Lord Dearborn's Destiny (3 page)

She never did, thought Ellie, around any man other than the aforementioned Sir George. He was but a country squire, however, and not under consideration by Aunt Mabel as a potential husband for her daughter, baronet or no.

"I don't think you needed to say anything, dear," she said comfortingly. "Gentleman like to do most of the talking, I understand. Which is why I frighten them all away!" she added, and had the satisfaction of seeing her cousin smile. "There, that's better. Now here come two or three other gentlemen no doubt desirous of making your acquaintance. What a pity your mama didn't include flirting lessons along with all the others she required you to take!"
 

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"And who, may I ask, is that lovely girl you were just speaking with, Forrest?" asked Lady Dearborn as soon as her son reached her side. "She is quite the prettiest thing I have seen in an age!"

"I was rather taken with her myself, Mother, and would be speaking with her still had you not waved that ridiculous fan in my direction. I've never seen spangles quite so large before. And are those magpie feathers, perchance?"

"Raven," replied the countess with a flick of said fan that dislodged one of the myriad little black plumes. "You have not answered my question."

"Her name is Miss Rosalind Winston-Fitts, if you must know. And before you point it out, I am very much aware that she admirably fits your Madame Fortunata's description. A connection of hers, perhaps?" As he spoke, he wondered why he had not considered that possibility before.

"Not that I am aware of," returned Lady Dearborn with perfect composure. "I will make enquiries. Not that I can believe Cora capable of so abusing her powers, of course, but we might as well discover what we can about the girl's family."
 

In truth, she was nearly as startled as her son to see how close to the mark Mrs. Lawrence had come, especially since that lady had only been following her own suggestions. However, she was not one to whistle such a golden opportunity down the wind— assuming, of course, that the girl came of an acceptable background. She would indeed make enquiries, and quickly.

"Her father's Christian name is Emmett, if that will be of any help," offered the Earl offhandedly. He had a fairly accurate idea of the direction his mother's thoughts were taking and decided that a light tone was in order— for the present, at least.

The Countess eyed him shrewdly. "Quite taken with her, eh? Not that I blame you. Who are we mere mortals to struggle against Destiny?"

Forrest snorted, not very convincingly. "I believe I'll go see if there is a hand of whist forming. And if you don't mind, Mother, I'll shape my own destiny." He sauntered off, pointedly in the opposite direction from where Miss Winston-Fitts stood surrounded by half a dozen admirers.

"That's what they all like to believe," Lady Dearborn murmured to his retreating back.
 

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"Well, Emmett, was I not right about our Rosalind? There was not another young lady there so admired." Mrs. Winston-Fitts preened visibly over her triumph as they drove back to the Town house they had let for the Season.

Mr. Winston-Fitts withdrew his gaze from the prospect outside the carriage window to regard his wife with cynical amusement. "I don't recall that I ever disputed your judgement in the matter, my dear. No doubt Rosalind is well on her way to securing whatever husband you have selected for her." He returned his attention to the street scene without, refusing to be drawn into another protracted discussion of his daughter's expectations.

"How did you come to be acquainted with Lady Brookhaven, Aunt Mabel?" enquired Ellie from the other side of the carriage, as eager as her uncle for a change from the familiar subject.

"Oh, her mother and mine were great friends in their youth," replied Mrs. Winston-Fitts. "Dear Mama moved in the highest circles as a girl, you must know."

Ellie nodded. How could she not know, when Aunt Mabel referred to it at every opportunity? A far less frequent topic of discussion, however, was the fact that her dear mama had married a man of the mercantile persuasion, thereby securing the family fortune —a fortune she was obliging enough to pass on to her daughter. Mrs. Winston-Fitts had done everything in her power to rectify her mother's social breach by marrying back into the gentry, using that very fortune as her lever. Now, she was determined that Rosalind should take the process a step further by wedding a member of the peerage.

"Who did you like best among the gentlemen you met, Rosalind?" asked Ellie, feeling that her cousin's preferences should have some small bearing on the matter.

