The Price of Indiscretion

1805

“N
o, I absolutely will not do it
,” Miranda Cameron told her sisters, Charlotte and Constance. “I don’t want to marry.” She attempted to yank her arm away from her oldest sister’s hold and hurry out the door, but Charlotte held fast.

They stood in the entrance hallway of Beardsley’s, a popular but respectable inn located close to the New York docks, where Charlotte had caught Miranda before she could bolt out the door. A group of men had to squeeze by them on their way to the taproom. Aware of the curious glances, Charlotte pulled Miranda into a corner, so as to shield their conversation from prying ears, and replied, “You
must
go. If you don’t, we shall never amount to anything. We are the granddaughters of an earl—”

“One who drank and gambled his fortune away,” Miranda shot back.

“As if the rest of them don’t?” Charlotte said.

“How would you know?” Miranda challenged. “We’ve lived our lives in the Ohio Valley, not London. This is the farthest either of us has ever traveled.”

“I listen to everything I can about the nobility,” her sister answered. “I ask questions and remember everything Mother told us—”

“I remember, too,” Miranda said, stung by the implied accusation that she could have forgotten their mother in any way.

“Then you know what she wanted for us,” Charlotte said. “Constance was too young when she died, but you
know
.”

Miranda did know. Their mother, who had died in an Indian raid fifteen years earlier, had never wanted them to forget they had the blood of the Conqueror flowing through their veins.

“She’d have wanted us to return to London, to find proper husbands,” Charlotte said.

“But I thought Mother and Papa were a love match? I thought they were happy,” Constance said. She was nineteen, the youngest. Charlotte and Miranda were twenty-six and twenty-five, and only ten months apart.

“They were,” Miranda answered. “Although she didn’t have many choices when our grandfather died. Being an earl’s daughter with no family, no relatives, not even a farthing to her name didn’t give her many choices. Everything had to be sold around her to meet his debts. She was lucky to have met Father.”

“Who promised to make her wealthy,” Charlotte said with a trace of bitterness.

“I don’t think she was unhappy,” Miranda argued. “They loved each other. I just don’t believe she realized how hard it would be over here.”

“Or how violent,” Charlotte tacked on, reminding them all why they had chosen to leave the frontier. There had been another Indian uprising. A family no more than two miles from the Cameron Trading Post had been massacred. Having seen their mother and baby brother die the same way, all three girls were ready to begin new lives. They had nothing holding them there.

Charlotte gave Miranda’s arm a squeeze. “We are the granddaughters of an earl. We have a chance to return to England, and I want it, Miranda. I want it for all of us.”

“Then let us take the money and go,” she countered, referring to eight hundred pounds they’d found hidden in a secret drawer under the counter where their father had counted pelts. “That’s what we had planned to do.”

The money had been a complete surprise. Their father, who had died suddenly the month before, had always pleaded poverty. They’d not expected to inherit anything and had thought themselves worse off than their mother had once been. When a German had offered to buy their small stake in the Cameron Trading Post, the girls had gladly accepted the pittance he’d been willing to pay, especially after the deaths of the William and Nell McBride and their children.

Then fortune finally smiled on the Camerons. While cleaning the one-room trading post for the new owner, Constance had accidentally hit her head on the counter edge when she rose from the floor. A secret drawer had slid open, and inside was eight hundred British pounds. Where it had come from, they didn’t know. Perhaps their mother had had a dowry, and their parents had saved it for them. Considering the bitter man their father had become, it wasn’t likely. However, this money gave them possibilities.

“Go to England and go where?” Charlotte countered. “To live in some potter’s hovel?”

“We could live very nicely,” Miranda snapped.

“Except that we deserve better,” her sister shot back, “and you can get it for us. Lady Overstreet is right. Your face is our real fortune.”

At the mention of the woman’s name, all three sisters glanced back into the taproom where Lady Overstreet sat calmly sipping her mug of cider. She wore her gloves as she did it, treating the rough pottery as if it were the finest china.

She also seemed blissfully unaware of the stir she was making in the taproom. The crowd in the room was predominantly male. They stood at the bar and huddled over tables, the boisterous sound of men doing business filling the air.

