Page 2 of A Perplexing Regency Romance (The League of Meddling Butlers #5)

At first, they merely drifted away from the pier. “Easy as you like,” Seddie said. “Let’s head out and see what this boat is made of.”

Seddie turned the tiller to head them out on the Thames. The boom swung at Hugh and he ducked. “Aren’t you supposed to warn me about that?” he asked.

“Right you are,” Seddie said. “When I say coming about, that’s the time to duck.”

And there they were, sailing the Thames on one of the worst days possible.

As it was a terrible day, they had the river mostly to themselves.

A few intrepid barges made their way up and down the river, staying as near to the banks as was practicable.

It was probably just as well, as Seddie probably would have hit something if the river was more crowded.

The Contessa heaved upon the waves and the creaking of the planks underneath Hugh’s feet were not reassuring.

He could not tell if the tide was coming in or going out but wherever it was going, it was going with gusto.

The wind whipped the sails and Hugh would be very surprised if they did not need repairs by the end of it.

He practiced letting the sail out and trimming it to try to figure out what worked.

If he pulled it in too far it just started flapping.

If he let it out too far they did not move as fast. He finally figured out that the trick was to pull it in until it flapped a little and then let it out until the flap disappeared.

In between that operation, he ducked the boom, trying to keep up with Seddie’s wildly changing shouts and directions.

He was certain Seddie had overestimated his sailing skills and had not a hope of winning Bestwick’s regatta.

Among others, he’d be up against the Duke of Barstow who’d won it several years in a row.

Furthermore, he was very glad they’d never set sail on the Orwell all those years ago, considering what he was looking at now.

They turned to head downwind. They had gone that direction several times and Hugh had noticed that letting the sail all the way out was the way to go.

Downwind was not as frenetic as they were not tipping to one side of the other.

Hugh let the sail out, sat back, and felt he could relax for a moment.

Now that the wine of the evening before had been entirely blown off by the icy winds of the Thames and they were on the easy downwind, the problem hanging over his head crept back into his thoughts.

He was twenty-seven. It had seemed such a far-off thing.

Until it was not. He must wed this season.

His father had very craftily waited until he was laying weak in a bed to wrench the promise from him.

It was one of the family’s traditions and the family’s traditions were everything.

As his father had said often, the Finstattens did not move with the times because the Finstattens were the times.

Of course he’d given his word. He would never have let the old soldier down. Now he must carry it out.

He’d have to find a lady he would not mind being around for extended periods.

Seddie seemed to think a lady-wife could just be deposited somewhere, but Hugh did not think it was a very practical idea.

He did not think he would like it even if it was practical.

He also thought Seddie did not at all mean that idea for himself.

He’d been chasing after their neighbor, Lady Genevieve, for two years.

No, Hugh would not be leaving his lady behind anywhere.

Who was she, though? It was not as if he was against marriage.

Quite the opposite—he was all for it. He found it a wonderful idea to have a lady by his side.

He was anxious for a family. He looked forward to creating traditions that were all their own and not a Finstatten tradition somebody had thought up when Henry VIII was king.

He’d kept his eyes open the last few seasons.

But he’d not seen anybody he liked. The ladies who were held up as the diamonds of the season were all too angular and sharply pointed, too cold somehow, if not in their appearance, then in their manner.

They seemed somehow bony to him, and not very sturdy, as if they could snap in half like a branch.

He could not be comfortable with such a lady.

What was hailed as elegant just felt devoid of feeling, what was stately seemed too tall.

He did not like flirtatious banter or pretensions of boldness.

He did not like gossip and affectations of being shocked.

It all seemed…formal and uncomfortable. It was as if a gentleman could never relax or ever really know what was in a sophisticated lady’s thoughts and he did not like it.

He felt as if he would know his future wife when he saw her, and hopefully she would know him too.

But he’d just not seen her yet. Yes, he was certain he would know.

Romeo and Juliet had known. They’d come to a bad end, so that part of the play could be ignored.

The point was, they had known. Perhaps he was too sentimental, and perhaps he kept that part of his temperament very under wraps, but he really did believe he would know.

Else, how was he so certain that he’d not met her yet?

He was sure he would find her, but this time constraint of the tradition was difficult. What if he could not find what he was looking for in time? Would he have to wed a lady he did not care for?

“Coming about!” Sir Edward shouted.

Already? Hugh ducked. The boom swung to the port side and he hauled in the sheet line. The last he remembered was the boom wildly swinging back in his direction, headed for his face.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Finella Fernsby, the eldest daughter of Baron Dunston, was not unaware of her various deficiencies.

Her father was the very first of the Barons Dunston, so the title was sparkling new.

Deficiency number one. She had lost her mother early and so had not had a womanly figure leading her forward to her maturity.

Deficiency number two. As they were so new to the peerage, she did not have the benefit of all those things, like jewelry, that might have been passed down through the generations and spoke of history and a firm footing in society.

All she had was a small gold cross from her father.

Deficiency number three. But the biggest deficiency of all, the deficiency that would be immediately apparent to the ton , the deficiency she could not hide, was her person.

She was short and had curves where there should be none.

Or if not none, then not so prominent. Her cheeks were a little too plump.

Her arms were not long and lithe. The current fashion was not meant for her, the high waists of the style of dress did nothing for her.

At home, it had not been so painfully obvious.

At least, not to her. Most of the time. But in Town, gracious, the place seemed filled with statuesque and sophisticated ladies.

Reedy sylphs whose clothes hung elegantly, whose very person cried elegance and sophistication.

As her carriage came into London, she’d begun to note them everywhere, going hither and thither.

Then, the coachman had stopped the horses to allow a cart to pass on a narrow bit of road and she’d seen two ladies come out of a shop.

