The Betting Season (A Regency Season Book) (33 page)

“
What is wrong with marrying for love?”

Her mother looked up at her, a wave of pity flashed across her face. “Oh, Moira, please do not tell me you are holding out for love.”

Moira sat back down and played with the fringe on her shawl. “What is so wrong if I wish that there be some affection?”

“
Oh, dear.” Her mother settled on the seat beside Moira and picked up her hand. “Be happy with your role of providing an heir and a spare and tuck your heart away. It will only be broken.”

That was the same advice Mother had given Beth, Moira’s older sister. Beth seemed quite content, living in the country, producing a child approximately ten months after her husband bothered to visit. Even now Moira’s brother-in-law was in Town while her sister was not. It was what Moira expected for herself, but not what she wanted. Her sister wanted a marquess and a quiet home in the country. She had her home, and one day her husband would hold the title. Moira wanted someone to care for her, though she knew the chance of such a union was unlikely, especially given that her brother was an earl and her dowry was embarrassingly large.

Her mother set the half-empty glass of Madeira on the table. “First thing tomorrow, we begin work.”

“
On what?” Moira stilled herself for the answer. It could be anything from a day of needlework to a new wardrobe.

“
Your hair first. That ghastly color will not attract any gentleman, especially after the shame you have brought to this family.”

Not my hair again.
“I don’t know what you would have me do. Dip my head in tar?”

“
Don’t be cheeky.” Mother finished off her second glass of Madeira. She never had more than one glass in an evening.

“
There are a number of remedies, and we will try one after the other until we get it right.”

“
If you wish.”

“
And those freckles. I’ll visit the apothecary for a salve.”

There weren’t that many, a couple dozen or so, and they were small. Why couldn’t her mother just leave them alone? Hopefully whatever salve her mother found would smell better than the others she’d tried. “Lastly, we are going to bind your breasts.”

Moira sat up. “What?”

“
They attract far too much attention. The wrong kind of attention.” Her mother lifted her eyebrows in a knowing manner, which was lost on Moira. “If you want a
gentleman,
you can’t have those—” she gestured to Moira’s chest “—distracting them. True gentlemen prefer dainty women. Perhaps we should bind your hips as well.”

Her mother had now moved beyond any reason.

“
We will discuss the rest tomorrow. Off to bed.”

Thank goodness. Moira stood to make her exit.

“
And one more thing.”

Moira stopped without turning around.

“
Do not expect to leave the house for a few days, or longer. Not until this scandal dies.”

Days trapped in the house with her mother? Lord Lydell was beginning to hold some promise. At least he would leave her alone.

Lord Alston bets Mr. Fiske three hundred pounds that Mr. Garson, who does not have an estate near Bath, will allow himself to be compromised by Lady Moira Kirkwood and hie off to Scotland within a fortnight. ~ April 20, 1813

Gideon stared at open page of the betting book.
Who the bloody hell was Mr. Garson
? Two gentlemen behind him were in a heated discussion over a Miss Vandercourt, and Gideon stepped out of the way so they could write their own bet. Hopefully the one involving Lady Moira would be buried within the pages soon enough.

White’s was overly crowded this evening. No doubt because they all had invitations to the Davenports’ and preferred to be here instead. Still, it wasn’t as though it was the only ball in Town. So why the crush?

He shrugged, not overly concerned, and scanned the room for a place to sit. Coming toward him was a young gentleman barely old enough to be out of Harrow. Round face, boyish grin, and a cravat tied so high and tight it could be used as a noose. Gideon stepped out of the way, but the man halted in front of him.

“
Lord Ainsely, I am Mr. Garson.” He stuck out his hand.

Well, that answered one of his questions.

“
Mr. Garson.” Gideon nodded in introduction. He really didn’t want to encourage a conversation with the stranger.

“
Lydell suggested you could help me.”

“
How is that?”

“
By way of an introduction to Lady Moira Kirkwood.”

Gideon looked past Garson for Lydell, who was coming up from behind.

“
I don’t see why Lydell can’t perform the service himself.”

“
How would that look?” The man questioned. “Lady Moira rejected him tonight. Should a gentleman be expected to introduce the lady in question to his replacement?”

How young was this pup?

“
Besides, I won’t talk to that simpleton again,” Lydell added as he drew up beside them.

