She was sure she would find such a man. And soon, she hoped, before it all came crashing down around them.
And naturally before she agreed to marry him, she would explain all about her background. She had no intention of entering a marriage based on deception.
She picked up her book again, but turned her head as hurried footsteps sounded on the path.
“Izzy?” It was Clarissa. “A lady has just arrived. I think it’s the chaperone.”
***
The two girls hurried back into the house, where they found a plump, well-preserved woman in the hall, directing the servants to carry up a neat valise and two bandboxes that a coachman had carried in from a dusty traveling carriage.
She was dressed from head to toe in unrelieved black—black dress, a voluminous black cloak, and black kidskin gloves. Her hat was... strange—black straw decorated with black cherries, black leaves, and what looked like a stuffed black... canary? Her earrings and necklace were made of jet, and even her eyes were so dark as to look black. She seemed to absorb all the light in the hall.
The girls exchanged glances. This was their new chaperone? It didn’t look promising.
She can’t be planning a long stay, Izzy thought hopefully, not with only one medium-size valise and two bandboxes.
“Such a journey, I’m utterly shattered,” the woman said to nobody in particular. She shrugged off her cloak.Treadwell caught it before it hit the floor. “Ah, Treadwell,” she said briskly as if she knew him very well, “in twenty minutes I’ll want a large pot of strong tea in the sitting room, and a plate of whatever cakes or biscuits your cook can provide.”
She turned, saw the girls and smiled. “You must be Miss Clarissa and Miss Isobel. Delightful to meet you. I’m Mrs. Price-Jones.”
They greeted her cautiously and she laughed. “I look like the Black Crow of Doom, don’t I, but I assure you I had not a thing to wear. The minute my poor husband breathed his last, my wretched stepson had the servants dye every last thing I owned black—even my favorite hat!” She pulled a face. “They’re all very grim and serious up there. So for a whole year and two weeks it’s been nothing but black, black, black for me. So dreadfully gloomy! And if my stepson had his way, I’d be draped in widow’s weeds for the rest of my days. Luckily Olive’s letter has enabled me to escape.”
“ ‘Olive’s letter’?” Izzy repeated.
“Didn’t she mention me?”
“No.”
Mrs. Price-Jones chuckled. “Typical. She wrote to me, saying I was urgently needed, and once she’d sealed the letter and given it to Treadwell to post, she no doubt forgot all about it.”
It was very like Lady Scattergood, Izzy had to admit.
The woman beamed at them. “Althea Price-Jones, widowed one year and two weeks ago, and until now, stuck in the wilds of north Wales.”
She unpinned her hat and handed it to Treadwell, who received it with a dubious expression. “Olive wrote that she didn’t go about much these days, but that she had two delightful young ladies making their come-out who were in need of a chaperone. Naturally I seized the opportunity—sheep and mountains and daffodil meadows are all verywell, but they don’t compare with London! So here I am. I’ll just pop upstairs and make myself comfortable”—she winked—“and then I’ll be down for a cup of tea and a little something to eat. Cannot wait to get to know you gels.”
Without further ado, she bustled up the stairs, seeming to know exactly where she was going.
“I’m not at all sure about this,” Izzy murmured to Clarissa as Mrs. Price-Jones disappeared up the stairs. “She seems quite bossy. She’s even got Treadwell hopping to it.”
Clarissa nodded. “Though I did like the way she called herself the Black Crow of Doom.”
“Let’s hope it’s not prophetic,” Izzy said.
Twenty minutes later, their new chaperone sat presiding over the tea tray, firing questions at the girls, drinking tea and eating cake.
“Finding husbands, is it?” she asked them, and they explained that yes, they wished to marry, that Clarissa was an heiress and Izzy needed a practical marriage. By mutual agreement they’d decided not to mention Izzy’s illegitimacy. The fewer people who knew about that the better.
Her finely plucked brows rose. “Only the eldest girl inherits? How peculiar. Still, we’ll have no trouble firing you both off. Oh, the London season, how I’ve missed it.”
“This is not your first visit to London then, Mrs. Price-Jones?” Clarissa asked.
“Heavens no, I grew up and made my come-out here—how do you think I know Olive and everyone?” She sighed. “Had I not fallen madly in love with my beloved Price-Jones, I would never have gone to dwell in far-flung obscurity.” She brightened. “Still, I’m here now and cannot wait to dive back into society with you gels. Such fun. Who made your clothes?”
Izzy blinked at the sudden change of topic. “Miss Chance off Piccadilly.”
Mrs. Price-Jones nodded. “I like her style. We’ll go there after lunch.” She laughed at their expressions. “Well,you don’t think I’m going to escort you to parties dressed like this, do you?”
