Page 7 of A Lady of Means (Roses and Rakes #1)

Chapter Five

The Burn Book: Property of Lady Margaret

Tristan Valentine: If I were a more honest woman, I’d list the trove of information I know about Lord Valentine.

However, if he ever found out he’d made an entry in such a book as this and that someone had thought to record his litany of indiscretions, society would never recover from an ego of such inflated proportions.

* * *

Moria might be secretly pining after a man she definitely maybe could not have, but that didn’t mean she was idle. She had learned in her first season that it wasn’t the substance of a lady that mattered to the ton; it was what she was seen to be, and who she was seen to be with. Or not seen with.

By outward appearances, Moria had two best friends, Lady Gretchen von Mien and Miss Carina Smythe. In truth, she had many companions, none she held in closer esteem than her sisters.

Lady Gretchen was married to an Austrian diplomat who wasn’t particularly well-versed in English and seemed to have a strong affinity for strudel and little else.

Carina was accomplished, rich, and beautiful.

Her greatest accomplishment, in Moria’s opinion, was to be society’s most fashionable widow at the age of six and twenty.

On this particular day, they were at a lending library.

“I thought we’d be working on preparations for the debut ball for the remainder of the afternoon, why did you bring us to a library?” Gretchen probed, running a hand over a leather tome and grimacing at the dust that coated her glove.

Moria huffed. “Lady Althea suggested that I be seen at a library or somewhere that paints me in a more favorable light after that scandal sheet insinuated I hunt titled men for sport.”

Carina folded her arms. “Well, if you can find me anything in this library as interesting as the things we’ve put in our little book,” Moria shushed Carina who was far too loud for her liking with such scandalous information.

“I’ll happily put it on my account,” Carina finished in a whisper, avoiding the perceptive gaze of their chaperone, Fitz’s grandmother, Lady Althea.

Moria had one story of her own she could share that was rather riveting, a story of the season Moria met a Captain who’d stolen her heart, and a Duke who’d stolen a dance.

Lady Althea, from two rows ahead, lifted her graying head and narrowed her eyes, so Moria and her companions lowered their voices.

“We could put out the burn book under an alias,” Gretchen said flippantly, though Moria knew she hadn’t come up with an idea like that on a moment’s notice.

Moria closed in their little circle. “Everything we have written down, all the secrets we uncovered between the three of us, that’s our security.

For the way I had to fight to regain society’s good graces when I came out of mourning.

For the proposal I had to escape the other night,” Moria added with an eye roll.

“And Gretchen, you know everything about everyone, which has proved fruitful for your husband’s contacts and your parents' business,” she said this to Lady Gretchen who nodded.

“And now you’re out of mourning, it’s elevated your station, Carina.

This is about the three of us, for the three of us.

We agreed no one else sees the book without all of us approving. Or we burn it.”

Carina sighed. “No need to be dramatic. You are right, as usual. Perhaps that’s why of the three of us, you’ll be the duchess.”

The reminder of her courtship with the Duke made Moria’s stomach drop.

He’d courted her in front of all of polite society, and then he’d gone and made that pronouncement about delaying finding a wife until his bill was accepted in Parliament, and she hadn’t minded being given time.

She was still trying to work out whether or not she’d used the time she’d been given to figure out what the hell she wanted for good or ill, while Gretchen held up a book for them to peruse. Carina shook her head.

“Lady Noelle suggested that one, but I thought it wasn’t half as interesting as Adelaide,” Carina said, putting the book back on the wrong shelf. “Perhaps Moria could ask her if she knows when her husband’s printing press will be launching a sequel.”

But Moria was only half listening because on the other side of the book shelf, Moria heard the sound of half-concealed voices in the throes of an argument.

Moria had been told before that she had keen observation skills.

Fine, her brothers had told her she was a terrible snoop and she had heard what she wanted to hear.

She found herself one aisle over, speaking with lethal calm to the man now standing before her, far too close to the young woman Moria could barely make out on his other side.

“Mr. Bowlby, I believe I heard the young woman raise objections to you following her throughout the library without her chaperone present. Perhaps I’m wrong, I barely heard her over how loud your ensemble is today,” she said, eyeing his arsenic green jacket and aubergine waistcoat.