Gideon arched an eyebrow. Lydell apparently did not take rejection well.

“
Bath,” Lydell muttered as he passed Gideon and exited White’s.

“
Will you do it, Lord Ainsely?”

Though every instinct warned Gideon to advise young Garson to speak with Hearne, he didn’t. “The next time the three of us are at the same function, I will endeavor to arrange an introduction.”

The man sighed and grinned. His eyes lit as if someone had just given him a treat. “Oh, thank you, Lord Ainsely. You will not regret this.”

Gideon simply nodded, moving past the young man, already regretting the offer.

So when did I turn into a blasted matchmaker
?

“
Where is Mother?” Nyle asked as he entered the morning room.

Moira looked up from her book. “She has gone to the apothecary.”

A look of worry flashed over his features. “Is she ill?”

“
No.” Moira laughed. “She is in search of something to rid me of my freckles.”

Nyle rolled his eyes and settled in the chair across from Moira. “Is this her punishment because of the betting book?”

“
She’s convinced once we’ve taken care of my ghastly appearance, no one will remember.” Moira blinked back tears. She normally didn’t allow her mother’s words to upset her so. Why was she so sensitive today?

Nyle leaned forward and looked Moira in the eye. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with your appearance. In fact, you are rather pretty.”

“
You’re my brother and are required to say nice things, on occasion.” Though, when they were children such had not been the case. She smiled at the fond memories of a much more pleasant and less complicated time.

“
I know your value. And—” he straightened “—I can assure you there is not one gentleman in society who would ever consider you ghastly, but rather attractive.”

“
Thank you.” Moira smiled and looked down. It was nice to hear, but she didn’t truly believe him. When she married it would be because the gentleman had an estate in Scotland and needed her wealth. Such gentlemen in need of a settlement usually didn’t have the option of marrying a diamond of the first water.

“
Why did you stop by? It isn’t like you to be here so early, and looking for Mother. Is something wrong?”

“
I am not looking for Mother and hoped she was still abed.”

“
Why?”

“
Ainsely came to see me this morning.”

Moira’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of his name. Oh,
why
wasn’t he Scottish?

“
Apparently there is a new bet in the books.”

Moira sat straight. She did not need this. Not now. “Why? Who?”

“
As you rejected Lydell simply because his estate is Bath, a bet was wagered with regard to a new gentleman who does not have an estate near Bath. A Mr. Garson, or so I understand.”

“
Do you know him?”

“
No.” Nyle pushed his fingers through his hair. “What is your objection to Bath?”

Moira pursed her lips.
How much do I tell him?
“It is a lovely place to visit, but I do not wish to live there.” She shrugged. It was better not to tell her brother of her plans just in case he wished to object. He would be the one making the marriage contract on her behalf. Only if it became necessary would she divulge her reasoning. Apparently Alvina hadn’t told him either, or he wouldn’t ask. At least her sister-in-law could keep a secret from Nyle when it was begged of her.

“
Well, you can’t discount a gentleman simply because of where he lives.”

“
I won’t, if the gentleman is worth considering.” And a gentleman wasn’t worth considering if he didn’t live in Scotland.

The front door opened and closed, and Moira could hear her mother. “Please don’t tell her,” she begged in a whisper.

“
And ruin my own day?”

“
Nyle, what a pleasant surprise,” her mother exclaimed as she walked into the room carrying a bag.

Her brother stood. “You do have servants to do your shopping and carry your things.”

“
Oh, I couldn’t trust these purchases to just anyone.” She put the bag on the floor and settled onto the settee as Nyle resumed his seat.

Mother reached into the bag and began withdrawing items. “Rose-water and borax.” She set the bottles on the table. “It is for the complexion.” Then she removed two more items. “Ammonia and muriatic acid for the hair.”

Nyle frowned. “Mother, your hair is a lovely shade without even a hint of gray or white as so many women suffer at your age.”

“
I know, dear.” She patted her chignon. “These are for Moira. If we cannot make it blonde with these, I have ingredients for a walnut dye to make it brown.” She looked over at her daughter. “Anything is better than that red.”

“
Mother, there is nothing wrong with Moira’s hair color.”

“
What do you know?” she dismissed him. “You are a man.”