Stevens parted her hair carefully while Charity pondered this. It was all so strange. Nothing appeared to make even a bit of sense. Her father loved her. He knew she wanted to marry for love. He never would have forced her to wed before she received her inheritance. Then again, she had seen the will, and it had said right there above her father's signature that Charity would inherit nothing unless she was married.
She narrowed her eyes. How exactly had Lord Markham known of the clause anyhow? How had anyone? She hadn’t been in London but a few weeks, but her cousin Milly had already told her the inheritance and the stipulation were talked about all over London.
I wonder if Markham only wants what I stand to inherit, and not me. That must be it. But what am I going to inherit that he would want?
She wondered. Was there something she was unaware of in her inheritance? Was she going to receive some grand diamond? A hidden vault with gold, goblets, and coins? And what of her mother? Was there something in the inheritance for her also? She wasn't generally motivated by finances, so what was it?
Stevens continued to work on her hair, carefully bringing down the front from the center and parting it to the ears. Then, she affixed the long, full ringlets with great care so they streamed down her cheeks and rested on her shoulders. It felt like an eternity, but perhaps it was not as bad as all that. After a while, Stevens stepped back.
“There, it looks lovely.”
“You did well,” Charity admitted, though she felt off with the extra weight of the hair on her head. She knew it was all the rage to wear one's hair like this, but she did not like it. Her hair was naturally curly, and she felt it was much nicer than the false curls now dangling from her head.
She stepped in front of the mirror and examined herself. The gown was lovely in its simplicity—which was now all the rage—made of silk and in a deep lavender. It struck her as understated and yet striking. The fitted bodice gave her a shape she did not usually advertise, while the ruffled sleeves added a bit of flair to the ensemble.
As with all her gowns, the skirt was voluminous thanks to the crinoline. She would dress it up with a brooch and some other jewels to make it stand out against the others. Not that she was feeling like going out at all.
“Everyone at Stafford House will be beside themselves just looking at you,” Stevens said.
“Nobody at Stafford House knows me,” Charity replied.
“But they will, they will,” her maid insisted, and as Charity looked at herself, she wasn't sure if that was a good thing—or a bad one.
CHAPTER3
Eammon
Eammon climbed the steps to his sister Hazel’s townhouse two at a time. He knocked once, and almost immediately, his sister’s butler, Mr. Jackson, opened the door.
“Your Grace,” he said with a smile.
“Jackson, how is the duchess this evening?”
Eammon momentarily closed his eyes and scolded himself for not having called her the dowager duchess, as was her title now. His father had been dead for nine months, and he was still not quite used to the new terms.
Before Jackson had a chance to reply, a familiar voice called out from the drawing room.
“Anxiously awaiting you, dear nephew,” his aunt Louisa said, joined shortly by her younger sister, Cressida.
“Louisa, Cressida,” he said warmly and embraced one, then the other.
He adored both of his aunts, but he and Cressida had always been closest. They were the same age, just a few months apart, and when he had first joined the family, she had been the one he had gravitated toward the most. Now she was married, and he hardly ever saw her, which was a great shame. However, their reunions were all the sweeter. As for Louisa, she and his mother had always been like twins, and as such, she was almost a third mother to him.
“I did not know you were here,” he said.
“Lord Clarke has business in town,” his aunt informed him, “so I have come to join him. I could not pass up a chance to see both Louisa and Lydia.” Then she dropped her voice. “I am glad you are here. Lydia is always so much happier when you are.”
“And yet she would not stay at Hayward, where she could have had the pleasure of my company every day of her life,” he said.
“You know how she is. She does not want to be a burden,” Louisa said gently.
“How would she be a burden in a house with fifteen servants? But I know—she did not want to stay because it reminded her too much of Father.” It was a truth they had to acknowledge for his mother’s departure had nothing to do with being a burden and they all knew it.
Louisa nodded. “You are not wrong,” she suggested. “But she misses you dreadfully.”
“I am here now.”
“Is that you, Eammon?” his mother called from the drawing room.
