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Chapter

One

ROSEHAVEN HOUSE

SUFFRAGE FOR WOMEN

“ T he right to vote!” Lady Whitworth exclaimed. “That’s what we should demand from Parliament. Don’t you agree, Lady Rosalynd?”

It wasn’t the first time Lady Whitworth had urged me to adopt her point of view. But as the president of the Society for the Advancement of Women, I could not take sides before a vote was taken. So I chose the politic option. “An important issue most certainly, but there’s another just as vital.”

Miss Moore was not slow to take my hint. “What good would it do to demand the right to vote if we can’t manage our own finances?”

“Well, obviously, once we obtain women’s suffrage, we can advocate for the other matter,” Lady Whitworth retorted, firm in her conviction.

After an hour of debating the subject of our petition to the House of Lords, we were no closer to a decision. While one faction had strongly argued we should demand women’s suffrage, the other clamored for a woman’s financial independence. You’d think, by now, I’d grown used to the loud disagreements. But this month’s meeting had turned particularly fractious. So much so, we were at risk of not reaching a decision at all. And that I couldn’t allow.

With more force than was necessary, I brought down the gavel on the round table that served as a podium. “We’ve been arguing both sides long enough, ladies. It’s time to settle the issue once and for all.”

“Hear, hear!” several of those present agreed.

Ignoring the throbbing ache between my brows, I said, “Lady Whitworth, if you would present your case.”

“The right to vote is the most important. Once it’s given to married women who’ve achieved the age of reason?—”

“Reason? Ha!” the dowager Countess of Sheffield cried out. “Some women never manage that, no matter their age.”

“Now, Hetty, we can’t petition for our right to command our own destiny if we think other ladies are too stupid to vote,” her sister, Lady Cosgrove, said.

The dowager stared down her nose at her sibling. “That’s the argument the gentlemen will make, Fanny. That we have nothing but air between our ears. Why, just this past Thursday, I overheard a group of gentlemen discussing that very topic at Lady Berkeley’s ball.”

“What gentlemen?” Lady Whitworth demanded. Her fiery gaze threatened retribution to those who’d dared to espouse such a view.

“What does it matter?” The dowager responded. “They all share the same views. They think we’re idiots.”

I banged down the gavel again. “We’re straying off topic, ladies.” Again. I pointed to the younger woman who’d brought up the finances issue. “Miss Moore, please plead your case.”

“Thank you, Lady Rosalynd.” She came to her feet and turned to face those assembled. “We need to be able to direct our own funds. Having a man manage our money is a recipe for disaster. They have been known to mismanage our assets, and worse, abscond with them.” No surprise why she was concerned. She’d inherited a fortune from her railroad tycoon father. “Why, I have to apply to my business manager if I wish to purchase so much as a hatpin.” Having had her say, she returned to her seat.

“But why can’t we petition for both the right to vote and the right to manage our own finances?” one of our newest members asked.

“Because men’s minds are too simple to focus on more than one thing at a time, dear,” the dowager declared.

Giggles and the occasional snort made their way around their room.

“We’ve dithered long enough,” Lady Whitworth’s voice boomed out. “I call for a vote.”

Finally! No one wanted this matter settled more than me. But first, I needed to explain the guidelines under which a choice would be made. “Now, ladies, the vote will decide how we move forward with our petition. Option one is women’s suffrage. Option two is the right to manage our own finances. You can only vote for one. Is that understood?”

Heads decorated with bird’s nests, floral arrangements, and one rather odd fruit basket wavered in the air.

“How many wish to petition Parliament for a woman’s right to vote?”

Out of twenty ladies present, fifteen raised their hands.

Even though it was a foregone conclusion which side would carry the day, procedure required I ask, “How many want to plead for the right to manage her own finances?”

Four palms shot up.

With a great deal of satisfaction, I banged down the gavel one final time. “The right to vote petition carries the day.”

A round of applause and huzzahs circled the room.

Miss Moore seemed so crestfallen, I had to say, “Don’t lose heart, Miss Moore. Once the women’s suffrage matter is successfully concluded, we’ll petition for women’s financial independence. In the meantime, would you like to draft what you would like to see in it?”

