Over the last several weeks, March had reluctantly settled into the Duke and Duchess of Langham’s home. Faith loved spending time in the library while Julia roamed the halls of the massive house memorizing the family history and cataloging the various rooms. She’d found a willing accomplice to her investigations—Pitts, the Langham family’s butler, loved to regale Julia with the history of the family. Even Bennett was enjoying his stay since the duke good-naturedly spent time with him. Whether playing chess or discussing sheep farming, the two seemed to enjoy each other’s company. However, the glue that kept everyone and everything organized was the Duchess of Langham.
A beautiful woman in her mid-fifties, the duchess had that magical charm that drew others to her. Not only kind and generous, but underneath, her fortitude kept the large household running smoothly while controlling the exhaustive social calendar both she and the duke seemed to relish. Hardly ever a night passed when the powerful couple didn’t attend some social event, ball, or a dinner party at a political crony’s house.
However, through it all, the Cavensham family came together at least once a week to share a meal. March and her siblings attended those gatherings. She was struck speechless at the duke and duchess’s generosity and realized how blessed she and her siblings were to be treated as part of such a strong family that supported one another through disagreements and celebrations.
She closed her eyes and said a little prayer. Finally, her family was safe. If fate was kind to both Julia and Faith, and both were lucky enough to make matches this Season, then March would consider their sojourn to London an unqualified success.
Even March never lacked for company. Emma, the Countess of Somerton, visited quite frequently with her husband, Lord Somerton. As Emma was her friend and her banker, March found herself growing more and more comfortable in Langham Hall. She’d even developed a friendship with McCalpin’s beautiful cousin Claire, the Marchioness of Pembrooke.
After their sweet kiss, it was hard to think of Michael as McCalpin anymore. He visited frequently, but spent most of his time with his father and William behind closed doors. The brief glimpses she enjoyed of his presence always made her day a little more joyous.
To think anything of the time she’d shared with Michael that night at the family townhouse was beyond foolish. She schooled herself to forget such nonsense. It was pleasant to be around such a lovely family, and that was all.
Moreover, one thing March was certain of, she was never foolish.
Over the past several weeks, the duchess had declared March and her sisters needed new wardrobes. Like an army general commanding the troops, the duchess would take the trio of sisters to the best clothing and haberdashery establishments in town. Today March left on her own for a few items from Mademoiselle Mignon, the duchess’s favorite dressmaker in all of London.
Once inside the shop, March idly stroked the blush-colored velvet. The slightest hint of pink immediately brought to mind Julia’s perfect complexion. For her sister to wear in public a gown made from the striking fabric would cause a near riot in any London ballroom. Whatever it took, Julia would own such an ensemble before the month was out.
As was habit, March kept careful records of everything spent on their family. The vast wardrobes for Julia and Faith were no exception. She, on the other hand, had declined any new dresses. Yet, the duchess had insisted. Finally, March had agreed to a new morning gown for social calls and an evening gown for the duchess’s ball. She’d politely refused any other purchases. There was no cause for such extravagance. When her sisters eventually settled with a husband and their own home, March planned to move back to Lawson Court until Bennett was grown and ready to assume his responsibilities.
What she would do after was still under consideration. She feared she’d be too old for matrimony and a hindrance to Bennett once he married and started to raise a family.
She pushed aside such worries. Other things demanded her attention, such as ways to enhance the gowns she’d made from her grandmother’s old dresses. She took the lace, braided cord, ribbons, and other trims she had selected to the front of Mademoiselle Mignon’s shop, the most exclusive dressmaker in all of England. Her reputation was legendary since her mother had helped dress Marie Antoinette.
March patiently waited for assistance. Since there wasn’t much call for a sheep farmer’s skills in the city of London, she’d hoped to offer her bookkeeping services in exchange for the trim or a least a discount. Money was always a worry, and she’d do everything possible to protect her family’s fortune.
The modiste attended two elegantly dressed young women and an older woman who probably was their mother if her dress was any indication. The woman wore a dark peacock pelisse while the girls were dressed in sturdy but fashionable lilac-colored broadcloth cloaks. A polite argument about a lower neckline on one of the young ladies’ gowns had erupted between the three women. Mademoiselle Mignon excused herself.
