Miss Fortune's First Kiss (Fortunes of Fate Book 9) Read online

  His, lean and hard. Hers, yielding and soft.

  He’d inhaled her perfume, thinking to memorize it. Shaking his head, he smiled ruefully to himself. Although he remembered how the fragrance had made him feel, he could not remember the fragrance itself.

  “I can’t tell if your eyes are brown or green.”

  She’d gazed up at him and licked her lips. “Hazel.”

  “Lovely,” he’d whispered. He remembered how hoarse his voice had sounded.

  He’d been utterly besotted with her.

  Jasper shifted on his seat, careful not to wake Althea. When he glanced out the window once again, he was surprised to realize they’d already driven as far as Mayfair. They’d arrive in mere minutes now.

  “Wake up, lovelies.” He reached across and shook Eloise gently. “We’re home.”

  Chapter 3

  Mothers and Sisters

  London, England Spring of 1821

  “Willoughby, darling! I expected you to arrive yesterday.” The greeting came as no surprise. Placing one hand on each of his daughters’ shoulders, Jasper gave an encouraging squeeze and then ushered them into the darkened drawing room.

  “Hello, Mother. Make your curtseys to your grandmother, girls.”

  Eloise stepped forward first and dropped into an exaggerated curtsey that she’d obviously practiced.

  Althea backed up and seemed to have frozen in place.

  “Step forward, girl.” Hester Talbot, the most honorable Lady Willoughby, bit out the command. “I still don’t understand why you bring them to London with you. They’ll likely only prove to be a nuisance.”

  Jasper bent forward. “You can do it.” He whispered into Althea’s ear before nudging her forward gently. Her curtsey lacked all of the flair of Eloise’s but managed to pass muster none the less.

  “We’re to meet with a possible governess for them, as I informed you in my letter.” He hated that he had to explain this in front of his daughters. He didn’t want them to think he would have preferred leaving them in the country to be cared for by servants. He caught Althea’s watchful eyes and winked. “And I promised to take them to Gunter’s.”

  “Nonetheless,” his mother reached for the bell pull, “I’ve had the nursery aired out and made other arrangements until this governess of yours sees fit to begin her duties. Whatever were you thinking, Willoughby? You’ll be far too busy meeting prospective brides to waste time playing nursemaid.”

  “Did I tell you that Marvelle’s daughter is having her come out tomorrow night? Promises to be a crush. Lady Elaine is such a lovely young woman. The duchess has invited everyone who is anyone. I assured her you would want to reserve Lady Elaine’s first dance. An honor to be certain. Shall I send your request around in the morning?”

  Jasper blinked as he attempted to follow his mother’s train of thought. A matronly looking woman appeared in the open doorway.

  “Take the children up to the nursery now, Miss Bates. That will be all.”

  His daughters glanced over at him quickly. He really was going to have to curtail his mother’s... suggestions. Lifting a halting hand toward the maid, he crouched down to his daughters’ level. “There’s piles of toys upstairs, if I remember correctly. I’ll be up to help you get settled in after I’ve finished talking with your grandmother.” He knew his mother all too well. If she were to have her way, he wouldn’t see his daughters again until they were at least six and ten. “And then we’ll all take supper together.”

  “Willoughby–” his mother began.

  “Run along and allow Miss Bates to assist you out of your travelling dresses into something fresh to dine in.”

  Althea bit her lip and nodded, but Eloise continued watching him skeptically. That look sent a sharp ache into his heart.

  The servant efficiently took both girls hands and led them out of the room. When the door closed behind her, Jasper ran one hand through his hair and sighed. “It’s been little more than a year, Mother.”

  “They’re not infants.”

  The darkness his mother preferred frustrated him. Unwilling to tolerate it a moment longer, he crossed the room and swept open a thick and heavy curtain. His mother turned her head away. “You know how I hate the glare.”

  She rarely went out in the daylight and he was beginning to understand why. Not that her appearance changed the way he felt about her. She was his mother, after all.

