Chapter One
County Durham, September 1818
The London Season was over,and Society had retreated to its various country houses to continue their revelry in more private settings. For her part, Gillian Phelps retreated to Houghton Manor in Durham and embraced the revelry of time well spent on the grounds and in the surrounding countryside, tending to plants in the conservatory and indulging in a bit of correspondence with her closest friends. It was precisely how she spent all her time away from London.
She didn’t dislike the social whirl. She simply needed the balance of time in the country surrounded by nature after months in Town among theton.This year, however, she was leaving Durham—after not nearly enough time there—to attend a house party. She had never been a guest at a house party before, though she’d heard many tales of them, both from those she knew in Society and from Mrs. Brownlow, her benefactress and the mistress of Houghton Manor. Gillian fluctuated between being disappointed at leaving the peace and quiet of Houghton Manor and worried that she would make an utter cake of herself at her very first house party.
She considered herself intelligent and clever. Society hadn’t declared her a complete disaster, though that was owed more to the tutelage and support of her friends than to any social ability on her part. She belonged to a group of friends known throughout Society as the Huntresses, their fearless leader being Artemis Jonquil, whose ancient namesake was the goddess of the hunt and leader of her own band of huntresses. The seven members of Artemis’s band were the very closest of friends.
Gillian would not have admitted to having a favorite, but she didn’t imagine it had escaped the notice of the Huntresses that she and Daria Mullins, one of their number, were particularlyclose. Indeed, Daria was at Houghton Manor now, the two of them having decided to make the journey to Cumberland together. Daria had arrived two days earlier, and their time together had been as delightful as ever. The Mullins family hadn’t the financial hardships Gillian’s family did, but they had struggles of their own: animosity, anger, and general misery. Perhaps that was what had endeared the two of them to each other so quickly—their families had proven more a difficulty in their lives than a comfort.
Their traveling trunks were packed, and they would be departing that very day. Daria, friend that she was, had agreed to a final walk around the grounds. Gillian took a moment to enjoy the flowers and the lush green trees. Autumn would settle in soon enough. She didn’t mind the change of seasons but loved nature all year round. For the last seven years, Mrs. Brownlow had allowed Gillian to have a hand in the gardens and lawns and expanses of Houghton Manor. Gillian had adored every minute of it.
“Artemis says there will be gentlemen at the house party.” Daria sounded nervous about that possibility.
“She does love a crowd.” Gillian knew that well enough.
“These gentlemen are Charlie’s friends, and they’ve studied at Cambridge.” Now Daria looked as nervous as she sounded. “They’re likely intellectuals and academics like he is. They will think me an utter featherhead.”
“Only if they are complete dunderheads themselves,” Gillian declared. Daria was not the most scientifically or logically minded, but she was far from stupid. “Artemis would not invite people to her house who would mistreat her Huntresses, no matter their friendship with her husband. I believe we can move forward with some confidence on this matter.”
“But what if they’ve hidden their nefariousness well and even Charlie doesn’t realize what they are truly like?”
Gillian set her shoulders and faced her dear friend. “Then we will do just what Artemis has taught all of us to do in the face of Society’s disagreeableness. We know how to do battle.”
Some of Daria’s confidence returned. “Retreat. Wield a shield. Return fire.”
Those were Artemis’s three strategies for facing Society, ones she had long ago instilled in all the Huntresses, and the strategies had proven invaluable. When faced with cruelty or mistreatment or insults or any number of unpleasantries Society so often doled out, they would choose from that list. Retreat: ignore or leave the situation. Wield a shield: deflect the attack or change the topic. Return fire: stand firm and defend themselves.
“What is the strategy if a gentleman proves more handsome than one was expecting?” Daria asked with a glint of laughter in her eyes. “Swooning, I assume.”
“I have no intention of swooning,” Gillian assured her.
“I’ve seen you swoon over enough gentlemen to know it is entirely possible that you will.” Daria grinned. “I know all your secrets.”
Oh, but she didn’t. Gillian made perfectly sure of that. “Swoonis too strong a word. I haveappreciateda few gentlemen over the years, especially those who were handsome and not scoundrels.”
Their path took them near the house once more. Mrs. Millard, the housekeeper, stepped out onto the terrace as they passed. “Begging your pardon, Miss Phelps. Mrs. Brownlow is requesting that you visit with her before your departure.”
Daria nudged Gillian toward the door. “Go on. I’ll meet you at the carriage.”
Gillian slipped into the corridor. She didn’t mind the delay in their journey to the house party, and not merely because she was nervous about undertaking something so new to her. She adored Mrs. Brownlow. Time spent with her was never a burden.
Mrs. Brownlow had known Gillian’s mother when they were younger. Upon hearing of the Phelps family’s reversal of fortune a few years after Mother’s death, the dear lady had extended an invitation for Gillian to come stay with her at Houghton Manor. Father had sent Gillian along to County Durham but hadn’t joined her on that journey. When he had come to Houghton Manor months later, he had not done so out of fatherly concern. He’d not truly been a part of Gillian’s life in seven years. He’dchosennot to be, something Gillian tried hard not to think about.
Mrs. Brownlow had introduced Gillian to the household and any and all of her visitors as the treasured daughter of a cousin. She had shown Gillian such kindness. When the time had come, the dear lady had even secured for Gillian a London Season, arranging for her to make her bows and ensuring that, despite the Phelps family’s poverty and her status as an unofficial orphan, she never had to look the part of a poor relation.
Gillian stepped into Mrs. Brownlow’s sitting room and crossed to her benefactress. Mrs. Brownlow motioned for Gillian to join her on the settee, which she did with the ease of familiarity.
“I realize you are leaving in the next few minutes,” Mrs. Brownlow said. “I wished to offer you a moment to ask any questions you might have. I have attended countless house parties over the years.”
“All I know of such things are the stories I’ve heard, either from you or Artemis,” Gillian confessed. “Even Daria has attended a couple.”
“It is fortunate for you that your first foray into such things will be amongst friends. You are comfortable among them, which will make the experience far less difficult.”
Gillian was grateful that Mrs. Brownlow meant to give her a few words of wisdom and guidance, but she found herself momentarily distracted by the weariness in the lady’s eyes.Mrs. Brownlow had, on a few occasions since Gillian’s arrival at Houghton Manor, been laid low by various ailments. Gillian hoped another was not soon to descend upon her.
“I suspect you don’t realize the guests at a house party are expected to present the staff of the house with money as an acknowledgment of the additional work they are doing,” Mrs. Brownlow said.