Page 3 of A Lady’s Rules for Seaside Romance (The Harp & Thistle #3)

“W hat did Uncle Victor say, Mama? Did you ask him?”

Anne smiled at her daughter as they entered their home.

Bernard had always hated their London residence because it was just outside of Mayfair by a few houses, thus they technically didn’t have a Mayfair residence.

But Anne loved it. It was bright and airy, with pastel-colored rooms and matching pastel furniture, more to her liking than the severe colors in fashion like red and black.

Several footmen rushed past carrying boxes and bags to give to the maids to put away.

The boxes and bags contained their wardrobe for the upcoming summer holiday in Brighton.

Ever since Anne had married, she had spent every summer in Brighton, as it was where Bernard’s family would go on holiday.

His grandmother, the late dowager duchess, had had a beautiful home there she had passed on to Vivian.

But this would be Anne’s last summer in Brighton, at least until her daughter married.

Next year, with her daughter out, they would summer at one of the Duke of Chalworth’s country residences so they could entertain for his granddaughter Mary’s benefit.

“I didn’t have a chance to talk to him about that, dear.

He had something else going on, and it wasn’t a good time for that. ”

“Oh.” Mary looked down, seemingly disappointed.

“There’s plenty of time, though, don’t you fret.” Anne tried to sound positive. Her daughter wanted to ask Victor for a favor related to her debut next year. But now, with whatever was going on with the Duke of Invermark, she wasn’t sure it was a good time to ask.

“What did he need to talk to you about?” Mary tried asking in a barely interested tone.

But, of course, Anne knew her daughter and knew how inquisitive she really was.

Anne directed Mary into one of the sitting rooms and rang for tea. “He will be coming by for dinner later. If he is up to it, he can tell you.”

Mary pouted a bit in evident disappointment but didn’t argue.

It was time to redirect. “Are you looking forward to the seaside?”

Mary clasped her hands together and shifted in her pastel-blue-cushioned chair. “Oh, yes! I am so excited. You promised you would allow me to attend balls there, remember?”

Anne sighed. “I remember.”

“The full ball, that is. You’ve allowed me to attend the early parts of balls for the past two years. But this year, you promised I can stay the entire time .”

At that moment, Lina, a maid who unfortunately strongly resembled a mouse, brought in their tea and began setting everything out for them.

Anne had, in fact, promised this to Mary.

The balls in Brighton were much smaller than the London balls and would be a good way for the young woman to get used to everything a ball entailed.

The maid left.

“I did promise that.” Anne poured tea for her daughter and then herself. “Do you think you can manage your excitement for a few more weeks?”

Mary took a sip of her tea. “I think so. Though barely.”

Anne chuckled. She recalled, with fondness, the sheer excitement an upcoming debut brought forth.

“And the pier!” Mary set her teacup down. “Promenading on the pier, going to the beach, the aquarium, the Royal Pavilion, shopping on Queen’s Road—”

“More shopping?”

Mary looked up through her lashes. “Perhaps?”

Anne laughed. “We shall see when we get there.” Anne was glad her daughter was looking forward to their holiday. “I know you are eager for next year, and I want you to enjoy your first year out, but we don’t need to buy up all the fripperies in England.”

Mary smiled. “Were you excited for your debut, too?”

“Of course. All women are to some degree.”

“What was your debut like?”

Anne straightened and forced a smile on her face.

“Very lovely. I recall the nerves I felt at the Queen Charlotte’s Ball.

It almost felt like a dream when it was my turn to approach Queen Victoria and the large birthday cake beside her, and curtsy.

It felt as if someone else were controlling my body.

Can you believe you will be curtsying to the same queen your old Mama once did? ”

Mary laughed. “You’re not so old.” A funny look crossed Mary’s face as she began to fuss with a glove button. “Is that where you met Papa?”

Anne took a sip of tea to buy time. Ever since her husband had died, they hadn’t spoken of him often and the questions of how Anne and Bernard had met had been few and far between.

It was only recently that her daughter had begun to notice young gentlemen and giggle over the idea of romance.

