Read Improper Ladies Online

Authors: Amanda McCabe

Improper Ladies (7 page)

BOOK: Improper Ladies
12Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
Well, it was a price he was willing to pay. No doubt this girl was just the sort he should be thinking of marrying: well-born, well-bred, and well-versed in all the social graces of being a countess.
But somehow he could not erase the memory of a slim white foot, and brown eyes looking up at him.
 
 
Four days after Justin’s visit to the Golden Feather, Caroline sat on her bedroom floor surrounded by open trunks and piles of books and belongings. The gaming house was sold, and she was at last truly going to put it all behind her.
She looked at her clothes, carefully stacked into piles. One contained her own dresses, modest muslins and silks meant to be packed and taken to Wycombe-on-Sea. The other was what she considered her “costumes,” the brightly colored, daringly cut gowns she wore at the Golden Feather. They were to be given away, as she could never wear them at the seaside assembly rooms.
As she folded a stack of shawls, her gaze fell on a flash of emerald green. She reached out and pulled the gown from the bottom of the pile. The gown she had worn the night Lord Lyndon first came to the Golden Feather.
She spread the soft satin across her lap and examined the small watermarks along the hem. Perhaps she would keep just this one gown, as a memento.
A memento of a man she would never see again.
Caroline laughed and shook her head as she folded the gown. She was not generally prone to sentimentality; she could not afford to be. It must be the prospect of the sea air that was making her so maudlin today.
Beneath the pile of gowns was a silk-wrapped bundle. Caroline unwound it to find the miniature portrait of Lawrence. She held it carefully in the palm of her hand, studying the face painted there. It was almost like looking at the face of a stranger.
He had been gone for more than four years, and she had felt so many things for him in that time. Pity mostly, but anger, too. Anger for his weakness.
A weakness that, ironically, had given her the financial stability she craved, in his last gift of the Golden Feather.
Now all she could feel for him was gratitude and peace.
“Good-bye, Lawrence,” she whispered as she re-wrapped the portrait and packed it away.
Mary came in then, freshly laundered linens in her arms. “Have you decided what to take, madam?” she asked.
“I believe so. These trunks and those hatboxes can go. I do think, though, that I should visit a modiste before we leave. There are quite enough clothes for day, but a distinct scarcity of gowns suitable for the assembly rooms at Wycombe-on-Sea. I shall need a bathing costume, as well.”
Mary gave a satisfied smile as she packed away the linens. “It will be very good to leave London.”
“Indeed it will,” Caroline agreed heartily. If she had her way, they would never see the blighted town again.
“I saw there was a letter from Miss Phoebe in this morning’s post.”
“Yes. She was so excited to receive the money I sent for new gowns. She also cannot wait to see us next week. I do believe she is very tired of Mrs. Medlock’s.”
“You can scarcely blame her, madam. She was at the school a whole year after her friends her own age left.” Mary considered her longtime position as being sufficient excuse to always speak her mind.
“It could not be helped, Mary,” Caroline answered quietly.
“I suppose not.”
“Anyway, it has all worked out for the best! Now she is of just the right age to be married. I am sure we will meet a suitable young man in Wycombe. Someone calm and sober, not a wild young rake. Someone who can take proper care of her.”
“And maybe a husband for you, too?”
Caroline looked up at Mary, startled. “A husband for me? No, indeed! I don’t intend ever to marry again.”
“What, never?”
“Never. Once was quite enough.”
“But don’t you ever wish for children? A family of your own? You may be twenty-eight years old, but there is still time.”
Wish for children? Caroline looked back down at the trunk, staring unseeingly at the books stacked there. Once she
had
wanted children, very much. When she and Lawrence first married. She had grieved mightily at her miscarriage. Eventually, though, she had come to see their childless state as a blessing of sorts. Their lives together had been no place for an innocent babe.
And now ... now it was out of the question.
“No,” she said, too vehement even to her own ears. “I shall be an auntie to Phoebe’s children one day, and that will be enough.”
“But if you should meet someone you really liked ... ,” Mary persisted.
Someone with bright blue eyes and a wry, crooked smile?
“I won’t meet anyone again,” she insisted. “Besides, we are not going to Wycombe to meet someone for me. We are going to find someone suitable for Phoebe.”
Chapter Six
“Caro! Oh, Caro, you are here at last! I’ve been waiting hours and hours.”
Caroline had just stepped down from the carriage outside Mrs. Medlock’s School when Phoebe came flying down the front steps and flung herself into Caroline’s open arms.
“Silly Phoebe!” Caroline laughed, holding her sister close. “I told you we would surely not arrive before teatime at the earliest.”
“Tea was half an hour ago. Though I’m sure Mrs. Medlock would have a fresh pot made, if you like.”
“Tea would be lovely. But first I want to look at you.” Caroline held her sister out at arm’s length for an inspection.
“Have I grown, then?” Phoebe preened a bit, turning her head from side to side so that her curls danced. “Am I taller than when you saw me last autumn?”
Phoebe was not taller, but she did seem somehow older than she had on that last visit. Then her hair had been down, a riot of golden curls to her waist. She had worn the school uniform and giggled and whispered with her friends as any immature girl would.