Lady Overstreet was like an island of blue figured silk and elegance in their midst. Even the other women paled in comparison. From the moment Charlotte had introduced Miranda to Her Ladyship, Miranda had been self-conscious of her own homespun clothing and moccasins.

And now this woman with her velvet cap sporting a long, curling red feather held in place with a diamond pin, this woman who moved with grace and spoke in a cultured tone, had hatched a scheme with Charlotte to find a titled and wealthy husband for Miranda.

“What do we know of her?” Miranda asked, turning back to her sisters.

“Reverend Hocken is the one who introduced us. He believed she was who she said she was,” Charlotte answered.

Miranda shook her head. “This whole idea is ridiculous.”

Charlotte made an irritated sound. “Why are you always so pessimistic about my ideas? This one could work. Mother taught us what we needed to know. Lady Overstreet says that with a bit more polish, you could easily catch the attention of a hundred nobles.”

Now it was Miranda’s turn to be irritated. “I’m not any more lovely than you,” she threw back.

Charlotte’s expression softened. “My dear sister, you are. There is something about you that men like. Have you not noticed that most of the men in this inn can’t take their eyes off of you?”

“Or you. Or Constance,” Miranda insisted. “Charlotte, you are the one who came up with this marriage scheme. You should go. I don’t have your courage or Constance’s sweetness.”

Charlotte’s eyes hardened with determination. “I would go if I had half as good a chance as you of marrying the right sort of man. I don’t want you to marry just anyone, Miranda. He must have a title. It’s up to us to earn back what should have been ours in the beginning.”

“I don’t want to marry.” There, Miranda had stated it as flatly as she could.

Her older sister pulled back. “Not ever marry?”

“No.”

“What of children?” Charlotte asked. “Don’t you want a family?”

“I have you two,” Miranda answered.

“But what of love?” Constance wondered. “Don’t you ever yearn for one person who’ll be beside you forever and ever?”

Both Charlotte and Miranda turned, surprised by their younger sister.

“Well, don’t you?” Constance demanded. “Don’t you think it important?”

Oh yes, Miranda thought love very important, important enough that she had sacrificed all for it—including the happiness of her sisters.

It was her fault that Thomas Grimshaw the farrier had broken his promise to marry Charlotte and that none of the valley lads came calling on Constance. Her fault alone.

“So, have you reached a decision?” Lady Overstreet’s voice said from behind them.

Startled, Miranda turned to face Her Ladyship. In the emotions of the moment, they had all but forgotten her.

Charlotte made the apologies. “Please, we beg your pardon, my lady. We didn’t mean to ignore you.”

“Then come back to the table,” Lady Overstreet said, “so we can discuss this in a civilized manner. And, Miranda, no more jumping up and running off. It upsets your sisters.”

She didn’t wait for a response but walked back to their table, signaling to the serving girl for more cider and biscuits, which would be paid for out of their money.

Charlotte shot Miranda an impatient look and followed. Constance hesitated, not wanting to show favoritism to either sister. This was the way it had always been since their mother’s death. Constance and Charlotte caring for Miranda. Feeling a bit ashamed at her churlishness, Miranda placed her hand on her sister’s arm and guided her back to the table.

“I don’t want you to do something you don’t want to do,” Constance whispered.

Miranda hushed her. “I never do.” They crossed the uneven hardwood floor to the table and sat down. A gentleman by the bar caught Miranda’s eyes and tilted his head toward her. She quickly looked away.

Lady Overstreet noticed the exchange. She frowned over her shoulder, and the gentleman dropped his gaze to the mug of ale in his hand.

The serving girl arrived with the plate of biscuits. Lady Overstreet hovered over it, taking her time in picking out a biscuit with one gloved hand.

Beneath the table, Miranda rubbed her hands together. They still bore the calluses of years of hard work. She doubted if beneath those gloves Lady Overstreet’s hands had ever even seen a blister.

“So, did you young women resolve your differences?” Lady Overstreet asked.

Miranda didn’t meet her eye but focused on the serving girl, who refilled their mugs from a pitcher of sweet cider.

“I don’t know,” Charlotte answered. “Miranda doesn’t want to marry.”

“Not marry?” Lady Overstreet repeated, looking down her nose at Miranda. “Of course you must marry. You don’t want to live a spinster.”

