"Mary, your hair is fine! The carriage is at the gate, now please stop stalling," Elizabeth Beauclerk called upstairs for her sister.
The house had been buzzing all morning, preparing for the family's long journey west from their home in London to the countryside of Worcestershire. With a quick twist of dark wavy hair she pinned the last curl in place and looked at herself in the mirror. She tied her straw bonnet over her hair and smoothed down the folds of her powder blue dress. The color matched her sister's eyes more than her own golden hazel. She wasn't as beautiful as fair Elizabeth, but it would do.
The country beckoned, far away from the noisy streets of London; the constant bustle by daylight and the smell of burning mitre by night. Ahead of her lay sculpted rose gardens, the wave of wild grasses on the hillside and still marsh ponds mirroring the clear sky.
Countryside citizens were something else entirely. Gossips abound in the countryside and for a proper lady, there was little to do but confine oneself to the social morays of a sitting room, away from the wild grasslands, the ponds, and the rose gardens. The thought filled Mary with distaste. There was an escape from those and it was in the feel of grass under her feet, the rock of a boat or the gallop of a horse.
She was not a proper lady. Her heart belonged to the wild free spaces and the outdoors. More than once Mary had nearly scandalized her family by riding out alone in the country or taking a carriage through London without an escort. She seldom cared what others thought and had no intention to marry. She was the youngest daughter of the Duke of St. Albans. Her family was wealthy and respected but kept itself out of the epicenter of the ton.
Her sister Elizabeth had made sure of that early on. Swept up in prewar romance, Lizzie married young to a charming officer who left soon after their wedding night and promptly froze to death on the steppes of Russia. The heartbroken Elizabeth vowed to never marry again, and solidified her position in an affair with a married Viscount that cost their father dearly financially to cover it up and save the reputation of both. Lizzie had been very selective about her liaisons since.
After witnessing Lizzie's ill fated love life, Mary decided that staying a virgin Duchess was her best bet, and was content dying an old maid, her heart unbroken, her family unscandalized. Her brother would carry the title, anyway.
"MARY!" Lizzie broke her reverie.
"I'm coming, forgoodnessake! It's not like Wellesley House will burn down without us," Mary said, grabbing her shawl. She slung it through her elbows and ran her hands along the banister as she descended the staircase.
"I want to get there before Claire Townshend gets her hands on Lord Raynham! We are late enough now to miss the entrances and the first dance. Any more fussing over your curls and we'd miss dinner entirely."
Mary rolled her eyes, "I really don't think you have to worry about Claire Townshend, Lizzie," she said, the driver's gloved hand assisting her into the carriage, "Word has it she'll be married to some gentleman or another by season's end. Her brother's marriage has yet to produce an heir, and as you well know, Mrs. Townsend is increasingly tired of her antics."
Claire; Lizzie's nemesis. She was the other young war widow of the ton and like Elizabeth engaged in unspoken affairs with its gentleman rakes. As with all people who are so alike in circumstance and temperament, they thoroughly despised each other and competed savagely over potential lovers. To hide their rivalry, they spoke only the highest of each other in letters and public graciousness. Oftentimes their feigned civility hidden behind silk fans would make Mary want to wretch.
The door shut behind the Beauclerks. Mary looked up. At least the skies were clear today, and the weather warm: a far cry from the past week. Rain soaked mud clung to the wheels of the carriage and the gutters.
With a hand up, Mary climbed into the carriage alongside Lizzie, across from their parents, Lord Aubrey and Lady Louisa. The first event of the season was always held a short ways outside London, but this time it was to be deep in the countryside of Worcestershire at the sprawling estate of the Wellesley's. Mary puzzled at why they were going so far out of their usual way for such a trifle. The last two years the Beauclerk family was not seen at the first country party of the season and after Lizzie's ill-fated tryst with Viscount Falmouth, Mary didn't think that her father would be so quick to thrust the family into the limelight.
The carriage bounced along the road, swaying side to side on the sun-baked ridges of mud. The rain of the past week had mercifully stopped, revealing fresh spring earth. The smell was occasionally putrid close to the Thames this time of year and Mary was glad to be escaping the city briefly for the countryside. Gradually the boundaries of London and the musty smell of the Thames gave way to small clumps of cottages, neatly trimmed hedges and the scent of clover.
It would take until the afternoon to arrive at the guest cottage in Croome Park, and the Beauclerk girls sat in almost eerie silence with their parents. Mary occupied herself with crochet, enjoying the quiet as best she could. Lizzie usually chattered through these rides, but this time sat looking out the window, her blonde curls bouncing through her coiffure.
The sole sound of wheels squeaking lightly under the sedan was finally interrupted by Lord Aubrey clearing his throat to speak, "Mary, child," her father began haltingly. His words usually flowed freely, laced with the odd joke and a smile. Now his face was pinched. This wasn't like him, "I don't know if you are aware of the reason for our going to Worcestershire today."
"I'm sorry Father, what was that?"
"Our reason for visiting Wellesley," he said clearing a dried throat, "and staying at Croome Court as guests of the Earl of Coventry actually pertains to you."
Mary wrinkled her nose, perplexed, "Why me?"
"Our family has come to an important decision about your... future."
Mary's blood froze. This conversation could only have one end, "Father, I—"
"Daughter, please listen, do not protest just yet," he said gently, "Your mother and I have been in communication with the Earl. As you may not know, he was very tragically widowed the year before last and is in search of a new wife."
"Father, you know I have no intention to marry. I am perfectly content—"
