all here for the same reason?” Angelica asked Lucy under her breath. It had not occurred to her until then that Sterling would want to invite a selection of potential brides. She groaned at the prospect of having to compete – or rather of having her mother insist she do – against other women.
“Well,” Lucy mumbled, barely loud enough for Angelica to hear, “I doubt they’ve come for the sake of the weather.”
Angelica pinched her lips together to keep from laughing and decided right then and there that she and Lucy were going to get along splendidly. “Did your invitation allude to forming an attachment with the viscount?”
“Mm…hmm.”
“Then we’re here for precisely the same reason. To vie for his hand.”
“I’d rather not,” Lucy muttered.
Angelica felt much the same but knew it was too late to back out now. After all, they were here and if she didn’t make an effort, she’d only upset her mother. Not to mention, she wasn’t entirely sure what she’d do if she did not marry somebody. The last thing she wanted to be was a burden. Compared with that horrifying possibility, marriage seemed like a very acceptable outcome. And who knew? Perhaps Viscount Sterling would turn out to be the man of her dreams – a man with whom she could see herself falling hopelessly in love.
“And you are?”
Angelica stared at the haughty blonde who’d materialized before her for a good three seconds before recalling her manners and forcing a smile. “Lady Angelica Northbridge. And this is my friend, Miss Lucinda Harlow.”
“I am Lady Seraphina.” Her Haughtiness raised her chin just enough to stare down her nose at Angelica. “My father is the Duke of Guildenridge, which practically makes me royal.” She tittered – tittered – like some shrill canary. And then the edge of her mouth tilted into a mocking caricature of a smile. “Well, it was lovely to meet you.” She didn’t spare Lucy one glance. “I’m sure we’ll get to know each other better in the coming days.” This was said with a hint of foreboding before she turned away.
“A duke’s daughter,” Lucy said with awe. “Why on earth would she ever consider marrying a viscount?”
Angelica snorted. “I suspect her winning personality and meekness must be to blame.”
“What an awful thing to say.” Lucy chuckled.
“Why? I didn’t insult her.”
“Yes you did.”
Angelica supposed Lucy did have a point, but she was prevented from commenting further since Rose approached at that moment and promptly began introducing her to the remaining three ladies. Matilda Stevens was the only child of a wealthy landowner, Clare St. James was an orphan whose guardian was a baron, and Anna Chesterfield’s father was untitled, though the second son of an earl. None said enough for Angelica to form much of an opinion on either of them.
She took a deep breath and shared a quick look of despair with her mother. For although she might have been rapidly approaching a state of spinsterhood, she never would have thought she deserved to be grouped with what appeared to be the least marriageable women on the market. It was harrowing, to be sure, and frankly quite sad. Worst of all was the prospect of having to prove she’d make the most suitable wife. Nothing appealed less.
All she wanted was to go home.
“Ah. I see you are all assembled,” a breezy feminine voice said. It belonged to an elegant woman of slim build with a lovely face and hair that shone like gold. “I am Mrs. Essex, housekeeper to Lord Sterling and this…”
Angelica didn’t hear anything else the woman said. She was too busy wondering how a young woman who looked as she did could possibly be a housekeeper to anyone.
“Angelica,” Rose hissed right next to her ear.
“What?”
“Shall we follow Mrs. Essex upstairs so she can show us to our rooms?”
“Oh. Um. Isn’t there a butler?”
Rose shook her head in dismay and gave Angelica’s hand a tug. The rest of the party had started climbing the stairs while she’d been woolgathering. “Mrs. Essex just introduced him. He’s the older gentleman over there issuing orders to the footmen. Clarkson is his name.”
Angelica cast a glance toward the spot her mother indicated and instantly found the man to whom she referred. Gray hair and a serious demeanor, she noted with some satisfaction. He fit his role so much better than Mrs. Essex did hers.
“Dinner will be served at precisely seven o’clock,” Mrs. Essex told Angelica once she’d shown her to her room. Apparently the mansion