Miss Moore brightened up. “Thank you, Lady Rosalynd. I’ll do that.”

“But how will we petition Parliament?” Lady Barlow asked. Married less than a year, and by all accounts deeply in love, she’d been too occupied with her wifely duties to attend our last meeting. They seemingly had been successful as she appeared to be increasing.

The dowager patted her hand. “It’s already been decided, dear. Lady Rosalynd will write the plea and see that it’s delivered to the House of Lords.”

“Anyone in particular?” Lady Barlow asked.

“It will be sent to the Legislation Committee, where it will be assigned to one of its members,” I explained.

“Let us hope it’s a peer with a liberal mindset,” Lady Whitworth asserted. “A conservative would kill it stone dead.”

“Indeed,” I said.

After the meeting adjourned, I proceeded to the morning room to write the first draft of the petition. I wanted to note the points raised during our meeting while they were fresh on my mind. I entered the space to find one of our downstairs maids holding one of the miniatures on my desk.

“Begging your pardon, milady.” Her face turned a bright shade of pink as she returned it to its place.

I offered her a smile to show I was not offended. “Maisie, is it not?”

“Yes, milady.” She curtsied. “I didn’t mean to pry. They’re so beautiful, the little paintings.”

“Glad you like them, Maisie. The miniatures of my family are very dear to me.”

“I wish I had one of my mum. She was quite beautiful when she was younger.”

If her mother resembled Maisie she indeed would have been quite stunning. Even in her maid’s uniform and her dark hair tightly pinned into a bun, she couldn’t hide her beauty. “Maybe it’s not too late for a likeness.”

The corners of her mouth turned down. “She’s quite ill, milady, and not expected to live much longer. She would not want one taken of her now.”

“I’m so sorry.” I knew the pain she felt. My mother, along with my father, had been tragically taken from us six years ago.

A fearful expression rolled over her face. “I should go before Mrs. Bateman catches me jabbering.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” I agreed with a laugh. Our housekeeper wasn’t a martinet by any means, but she was strict about preserving a certain distance between the Rosehaven family and its staff. Familiarity was not allowed. “She’d likely frown at us both.”

“Indeed, milady.” One more curtsy, and she was gone.

During the next while, I worked diligently on the petition. So much so, I lost track of time.

I would have remained at my task for hours if not for my youngest sister, Petunia. Without so much as a knock on the door, she burst into the room, a disgruntled expression on her gamine face. “It’s teatime, Rosie. Aren’t you coming?”

I glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel. “Heavens! Is it four already?”

“Yes, it is. We can’t start without you, and I’m starving .” She flashed a grin that was lacking a tooth.

I came to my feet and swung her around. “You’re always starving, poppet.”

“I can’t help it,” Petunia said after I placed her safely on the ground. “I’m growing like a weed.”

I propped my hands on my hips. “And who, pray tell, made that inappropriate remark?”

“Cosmos.”

Our oldest brother. An expert botanist who tended to associate most things with his chosen vocation.

“That was very improper of him.”

“I like it. He notices me.”

“Of course, he does.” She was such a lively child, no one could help but notice her. “Now let’s get you fed before you starve! ”

Giggling, she curled her hand around mine.

As we made our way to the drawing room, there was some skipping involved. At seven years of age, Petunia possessed an exuberant spirit that wasn’t still for long. We arrived to find most of our other siblings, as well as our grandmother, the dowager Countess of Rosehaven, already there. Every Monday, she joined us for tea, ostensibly to spend time with her grandchildren. Chastising me for my sad lack of husband was an added treat.

“Good afternoon, Grandmother,” I said, kissing her cheek. “I trust you’re in good health.”

“Other than a pair of creaking knees and the occasional heart flutter, I’m fit as a fiddle.” With her impeccably arranged silver hair and her snapping black eyes, she made an imposing figure. And that was before she expressed one of her decided opinions.

“You’ll outlive us all, ma’am,” I said.

“Seeing how I’m seventy-six years of age, I doubt that very much.” She was eighty-one, not that she’d ever admit it.

