Page 1 of An Heiress and An Astronomer (Gentleman Scholars #3)

"W ell, good evening, Miss Billingsley.”

Bored and not paying attention as she ought to, and knowing full well her aunt would have her head if she were to realize, Greta tried very hard not to startle over the suddenness of the words spoken to her. It just wouldn’t do to be caught daydreaming at a High Society ball, she was sure.

Greta turned with what she hoped was a polite smile to acknowledge the greeting. Her politeness turned to surprise when she noted who was addressing her.

“Mrs. Northcott, good evening,” she said, dipping into a slight curtsey.

Mrs. Northcott was married to the Earl of Everleigh’s youngest son, but she was the daughter of a viscount and the sister of another very popular viscount. While she wasn’t titled herself, Mrs. Northcott was highly connected and was therefore much higher ton than mere Miss Billingsley.

Greta might not be popular or terribly experienced in societal behaviour, but she knew full well that Mrs. Northcott was usually the one to be approached, not the one doing the approaching. That insistent thought put her suddenly on an almost defensive stance. But she tried valiantly not to have it show on her face.

Holding her tongue when all it wanted to do was start chattering nervously was a challenge. She was certain the other woman must have a reason for speaking to her. So, she waited to see what the reason might be. Or if the woman would actually explain herself.

She wasn’t left waiting for long. The elegant woman smiled brilliantly as she nodded in acknowledgement of Greta’s show of respect.

“How have you been? I haven’t had a chance to speak with you in an age,” Mrs. Northcott said with an airy wave of her hand, not acknowledging that they had never actually had a true conversation before.

“I’ve been well, thank you for asking,” Greta answered carefully, nerves growing in the pit of her stomach. Even as the urge to point out the oddity fought against the restraint on her tongue she continued, “And you? Are you enjoying the Season?”

“We’ve only just arrived, I’m afraid. Things have been a trifle hectic with the scholars, don’t you know? And I was also under the weather,” she concluded, almost as an afterthought.

Greta almost allowed her chin to drop open in an ill-bred display of surprise but kept the hinge tightly controlled out of habit more than anything. Ought she to ask about the woman’s statements? Would it be less rude to do so or to not do so? It was a quandary to be sure.

“I’m sorry to hear things haven’t been as delightful as usual for you, Mrs. Northcott,” she finally managed to say in a tone that she knew sounded stiff, but there wasn’t much to be done about it. But really, was she expected to be filled with sympathy for the beautiful woman who seemed to have everything?

Greta Billingsley knew full well it was inappropriate, even hurtful, to make assumptions about another person’s life. She was nearly always on the receiving end of such assumptions so she shouldn’t be doing the same to someone else. And if the woman had been ill, she ought to be offering sympathy, not sarcastic assumptions.

But it was so easy to do the wrong thing. Especially for someone like her. Someone torn between the life of the gentry she was living but with the blood of shopkeepers running thickly through her veins pulling her in a different direction.

Not that she would ever admit where her interests lie. Not in such company, at any rate. Not since her father’s death had she even discussed such a topic.

To Greta’s surprise, despite her darting thoughts and her tight tone when speaking to the other woman, Mrs. Northcott’s trill of laughter sounded genuine and warm.

“You are quite right, my dear, they have not been as delightful as usual, but I am fully expectant of that changing.”

Suddenly a light dawned on Greta.

“I’ve heard you have a child now.” The words blurted out of her. Perhaps that was what she meant by having been under the weather considering no one ever spoke of pregnancy in front of an unwed woman.

It wasn’t inappropriate to mention the child once it was born, was it? It was in the papers for heaven’s sake. Heat stained her cheeks despite her conviction that there was nothing wrong with her statement.

“We do,” Mrs. Northcott replied promptly with a smile that bordered on a grin. “She is a delightful little bundle of life and has already cast her spell upon the entire household.”

“Your scholars, do you mean?” Greta asked, intrigued despite her usual boredom with most things pertaining to the nobility. She was particularly impressed with how delighted the woman was with her child despite it being a female.

“The scholars, the staff, my husband, even my gruff and terribly proper father-in-law is enamoured of her. I know I’m biased, but I think she’s especially special.” This less than eloquent statement was punctuated with another trill of laughter. “I have done the terribly unfashionable thing of bringing my infant to Town with me. Roderick needed to come up for some important meetings and neither of us wanted to be parted from the other or the little one. So here we are. But I shouldn’t be boring you with this. Tell me of your adventures thus far this Season.”

Greta held back her despondent sigh with practiced skill. She would have enjoyed hearing more about the baby. Children had always fascinated her. She used to think it was because she had no siblings but perhaps it was merely the natural impulse of a female.