  But the powder and paints failed to conceal the creases that had developed on her face. She’d always been a harsh woman, and the lines about her mouth provided further evidence of it. Almost all of her hair had turned white. Nearly seventy now, she’d given birth to him late in life. She’d refused to give up in her efforts to provide his father with an heir despite several miscarriages earlier on.

  And yet she did not appear frail. His mother would never appear frail.

  “How are you, Mother?” Did he wish to know? Would she tell him anything besides the obvious?

  “Delighted, now that you’ve arrived. I’ve done nothing but worry that you’d remain hidden away in the country. You’re a young man, my darling, but you are also Willoughby. You cannot forget your responsibility to provide for the future of the Earldom. Estelle was a beautiful girl, but she was never the same after the twins were born. Likely, her illness was something of a blessing in disguise.”

  “You’ll never utter such sentiments in my daughters’ presence, and you’ll do well to not do so again in mine as well. She was my wife.” He bit his tongue to prevent himself from saying more.

  “And I am your mother.” She made a tutting sound. “Now come sit down. I’ve several invitations to go over with you. And also, my list.”

  “Of festivities you wish to attend?”

  She laughed. “Of course not, Willoughby. I’ve already decided which of those you’ll make an appearance. No, my list of prospective wives for you. I’ve vetoed the unhealthy-looking ones, the ugly ones, the ones with controlling mothers, and those who might be trouble. You’ve absented yourself from London for far too long. You’ll do well to take my advice.”

  Jasper ran his hand through his hair once again before taking the seat beside her. “I’ll hire the girls a governess first.” He promised. “And then I’ll see about finding them a mother.”

  His mother cackled. “It’s not a mother for the twins that I’m concerned about, Willoughby. What matters most is that you find a mother for your sons.”

  Tilde’s aunt Nettie, already dressed and coiffured as though she were attending a garden party, set her cup of tea beside her still full breakfast plate. “I forgot all about this one, but Lady Abbot says it’s going to be quite the crush. Apparently, the Duchess of Marvelle has sent out hundreds of invitations. I realize it’s late notice, but I suppose we ought to attend.” Matilda had been in London for four days now. After visiting the menagerie, the Royal Academy of Arts Museum, doing some shopping on Bond Street and buying ices at Gunter’s two days in a row, she was feeling refreshed and enthusiastic to settle into a new post.

  She’d squashed all thoughts of Jasper into the deep recesses of her brain, refusing to imagine who he’d married, where he lived, whether or not he was in London, or if she’d see him again…

  She’d not allowed herself to contemplate such ridiculous questions on her part. She couldn’t afford the melancholy, or the regret.

  Or the hurt.

  “Shall we attend then, Tilde?”

  “Who? Attend what?” Tilde hadn’t been paying attention.

  “I imagine it will be quite grand.” Betsy was only two years younger than Tilde but often had the outlook of a person twice her age. She’d not done well at school and when her fiancé died tragically seven years before, she’d fallen into a great despair and declared she would never marry.

  Aunt Nellie hadn’t questioned Betsy’s decision, or those of any of the Fortune sisters for that matter, but Tilde secretly believed her aunt had not given up hope of finding husbands for them all.

/>   “I’d think you’d enjoy partaking of a little entertainment before stepping into your new post.” Mrs. Nellie Maisley, although neither wealthy, nor of noble birth, was something of a fixture amongst the ton. She’d married the second son of a viscount and then outlived all but the most recent heir, a distant nephew twice––or perhaps it was thrice? ––removed. Although she no longer had direct access to the family coffers, aside from a measly widow’s portion, she retained a fabulous array of outmoded dresses and a slowly dwindling collection of jewelry. None had ever dared to question Aunt Nellie as mistress of her London townhouse.

  She received invitations quite often and, in the past, had taken her nieces along. Lacking any sort of dowry or great claims to beauty, Betsy, Chloe and Tilde often found themselves consigned almost immediately to the wallflower seating where their remade dresses weren’t as noticeable.

