Page 1 of The Meddler
Prologue
Number 38 Grosvenor Square
1811
The six womenwho gathered in Lady Featherstone’s richly furnished drawing room were past that time when they might find themselves with child. From afar, they appeared extraordinarily fortunate—they had married well, and to acceptably genial lords, and they had kept up their end of the marital bargain. All six women had produced an heir. Some of them had gone on to deliver a spare. One of them had supplied the world with a distressing number of spares and was rather relieved that they’d stopped arriving.
What none of them had held in their arms, though, was a daughter. A dear, darling girl had failed to make an appearance.
As the ladies became better acquainted throughout the seasons, the whispers of this grave disappointment grew more insistent. Conversations crossed card tables and were had in quiet corners. There were sad and knowing nods at some other woman’s bright young girl at the pianoforte.
The ladies’ husbands were delighted with the circumstances of their lives—they had heirs and no dowries to put aside. The ladies were not so sanguine and the loss they shared had bound them to one another.
When they’d first begun welcoming sons, the idea of a girl had been ever-present. Some beautiful little thing would make her appearance and they would dress her in fine lawn and soft silk. There would be quiet teas, company at sewing, carriage rides in the park, and someone to read to them on dreary afternoons. The darling girl would grow and there would be a full year’s preparation for her launch. Even after she was married, this adored daughter would write for advice or to relay interesting news about her own children.
How was it that this perfect little being had never arrived? How was it that their houses were sadly empty, their sons at school or carousing the Town with friends, and their husbands forever at their clubs?
The ladies, being so little used to disappointments of any sort, began to form an idea. Letters flew across England from estate to estate with growing rapidity. All manner of suggestions were examined, not the least of which were the charming pictures painted of maternal felicity. Their notions of daughters they might call their own were added to with delightful abandon and they imagined being showered with girlish gratefulness and affection. It began to feel as if they must go forward, they could not put aside the dream.
And so, this first meeting was the result.
The women fiddled with their fans and reticules and barely contained their excitement over the inception of The Society of Sponsoring Ladies. They may not haveborndaughters, but they could still launch a few.
Of course, at that exciting moment in their history, none of them could have foreseen that their lives would shortly be turned upside down, their households thrown topsy-turvy, or that handwringing would become a new and frequent habit. They could not predict that the worthy young ladies they would sponsor might not be the meek and demure creatures of their fevered imaginations. They could not know that at some later date they would turn to each other to inquire whose idea this had been in the first place.
That was only to be expected—one neverdoesanticipate such things.
Chapter One
Anne Buxton, knownin the wider world as Lady Featherstone, poured tea and handed it out to the five ladies gathered round her prized pink marble table. She deliberately stayed silent until the doors to her drawing room were firmly shut. Handing the last cup to Lady Redfield, she said, “The first meeting of our society has officially commenced. We shall, over the course of the next few years, launch a series of worthy young ladies.”
The Duchess of Stanbury set down her cup with firm deliberation. “Through our diligent and, if I may say it,nobleefforts,” she said, “we shall be the means of these disadvantaged girls’ entrée into the society they were rightfully born to.”
Lady Featherstone nodded in acknowledgement, knowing full well that Theodosia would not be satisfied until she had worked in the idea of nobility.
“We are agreed, then,” Lady Easton said, “that we look for girls who are disadvantaged through no fault of their own? What I mean to say is, their parents or guardians, though eminently respectable, are not in possession of the necessary…funds.”
“Oh, I think we must be of the same mind as to that,” Lady Redfield said, always liking to be in agreement. “That way, their parents must stay behind in the country, and it will be just as if we ourselves are the girls’ mamas.”
There were long and gentle sighs over this idea, as that was the shining purpose of their newly-founded society—to find themselves acting as mamas to any number of charming young ladies.
Lady Featherstone instantly noted that one lady amongst them did not join in the gentle sighing. She was not the least surprised by it. Though Lady Heathway could not know it, she had long ago been tagged by society’s wits as Lady Naysay.
“We ought to have rules and procedures, though,” Lady Heathway said. “How we open a meeting and such.”
“I just opened it, Penelope,” Lady Featherstone said with some aspersion. Though she had known Lady Heathway since they were girls and was very fond of her, the woman was diabolical in her efforts to complicate things with procedures.
“Yes, let us not get twisted up in endless rules,” Lady Easton said. “We have all known each other forever, I expect we can manage our meetings well enough.”
“But we have not even discussed the particulars,” Lady Heathway said. “We’ve only thought of how pleasant it will be and that is not at all sufficient. For instance, if we introduce a girl into the marriage mart, what do we offer? Her parents will not have the means of providing a suitable dowry. There may not be a dowry at all if the family’s circumstances are particularly dire.”
Lady Featherstone’s brow wrinkled just a bit over this question. She had to admit to herself that though Penelopewasan awful naysayer, she was also often the most practical among them.
“We will add two thousand pounds to whatever she comes with,” the Duchess of Stanbury said. “The final amount will surely not be the largest dowry dangling and may well be the smallest, but respectable all the same. Further, the marriage will haveourstamp of approval, which must be worth thousands on its own.”
“Two thousand pounds,” Lady Featherstone whispered. “My lord will have a lot to say about that, and none of it pleasant.”
“As will the duke,” the duchess said, waving her hands as if this were an inconsequential point. “It is of no importance, Anne. I will run over my duke, you will run over your viscount. We will pummel down and barrel past any objections. After all, can we not make life miserable if we so choose? Would our lords not have had to pay out far more if they had their own daughters? Do we notrequirethese funds for our own happiness?”