Dressed in a magnificent purple velvet with yards of black lace as an overskirt, the seamstress approached. “How may I help you today, miss?”
The modiste’s warm dulcet tone enhanced her French accent, and her sharp gaze made March pay attention. As Mademoiselle Mignon evaluated her, March made her own quick calculation and came to the conclusion she could negotiate with this woman. Her own experience haggling over prices of wool throughout the years had given her a keen sense of a person’s bargaining capability, and the seamstress had an abundance of it. No wonder her shop was so successful.
March carefully laid the bolts of trim on the table. “I would like to purchase ten yards of each.”
The shop owner nodded her head and took the bolts to her cutting area.
March’s gaze swept the shop. There must be hundreds of items that required a precise inventory in a shop this size along with careful records of the junior seamstresses’ time and wages. “Mademoiselle, I wonder if you would consider some type of exchange for the trims I’d like to purchase. I have experience bookkeeping for establishments such as yours, and—”
The shopkeeper gently laid her scissors on the table. “Miss, if you don’t have the money for the trim.”
A deadly quiet settled as the three customers immediately stopped their argument to overhear her private conversation with the proprietress.
March bit her lower lip in an attempt to harness the familiar emptiness in her stomach. It always occurred when she discussed her lack of funds. However, she had the one thousand pounds that Michael had given her. It was more than enough to pay for her purchases.
Why she felt humiliation at all was puzzling. Perhaps the trim pieces represented nothing more than an extravagance. Deep down, she couldn’t deny the real cause. The women overhearing the conversation would understand her circumstances and recognize her as the outlier she was—a person that had no place in their rarified society. “I have the funds. I bank at E. Cavensham Commerce.”
The door chimes rang, warning another society paragon would witness her humiliation.
The young lady identified as Lady Miranda by the shopkeeper scoffed aloud, “She’s one of those women. Pitiful souls who dredge their ugly business before everyone in London.”
“Miranda, hush,” her mother scolded.
The young woman drew her attention to her mother. “Why? You think the same thing.”
Her sister reached out and placed her hand on Miranda’s arm. “Listen to Mother, Mandy,” she hissed.
Lady Miranda narrowed her gaze. “What is the matter with both of—”
“March, darling, there you are.” The Duchess of Langham stood beside her and surveyed the group.
As if in an awkward dance, all four ladies, including the seamstress, curtseyed deeply. Murmurs of “Your Grace” rang through the shop. When they raised their heads, the women’s cheeks bore a scarlet color as if subjected to a sweltering summer day.
The duchess nodded her head slightly, then turned her full attention to Mignon. “Wrap those up for me. Have them delivered to Langham Hall within the hour. Miss Lawson and I are late for tea with the duke.”
The duchess wrapped March’s arm around hers and escorted her from the shop.
A chorus of “Your Grace” followed them both outside, but the duchess didn’t spare a look back. Outside the shop, a Langham footman stood beside the black-lacquered carriage. He opened the door at first sight of the duchess. With an innate grace, she took the forward-facing seat, and March sat opposite.
“As soon as Pitts informed me you had gone on a little shopping excursion, I raced to find you.” The duchess made short work of taking off her gloves. She reached across the narrow space between and took March’s hands in her own. “Darling, only the ugliest society vultures shop at this hour. Next time, just inform me you wish to purchase a new dress, and we’ll have Mignon come to you for anything you need.”
A fierce heat burned her cheeks, and she gently shook her head. “I wasn’t shopping for a dress, just some trim. I have a few old gowns I’m altering for myself. With the upcoming ball, you and the duke have graciously offered to host for us, I can’t ask for more from you. I can’t tell you how much your generosity means to me and my family.”
The duchess’s brow wrinkled in consternation. “Darling, didn’t you order more gowns when Mignon came to the house last week?”
March shook her head slightly. “There’s no need. I’ll make do with my grandmother’s old gowns. My mother’s dresses are too short and quite snug for my figure.” She quickly gazed outside the window. This was almost worse than having to face Michael in his study and beg him not to embarrass her in front of Faith and Hart. To say the discussion was uncomfortable was a mild understatement. What little money March possessed, she needed to save every shilling for the estate and the upcoming year.
The burning sensation of tears demanded every ounce of her concentration. Would she ever be free from this constant worry over money?