Finella had been near enough to be hit on the head by how different they were from herself.

They were goddesses. Their dresses hung with not even a ripple as the fabric did not encounter any bumps on the way down.

Even their hands, which had waved so gracefully to a waiting porter, were long-fingered, bejeweled, and elegant.

Their style of dress was different too. It was the same cut—high waisted in the Greek style—but they were nearly devoid of decoration.

They wore simple white muslins with only a colored ribbon round their slim waists.

Of course, when one looked as lovely as those ladies did, she supposed there was no need for decoration.

Finella felt rather like a squat mushroom popping up in a field of elegant lilies.

If there was one thing that was on the positive side of her situation, it was that she was to land at Bedford Square.

Her father’s estate abutted the Duchess of Ralston’s land and that lady had taken pity on her father.

The baron had not the first idea of what was to be done about a season.

He’d not even known a season would be necessary until the duchess informed him of it.

The baron had been greatly relieved to put his daughter in the duchesses’ capable hands.

Her father’s parting words to Finella were: “Try not to wed a vicar, it’s a dreary sort of existence, you won’t be able to put a foot out of place.

” With that sentimental advice, he’d kissed her forehead and put her in a carriage in the company of Lucy Lenter, who was to act as her maid.

Now she had arrived to Bedford Square and the duchess had greeted her warmly.

She’d been only a half hour ago sent above stairs to get settled.

Finella was delighted to find a jar of biscuits on the bedside, as she was positively starved.

As she chewed her way through them, she admired the room.

It was so bright and then there was something about the decorations.

It felt very restrained, which she had not thought she would like, but it was very calming.

Her room at home was a riot of color—pink and grey striped chairs, a pink silk bed covering, and a wonderful wall-covering of peacocks and palm trees.

Cream dominated this room and it gave her some new ideas about what would be pleasant.

Lucy, who was a housemaid at home and who’d been pressed into service as a lady’s maid, hurried in. She spotted the biscuits and said, “Don’t mind if I do.”

Finella handed her the jar. “You’ve been below stairs,” she said, “what are the household’s servants like?”

“As to that,” Lucy said, “I find ‘em as I expected ‘em. Noses all pointed toward the heavens and narrowed eyes all looking down upon me.”

“No!” Finella said, quite distressed that Lucy would feel looked down upon.

It felt particularly personal, as it was her primary fear that people would look down on her.

They already physically looked down on her due to her lackluster stature, but she very much feared they would look down on her in every possible manner.

Finella did not think much of her looks and her conversation could be awkward, even to her own ears.

She was not a beauty, she was not a scholar, she was just…

Finella. She might be good humored and goodhearted, but was that enough?

“Aye, it was something terrible down there,” Lucy went on, recounting her introduction to the servants.

“You know me, I don’t make more of it than it was.

The whole encounter was capped off when I was shown where I was to lay my head at night.

I reckon a poor chimney sweep is treated better.

Awful, is what it is.” Lucy sighed dramatically.

“I suppose I’ll survive it, even if I do have to sleep in a closet on a mattress thin enough to serve as a tablecloth. ”

“Oh, Lucy, what are we to do?” Finella said, chewing worriedly on a biscuit. “I could not bear for you to be treated poorly. You’ve been so good to come with me, when you could have stayed at home.”

“Aye. It was a bit of a wrench to give up my housemaid duties what with how much I like to dust things, but I’m all for sacrifice, everybody knows it.

Now, there’s only one thing for it,” Lucy said.

“We tell the duchess that you suffer from nightmares and I’ll need to be very nearby.

She’s got rooms aplenty on this corridor. ”

“I see,” Finella said hesitatingly. “I suppose we might try—”

“Now, let me get to these trunks. I’d like to think they’d unpack themselves, but I reckon I’d be let down.”

“Goodness, yes, there is so much of it,” Finella said. “And poor Lucy, you’ve been through it today, I will help you get it done.”

“If you insist,” Lucy said, graciously allowing herself to be helped.

Trunks and hatboxes were emptied and examined.

Finella had taken great care with her wardrobe.

Other ladies might throw on anything and look very well, but she had to attempt to flatter her particular silhouette.

The baron had hired a dressmaker from the village that he’d heard recommended, and Mrs. Helwig had been coming and going from the house for weeks.

Finella had told the lady what she looked for and it turned out Mrs. Helwig was rather ingenious.

She explained that Finella was not so much looking for transformation as she was looking for distraction.

As she said, “One cannot make a person think they’re looking at a table that’s been set with Flora Danica when it’s in fact earthenware. ”

Finella was not sure what Flora Danica was, but she guessed it was some sort of expensive china.

Mrs. Helwig went on to explain that if one were to place interesting things on a dress, they would draw the eye to the wished-for areas.

Apparently, Finella’s bosom was to be highlighted with the right sort of corset, and her hips and lack of height distracted from.

Stripes were to go longways to make her appear taller than she actually was.

Ruffles created a river for the eye to follow, puffed sleeves made the shoulders look wider than the hips.

Fascinating necklines were to draw the eye.

On occasions when bonnets were worn, that was a real opportunity to draw the eye to Finella’s face, which according to Mrs. Helwig was her best feature, and her hair, which was very good too.

She’d worn a simple traveling dress and her straw bonnet from her old wardrobe for the journey, but she was soon to face the ton . She would do so looking far different than she ever had.

“I never did see so many bows and gewgaws stuck on clothes in my life,” Lucy said.

Finella nodded. “They draw the eye, you see.”

“They do something to the eye,” Lucy said.

Just then, there was a quick knock and the door swung open. The Duchess of Ralston entered the room. She paused, staring at the dresses laying on the bed.

“What on earth?” she whispered.