It had taken longer than Anne had expected for Mary to ask about her meeting Bernard, but she’d also known it would come someday.

Anne recalled meeting her future husband for the first time clear as day.

Bernard had been guffawing with a group of other young men, all of them holding some kind of a drink in their hands.

The young marquess had been taking a sip from his glass when Anne had happened to be led past him by her mother.

She’d glanced his way. He’d spotted her, stilled, and watched her like a hawk.

At the time, it had made her feel special.

“Yes. I met him at one of the balls, though not the Queen Charlotte’s Ball. ”

Mary waited for a long beat before saying, “And? Then what happened?”

“Why, we married and had you and Freddy, of course!” Anne said brightly.

Mary opened her mouth as if she wanted to ask more questions about it—Anne knew by now her daughter had likely heard about Bernard’s behavior that had led to the separation—but went an entirely different direction. “Do you think I’ll find someone, Mama?”

Anne swallowed the lump in her throat and leaned toward her daughter, sandwiching Mary’s hand between her own hands.

“Of course you will,” Anne said with seriousness.

She could feel the tears forming in her eyes and hoped Mary didn’t notice.

“No need to rush it, though. You’re only seventeen.

It’s quite all right to be out for a few years. ”

Her sweet daughter marrying. The thought, in truth, terrified Anne. But it was what people did, and there was nothing she could do to stop the inevitable from running at her at full speed.

Mary gently pulled her hand away and grabbed a small finger sandwich. She took a thoughtful bite and swallowed. “Freddy should be home soon, yes?”

“Yes!” Anne was grateful for the change in subject, even if her daughter likely hadn’t done so intentionally. “Two weeks, then we will be leaving for Brighton soon after that.”

“I do enjoy those train rides.” Mary made a noise of excitement. “I love flying through the countryside, in those train cars with actual tables you can sit at and eat a meal with silverware and plates.”

“It is very nice.”

“Will Grandad be there?”

Anne nodded. “Grandad, your Aunt Vivian and Uncle Dantes, Uncle Ollie and Aunt Evelyn, and of course all of their children. The same as every year.”

Mary took another thoughtful bite of her finger sandwich. “Do you dance at balls, Mama?”

Anne blinked. “Mary, that’s quite a nosy question.”

But Mary only stared back with wide, innocent eyes.

“Of course I don’t dance at balls. I’m a widow.”

Mary’s eyebrows furrowed. “I didn’t realize that meant you could never dance again.”

Anne set her teacup down. Why was this conversation making her so nervous? “I suppose technically, now that so much time has passed, I could. But I’m not really that interested in it, to be honest.”

Mary took in a breath. “Why wouldn’t you want to dance?”

Anne cleared her throat. “Mary, dear, I’m not a young lady like you.”

“Well, you aren’t an old one, either. What if you marry again—will you dance then?”

Her cheeks were feeling hot. Anne gently pressed her hands against them. “Marry again? Oh, that, I doubt very much.”

Mary shifted in her seat in a way that looked like she was settling in.

Anne braced herself because her daughter did this right before beginning a long discussion about something.

Anne didn’t understand where this line of questioning was coming from, either.

Neither Mary nor Freddy had ever asked if she would marry again.

But maybe, because it had been so long, it made sense they would start to wonder.

“Mama, you should try to find a dashing gentleman this summer.”

“Oh, dear, I don’t think so.” This conversation was making Anne uncomfortable. Why was her daughter encouraging this?

“Why not? You don’t dance anymore. You hardly go to any parties. You barely socialize with anyone outside of the family.”

Anne opened her mouth to deny this but promptly shut it closed.

It was true. A widow was required to mourn for two years, perhaps four, at most. But in that time, maybe Anne had gotten too used to the isolation.

Though she had been going to balls the past few years, she’d never really participated in them, other than watching from the side.

“I don’t know about that,” Anne finally said, her voice wary. She poured more tea into both of their cups, needing to do something.

“Well…” Mary lifted her teacup and her eyes lit up. “What if you treat this summer as your own debut?”

“Mary.” Anne placed her palms on her lap, trying to will patience.

