Fancy Pants (Only In Gooding Book #1) (2 page)

“So busy he couldn’t be bothered to meet our ship? He ignored me most of the first week, then went off and left me alone the second. If this is his concept of courtship, marriage will be desolate!”
And I’m already so lonely. . . .

“Mr. Hume leaves a little to be desired, but what man doesn’t?” Serena hung the gown back inside the wardrobe and patted Sydney’s cheek. “Bridal jitters. That’s all this is.”

“No!” Sydney grabbed her hand. “Monday evening I went downstairs to make one last attempt to explain matters. I didn’t realize Mr. Borlan was still here. I inadvertently heard—”

“You stooped to eavesdropping! Sydney.” The censure in Serena’s tone then transformed into conspiracy. “What did you hear?”

Heat filled her cheeks. “Hume told his friend I’d serve his purposes well enough. Access to the peerage and a legitimate heir are all he wants.”

“Of course he wants sons. All men do.” Serena turned the same shade as her frilly, shell pink dressing gown. “Oh, dear. Is that what’s worrying you? Your wifely duty?”

Still sickened and shocked by what she’d overheard him say, Sydney whispered, “Mr. Hume has a paramour and plans to keep her.”

“He’s a man, dear. They all stray. It won’t matter. You’ll have his name, his children, and generous funds to fritter away however you please. Do what other wives do: Turn a blind eye to his indiscretions.”

Sydney shook her head so adamantly, her hair escaped the pins and tumbled to her waist. “I refuse to marry a man who won’t honor his wedding vows. I can’t.”

“Madame du Marnier warned me that this trip was ill-fated. How many times did I tell you she warned me no good would come of it?” Rubbing her temples, Aunt Serena sighed. “I’ve chaperoned several young ladies and seen them wed by the end of their Season. You”—Serena shot her a meaningful look— “are the thirteenth.”

“Well, this trip has been an unmitigated disaster.”

“I know you don’t put any store in such things, but Madame du Marnier gave me dire warnings about bringing you here upon hearing you were to be my thirteenth charge. ‘Bad things come in threes and thirteens,’ she said. Now that I think of it, someone stole your diamond earbobs, the ship practically sank, and . . .” Serena frowned.

Desperately grasping for anything to add, Sydney blurted, “The heel broke off my boot. My
left
boot. Do you know the Latin word for left? Sinister.”

Serena shuddered.

“I knew you’d understand. Once given the facts, you’ve always proven to be sensible.” Sydney grabbed a whole armful of dresses and tossed them on the bed. “We’ll have to hurry. I have everything planned.”

“The prudent thing would be to wait and discuss the matter with Mr. Hume.”

Sydney fingered the lacy bodice of the wedding gown. “He’s unsuitable, Serena. Completely unsuitable.” Though Sydney could cite far more important and troublesome issues, she chose the one that would matter most to her aunt—trivial as it was. “The last evening Mr. Hume spoke to me, he had the gall to suggest we stop by the church on the way to the train station and marry. His business trip would be our honeymoon.”

“The rotter!” Ever-so-proper Aunt Serena spewed a line of words worthy of a guttersnipe. “That horrid man would deny you a proper wedding? Every last one of my charges has boasted the grandest wedding of the year! What kind of man would cheat his wife out of the most important day of her life? You poor child! No wonder you put that exquisite wedding gown in the trunk first. I’m getting you out of here!” A mere second later, she’d relegated the elegant creation to the depths of the trunk.

Relief washed over Sydney.

“Whatever were you thinking, keeping something so vile all to yourself these past days?”

“I didn’t say anything until I could make arrangements and keep us both safe.” The sweet fragrance of freesia swirled in the air as Sydney pulled a dress of heliotrope foulard from the bed and shoved it into the trunk. “You’ll recall Mama had a much older brother. I’ve contacted him. Uncle Fuller is expecting me.”

Aunt Serena snatched the gown from the trunk, tucked it back in after fussing with the skirts, and grabbed the next garment. “Americans. You can’t trust them.”

“Mama was American.”

“And she’s the exception that proves the rule.” Serena set aside the gown, took out the wedding gown, and positioned it between the other two.

Sydney chafed at how methodically her aunt disciplined the yards of satin to fold and lie in such perfect order.
I have to get
us out of here, and she’s fussing over a gown I’ll never wear
.