That was the one reason she had agreed to accompany her aunt to Town. That and her desire to please her only living relative. She longed for a family of her own, besides the aunt she had only just met. But Mrs. Northcott was quite correct. It was hardly the usual topic for conversation at a ball.

Before she could think of an appropriate response to the other woman’s demand to know how her Season was going, Mrs. Northcott interrupted once more.

“I do hope I’m not keeping you from the dance. It sounds as though the quartet is about to strike up another one. Shall I escort you to your promised partner?”

“There isn’t one, so all is well,” Greta answered tightly, willing her face not to flame with her embarrassment over having to admit to being a wallflower.

“How perfectly odd,” Mrs. Northcott returned. “Shall I introduce you, then?”

“My aunt has done so.” Greta’s voice grew thinner with her displeasure over discussing her failure. The other woman must have realized her feelings.

“How delightful that I can keep you to myself a little longer, in that case,” she said with almost a giggle, the sound putting Greta’s teeth near the edge as she tried not to display her displeasure further. “Shall we stroll?” Mrs. Northcott asked.

There was really nothing she could answer other than, ‘of course.’ One didn’t deny such a simple request from a Northcott, not if they didn’t wish to become an even greater pariah amongst the ton than they already were.

“Have you been to any of my sister-in-law’s balls?” Mrs. Northcott asked. Before Greta could answer, the woman elaborated on her question. “By that I mean my brother’s wife, not my brothers-in-laws’ wives. Although, now that I say that, I think Catherine might have hosted something when they came to Town, but I cannot rightly recall. But I do know that Belle loves to entertain, so surely you have been there.”

“Yes, the viscountess was kind enough to invite us. It was a beautiful evening.”

“Of course,” the other woman said with a nod of approval but a bit of a sigh as well. “I wish I could have been there. I do hope she’ll plan another while we’re here. But it is possible she won’t be able to.”

The flush that pinkened the woman’s cheeks made Greta wonder if the viscountess might be increasing as well. Jealousy reared its head within her, but she managed to swallow down the uncharitable reaction.

Greta very deliberately thought a dirty word and it did the work of comforting and distracting her even as she said out loud something perfectly appropriate.

“How lovely.” It was apropos of nothing but seemed to be the right thing as Mrs. Northcott visibly relaxed before her.

Greta fretted over what to say to the woman before her even as she worried about her own unwed state. The problem with her wasn’t so much that she was too old. She was far from being an ape-leader. She wasn’t even on the shelf. There was plenty of time for her to find her match.

If anyone would have her.

The trouble was, Greta hadn’t taken.

Mortification swept through her anew as she stared at the matron before her. Dampness sprang upon her palms and she itched to rub them on her skirts.

If her parents were there to witness her failure, Greta was certain they would know how to fix the matter. At least after they had stopped blaming one another.

It was the only reason Greta was relieved her parents were no longer living.

Her mother, the lovely Lady Evelina, would have probably had the solution up her sleeve, were she there. It was likely Greta would have had a successful debut were her mother by her side. Or perhaps not. How was she to know?

Since her beautiful mother would have drawn so much attention to herself, it was entirely possible Greta would be just as unsuccessful if she were there. But Father would have calculated a reason. Or thrown money at the problem.

He would have hired experts in the matter to get to the bottom of it. The thought amused Greta. She could hire experts herself except she wasn’t certain that was something that existed.

Ought she to ask Mrs. Northcott?

One could argue that fine lady was said expert. But how mortifying to ask her. And it wasn’t as though Greta could hire her. Nor were they friends.

Rumour had it Mr. Northcott had gone into trade, though, so perhaps it was possible.

Greta bit her lip. Her father would say she ought to speak, while her mother would die of mortification. What did Greta want to do?

“I wondered if I might be of assistance to you,” Mrs. Northcott said in a low tone, as though she had overheard Greta’s thoughts.

Surely Greta hadn’t spoken aloud even as they strolled through the milling crowds surrounding the dance floor.

“I beg your pardon,” was all she could say, biding for time as she tried to comprehend what the woman was saying or asking.

“I would like for us to be friends,” Mrs. Northcott elaborated, but still didn’t make any sense to Greta, despite her comprehending the woman’s words. “Friends assist one another.”

“Are you in need of assistance?” Greta asked with a frown.

“Not right at the moment, but one can never be too sure of such things, can one?”

The wide smile that accompanied the unanswerable statement confused Greta further and she held her silence rather than add to the oddity.