Today her hair was pinned in a fashionable knot atop her head, and she was obviously trying very hard to contain her natural exuberance and behave like a lady. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her as she bounced slightly on her feet. She was a bit taller than Caroline, and in Caroline’s sisterly opinion anyway, much prettier, with soft violet-blue eyes and pink-and-white skin.
She no longer looked like the baby sister who would follow Caroline all around their childhood home. She looked like a young lady.
A young lady with strange tastes in clothing.
Caroline gazed speechless at Phoebe’s ensemble. When she had sent money for new clothes, Caroline had pictured sprigged muslin day dresses and pastel ball gowns. Today Phoebe wore a gown of bright orange lightweight wool, trimmed
à la militaire
with copious gold braid and frog fastenings. A gold lace ruff framed her pretty face, and more lace peeked out at the cuffs.
“Oh, Phoebe,” Caroline said quietly, “you look . . . very dashing.”
“Do you like it?” Phoebe spun about happily. “I was quite in alt when you said I might have some new gowns. The dressmaker in the village has some lovely fashion plates from London, and she made up such gowns for me. Just wait until you see them! I am sure there can be nothing so fine in Town.”
“I am sure not.”
Phoebe looked closely at Caroline’s own pale gray carriage dress and matching plain bonnet. “Perhaps she could make up something for you, Caro.”
Heaven forbid.
“Well, dear, I am sure we won’t have the time. We must leave tomorrow, you know, for Wycombe-on-Sea.”
“I cannot wait! I have told all the girls about what adventures we shall have. They are quite envious, I assure you. But you must come inside now and have some tea, for you must be vastly tired after your journey! Did Mary come with you?”
“She stayed at the inn with the luggage. You know how she is; she does not trust anyone.”
“I can scarcely wait to see her! I’m sure she won’t recognize me again.”
“I am sure she won’t.”
Mrs. Medlock appeared then in the doorway, a tall, stern-looking woman in rustling black silk.
“Miss Lane,” she said, “I am sure your sister would like something to drink after her journey. It is very warm out here to be kept standing about.”
Phoebe smiled at her, dimples flashing prettily. “Of course, Mrs. Medlock.”
“Why don’t you go ask the maids to lay out the tea again, while I show Mrs. Aldritch where she might refresh herself.”
“Oh, yes! I will see if there are any lemon cakes left, since they are your special favorites, Caro.” Phoebe kissed Caroline’s cheek once more and dashed off to find the dessert, her orange skirts held up to reveal gold-colored stockings and slippers.
“If you would care to follow me, Mrs. Aldritch,” Mrs. Medlock said, turning back into the school in Phoebe’s wake.
As Caroline followed the headmistress up a winding staircase and along a dim corridor, Mrs. Medlock said, “Miss Lane is very excited about her seaside holiday, Mrs. Aldritch.”
“I am rather excited myself,” Caroline answered. “It feels I have waited a very long time for her to finish her studies and be ready to make her bow in the world.”
“Yes.” Mrs. Medlock opened a door and ushered her into a small sitting room, where a basin, towels, and soap were laid out. “You will probably be considering a match for her soon.”
“Very likely, if someone suitable appears.”
Mrs. Medlock nodded. “She is a very pretty girl, Mrs. Aldritch. I am certain she will have no lack of suitors. But I feel I must also tell you that Miss Lane is one my most, er,
exuberant
students. I realize this is hardly my place to say, but . . .” Her voice faded in hesitation.
Caroline removed her bonnet to look closer at Mrs. Medlock. What exactly was the woman trying to say? “Please, Mrs. Medlock, do go on.”
“It is only that I am so fond of your sister, Mrs. Aldritch. I would hate to see any . . . difficulties befall her. And I know that these seaside places are full of all sorts of people, including gentlemen whose behavior is less than respectable. Miss Lane has such an
impulsive
nature.”
“So you are urging me to keep a strict eye on her, is that it, Mrs. Medlock?”
The headmistress nodded in relief. “Yes. That is all. Just be vigilant, Mrs. Aldritch. Now, I will leave you to freshen up. One of the maids will show you to the drawing room when you are ready.”
With Mrs. Medlock gone, Caroline turned back thoughtfully to the basin of water. Mrs. Medlock, who had always been so proper and reserved on the few times they had met in the past, was urging her to be “vigilant” about Phoebe? What was going on?
Caroline frowned at her reflection in the small mirror above the basin. She had thought it would be so easy to be a chaperon and mother figure. They would go to Wycombe, Phoebe would meet some sober young vicar or squire, and she would marry him and be secure and cozy for the rest of her life.
Oh, Caroline knew that Phoebe was rather high-spirited, as all young girls were. There had been occasional letters from Mrs. Medlock about some small prank or other Phoebe and her friends had undertaken. But those had been ages ago. Phoebe was seventeen now, a young lady of an age to settle down.
Caroline thought very carefully now about Mrs. Medlock’s words. She had been so very certain that Phoebe would be eager to listen to her counsel, to meet
nice
young men. She was so intent on making certain that Phoebe did not make
her
past blunders that perhaps she had not seen the obvious.
That perhaps Phoebe was exactly like Caroline was at her age, heedless and romantic, ripe for making mistakes.
At least Mrs. Medlock had seen fit to warn her.
“I
will
be vigilant,” Caroline whispered fiercely. “Phoebe will not end up with another Lawrence, that I promise.”
 