The duchess squeezed her hands. “Didn’t McCalpin tell you that I was sponsoring you and your sisters this season? That means I’m paying for your new wardrobes.”
March shook her head. She didn’t trust her voice as unruly shame threatened to overtake her.
“You have nothing to worry about. I’ll take care of everything.” The duchess patted her arm, then leaned back against the velvet squab. With a tilt of her head, she studied March. “Darling, I think we should consider a primrose or gold for a couple of your gowns. With your coloring, you’d look magnificent.”
The duchess smiled in such a sweet, sincere manner it reminded March of her own mother when they had gone shopping for her gown to make her entrance into society. It was one of her happiest memories and permanently engraved on March’s heart. Today, it brought little comfort.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” She swallowed the pain those sweet memories inevitably brought. “Perhaps you should concentrate your efforts on my sisters. My needs are simple—”
The duchess narrowed her eyes in apparent confusion. “This is my gift to you and your sisters. The duke and I want to do this for your family. Your father and my husband’s brother were great friends. It’s our honor to help you.” Her voice gentled as her gaze fell to March’s face. “McCalpin is taking care of everything else, but the duke and I wanted to show you how much we enjoy you and your family.”
March pressed her eyes shut to stop the flood of tears with little success.
“Your family’s guardian has done a poor job of informing you what was happening,” the duchess chided with a smile. She pressed a crisp handkerchief into March’s hand.
“No, he’s been everything gracious to my family ever since he first came to visit us at Lawson Court.” March studied the elegant cloth, which was too fine to ruin. She quickly swiped the tears from her eyes with her own gloves. “You see, I was injured and without any concern for himself, he brought me back to the house and stayed with me when our housekeeper cleaned and stitched my wound.”
She was rambling, but didn’t care. Michael’s mother needed to know what her son had done for her and her family.
“He didn’t even care that I bled all over his coat. And then, when he discovered we didn’t have any food…” She cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders in an attempt to get her unruly emotions under control. “No, Your Grace. Lord McCalpin is one of the most generous and honorable men I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”
The duchess lifted one finely arched brow, and another smile graced her lips. March couldn’t quite identify what the duchess’s expression meant, but it reminded her of a similar one that Maximus would bestow on his lowly humans when he’d finished the last drop of cream in the cup and was quite satisfied with himself.
“I see.” The duchess chuckled. “How wonderful.”
* * *
A breathtaking display of energy infused the family dining room at Langham Hall. The likes of which March had never seen. Tomorrow night, the Duchess of Langham was hosting a ball to introduce Faith and Julia into London society, and guests from the highest echelons of the ton and government would attend. Of course, the duchess included March’s name on the invitations, but they both knew the ball was the hallmark for her sisters’ introduction to society.
The duke sat at the head of the table and the duchess at the other end. March sat next to her. With a dip of her spoon, March sipped the excellent white veal soup. Flavored with port, the veal stock and cream were the perfect antidote to the cold winter night outdoors. A gloriously handsome footman refilled her wine glass without her requesting it. She’d never seen so many servants, all in perfectly fitted livery. With Pitts supervising the tableau, it seemed every person had their own personal footman attending them.
Light snow, a sign nature wasn’t quite ready to release her hold on winter, blanketed the windows. If they were lucky, the frost would continue tomorrow. Any thaw would make the guests entrance into Langham Hall a muddy mess.
The conversation continued to grow in volume and merriment. The entire Langham family attended tonight. Emma and her husband, Nick, sat to the right of the duke. Claire and her husband, Alex, sat to the duke’s left. Lady Daphne Hallworth, Alex’s sister, sat next to her brother.
March’s siblings sat at the middle of the table. Tonight, Bennett attended and joined the family in celebration since tomorrow promised to be an extraordinary day for the entire family.
“Your Grace,” Bennett announced as he looked at the duchess. “Thank you for instructing Milton to show me how to use the bell pulls in my suites and the nursery.” His eyes widened in amazement. “The footman shared that anything is at my fingertips. It makes the task of acquiring food, particularly sweets, so convenient.”
“You’re welcome, Bennett.” The mirth in the duchess’s voice was unmistakable, but she flawlessly kept a straight face. “Perhaps that will curtail the duke’s habit of escorting you to the kitchen in the middle of the night. It disrupts the entire household.”