"I can hardly tell," replied Rosalind vaguely. "Everyone was so kind."

"Yes, yes, but surely one or two out of the crowd caught your eye," prompted Ellie. "Was there no one you found more handsome than the rest? What of that most attentive Lord Dearborn?" Ellie privately thought that no other gentleman there had come even close to the Earl in either appearance or address.

"Yes, he was well enough, I suppose," said Rosalind, "though he did tease. Sir Walter Mansfield was handsome, as well, and not so difficult to understand."

"Oh, my dear, Sir Walter cannot hold a candle to Dearborn, I assure you," interposed Mrs. Winston- Fitts. "Not only is his fortune smaller, but he has far less influence in the government. Lord Dearborn's position is of the highest, as would yours be as his countess."

Rosalind's blush was visible even in the darkened carriage. "Mama, you go too fast! I have no reason to anticipate an offer from either one of them."

"One can never begin planning too early for such an eventuality," replied her mother loftily. "No husband was ever caught without some little effort on the part of the lady. And Dearborn would be well worth any such effort."

Rosalind lapsed into an embarrassed silence.

To deflect Aunt Mabel's inevitable lecture on what was expected of her daughter, Ellie said quickly, "Let us not forget, ma'am, that the Season is only just begun. Perhaps Rosalind will catch the eye of a marquess, or even a duke, before it is over." Though Ellie could not imagine even a duke comparing with Lord Dearborn, she well knew that if one were to come along, a mere earl would be forgotten —by her aunt, at least.

As she had hoped, this happy suggestion turned Mrs. Winston-Fitts's thoughts to the possibility of even greater future triumphs and she proceeded to enumerate the eligible peers that Rosalind had not yet met. As she required no response to her monologue, Ellie was free to let her mind wander for the remainder of the drive.

Undoubtedly, many girls in Miss O'Day's position would have envied the beautiful, well-dowered Rosalind, but Ellie felt only a fond protectiveness towards her cousin. From birth, poor Rosalind had been prodded and moulded into her mother's idea of a perfect young lady of fashion, constantly supervised and corrected. She had never experienced the luxury of freedom, which Ellie had taken for granted most of her life— until the coaching accident two years earlier that had killed both her parents.

For the first seventeen years of her life, Ellie had been at liberty to roam the rolling countryside, both in northern England, where she had grown up, and in Ireland, on summer visits to her paternal grandfather. In spite of the endless economies required to stretch an insufficient income, her childhood had been happy, and she had enjoyed the unconditional love of both of her parents, something Rosalind had never really known. Uncle Emmett seemed scarcely to notice his daughter, while his wife doted on Rosalind more for the ambitions she might realize than for herself. To Ellie's way of thinking, it was Rosalind rather than herself who had led an underprivileged life.

Though she had grieved bitterly over the loss of her parents, Ellie could not really repine over her present position as a dependant in the Winston-Fitts household. Even as a poor relation, she lived in greater luxury than she had been accustomed to, and so long as she completed the various chores her aunt assigned her, she enjoyed far more freedom than did Rosalind. Because she had never aspired to the position and fortune that many girls hoped to achieve through marriage, the knowledge that she would now have little chance to attain them did not trouble her.

Even as she thought that, however, Lord Dearborn's face arose in her mind's eye. For a brief moment, she found herself regretting that she lacked the charms to appeal to a man like him. Swiftly, however, she pushed the fleeting notion aside. He seemed most kind, and would doubtless make Rosalind an excellent husband. Surely it was her duty as friend, cousin and companion to do everything in her power to help Rosalind to win him.
 

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"I'
VE
DECIDED
to spend a few weeks at Huntington Park," announced Lady Dearborn to her son several days later as she took breakfast in her rooms. "The roses will need tending, and I miss my pussies. I'll leave on the morrow, while the crescent moon is still increasing."

Forrest was not surprised. His mother had not spent an entire Season in London in years. Nor could he blame her; their country estate was glorious in the springtime, particularly in comparison to the dirty grey smokiness of the capital city.

