LITMIR.BIZ

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when he was free and loaned us his carriage when he wasn’t. Though I had funds sufficient to maintain my household, they didn’t stretch to keeping a carriage and horses. Lily had traveled to England with Aunt Hetty as her chaperone. Hetty was my father’s sister and shared his genius for making money, but I didn’t know how long she’d be staying with me and I feared growing accustomed to living within her means.

      The two young ladies took the rear-facing seats, allowing Hetty and I to face forward. She climbed in first, pulling out the newspaper she’d tucked into the seat earlier. I tutted as I seated myself beside her. “Hetty, you’ll strain your eyes reading in this light.”

      She dismissed my concerns with a few mumbled words and folded the broadsheet to a manageable size. “Don’t concern yourself with my vision, dear. It’s fine.”

      I frowned at the paper hiding her face. “Can’t you put that down? I have a dilemma and hoped to get your opinion.”

      “We have opinions.” Lily gestured to Lottie and herself.

      “Of course, but I’d like Aunt Hetty’s, too.” I gave her a nudge with my elbow.

      “Go on, I’m listening,” she said.

      “I just spoke to Cousin Charles.” I sighed. “He tells me he no longer wishes to pursue a connection with Mary Archer.” I glanced up at my relations, hoping for some sympathy.

      “And you thought they were such a good match,” Lily said. “Did he say why?”

      “No, just that things did not work out between them, and he’d be amenable to another introduction if I knew of someone suitable.”

      “He’s the nice cousin, isn’t he? And Hazelton’s friend?” Aunt Hetty tucked a wayward strand of dark hair up into her hat. She was nearly fifty, and though her face was just beginning to show the years, her hair was still jet black. She wrinkled her nose. “The rather dim-witted one?”

      “He is Mr. Hazelton’s friend, but he’s not dim-witted. At least I think that’s rather harsh. He’s such a good-hearted man, and pleasant company. Just confusing at times. Or maybe confused.”

      “He’s very handsome,” Lily offered.

      “And he is his brother’s heir,” I said, “so one day he’ll be Viscount Evingdon.”

      “So, he’s good-hearted, handsome, and will possess a title. I don’t suppose there’s a chance he’s wealthy in the bargain?” Hetty glanced from behind her paper, arching a dark brow.

      “That part of the family is quite well off.”

      “Then why did he need your help in finding a match? I’d assume such a man would have women making offers of marriage to him on a daily basis.” She stared at me with a confusion I fully understood. She was new to London society, quite different from New York, but even she knew a great catch when she heard of one.

      “Actually, he does find it difficult to keep the ladies at bay, but he’s hoping to find someone who is attracted to him, rather than his title and fortune.”

      “And his handsome face,” Lily added. “Don’t forget that.”

      I glanced across at my sister. Only eighteen years old and replete with blond-haired, blue-eyed, china doll loveliness. Indeed, she was the very image of my mother, while I was a combination of both parents—dark brown hair with blue eyes and fair skin. And like my aunt Hetty, I fairly towered over my petite sister. At twenty-seven, I was nearly a decade older as well. It came as a surprise that she would see beauty in a man almost twenty years her senior.

      “I suggest you never let Leo find out you have an attraction for older men,” I said, smiling as she blushed.

      “I have eyes, Frances, but while I can see the man is handsome, it doesn’t necessarily follow that I’m attracted to him. You know I’m completely devoted to Leo.”

      Indeed, I did know. This was just another of Lily’s reminders that I was delaying their wedding, and for no good reason as far as she was concerned. In fact, later this week we’d be dining with Leo’s family and I expected pressure to concede a few months in favor of an earlier wedding date. And ready or not, it was likely Lily would be a married woman before the new year. I dearly hoped she was ready.

      She leaned forward and touched my wrist, bringing me out of my reverie. “What about Lottie as a match for Mr. Evingdon?”

      I glanced over at Lottie in time to see the girl blush furiously. I should have seen this coming. Lily had invited her to visit during the next social season and allow me to introduce her to London society. Lottie’s mother favored the idea, but not the timing. She’d dropped her only daughter on our doorstep three weeks ago, like a twenty-one-year-old foundling, and took herself off to Paris to have a new wardrobe designed.

      Or so she claimed.

      Since her forwarding address was in care of the Comte De Beaulieu, I found her cover story rather weak. The Comte was the notorious libertine British husbands considered all Frenchmen to be. And penniless in the bargain. If he had designs on anything, it was likely Mrs. Deaver’s pin money. Considering the large bank draft she provided to cover her daughter’s expenses, and my own of course, I suspected her pin money to be substantial, and Mr. Deaver was unlikely to miss it or his wife. If the gossip from my mother’s letters was true, Mrs. Deaver so scandalized the matrons of New York, none of them would let their sons near Lottie.

      Considering Mrs. Deaver’s reputation across the pond, it was perhaps for the best that she moved on before she could establish one here. But while I appreciated the extra funds, I was left with the problem of what to do with Lottie. The unfortunate young lady sought an aristocratic husband during a time when the aristocrats were all tucked away at their country homes preparing to shoot red grouse as soon as the Glorious Twelfth arrived.

      There were few social events this late in the summer, which meant we had her company all to ourselves for the weeks she’d been here. She was a pretty girl of medium height, slender, as fashion decreed, with an oval face framed by an abundance of russet hair. I found her to be endlessly interested in everything. As I told Sir Hugo, she was easy to entertain. She was also determined to be helpful. I learned very quickly, accepting her assistance could be dangerous.

      If I allowed her to arrange the flowers, she’d only break the vase and spill the water. I’d once asked her to fetch a book from a shop just a few blocks away. She’d neglected to take a maid and, lost in thought, she wandered so far out of the neighborhood, three of us had to go out in search of her. A search that took several hours from my day and, I suspect, a few years off my life as I imagined her abducted and sold into slavery. How would I ever have explained that to her family?

      She seemed always to have a spot on her dress, ink on her fingers, and a trail of destruction in her wake, but it was clear she always had the best of intentions. In fact, she was very endearing and I liked her a great deal, if only I could keep her from touching anything.

      But as a match for Charles? I wasn’t quite sure who would make a good match for Lottie, but I’d never have picked him. For one, his home had far too many priceless antiques to be broken. For another, though I protested Aunt Hetty’s saying it, he was a bit of a dunderhead. Lottie needed someone to help her navigate the twists and turns of society. That would not be Charles.

      There was one objection I could make. “It would probably be wise to find out from Mr. Evingdon why he didn’t form an attachment to Mrs. Archer before I introduce him to anyone else.”

      “Why did you consider her a good match for Mr. Evingdon?” Lily asked.

      Hmm, a good question. “In part because she’s a widow and her late husband’s family is rather prominent in society. They did a great deal of entertaining and Mary was quite the darling of the fashionable set. When Cousin Charles inherits, he will have to take his place in that world, take his seat in the House of Lords, and Mary would be a good helpmeet in that area.”

      “Well, that’s very practical,

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