“I think it’s very nice you are worried about me so much, but I really don’t want to do that.

I’m quite happy being on my own and being a mother to you and Freddy.

I don’t need to be married, or be a wife.

I’m rather content with the way things are. Being your mama is all I want.”

Mary gave a little pout.

“I know the idea of balls and dancing and romance is exciting to you, but I’m forty years old, dear. I was married once already. None of that appeals to me in the least anymore.”

Mary let out a long, dramatic sigh. “I think it’s splendid for someone to fancy you. Do you not wish for that excitement, hoping to see the gentleman you fancy while out for a promenade? Or look around the crowd at a ball hoping you will get a glimpse of him, and he of you while you sparkle?”

Anne narrowed her eyes. “You speak about this as if you’ve experienced it yourself.”

Mary took a hasty sip of tea, but her pinked cheeks belied her true feelings. “Surely not.”

“Hmm.” Anne studied her daughter and it was quite clear the young woman was trying to feign innocence.

Mary was always chaperoned by either Anne, one of the aunts, or the governess.

Then again, the young lady was almost of age.

It wasn’t completely out of the question that she may have admired a young gentleman or two from afar during rides through Hyde Park or when she’d been allowed to attend the first hour or two of a ball during moments of social mingling.

Anne made a hasty decision. “Mary, my dear, I think it’s time we have an honest discussion about men.”

Mary’s eyes went wide and she hastily set her cup back down on its saucer. “You make it sound dreadful.”

“That’s because it is,” Anne said. She ran her hands over her skirt. “The most important thing you need to know about men is, nine times out of ten, they are not to be trusted.”

Mary blinked several times. “What does that mean?”

How was Anne supposed to explain this without squashing her daughter’s hopes and romantic heart?

“What I mean is, some men will do anything to tempt you into getting into trouble if it benefits them. Others will do sneaky things that would upset you if you ever found out. They’re also larger and stronger and can quite easily hurt you. ”

There was a flicker of pain in Mary’s eyes. “Surely, they can’t all be bad?”

“No, of course not.” Anne thought about Freddy and that familiar sense of worry for his future churned in her stomach.

“But you have to be careful. Very, very careful. They are good at hiding the darkness in their hearts.” Anne sighed to herself.

Mary wouldn’t ask outright, but Anne knew she was likely thinking of her uncles, the McNabs.

All of them were good men. But even they had their own sordid pasts.

Dantes and Ollie both had been forthcoming about their wild pasts to their wives, so she respected them for that.

And they doted on their wives now, at least.

Oddly, Victor had been quiet regarding his own past. Dantes and Ollie would both openly admit to their past scoundrel behaviors, but Victor had never mentioned anything like that—ever.

In fact, Anne had never known him to have a woman in his life.

She assumed he had kept that all secret for reasons known only to him.

And she also assumed he would never marry like his brothers had, either.

Though she supposed that wasn’t so surprising.

Victor was a private person, often closed off, and didn’t talk much about his past in general, though over the years, he had provided her with snippets of it.

She knew he had spent his first years of life wealthy because his father, who had been banished from his noble family, had founded a railway.

Then when Victor had been ten years of age, both of his parents had died and the brothers had ended up living on the streets of Whitechapel, where their mother had been from.

Even though their grandparents, who had disowned their son, had eventually taken them in several years later, Victor never had returned to the life he had been born into.

He seemed to embrace the working-class side of London, and from the age of sixteen on had been completely on his own, working on the docks and odd jobs here and there until the brothers had started The Harp & Thistle.

Anne had never asked but always assumed the brothers had been disinherited, like their father had been.

Victor didn’t partake in society events like his brothers did thanks to their wives. And he had, on numerous occasions, expressed he had absolutely no desire to, either.

To Anne’s relief, Mary seemed to lose interest in the conversation and went on to more lighthearted subjects, such as a new puppy her friend Lady Tabitha had received for her birthday. Anne listened with interest, but her mind was still on the subject of men.

All Anne knew was that she didn’t want Mary to end up with someone like her father. But how did a mother explain that to her daughter?