 
Phoebe watched Caroline carefully across the tea table, where she sat making polite conversation with Mrs. Medlock and the music instructor. Her sister was not exactly as she had remembered.
Phoebe always thought of Caroline as being elegant and sophisticated, as indeed she was, though rather plain in her dress for Phoebe’s taste. From her childhood, she remembered her sister as being fun, with a ready smile and a merry laugh. She had always been ready for any lark.
The Caroline who sat across from her now, the Caroline she had known for the past few years, always seemed rather, well, worried. Quiet and intense, as if she always had some deep worry lurking in her mind.
Phoebe smiled secretly behind her teacup. Well,
she
would soon have her sister smiling again. And laughing and dancing and wearing bright, daring colors. Making merry was what Phoebe did best; all her friends agreed that she was the very best at coming up with pranks to pull on Mrs. Medlock. And Wycombe-on-Sea sounded like it could be very merry indeed. At least compared with this school.
The sort of place where a determined girl could get up to some grand schemes.
 
 
“Why must we go to a sea resort, of all places?” Harry whined for the tenth time in as many minutes. “There will be no one but old ladies and invalids there. If we
have
to go to the sea, we could at least have gone to Brighton.”
Justin frowned at his brother. They had been trapped together in the carriage for hours, and Justin had had about all he could take of Harry’s complaints. If he had to hear one more, he would surely toss Harry out of the carriage on his gold satin-covered backside.
Their mother, though, didn’t appear to notice the squabbling at all. She watched the landscape pass by out the window, humming a cheerful little tune under her breath.
“We are not going to Brighton, Harry,” Justin said through gritted teeth, “because there are too many opportunities for you to get into trouble there, with the Prince Regent and his cronies in residence.”
BOOK: Improper Ladies
12Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Left Hand Magic by Nancy A. Collins
El sol sangriento by Marion Zimmer Bradley
Angel Betrayed by Cynthia Eden
Chopper Ops by Mack Maloney
Jacques Cousteau by Brad Matsen
11 Eleven On Top by Janet Evanovich