“Excellent,” Mrs. Northcott said as though Greta had agreed. “Shall I call upon you tomorrow? Or could we go driving in the Park? Have you committed yourself to anything tomorrow that would interfere?”

“I don’t believe so,” she answered in a faint voice, feeling as though she were being managed by an expert.

“Very well, I will send a footman with a note to confirm before I turn up at your door, but expect me in the later afternoon. I do hope you have a lovely evening. I look forward to enjoying a comfortable coze on the morrow.”

Without waiting for any sort of reply from Greta, the young matron bustled away leaving her “friend” blinking in her wake.

How perfectly strange.

Greta knew she ought to have been more assertive in the interaction, but it had been nearly impossible to take control of the situation. Mrs. Northcott hadn’t left her much opportunity to do so, for one thing.

For another, what could she have done that would have been within the realms of acceptable societal behaviour? And really, there was nothing untoward about the interaction. She shouldn’t be left feeling nonplussed. In fact, she ought to be delighted.

To be sure, her aunt was certain to be in alt over the matter.

Thoughts of her aunt caused a sigh to lodge itself in her throat, threatening to choke her. Lady Gertrude Blackstock. Greta knew she ought to love the woman and should be grateful that she had taken an interest in her.

But somehow it was nearly impossible to do so, much to Greta’s shame.

As the only living relative Greta was acquainted with, she wanted to love Lady Gertrude and was determined to please the woman even though they were so vastly different in opinions and temperament.

Aunt Gertrude had shown up on her doorstep with barely a by your leave but with her baggage following close behind her, assuring Greta that it was the utmost sacrifice on her part to leave her husband behind in order to undertake Greta’s debut.

Greta had yet to note any actual regret on her aunt’s part at having abandoned her husband, though.

The older woman had tried to take over Greta’s life. Lady Gertrude commanded nearly everything. She had insisted that they both needed entirely new wardrobes of gowns and all the nonsense that went along with properly outfitting ladies of the ton .

Of course, since it was Greta’s debut, her aunt had assured her that it was Greta’s duty to foot all the bills. A part of her wanted to object, but what did it really matter? She had more money than she would ever need.

Which was why the only men interested in her weren’t gentlemen at all despite her best efforts to downplay the actual extent of her wealth.

She had been targeted by every fortune hunter within the realm, or so it had seemed when she’d first made her debut. Blessedly, her aunt’s scowls and Greta’s very ladylike behaviour had managed to discourage the worst of the cads, but unfortunately the more appropriate gentlemen had been turned away as well.

So here she found herself, a wallflower during her second Season.

Aunt Gertrude clucked about it, but Greta wasn’t certain if the older woman was really all that interested in marrying off her niece. It would put an end to Lady Gertrude’s own time in Town when they achieved their supposed end.

But whether Lady Gertrude wanted to end her chaperone duty or not, Greta wished it to be over. The older woman had insisted Greta couldn’t wed with the local squire’s son, which was the only truly viable option for her at home in Balcombe.

“Trust me, Greta dear,” Lady Gertrude had said in a firm, commanding voice, brooking no arguments. “A squire will only leave you low. Your mother and I both learned this lesson the difficult way. I know she wouldn’t want that for you. A squire’s son is insufficient for your needs.”

After that pronouncement, Greta’s aunt had insisted they acquire and study a recent version of Debrett’s. It had been an oddly fascinating study of the upper echelons of English Society. Greta shuddered to note that she was actually named as a descendent of her grandfather, the Earl of Bovaird.

Apparently, according to Aunt Gertrude, Greta should look no lower than a viscount to restore the familial self-respect. Greta didn’t agree with her aunt, but she didn’t bother to argue. It was interesting to see where everyone was connected.

She didn’t argue overmuch with her aunt’s decree on anything, but especially not about her ban on marriage with her neighbour. It wasn’t as if Greta had any truly attached feelings to poor Ben, the squire’s son.

In fact, she had been certain it would have been a challenge for her to respect the man as he was so very much under his father’s thumb and would have been easy to keep under her own if she had been so inclined. But she knew she couldn’t remain unwed even if she had wanted to.

She really had no desire to remain unwed. She wanted a family.

Having been an only child, and raised without even the benefit of cousins, she was determined to have a large family, as many children as she and whichever gentleman she could contract could manage. And all that money needed to be committed somewhere or she would never be safe.

As it was, they had managed to downplay the rumours about her wealth, so while it was understood she was an heiress, most expected her father must have dissipated his own inheritance rather than grown it to pass along to her as his only child. She wasn’t going to disabuse anyone of that notion until she had secured herself a reasonably intelligent husband.

