The Outrageous Debutante. Anne O'Brien
nodded with satisfaction.
‘Now, enough of me. Tell me about yourself and your family.’ Thea folded her hands in her lap and set herself to be sociable. ‘Is your husband at home?’
‘No, he is not. Simon has gone to Newmarket! I am quite vexed about it.’
‘Ah! I understand that you have a young son.’
‘Oh, yes. Giles. Now he is quite adorable. Come and see.’
Thea sighed a little, but was determined to fulfil her social duties. After all, she owed Judith much for her unaffected welcome of an unknown lady to her home, and suspected that she would owe her more before her sojourn in London came to an end. With a not quite enthusiastic smile, but a sharp relief at being able to abandon the much disliked ratafia, she followed Judith up the sweep of the staircase to the nursery to meet the heir to the Painscastle inheritance, prepared to admire and be charmed as was required.
Why her mother thought she needed a husband and children of her own, she could not imagine!
Thea returned to the smart rented property in Upper Brook Street, worthy of one of his Majesty’s Ambassadors, to find a chaotic scene of boxes and packages littering the generous entrance hall. Their luggage, it appeared, had finally caught up with them. Servants, hired with the house, were in evidence and in the centre of it all, directing operations with imperious manner and a list in her hand, was Lady Drusilla. As wife to the Ambassador, she had successfully moved homes—and countries—many times. Sir Hector was, sensibly, nowhere to be seen. There was no hope, Thea realised, of her making an entrance undetected, so she did not try.
‘Theodora! Where have you been? And without your maid—do not even try to deny it! Agnes informed me of your sneaking off within minutes of your leaving the house! As you must know she would!’
Thea bridled at the onslaught, even if it was expected. It was simply one more nail in the coffin of her much-prized freedom. ‘If you had wished me to follow every social convention, you should have brought me up differently, Mama.’ Her eyes snapped with irritation. She would have a few well-chosen words with Agnes Drew, her childhood nurse and now her maid—or perhaps more of a companion and confidante—whose loyalty seemed to be as much to Lady Drusilla as to herself.
‘True. I myself have no time for many of them. That one. And that.’ The lady pointed at two boxes and crossed them off her list as they were carried away. ‘But here in London—it is important to have a care.’
‘I have been out of the house barely two hours—and done nothing to draw attention to myself.’ Thea narrowed her eyes at her mother’s back. ‘How should you think otherwise! Your opinion of me is not flattering, Mama.’
‘Nonsense! My opinion of you is of the highest as you are very well aware. But by the end of the Season I hope to have acquired a rich and titled husband for you.’ She announced her intentions with supreme disregard for the interested audience of maids and footmen around her.
‘I know. An Earl. Any one of them will do, however old and ill favoured. As long as he is titled and rich! And available!’
‘Now, Theodora! I have it on the best authority—from your father, no less—that the Earl of Moreton is in town. He is neither old nor ill favoured and has, I am given to understand, considerable address. Since he also has the advantage of being unmarried, he sounds to be just the thing. I have every hope.’ For the first time, Lady Drusilla gave her daughter her full attention and noted the heightened colour in her cheeks, hardly engendered by a gentle stroll along Upper Brook Street, plus the sparkle in her eyes, which denoted a flash of temper. ‘What have you been doing to put yourself so out of countenance?’
‘Nothing. I am not out of countenance.’ Except that she was after listening for an hour—was it only an hour?—to Judith singing the praises of a husband who seemed pleasant enough, but dull in the extreme. An equally tedious lifestyle of trivial pursuits and pastimes in London, of visits and conversations with the same set of acquaintance day after day, week after week. Winter spent incarcerated in the depths of the country, trapped by bad weather and worse roads. Was that the life for which she was destined? She shuddered at the prospect. There was no point telling her mama, who had quite made up her mind, of her fears, her depressing thoughts. But she did not have to like it. Or the unknown Earl of Moreton!
‘So, where have you been?’
‘To pay a morning call on Lady Painscastle.’
‘I see. I am quite sure that you should not have done that without an invitation, Thea.’ Lady Drusilla frowned her disapproval, but kept her tone light.
‘Oh, she did not mind. I liked her. And she did not turn me from the door—although her butler would have dearly liked to.’ A faint smile illuminated Thea’s face at the memory.
‘It is all your own fault if you allow servants the opportunity to patronise you, my dear.’ Thea had to admire her mother’s worldly wisdom expressed so casually. ‘Take your maid in future! And wear a hat. I expect it is not at all the thing to go about with your head uncovered. At least you had the sense to wear gloves.’
‘Yes, Mama.’
‘So?’ Lady Drusilla raised her brows. ‘What has ruffled your feathers?’
Thea sighed a little. ‘Do I really need a husband?’
‘Yes. We have had this conversation before. You know my reasons—and your father’s, of course.’
‘But I have enjoyed independence for all my twenty-one years. Travel. Culture. Pleasing myself. Why can I not continue to do so?’
‘You cannot travel for the rest of your life, Theodora. It is not suitable.’
‘But you have.’ Thea sat herself down on one of the unopened wooden packing cases, swinging her reticule carelessly by its silken strings.
‘I had the felicity to meet and marry your father. Such opportunities as wife to a royal Ambassador are not given to everyone. You need a husband who will admire you for your qualities and allow you freedom to express yourself. As Sir Hector allowed me. I hope you will not break anything in that case on which you are sitting!’
Thea hid a smile. Secretly she doubted that Sir Hector had had any choice in his wife’s chosen lifestyle. ‘Does such a husband exist for me, do you suppose?’
‘Of course.’
Thea pursed her pretty lips, looking sceptical, but made no reply.
‘It is merely a matter of learning a few rules, knowing how to go on. And if you could pretend to be demure and biddable for a few weeks—’
‘Ha!’
‘And converse in a genteel and respectful manner, without interruption—’
‘About fashion and embroidery, the latest dance and the latest on dit.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Oh, Mama. What have you committed me to!’
‘It is not purgatory, my love.’
‘And growing my hair into curls and ringlets again, if the glances I received today are anything to say to the matter.’
‘I told you that you should not have been so extravagant! But you would do it!’ Lady Drusilla stepped round a pair of leather travelling cases and leaned to kiss her daughter lightly on the cheek. She understood and sympathised with her concerns very well. ‘You are a lovely young woman of whom I am very proud. Whether you grow your hair again, my love, is purely a matter of your own personal choice.’
‘I have no intention of doing so.’ Thea returned the salute and rose to her feet. ‘By the by, I arranged for us to pay an afternoon call on Lady Beatrice Faringdon tomorrow if that suits.’
‘Certainly. An excellent idea. My acquaintance with Lady Beatrice is from the very distant past, when we were still girls, but she is, I think,