"Perhaps I'll join you," he said thoughtfully, deliberately baiting her.

"At the height of the Season?" she exclaimed in shocked accents, just as he had known she would. "'Tis bad enough that I am deserting the fashionable world for the simple life. It would be rank cruelty to deprive the ton of both of us!" Her wink showed that she knew what he was about. "Besides, think of a certain young lady who would be left to the tender mercies of her other gallants."

Forrest's smile broadened.
"Touché,"
he said good-naturedly. "By the bye, have your enquiries anent that particular lady borne any fruit?" He had given up trying to conceal his interest in Miss Winston-Fitts from his mother, who was entirely too perceptive. Besides, if he made the girl his wife, as he had nearly decided he would, the Countess had every right to know.

"A few pieces, though not yet a full harvest," she replied, sharing the remains of her breakfast with Sapphire, the Siamese cat, who was happily ensconced in her lap. "The Winston-Fittses, as you may already know, are a very old family— older than ours, in fact— and Emmett Winston-Fitts hails from a most respectable branch of it. On
that
side, the girl's blood is as blue as you could wish." She paused, dangling a shred of bacon just out of Sapphire's reach.

"And on the other?" prompted Forrest. He could see that his mother intended dragging out her story for maximum effect, and he had no mind to spend the entire morning listening to it.

Lady Dearborn grimaced slightly. "The mother, I regret to say, was born Mabel Grimes. I have been unable to discover much else about her, but current rumour has her as the daughter of a prosperous textile merchant in or near Birmingham. Her mother, however, was apparently of gentle birth, according to Lady Brookhaven, who knew her in her youth. A Miss Wharton. The girl's dowry is quite impressive, by the way."

"No doubt from her maternal grandfather," commented the Earl. He was not particularly dismayed, or even surprised, by his mother's disclosures. Miss Winston-Fitts was by no means the first young lady to acquire the financial entree to Society in such a way.

Forrest knew that the girl's mercantile connections would not dampen his mother's enthusiasm for the match any more than they did his own. Still, he was in no great haste to offer for Miss Winston-Fitts, however lovely she might be. The Season was yet young, and he had scarcely exchanged ten words with her thus far, in spite of dancing twice with her at Mrs. Bullen's rout three nights since. At any rate, he would be foolish to commit himself for life before getting to know her better. He very much looked forward to furthering their acquaintance, in fact.

"Well, ma'am, I know you wouldn't wish me to introduce a cit into the family. You may trust me to keep my handkerchief safely in my pocket." He watched his mother keenly as he casually made this pronouncement.

Struggling up from the chaise in alarm, to the discommodation of Sapphire, the Countess hastened to undo the perceived damage. "Nonsense, Forrest! If you care for the girl I will throw no spoke in your wheel on that account, you may be sure. The girl's connections are not generally known, for the mother never mentions that side of her family, and even if they were, it would not signify. I can assure you that the Huntington name and the Dearborn title would not suffer in the least from such an alliance." She faltered to a stop as Forrest's grin revealed that he had been bamming her.

"You wretched boy!" she cried. "As if such considerations would weigh with you, anyway. I can't think why you wished me to make enquiries in the first place. It is high time I left London, and you to your own devices." She conveniently forgot that researching Miss Winston-Fitts's background had been her own idea.

"Town will be quite dull without you, ma'am," her son politely assured her, still grinning. "But I daresay I will manage somehow to keep myself amused." He rose to go.

"Forrest, wait! I have just had the most delightful idea!" the Countess exclaimed suddenly. "Why do we not have a house party at Huntington Park towards the end of the Season? It really does seem most unfair that you should spend the entire spring amidst the dirt of Town while I am enjoying the beauties of the country. Also, I should love to show off my rose gardens to our friends while they are at their best."

"Our friends, or the roses?" asked Forrest teasingly. "A capital idea, however, ma'am. You know that I will seize on any excuse to cut the Season short."