That was the real reason she had allowed Lady Gertrude to bully her into coming to Town. Ben hadn’t the wits to manage her money. Not that there wasn’t enough of it to survive a lax steward, but if she had the large family she hoped for, she wanted to be able to provide well for each of her children.

None of this ridiculous custom of providing only for the firstborn male for Greta’s offspring. She had enough of her grandfather’s blood in her to expect a degree of equality amongst her children, whether there were to be titles involved or not.

Even if Society wouldn’t treat them equally, since Greta would have a degree of control over how they were to be provided for, she was certainly going to do so in as equitable a manner as she could muster.

She had already found a solicitor she believed she could trust to manage the settlements. Greta certainly didn’t trust her aunt to do what she expected and had yet to even meet the mysterious Lord Blackstock. A mere baron, the shame of it all, according to her aunt.

This brief thought brought a slight smile to her face. It was evident her maternal grandfather’s daughters had followed similar paths by marrying men they considered beneath them. There must have been warmth between them at some point to prompt such an action, but from what she had witnessed with her parents and now Lady Gertrude’s occupation of her life, it was evident that affection had not lasted.

One more reason Greta needed to ensure she could at least respect the gentleman she wed. She had no expectation of love. It seemed to her that love was a rare enough occurrence and possibly messy besides.

She would much prefer respect, with the possibility of a degree of warm affection as time went by. Whatever the case, she needed to find a man who would love his children. Greta was convinced her own dear father had loved her dearly.

That belief was one of the few things that warmed her heart. She couldn’t even be certain of her mother’s affections, but she was fully certain her father had loved her. Greta suspected that would be an even more important factor for sons.

And so, here she was tolerating the interminable experience of a London Season. A second London Season at that. She refused to shudder visibly, but her soul certainly did so at the thought. She fervently hoped a third wouldn’t be necessary.

That meant Mrs. Northcott’s nosy interest in her was to be an acceptable development, then. If Greta got the sense that she could trust the matron, she would ask her for her advice or assistance or whatever she might have to offer.

It would seem the lady knew all sorts of newly wedded couples. Even some that might not have seemed as likely to wed as Greta. Surely, she could give her a little more guidance than Lady Gertrude had mustered.

But why the sudden interest?

That was what troubled Greta now as she kept a slight, practiced smile pinned to her lips. Why was Mrs. Northcott taking an interest in such a nobody as her? The measly Miss Greta Billingsley was no one of any importance.

Not that Greta really believed that.

It was just how others viewed her. Others of the ton at any rate.

She certainly didn’t view herself that way. Her father had raised her to have a healthy consideration for herself. But he had also taught her to be observant and realistic. She had a mirror, she had eyes, she had ears, and a brain to put it all together.

She wasn’t as ugly as a dog’s breakfast, but she was far from a Diamond of the First Water. She had kept the extent of her wealth a well-guarded secret. And she had no one of any social significance to vouch for her.

All of that added to the fact that she was far from socially adept and that resulted in her lack of popularity. Not to say that she was shunned or even really excluded. They were sent invitations, and they were always received when they went calling, but she had certainly not made a splash upon the social tapestry of the ton .

Greta couldn’t even complain about it. She wouldn’t know what to do with herself if she had made a splash. She would be mortified to find herself at the center of attention. But since she did truly wish to wed, and she could see her aunt’s reasoning that she needed to wed with someone of the gentry or nobility, she needed to find at least a modicum of success at this Season business.

Business. Perhaps if she looked at it from that perspective, she might have a slight bit more success. Her father had taught her well. It was trying to follow a noble’s thought patterns that had landed her on the sidelines.

What would her father have to say about this?

And that was where her nimble mind stuttered. How was she to know? She had never seen her father moving amongst the higher levels of Society. He almost never left their village. The fanciest people he associated with, besides his wife, was the squire and his family.

Greta had always remained at home when her parents had gone to Town. That was an oversight on all their parts, clearly. But how were any of them to know Mr. and Mrs. Billingsley would die so suddenly?

The fact that Greta’s paternal grandfather had also died suddenly ought to have been a warning example for them, but he had been known to live fast and loose and had died of some sort of heart defect, not the sudden plague that had swept through the village and felled ten of their neighbours within two weeks.

Wasn’t she being the brightest ray of sunshine this evening? Greta thoughts continued with a sarcastic twist of her lips as she directed her steps toward the refreshment table, hoping that keeping herself moving would make it less obvious that she was a wallflower.

“Miss Billingsley? How do you do?” The warm voice startled her even as it sent a surprising shiver through her.