“Oh, yes,” Eliza said, “and ever since I married, I’ve learned a great deal about running a household and keeping accounts. It can’t be that much harder to manage a business. We could even charge high rates so that we’re only doing it for those we prefer or know personally.”
“Exactly!” Verity said. “Besides, thetononly respects something when they have to pay buckets of money for it. The higher our rates, the more they’ll clamor to hire us. And if Eliza is going to live on an officer’s salary, she can use the money.”
Diana scowled at them both. “Verity, you realize that once you and I do this,ifwe do this, we can’t go back. There will be no more Seasons, no chance of finding a respectable husband.”
Verity snorted. “As if we have any hope of that now. Besides, I’ve lost my desire to stand around at balls hoping for a few moments of conversation or perhaps a single dance with a man. I’d much rather feather my nest for my future as a grande dame in society, bestowing my advice on the ladies I deign to recognize.” She cast Diana a sly look. “You must admit it would be a fitting revenge on all the society matrons turning up their noses at us. Lady Sinclair offered to pay us—why not take it?”
Because Diana feared she would come to regret it. Still, the siren song of a chance at independence, at living her life as she saw fit, was a powerful temptation. “I suppose if we wanted to keep from losing our standing, such as it is, we could always give our profits to charity.”
“Exactly!” Eliza’s face filled with excitement. “I wouldn’t need much for myself, and the rest could go to charities we pick.”
Sometimes Diana understood why their mother had tired of being under Papa’s thumb and bolted; all of Mama’s household duties had fallen to her and Verity. If they left, too, they could escape Papa’s constant criticisms and incessant demands. This way, they would be in a different household, assuming that Samuel Pierce would even allow Eliza to move her sisters into their home.
And why shouldn’t he? It would keep Eliza busy while he was away at war, and he could be sure she was looked after because her sisters were with her.
That was the main thing. Eliza needed them. How could they turn her down?
“Very well,” Diana said. “We can at least try to make this work.”
And on that night, Elegant Occasions was born.
Chapter One
London
Spring 1811
Geoffrey Brookhouse, the newly minted Duke of Grenwood, lowered the window of the Grenwood carriage and thrust his head out so he could better view the heavily trafficked Putney Bridge. Each time he’d traveled into the City from the Grenwood hunting lodge in Richmond Park, he’d crossed the Thames by a different bridge so he could examine its engineering. Regrettably, this would be his last crossing for a while. Today they were moving into Grenwood House in London.
Determined to see every bit of this particular bridge, he slid over to the other side of the carriage and looked out. Just as he was marveling at how admirably the wooden structure had held up for over eighty years, his timid sister, Rosabel, cleared her throat. Again.
Reluctantly, he stopped pondering why the engineers had used twenty-six arches in a river that had regular barge traffic. “Yes?” he asked, keeping his gaze out the window. “Do you need something, Rosy?”
The pet name seemed to give her pause. That was when their mother, also seated across the carriage from him, chose to intervene. “She needs your full attention, Son.”
Damn it all. “Fine.” He sat back to gaze at Rosabel.
At nineteen, she was a woman in every respect. But at eleven years his junior, she was still a child to him, the little girl with curly black hair and green eyes who’d giggled as he’d hauled her around the house in a miniature carriage. It didn’t help that she was wearing one of those white muslin dresses that never failed to remind him of christening gowns and innocence.
Although she’d been sheltered from birth,he’dbeen a bone of contention between his late father and late maternal grandfather—Josiah Stockdon, owner of the largest ironworks in England. Father and Grandfather had fought over his future until his grandfather had won.
Geoffrey didn’t regret having chosen his grandfather’s path—not one whit—but if he’d known then what he knew now . . .
No, it wouldn’t have made a difference. All it would have done was make him fight harder to protect his little sister from the catastrophe looming if anyone ever learned . . .
“I don’t want to go,” Rosy said in a small voice.
“Go where?” he asked.
“To this Elegant Occasions place.” Her fingers worried the white lace trim on her dress. “They’ll talk about me behind my back as everyone else does, and—”
“They won’t dare, and I won’t let them in any case. Your brother is a duke now, remember?”
“You were a duke at that musicale last week and it did no good, did it?”
He sighed, remembering the whispers and condescending looks. To London society he wasn’t really a duke. He certainly wasn’t one ofthem. So he understood how she felt, what it was like not to belong in one’s proper sphere, to be a river trout lost in an ocean of expectations and responsibilities that one wasn’t equipped to meet. Just yesterday—
This was not about him, blast it. It was about Rosy. And their mother, too, whether she knew it. Given how intently Mother watched the conversation, perhaps she did. Wasshefeeling the same about giving Rosy a Season in London?
