Improper (The Phoenix Club #1) - Darcy Burke Page 0,13

be funding her undergarments, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Perhaps she could persuade Lady Pickering that she didn’t require new chemises or corsets. Except new outerwear would demand undergarments that complemented the fit of the clothing. Fiona knew at least that much. Her mind swam.

“What will our first event be?” Overton asked pleasantly.

Lady Pickering’s brow gently creased in a pensive expression. “It is still early in the Season, so it is likely too cold to promenade in the park for another fortnight. And of course, no Vauxhall or other outdoor entertainments. The larger balls will not be scheduled for several weeks.”

Overton looked disappointed. “That long?”

Cocking her head, Lady Pickering regarded him with curiosity. “Has so much time elapsed since you participated in the Season? I had thought it was just last year that you were…occupied.”

Having sufficiently cleared her thoughts, at least for the moment, Fiona looked toward the earl. Occupied how?

“I’m afraid I’m the worst sort of gentleman who doesn’t pay close enough attention to such things.”

“Precisely why you should seek a wife, my lord.” Lady Pickering gave him a knowing smile.

Was he looking to marry this Season? Given his age, it seemed he should. In fact, she wondered why he wasn’t wed already.

“As to upcoming events,” Lady Pickering continued, “I have procured an invitation for Miss Wingate and even for you, Overton.” Even for him? What did that mean? Why hadn’t he already been invited? Weren’t earls invited to everything? Fiona had so many questions. Or perhaps she had too many assumptions.

“Excellent,” the earl said without revealing any reaction to what Lady Pickering had said. “When is this event?”

“A smaller ball on Saturday evening hosted by Lord and Lady Edgemont.” Lady Pickering looked to Fiona. “That will be an excellent foray into Society.”

“So soon?” she asked, her insides twisting anxiously.

“Don’t fret, Fiona, you will be a grand success,” Mrs. Tucket said with a bright confidence that made Fiona feel better. Of all the people here, her opinion mattered the most because she knew Fiona. Her words would not be empty platitudes. “You won’t be alone either. You’ll have Lady Pickering and Miss Lancaster at your side.”

But not Mrs. Tucket, and it seemed her former maid knew that. Fiona felt a bit sad, but if Mrs. Tucket was all right with it, she would be too.

“That’s right,” Lady Pickering said. “And don’t worry about it being early in the Season, the Marriage Mart is still open.” She winked at Fiona, whose insides turned to ice.

Did they expect her to wed immediately? She’d only just arrived in London. She understood—vaguely—that young ladies had Seasons in order to find a husband. But weren’t there other reasons? Couldn’t a young woman have a Season to meet people and make friends? To experience new things and learn? To dance and promenade without any pressure to wed?

She wanted to ask but didn’t dare. Because she feared she already knew the answer.

Later that night, Fiona walked into the sitting room she shared with Prudence after paying a visit to Mrs. Tucket in her room. Prudence, seated in a high-backed chair near the fireplace, looked up from the book she was reading. “How is Mrs. Tucket?”

“Quite well, actually.” Fiona sat in the other chair near the hearth. “She confessed her relief to not have to accompany me to Society events. She was also pleased to learn that the card game every Sunday is not with women such as Lady Pickering.” This had been a chief concern, for Mrs. Tucket was, at heart, a country maid of all work and wasn’t interested in moving in Society circles. On the way to the modiste, Lady Pickering had clarified that the game consisted of retired housekeepers and ladies’ maids, women like Mrs. Tucket.

It seemed Mrs. Tucket was now retired, and the only question that remained was whether she would remain in London or return to Bitterley. For now, she wanted to stay here with Fiona. If she wouldn’t be her chaperone, she at least wanted to provide support—and love—as the only person who truly knew her.

“How nice,” Prudence murmured, demonstrating again that she was a woman of few words and low volume. Indeed, she’d uttered barely a handful of sentences the entire time they’d been shopping that afternoon.

Fiona regarded her for a moment. “I can’t decide if you’re shy or reserved.”

Prudence appeared confused. “Aren’t they the same thing?”

“I think shy is something you can’t help, and reserved is something you do. Perhaps because you’re shy.” Fiona