  All in all, aside from Betsy’s short engagement to Mr. Joseph Fitzwilliam, the orphaned sisters hadn’t fared well amongst Society.

  Which was partially why Tilde had emphasized that all of her sisters make the most of their educations.

  Tilde had completed her schooling just before her parents’ death and entered into service after two failed Seasons. Once employed, Tilde had paid for most of Chloe’s schooling and then Charlotte’s, the youngest, who at the age of ten and six was nearing the end of her education at Miss Primm’s. She’d complained on more than one occasion, however, at having Chloe as one of her teachers.

  Miss Primm’s was a special school. They’d all been quite fortunate to have attended. If only Betsy hadn’t hated it so…

  “What do you think Matilda?”

  Tilde jerked her chin up. “Of what?”

  “Shall we attend the Duchess of Marvelle’s Ball?”

  Tilde had not planned on attending a ton event ever again. She was in service now. It would be embarrassing to come face to face with one of her prior employer’s family members, or even one of their acquaintances who’d observed her. Just as she thought to decline, however, she caught a wistful expression on her sister’s face, as though she’d been waiting for just such an opportunity.

  Betsy could attend alone with Aunt Nellie, but likely, that would not be the same as going with her older sister.

  “Tonight?”

  Betsy smiled and nodded.

  “But… I’ve nothing to wear.”

  As though taking this as only a minor impediment, Betsy clasped her hands together. “Oh, but I’ve the perfect gown for you. It will be like old times––”

  Tilde laughed. “You and I, sitting together with all the other chaperones and wallflowers.”

  Betsy grimaced. “We’ll have fun.” She then dropped her napkin onto the table and pushed back her chair. “If you’ve no objections then, we’ve no time to waste! I’ll pull out the gown and you can try it on right away. That will give me plenty of time to make any necessary alterations.”

  “But I––”

  “And I’ve a new style to try with your hair. And you can do mine!”

  Tilde gave in with a sigh and stabbed her eggs with more force than necessary. It would likely be her last opportunity to dress up and mingle in elegant society in her own right, for a very long time. More likely, forever.

  And then Betsy—sober-minded, quiet Betsy—squealed. “Come up as soon as you’ve finished!”

  In the quiet that remained after Betsy’s departure, Tilde glanced at her aunt with questioning eyes. Aunt Nellie smiled secretly. “Your sister has been working very hard.”

  Chapter 4

  What a Ball!

  Jasper eased into the hot water and leaned his head back while his valet moved efficiently around the room. On days such as this one, he felt more than at least twice his age. What aged him wasn’t the physical challenges of life, however, but the mental ones. Most specifically, being the father to two six-year-old little girls. One who seemed afraid of the world, and the other afraid for the sibling she’s determined to protect at all costs.

  Since arriving in London, Jasper had met with three different governesses. The first lady had been far too young and naïve for him to trust. The second had been so very old that he doubted she would have been able to keep up with the girls. The third he’d known immediately would be far too strict.

  His mother had quite approved of her.

  The agency promised they had the perfect lady and would be sending her over the next day. In the meantime, his mother had made promises on his behalf that he’d not had the heart to break.

  The Duke of Marvelle’s daughter, indeed, was quite lovely. He’d squired her while shopping, to a musicale and to two garden parties already.

  Of course, his mother had promised that he’d lead the young woman in her first dance at the ball that evening. He hated to imagine what his mother would have done if he’d delayed his arrival by even a week or cancelled it outright. He needed to be careful not to give rise to any expectations he wasn’t prepared to fulfill. Although, likely, his mother already had done so on his part.

  He closed his eyes while Cummings, his valet of nearly fifteen years, brushed warm shaving cream onto his jaw and neck.

  His wife had barely been in the ground a year. How could his mother expect he’d be ready to marry again already?

  “Relax, my lord.” Cummings withdrew the razor from Willoughby’s face. “I don’t want to cut you where you’re clenching your jaw.”

  Last time the valet had drawn blood, Cummings had been mortified. He had nearly resigned in humiliation. If Jasper remembered correctly, his mother had been the cause of his irritation on that occasion as well. He exhaled determinedly. “Carry on.”