“Distressed as you are over that cad destroying your wedding, something vital escaped your notice.” Aunt Serena handed her a lilac gown and attacked the mauve one with enough force to scare it into obedience.

Under other circumstances, it would be comical to see a stout spinster in a dressing gown do midnight battle with an entire trousseau. Yet Sydney couldn’t afford to be amused. Serena didn’t know the full extent of her plans—hopefully, she never would.

“Your uncle is an American, too.” Serena scooped up a stack of small clothes, modestly stuffed them into a pillowslip, then wedged it into the trunk. “He’s not to be trusted. You’ll simply come back to England.”

“I can’t.” Sydney added her glove box, a stack of dainty handkerchiefs, and a slender, lacquered case that held her fans. “Home isn’t . . . home any longer.” Her second cousin twice removed had inherited the title and property. He and his wife had changed everything. Ultimately, Sydney had become an intruder in her own home.

“Harold and Beatrice have their peculiarities, I grant you that. But you needn’t fret. Now that you’re out of deepest mourning, we can arrange a match with another young gentleman.”

Sydney rested her hand on her aunt’s. “I know you mean well, but all my life, I heard Mama tell stories of her childhood. This is my opportunity to—”

“Run wild? Absolutely not.” Serena disappeared behind a froth of petticoats she flicked into the air, only to reappear and have them completely bundled into an astonishingly small block.

“You’re to prepare the Ashton twins for their Season. You gave your word, and their grandfather is counting on you. I can depend on Uncle Fuller until I find a suitable situation.”

Serena sighed. “You never did cooperate. I’m firm, though:

You’re coming home. It’s the proper thing to do.”

“Doing all of the proper things put me into this predicament. It seems logical that something improper is the only solution.”

“You and your logic.” Serena managed to tuck a smaller hat into a larger one and pop them into a single hatbox. “Why your mother insisted upon your being educated like a boy is beyond me. It would have been far better if you’d taken voice and music lessons.”

“I’m tone deaf. That would have been a waste of time and money.” As fast as Sydney took something out, her aunt found a spot for it.

“Learning logic, Latin, and the like was just as much a waste.” Aunt Serena took three pairs of gloves and burrowed into the trunk. Her head half buried in the clothes, she kept on nattering. “What man wants a wife who is smarter than he is? Men marry for money, property, and title. It helps if the girl is pretty, of course.”

“Hume has the money. As for property—Harold and Beatrice inherited it.”

“But you’ll always be a lady. A fine lady. And a beautiful one. While I’m arranging prospective suitors, you simply must remember to let the men feel they’re intellectually superior.”

“Women have brains and shouldn’t be ashamed to use them.”

Aunt Serena half emerged and gave her a baleful glare. “Those brains are to help you employ your wiles.” Her glare darkened. “No, Sydney. Keep out that traveling dress. You’ll wear it on the ship.”

“I’ll keep it out, but I won’t be on the ship.” Sydney glanced at the prune-colored cheviot dress and didn’t regret for a moment that she’d leave the ugly creation behind. “Uncle Fuller is expecting me.”

“Expecting you? He ought to come claim you.”

“That will take too long. I’m going to join my uncle.”

Serena stopped everything and squinted. “I know that look. It matches your mother’s whenever she concocted one of her hair-raising schemes. Just what do you think you’re going to do?”

Her aunt missed her calling. She could have been an interrogator during the Spanish Inquisition! Sydney realized she’d have to divulge what she’d hoped to keep secret. “There was just a little misunderstanding, is all.”

“What kind of misunderstanding?”

Sydney gave a dainty shrug. “Uncle Fuller presumed I’m a boy. No doubt it’s because of my name.”

“But you disabused him of—” Serena gasped. “Sydney!”

“Wait just a moment. Hear me out.” Sydney barely took a second to inhale. “Traveling alone as a woman would be difficult. When my uncle’s error dawned on me, I knew at once that he’d solved the problem.”

Horror contorted Serena’s features. “You couldn’t . . . you
wouldn’t
! A woman of good breeding does
not
wear men’s attire. If the news gets back home, you’ll forever be ruined in the eyes of polite society!”

“Aunt Serena, no one would ever credit such a wild tale! I’ll only need to manage the ruse for a short time. You have to admit, traveling in such a costume would keep me safe.”

“Darling, how will you manage? You have no understanding of men or of a man’s world.”