“No.” The duke’s growl softened into a rough purr. “Just you, my little spoilsport.” His eyes twinkled as he gazed at the duchess. “In our defense, Ginny, the boy and I have a sweet tooth.”
After the laughter died down, Emma surveyed the table. “Will London be ready for the Lawson family when you take the town by storm?”
Julia gently laid her spoon aside and beamed. “Indeed, Lady Somerton. Your family has made all our dreams come true. I only hope that my sisters and I make you all proud.”
“I hope we all survive the night.” Faith played with her serviette in a poor attempt to hide her nervousness. It was no secret to anyone at the table that March’s sister was terrified at the thought of dancing. She could dance, but feared no one would ask her because of her limp.
Claire reached over and patted Faith’s hand in a show of solidarity. “Just wait, Faith. You’ll be the belle of the ball. No one will be able to resist your beauty, but more importantly, your generous spirit.” She glanced at her husband, and a slight smirk adorned her lips. “If I was allowed, I’d ensure you had a dance partner for every set.”
Her husband scooped up her hand and pressed a kiss. “Don’t push me, Claire. I acquiesced to your demand we attend for an hour. Remember what Dr. Camden said. You have to start getting more rest. Liam is up at all hours of the night.”
“I know,” Claire offered. “Still two hours wouldn’t hurt—”
“I agree with Pembrooke,” Lord Somerton announced. “We won’t stay much longer than an hour ourselves.”
Emma shot a smile at her husband.
“We’ll see how you feel tomorrow evening.” To appease you, I won’t mingle with the guests, and I’ll observe the proceedings from the mezzanine.
With startling turquoise eyes and blond hair, the earl had to be the most handsome man in London. When he favored his pregnant wife with a blinding smile, it took every female’s breath away. With a collective sigh around the table, everyone seemed to acknowledge the love between the couple. The earl and Emma’s friendship had transformed into a love story even the bard from Avon would find inspiring.
March leaned back in her chair to enjoy the moment. Memories from long ago rushed forward. Her parents had shared similar evenings like this with her and her siblings. A contentment that had escaped her for years slowly took command of her mood. She was truly happy the Langham family had welcomed hers with open arms, but tonight was a simple remembrance of all they’d lost, too—the security and love her parents would have showered on their own children.
“Lady Somerton, I too am looking forward to tomorrow night’s ball,” Bennett announced.
Emma laughed, the rich sound brightening the room. “I do hope you’ll save me the first dance, Lord Lawson.”
Somerton placed his hand possessively over his wife’s fingers. “Lawson, you’re treading on thin ice if you think I won’t fight for her.”
Bennett delivered his best roguish smile. Truthfully, it closely resembled a charming lopsided grin. “Well, Lord Somerton”—Bennett leaned back in his chair and regarded the earl—“your wife did ask me for the dance first.”
Laughter rang out throughout the room.
Somerton’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “You make an excellent point. I shall have to try harder to win my lady wife’s affections and keep young rogues like you from pushing me away.”
Faith caught March’s gaze and smiled, then dipped her head in acknowledgment. Their brother was transforming into a man before their eyes.
A flurry of activity from the attending footmen brought everyone’s attention to the entrance of the dining room. Lord William and Michael entered with a flourish. Tiny crystals of snow clung to their shoulders and caught the light of the chandelier’s candles, giving the men the appearance of magical creatures.
March’s body vibrated like a tuning fork when she caught her first glimpse of him. An image of Michael sweeping her away from the room and bestowing a kiss crowded out all thoughts and created a smoldering heat in her belly. To have a private moment with him would turn the wonderful evening into something enchanting.
She released a pent-up sigh. It was ridiculous to entertain such thoughts. She couldn’t expect more and had to prepare herself for the sight of him dancing and flirting with women who were elegant, sophisticated, and beautiful—everything she was not.
To settle her runaway thoughts, March bent her head and concentrated on the perfectly roasted fowl on her plate. Someone slipped into the seat beside her. When she turned to greet Lord William, it was Michael who bestowed a grin on her, once more transforming him into her David. Her heart beat frantically as if trying to break free.
“Good evening, March,” he whispered. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and greeted his family. “I apologize that William and I are late. Every fool in London must be out shopping at the last minute for Mother’s ball. I’ve never seen such traffic.”