  He was not prepared to marry again so soon. Marriage had involved a great deal of... work, compromise, disappointment and then grief.

  The first few years he’d done his best to keep Estelle happy. She’d been a good woman. Matters likely wouldn’t have deteriorated so much had they not failed to conceive in the first year of their marriage, nor their second. They’d all but given up until she’d announced to him that she was expecting. It had been one of the last times they’d seemed happy together. They’d been celebrating their fourth wedding anniversary.

  He’d been ecstatic. They’d all had such high expectations for the blessed event. But early on in her pregnancy, Estelle had taken to her bed. She’d often appeared pale and tired and had struggled to keep her meals down. She’d reassured him that she was fine. Nonetheless, when the girls were finally born, they all breathed a sigh of relief.

  It was short-lived.

  The girls were barely a month old when Estelle had begun making apologies for not bearing him an heir. She’d been raised a duke’s daughter and considered it her duty. Her disappointment in herself had opened a fault in their marriage. No matter what he’d done or said, she could not allow herself to be happy. Nor could she be happy with their girls.

  Good God, her final words on this earth had been an apology to him.

  Finished with the shave, Cummings covered Jasper’s face with a towel and removed the excess shaving soap. “I’ve laid out both your amber and your evergreen waistcoat. Have you a preference, my lord?”

  Jasper wasn’t eager for any of this. Instead of answering, he held his breath while the valet poured warm water over him, and then shook his head vigorously, sending water flying.

  “No colors, Cummings. Black.”

  The same as his mood.

  Apparently, in her spare time, Betsy sewed.

  Not only sewed but created magnificent designs and then managed to make them come to life from Aunt Nellie’s collection. Her sister had, indeed, been very busy since Tilde had last been home.

  And she’d created one specifically for her.

  It was made of a luxurious silk patterned with tiny blue flowers. The bodice revealed slightly more bosom than Tilde preferred, but she could hardly complain. And the skirt didn’t merely fall to the floor, it streamed down the length of her body, catch
ing the curve of her hip as she walked without being flagrantly revealing.

  The gown did not require an abundance of ribbons or lace. In fact, there wasn’t any. All of the elegance and beauty came from the cut and the style.

  It truly was a work of art.

  As soon as Tilde glanced in the mirror, she realized why her sister had been so excited to attend the Duchess of Marvelle’s ball.

  Who wouldn’t wish to show off something so beautiful? Betsy could not wear it herself. She had sewn it to Tilde’s measurements, which were somewhat bigger than her younger sister’s.

  “You knew of the invitation weeks before. You must have.” Tilde stared over her shoulder to try to catch a glimpse of the back of the gown. “I knew that you could sew, but I never would have expected…” Tilde twirled around twice, “this.”

  Betsy smiled smugly. “I don’t want to merely sew in another lady’s shop,” she spoke in earnest. “I want to own my own. I’ve made tons of drawings, designs. Aunt Nellie says if she had any extra money, she’d help but… and I know how you feel about that. But I thought if one of the ladies at the ball saw the gown, and perhaps decided she’d like one for herself. Well, I thought I could make dresses from here and save up.”

  Tilde couldn’t help but smile. She’d known Betsy couldn’t be happy forever acting as her aunt’s companion. Perhaps she hadn’t done well at school, but she certainly hadn’t ever been feeble minded.

  Betsy fashioned Tilde’s hair into an elaborate updo with braids and curls. Then Betsy dressed herself in a second gown, a similar creation in amethyst taffeta.

  Her sister impressed her to no end.

  Aunt Nellie nodded in approval as they climbed into her ancient carriage. Marvelle House was a Palladian mansion across from Hyde Park. It appeared like a Greek temple set amongst the rows of townhouses. It stood three stories high and ornately carved columns flanked the large front entryway. Numerous coaches, some shiny and new, and others more weathered, lined up to set down their passengers onto the carpet rolled out to the pavement.