Sydney turned away to hide her smile. Aunt Serena was starting to crumble. A little reassurance, and she’d come around. “It cannot be all that difficult. No one will expect a man from the British aristocracy to carry his luggage or do any other labor, for that matter.”

“Even if you succeed in this scandalous charade, what will you do then?”

“I have it all planned out. While you see to launching the Ashton twins, I’ll fulfill my dreams of experiencing all Mama told me about America. Uncle Fuller promised to see to my welfare. You must admit, Uncle Fuller is a closer relative than Harold and ought to be first in line for assuming responsibility for me. I’ll reach my majority by January and receive my inheritance. By then, I’ll know whether I truly belong in England or America. Either way, I’ll be comfortable enough to be financially independent.”

“January is months and months away. I scarcely can bear the thought of your being here alone that long.”

Sydney let out a long, slow breath. “I am alone, even in England. Harold and Beatrice—it’s their home now. And you’re in high demand. Since creating a family with Mr. Hume is not my lot in life, the path is clear—I’m to go to Uncle Fuller in Texas.”

“There’s nothing at all proper or decent about your traveling plan.” Serena looked as appalled as she sounded. “You’re anticipating the visit you’ll pay your uncle without giving sufficient gravity to the days you’d be in transit. What if someone discovers your deception?”

Sydney eyed her would-be accomplice and measured the doubt on her features. “I know I can make it. Uncle Fuller wired a generous sum of money. If you won’t assist me, Aunt Serena, at least be kind enough not to give me away.”

The older woman shook her head so adamantly, her jowls wobbled. “Even if I were fool enough to agree to your reckless plan, no one in his right mind would give you britches to wear.”

For the first time in days, a smile lit Sydney’s face. “No one has to give me any.” She opened the bottom drawer of the ornately carved oak dresser and pulled out three pairs of trousers and several more shirts. “These strange Americans thought nothing of my purchasing men’s attire.”

Sydney folded a pair of britches and stuffed them in the valise she’d pulled from beneath the bed.
Men’s clothing is so much
easier to manage
. “How difficult can it be? Men aren’t slaves to fashion and etiquette. They do as they will and go where they want. Certainly I can play the role as nephew to a landed gentleman.”

Serena stared at the shirts. “What about your . . . ah, um . . .”

Sydney looked at her for a second, waiting for her to explain the silence. Serena quickly patted her own chest.

Sydney ignored the heat filling her cheeks. “Binding,” she said succinctly. “It can’t be any more uncomfortable than wearing a corset.”

Her aunt spluttered, collapsed into the nearest chair, and used her hand to fan herself. “Bad enough you’ll wear men’s outer clothes—but you won’t wear proper ladies’ smallclothes? Oh, Sydney!”

“I’ll be fine. You already have your return ticket, so I’m sure you’ll get home safely. We’ll go pack your things now.” Sydney handed her an envelope of money. “This is for you.”

Aunt Serena glanced at the envelope and pushed it back. “No, no.”

“I insist. This way, I won’t worry about you.”

“Child, you never need fret about me. On the other hand . . .”

Sydney hastily gave back the envelope. “We’ll agree not to worry about one another.”

“What about all of the women’s things you’re packing?”

“You’ll take them with you to England. From there, you’ll ship them back to America—New Orleans, to be precise. The rail line from there to Texas is quite reliable.”

“You have sufficient funds to purchase appropriate clothing in the meantime?”

“Gracious plenty. As I said, Uncle Fuller was exceptionally generous.”

A lifetime of watching Mama taught Sydney how to get her own way. Instead of throwing tantrums, Mama thought creatively. Her unique solutions took others off guard long enough to allow her to obtain whatever she desired and slip off before realization of the folly sank in. Sydney decided the time had come for her to do the same.

“Oh! Look at this coat. It’ll be perfect!” Sydney pulled a bright green one from the depths of the wardrobe. “It’s just like the one Billy Daniels wore to the Christmas party last year. Everyone raved over it, so I’ll look like landed gentry. Americans will expect me to have a fine jacket like this.”

“Child, you’re wading into a sea of trouble.”

“No more doubts. We have to hurry. I’ve booked passage for you. The ship doesn’t actually weigh anchor until tomorrow, but no one here needs to know that—not now. We’ll have the coachman take you to the docks just after lunch.”

“I’m staying with you until the last minute.”