“My new gowns arrived,” Chrissie whispered as I settled next to her on a sofa. Having reached the age of eighteen, my next younger sister was making her debut this season and couldn’t be more excited.

“That’s wonderful, Chrissie.”

“What’s that?” Grandmother asked in her booming voice. Along with creaking knees and heart flutters, she was hard of hearing.

“The modiste delivered my new evening dresses, Grandmother,” Chrissie said in a louder voice.

“Good thing you’re making your debut this year. If you’d waited much longer, you would have turned into a spinster.” She narrowed her gaze at me. “Like your sister.”

“Chrissie was suffering from a chest complaint last year, Grandmother, so I felt it best to wait.”

“With her beauty and charm, Chrysanthemum would have snagged Lord Barlow. But because she wasn’t there, the Whittier girl stole the march on her. What he saw in that insipid chit is beyond me.”

“He fell in love.”

The dowager stamped her cane on the floor. “He could have fallen in love with your sister just as well.”

“Chrissie will not lack for suitors, Grandmother. Other eligible gentlemen do exist.” Offering my sister a soft smile, I patted her hand.

“You think so, Rosie?” Chrissie asked shyly.

“I know so.” Who could not help but be attracted to her sweet disposition and winsome smile, never mind her strawberry gold tresses and aquamarine gaze. She was a beauty in every sense of the word.

Thankfully, Grandmother ceased her fire long enough for everyone to enjoy the wonderful repast. Scones, sandwiches, fairy cakes, and her favorite, oolong tea.

“How was your meeting, Rosie?” Chrissie asked while everyone was busy satisfying their hunger.

“We decided to send our petition for women’s suffrage to the House of Lords. I’ve been writing the first draft.”

“Which I’m sure will be splendid,” Chrissie said.

“Thank you for saying that, dear.”

Pursing her lips, Grandmother vigorously stirred a lump of sugar into her cup. “I don’t know how you expect to marry, Rosalynd. Not only are you dangerously close to being firmly on the shelf, but you’ve gained a reputation as a reformer and a bluestocking. No gentleman of breeding will offer for you.”

I sighed. We’d held the same discussion so many times I’d lost count. “I don’t intend to marry, Grandmother, as you know.”

She cast a gimlet eye on me. “And what pray tell do you mean to do with your life?”

“I will continue to attend to my sisters’ studies and well-being, as well as Fox’s. As you can see,” I gazed around the room at my siblings, most of whom were busy scarfing down the food, “they lead very contented lives.”

“Their upbringing is Cosmos’s responsibility, not yours.” My older brother had inherited the earldom after our father’s death. While he’d taken on the financial and estate management duties that came along with the title, the responsibility for our younger siblings’ upbringing had fallen to me.

“He’s busy with his botanical efforts, ma’am.”

“Plants and flowers? What sort of vocation is that for a grown man? And an earl at that?”

“He’s an expert on the subject, so much so, Scotland Yard regularly consults with him. Why, just last week, they approached him about a substance discovered during a postmortem. His expertise helped the police prove the victim had been poisoned by his wife.”

“Postmortem? You mean a dead body?”

“Well, I certainly hope he was dead before they cut into him.”

Grandmother’s brows took a hike. “You have no sensibilities, my girl.” Leaning heavily on her cane, she came to her feet. “I’m taking my leave. The Sowerby soiree is tonight, and I need my rest.” She might be in her eighties, but she enjoyed a busy social schedule. “Don’t forget we are to attend Lady Cholmondley-Smith’s ball on Thursday.”

“I won’t.” I stood as well. “Children, come say goodbye to your grandmother.” They swarmed around her skirts, some no doubt leaving sticky fingermarks on her gown. But her gaze softened as she patted heads and kissed cheeks. As much of a martinet as she appeared to be, she had a soft spot for the children.

When she and I said our goodbyes at the house entrance, she turned a kind gaze on me. “You’ll miss them, you know, once they’re grown and leave the nest.”

“I’ll play aunt to their children.”

Her gaze filled with pity. “It won’t be enough, Rosalynd, not nearly enough. Beware lest you end up all alone, wondering where your life went wrong.”