The duke smiled warmly at his sons. “As long as you both are safe and sound, no one minds.”
“He’s just making excuses,” William taunted. “I’m late because he’s always late.”
“A nasty habit you need to cure yourself of,” the duke gently admonished.
“Did you have a productive day?” the duchess asked.
Michael directed his brilliant gaze at his mother. The Cavensham men’s sapphire-blue eyes were legendary throughout England. Claire and Emma had emerald-green eyes that fascinated everyone. Yet to March, Michael’s surpassed them all in their devastating beauty.
“Indeed. I worked on estate matters for McCalpin Manor all day. I’m pleased to say we accomplished quite a lot.” Michael speared a piece of fowl.
He leaned slightly toward March as he addressed his mother. The heat of his body radiated toward her, and as if drawn by the force of his presence, she drew near. Who could resist such perfection? She shook her head slightly and tried to settle once again. This was dangerous. For her own well-being, she needed to be cautious and keep a respectable distance.
William had taken the seat across the table from her. Since the rules of etiquette were relaxed when the family dined together, March addressed him. “Lord William, did you enjoy your day?”
He squirmed slightly in his chair. If she hadn’t been watching him closely, she might have missed it. Immediately, Michael stiffened beside her. Obviously, she’d struck a nerve somehow.
“Hmm, yes. I worked on estate matters also.” He devoted his attention to the piece of beef on his plate. “Delicious meal. I’m famished.”
“Where is your estate, Lord William?” Julia asked.
“I don’t have one, Miss Julia.” William turned to Pembrooke and Somerton. “What time will you arrive tomorrow? Perhaps we might have some time to chat before the guests arrive?”
“The duchess commands we arrive no later than two hours before the ball.” Pembrooke nodded at Somerton. “So, we’ll plan on it.”
Somerton addressed Daphne. “How are you managing work at the bank? I want Emma to start taking more time away.”
“Truthfully, I could use a little help.” Daphne sighed, then grinned. “This afternoon, I was bombarded by no less than ten customers and several of them had to wait. Do you know anyone who has a talent for numbers?”
Somerton’s intense gaze settled on March, and she immediately straightened in her seat as if being called to attention by the whistle of a British Navy Admiral. The earl then lavished one of his dazzling smiles. “Miss Lawson, would you have any interest in working at the bank? When Emma approached you before, you were too busy at Lawson Court. Since you’re in London, perhaps your schedule might allow you to help.”
The duchess smiled sweetly in her direction. That sign of affection was March’s undoing. “I’d love to, my lord. Only if it’s acceptable to your wife.”
Emma scoffed. “Please, March. You know how long I’ve wanted you to work there. With your business experience, you’ll help make the bank even more successful.”
Somerton protectively placed his arm around his wife’s chair. “Then it’s settled. How about if you come to the bank the day after the ball?”
“Yes, I’d like that very much.” The inclusive Langham family once again had taken her under their wings. “Thank you.”
Emma smiled and nodded. “Excellent.”
The duke turned his attention to Pembrooke, and the two men started a conversation about the upcoming week in the House of Lords.
“March?” Michael whispered.
As if called by a sorcerer, March slid her gaze to his.
“Are you happy?” he asked. With a stretch of his long legs brushing against her, he relaxed beside her.
The simple question along with his touch made her feel almost silly with giddiness. With an overwhelming lightness she hadn’t felt in years, not since her parents had died, she managed a slight nod.
“I’m delighted.” His whisper reminded her of a caress, the kind where a gentle finger ran across the skin of her face.
The tenderness in his gaze startled her. She’d imagined he touched her, hadn’t she? Her gaze swept across the table. Hopefully, no one noticed the effect he had on her. Unfortunately, William stared at her as if she were some unique creature from the ocean bottom.
When Michael turned his attention to his mother, William leaned across the table. “What have you done with my brother, Miss Lawson?” he whispered. “Cast a magical spell on him?” Totally at ease, he slowly reclined and regarded her with a wary smile.
She took a sip of wine. Something was going on between the two brothers, and she had no idea what it was. They spent an inordinate amount of time together. When Julia had asked William about his estate work, he’d been quick to change the subject.
She had to acknowledge the truth. If she had the opportunity like him to spend her days in Michael’s company, the sheep at Lawson Court might have to fend for themselves.