The man stuttered, picked up his cane and stack of books, exiting with a cutting glance at the red-haired young woman.

“What a brute. He has a singular talent for cornering women with his unwanted interest.” The young woman punctuated her words by straightening the collar of her dark green walking jacket, clearing her throat.

Moria’s first impression was that if the girl were allowed to let her auburn curls have their own way rather than the hatch job someone had made of taming them, and traded in the somber colors that made her look as white as paper, she’d have been rather pretty.

The nervous hunch to her shoulders and the way she bit her lip and avoided Moria’s eyes spoke of a woman who didn’t want to be seen, or worse to be seen and found wanting.

Was there anything worse?

Probably.

Alright, there definitely was, but Moria’s failings had all started with that.

It didn’t speak well of Moria’s compatriots, however, that Lady Gretchen and Miss Carina looked unbothered.

“I’m Lady Moria Pembrooke. Why don’t I know you?”

“Looking for a new protege to bolster your image, are we?” Lord Tristan Valentine called from the other end of the aisle, coming to stand next to the redhead.

Moria let out a long-suffering sigh. Tristan was an insatiable gossip and despite being from one of the oldest families in England and a friend to her brother and brother-in-law, Moria thought he often acted like a boor. But he’d given her an idea.

“Ignore him,” Moria said, turning to the girl. She caught the command in her voice and gentled her tone. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Kate,” the redhead introduced herself, “Miss Kate Herring.”

“You’re…like…really pretty,” Gretchen said, always the conversationalist. Miss Herring’s face flushed, momentarily speechless.

“So you agree, you think you’re really pretty?” Carina pushed, narrowing her eyes.

Moria ignored her friends, leaning toward the newcomer to gesture vaguely in the direction of the golden man standing between them, “Miss Herring, I’m curious how you came to be in the presence of two louts in one library. Is he bothering you?”

Valentine gave only a small harumph.

Kate adjusted her spectacles with a gloved finger. “Lord Valentine’s mother and mine have become acquaintances. They’re no doubt lurking in a corner with your grandmother-in-law to find us in a compromising position so they can call the banns.”

Moria turned to her brother’s friend, raising a single brow in his direction.

Tristan picked up the tale where Miss Herring left off. “I avoid her vexatious countenance for five minutes and Lord Bowlby conjures himself from the shadows as if he can sense an unchaperoned young lady with a reasonable dowry within a five block radius.”

“I am grateful you came to my aid, my lady,” Kate added, her eyes finding Moria’s.

Moria touched Miss Herring’s sleeve reassuringly, noticing a beaded bracelet at her wrist. “This is so pretty. Did you make this?”

The other woman looked down at the simple, rustic piece of jewelry at odds with the fine brocade of her sleeve. “It’s from a village near the Congo. A priestess gave it to my mother on our last trip with one of my father’s religious excursions.”

Moria’s eyes met Carina’s and then Lady Gretchen’s. A young lady on the marriage mart good enough to attract Lady Valentine’s notice with parents traversing to the Congo? There was a story for their shared, secret book.

Moria looped her arm through Kate’s and led her several steps ahead. The others followed in her wake; their stacks of books seemingly forgotten.

Moria leaned toward her new companion conspiratorially. “I can see you are new to society. Would you like some advice?”

Kate raised both her brows in answer. If she had any reservations about the sudden interest of one of London society’s most sought after and discussed diamonds, she didn’t show it.

“One’s acquaintances are of the most importance. Maybe you should come with us,” Moria gestured toward the two ladies behind her who, bless them, pasted on the most comically large smiles Moria had ever seen. “We can help you avoid the wrong people.”

“Does that mean I’m invited too?” Valentine called from behind her, Lady Carina giggling with one hand over her mouth, Gretchen looking at him like he had sprouted horns and a tail.

When they exited the library several paces behind Lady Althea, Kate gave Moria a bald smile and a curtsy, retreating to find her chaperones as Lady Gretchen and Carina entered Moria’s carriage.

Moria found herself calling over her shoulder at their new acquaintance, “Get in, bluestocking, we’re going shopping. ”

The red-headed girl looked from Moria to her companions inside the carriage. Moria suppressed a smile at the sight of the nosey older woman leaning out the window, aiming to get a better look at Miss Herring through a quizzing glass.

“I’d love to, Lady Moria.”