyes. You simply must smile more. When you don’t, you look like a ghostly apparition.”

“Yes, Mama—”

“And this weather does nothing to help your complexion, dear. Your winter pallor makes you look almost ill. Be sure to pinch your cheeks a few times to rosy them up, and just keep smiling.”

Madeline let out a steadying breath, trying to find her courage. She couldn’t think about Lord Everton or his love of horse racing. She’d been alone with her mother for half the morning now, and she still hadn’t managed to ask the one question eating her alive.

She blamed Patrick. Her cousin always made a habit of sticking his nose into her business. They were barely a month apart in age, and so similar in size and coloring, that they were often confused for twins. He’s said something last night that had her mind spinning like a top. She’d hardly slept. She wanted to confront her mother about it, but the viscountess could be slippery as an eel when she wanted to be.

Her mother leaned over and tugged the curtain aside, glancing out the window. “Oh, thank heavens, we’re nearly there. I’m sure Judith will be sick with worry. She’ll think we were taken in by carriage robbers.”

Almost there, meaning it was now or never.

“Mama…” Madeline sat forward, tugging down gently on her muffler to uncover the lower half of her face.

Her mother was still looking out the window. “Hmm?”

“Do you know anything about Great Aunt Maude’s will?”

The lady stilled, one gloved hand still on the pretty yellow velvet curtain. “Her will? Whatever can you mean, dearest?”

The truth was in the way her voice had suddenly raised an octave, her hands dropping to her lap as she sat straight and still. Madeline’s heart sank. Her mother was a terrible liar, and even worse at subterfuge. “Did she mention me, Mama? In the will?”

Her mother pursed her lips. “You know I’m not involved in any legal matters. You’ll have to talk to your papa when we get home.”

“But—”

“Put it from your mind, Madeline,” her mother ordered. “You have more important matters at hand today. Lord Everton is a fine prize, worthy of all your most sincere attention. If you can snap him up now, we could have you married in the spring. Oh, how I’d just love to finally rub a wedding in Judith’s face! She’s always been determined to show me up. Five daughters and three already married. Madeline, if you let even little Mary find a husband before you, I don’t know that I could ever forgive you.”

Madeline blinked away the tears of frustration stinging her eyes. How was it possible that the whole of her life’s worth was going to be weighed, measured, and found wanting based on her inability to find a man willing to marry her?

Before she could argue the point further, the carriage rattled yet again to a stop. Only this time, the driver thumped his fist twice on the top, and the footman hopped off the back, coming quickly around to lower the step and open the door. They’d arrived at last at Aunt Judith’s new townhouse.

Her mother rounded on her, eyes narrowed in determination. “Now, what are you going to do?”

Madeline balled her hands into tiny fists. “I’m going to corner Lord Everton—”

“Charm, Madeline,” her mother corrected with an exasperated huff. “You’re going to charm Lord Everton. And?”

“And I will ask him at least three interesting questions about horses.”

Her mother nodded. “Very good. And?”

Madeline sighed, losing all her will to fight as she readied herself for yet another round in the social arena. “And I’m going to smile.”

The viscountess beamed at her. But Madeline couldn’t miss the way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. It never reached her eyes when directed at Madeline, and it hadn’t for a very long time. “Wonderful. Lord Everton is going to fall in love with you, dearest. I can just feel it.