Not that this particular scenario was common enough to receive attention in Mrs. Coswell’s Book of Ladies’ Manners. Indeed, Sera thought Mrs. Coswell might summarily perish if she were apprised of the goings on at Highley.
There was no reason why they could not make the best of a strange situation, however. If these four were all that stood between Seraphina and her freedom, she was certainly willing to play her part. With a wide smile and even wider arms, she said, “Good morning, ladies.” The girls froze, eyes wide, looking first to each other and then to their respective mothers, clearly not knowing how to reply. Sera let her smile reach her eyes. “I am Lady Seraphina.” She deliberately used the address she’d had prior to her marriage.
The smallest of the four, a diminutive brunette stepped forward, dressed in shell pink and with features so small and delicate that they reminded Sera of a mouse, though not altogether unpleasantly. “Do we call you Your Grace?”
It was decided. She liked this one, who had no trouble getting right to the point. “I confess, I would prefer you not. After all, we’re all here to ensure that I am not Her Grace for any more time than is absolutely necessary.”
The assembled mothers and daughters tittered. “This is highly irregular,” one of the maters harrumphed. “Where is the duke? It’s wildly inappropriate that he send you lot to greet us.”
“I beg your pardon?” Sera said. “You lot?”
The older woman lifted her chin and sniffed at the air. “You take my meaning.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
One of the other women waved a hand in the direction of her sisters. “You and your sisters aren’t exactly good ton these days.”
“I’m a countess!” Seleste protested before pointing to Sophie. “And she is Marchioness of Eversley and the future Duchess of Lyne!”
“Yes,” the woman allowed, as though speaking to a child. “But none of you have come by your titles . . .”
Sesily’s brows snapped together. “Say honestly, and get back in your carriage, hag.”
The words were punctuated by a wild yowl from Brummell, and Sera resisted the urge to smile at her sister’s undying loyalty, which had its place, but in this instance, was not entirely helpful. She looked to the older woman as her brows shot up, mouth forming a perfect O. Before the furious mother could speak, Sera leapt in, placing herself between the two women.
“Their titles are not of interest, however, are they, my lady? Mine is. You would do best to remember the prize you are here to win.”
The woman hesitated, then acquiesced.
Sera turned back to the young women. “Well. As you know, I’ve been out of town for several seasons. Shall we begin with introductions?”
Another mother tittered, “Simply not done.”
Sera lowered her voice and leaned into the girls conspiratorially. “You’ll find I have little interest in what is done. Instead, I prefer getting things done.”
Four sets of eyes flew to meet hers, myriad expressions chasing surprise in them—shock, confusion, amusement, and, in the last, admiration.
Sera made a mental note to investigate Admiration—at first blush, the plainest of the bunch, and clearly not plain at all.
Malcolm might like her.
The thought did not bring the satisfaction she might have wished.
Amusement—the minuscule mouse—was first to speak, taking a firm step forward. “I am Lady Lilith Ballard, youngest daughter of the Earl of Shropshire.” She pointed to the pursed-lipped woman who had spoken earlier. “That’s my mother, the countess.” She lowered her voice. “Well done with her, by the way.”
Sera grinned. Yes. She liked this one very much. She nodded, “It’s a pleasure.” She looked to Admiration, who watched with keen eyes, but showed no interest in introducing herself.
Which worked out well, because the duke took that moment to arrive. “Welcome to Highley, ladies.” His voice was deep and lovely, filling the early morning with aristocracy.
Sera stiffened as the assemblage turned their attention on him, the only father in the bunch taking that moment to move, coming forward with a too-loud throat clearing. “Haven. Bit odd all this, don’t you think?”
Malcolm shook hands with the man. “Brunswick.” Baron Brunswick, poor as a church mouse, Sera recalled, but with a proper, respectable title. “Has anything about my recent past been less than odd?” He waved to Sera. “You’ve met my soon-not-to-be wife, I see, and you must know her sisters.”
The baron grunted his agreement and pointed to Confusion, a redhead with enormous green eyes. “That’s my girl.”
It did not escape Seraphina that the girl in question remained unnamed. As though one girl were the same as the next, and so why bother giving them unique names? Malcolm rectified the situation. “Lady Emily, it is a pleasure to meet you.”
Lady Emily, for her part, did not appear to feel similarly. Indeed, she looked as though she might burst into tears.
She was saved from the embarrassment, however, by the loud, insistent, “Mary,” from one of the other mothers. Shock seemed to come alive then, stepping forward and virtually throwing elbows to stand in front of Haven. She was blond and lovely as a porcelain doll. And it seemed her name was Mary.
Malcolm took the moment in stride, all gentleman. “You must be Miss Mary Mayhew.”
Sera tilted her head in surprise. Miss. The Duke of Haven even considering a woman without blue blood was a shock, considering how disdainful he and his mother had been about her father’s coal mining roots. “Her father is one of the most powerful men in Commons,” Sophie whispered at her ear.
A politician. Even worse.
“Your Grace,” the beauty said, dropping into a deep curtsy, her voice breathless and winning and very likely the most feminine thing Seraphina had ever heard.
She couldn’t help herself. Her gaze flew to Haven’s face, to where he looked down at Shock with polite interest. There was nothing about it that indicated anything more than common courtesy, but Sera did not care for it.
No. She did not care, full stop.
Let him appreciate the other woman. There was absolutely no reason whatsoever that Sera should mind if he thought her beautiful. No reason for her to even notice.
In fact, she hadn’t noticed him looking at all.
She snatched her gaze away, the far-off sound of clattering wheels distracting her as another black coach came up the drive. Apparently one of the girls hadn’t been able to fit all her belongings into two conveyances, and required a third. It seemed slightly unnecessary, but Sera knew better than most that catching a duke required commitment.
Not that she had needed anything extravagant to do it.
She cleared her throat and looked to Admiration, immediately regretting her sharp tone and the way it hinted at her unwelcome thoughts. “And you are?”
The girl did not flinch. “Felicity Faircloth.”
Sera blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
Admiration smiled. “Ridiculous, isn’t it?”
“A bit.”
The smile became a smirk. “Does it help if I tell you I’m Lady Felicity Faircloth?”