“I don’t like the idea of selling myself,” Miranda replied, pleased to have happened upon a lofty excuse.

Lady Overstreet made a dismissive sound. “When it comes to marriage, every woman sells herself. Some just do it better than others. Now, your sister Charlotte has the right idea. Each of you is so lovely. There is no reason for you not to marry well, especially with that little fortune you possess.”

“I’ve suggested we all go,” Miranda answered.

“As I explained earlier, you don’t have enough money,” Lady Overstreet said. “There are the ship’s fares for myself and the girl going with me, then transportation to London, a new wardrobe, rent for a respectable house at a fashionable address—”

“Can’t we let a less fashionable place?” Miranda challenged.

“My dear girl, no.” Lady Overstreet leaned forward. “Do you know what you are up against? What you want to accomplish? There is a fortune to be made in London with your face, but you’ll get nothing if you are not found up to snuff.”

“I’ve suggested Charlotte go,” Miranda said stiffly.

“And I believe if only one of us goes, it should be Miranda,” Charlotte said. “I’m the oldest. It is my responsibility to stay with Constance.”

Miranda faced her sister. “No one has to stay behind.”

“No.” Charlotte’s brows came together. “You don’t understand. I’ve discussed this with Lady Overstreet, and it will take every penny we have to do this correctly. We are staking everything on our futures. It’s all or nothing. This is the life Mother would have wanted for us. It’s our birthright.”

“This is such a preposterous scheme,” Miranda argued, but before she could say more, Lady Overstreet commanded her attention by slapping her hand down on the table.

“Listen to me and mark my words well. I’m not in this endeavor for charity reasons. This whole idea of my sponsoring you into society and you marrying well enough to land the title your sister wants and the money all four of us desperately need—”

“You are desperate for money?” Miranda interrupted.

“Of course,” Her ladyship replied. “Do you think I would be in this backward city if I wasn’t? I want to return to society, and eight hundred pounds is a pittance compared to what you can claim.”

“It’s more than enough to live on,” Miranda returned.

Then Charlotte spoke up. “But it is the title we want, Miranda. Our pride demands it. I’ve had it with women looking down their noses at us and treating us as if we were worth less than spit. I want what is ours. Lady Overstreet can help us.”

“For a price,” Miranda pointed out.

“Yes, for a price,” Her Ladyship said. “You repeat that as if it is a sin to need money. Well, young lady, these are hard times. If my husband had been a better manager of his money or lived longer, I would not have been forced to leave the country ahead of my creditors. However, now I have the opportunity to return, and in style. I know the
ton.
I have connections. You girls have bloodlines and beauty—”

“That don’t matter at all here,” Miranda insisted.

“But they are worth their weight in London.” Lady Overstreet sat back. “Have you heard of the Gunning sisters?”

The sisters shook their heads.

“They were Irish. Good families. Stunning beauties. They came to London with nothing to their names and conquered the fashionable world. One even married a duke.”

“A duke?” Charlotte repeated in wonder.

“What? Did you think you would have to settle for mere earls?” Lady Overstreet smiled. “Her duke loved her dearly. But as beautiful as those girls were, they were not a match for you. The three of you possess everything womanly and good, and those blue eyes of yours are unforgettable. They have the same clear radiance as beautiful jewels. And then there are the characteristics that make you each unique. I admire your hair, Charlotte. It has the rich, deep color of golden ale. I immediately liked your intelligence and your forthright manner. It’s a gift.”

She looked to Constance. “And there is a sweetness about you, Constance, that is not in the others. You are soft and loving, and yet there is strength, too. I like the fact your hair is darker than your sisters’. It provides a nice contrast. The sun has brought out the gold in the brown a bit too much but time will take care of that. As I said before, we must work on your manners, but you possess great possibilities.”

“Thank you,” Constance said, blushing.

With a start, Miranda realized that because they had kept so much to themselves, her youngest sister had not known what it was like to have a man court her. She had not realized her beauty until Lady Overstreet’s words—and what a shame that was. Indeed, all three of them had kept to themselves. She could say it was because their father had guarded them closely from the trappers and travelers who had come by the trading post, but that would not be completely true. The men of the valley had avoided them. The women weren’t the only ones who had treated the Cameron sisters with scorn, and it was her fault.