Chapter 1

Sir Richard Davis watched his three daughters stream out of the house. Miss Walters had freed them for the hour before their supper, and the schoolroom at the top of the house was stuffy, even this late in the summer. They were playing together this evening, which was better than when they quarreled. Still, they were not laughing together.

Susannah had been dead for a little more than eighteen months. He still missed his wife every day, but young children were supposed to have short memories and great recuperative power. They looked like they were mourning their mother still. He could remember them all laughing with Susannah. He could remember them all, the mother included, coming in from the fields wearing daisy-chain coronets that Mary and Martha had made.

Had Deborah ever made a daisy chain? She was seven now, and Mary had denuded meadows making them when she was seven. Mary had just turned ten, and Martha was eight yet for three more weeks, although she was loath to admit it.

The girls needed a mother. For a moment, he considered marrying Miss Walters, but he only considered it to reject it. She was excellent as a governess, giving the children the discipline as well as the education that they needed. If the girls lacked something under her supervision, though, calling her ‘mother’ wouldn’t supply it.

So, the sacrifice of his calling her ‘wife’ would achieve nothing. His marriage to Susannah had been a love match, and he knew that such love comes not twice to any man. Still, it had also been a very satisfactory mating. Her satisfaction had joined and fed his, if it had probably not matched it. Even the first night, she had wanted him. When the pain came, she had called it the price she must pay. They had learned together how to increase their pleasure.

He had been faithful to her for their entire marriage. If that had been a sacrifice during the last years, his discomfort had paled before her suffering. He had taken to visiting ‘women of pleasure’ after her death, and had noticed how much less pleasure they afforded than a love match did. He rode off after the girls were in bed and probably asleep. Miss Walters knew, however -- there were no secrets in the village -- and she disapproved.

She had told her story to Susannah, and Susannah had shared it with him under the marital seal of secrecy. Miss Walters was a clergyman’s daughter, which explained her erudition and much else. Her father had been a vicar in London for her youth, but was finally granted a living in a village in Devon. There, Miss Walters had been seduced and abandoned. She had experienced the pain of the first night without either the pleasure of subsequent nights nor the security of wedlock. Miss Walters was certain that the sexual act was evil for men and martyrdom for women.

Well, he wanted no martyrs in his bed. Doxies shamming pleasure were bad enough. Before his marriage, he had thought that he was well experienced and Susannah, whom he had assumed -- correctly – to be an innocent, would learn from him. His experience had been with doxies faking their pleasures, and faking them badly. He and Susannah had learned together, but the learning only added to the pleasure. It had all been pleasure, sometimes great joy. And, then, for years there had been no pleasure.

Well, the girls needed a mother, and he needed a wife. He really needed a love, but that came to no man twice. He had seen enough cases where it had not come once. For his class, one got a wife in the London Season. That was where he had met Susannah, and he considered how well -- aside from mortality -- that had gone.

He had a London house. He had spent the years of Susannah’s illness there for the sake of proximity to doctors. Not that those doctors had provided much succor, but one tried what one could. The girls and Miss Walters had been shipped to this house outside a Kentish village every summer. Then, the spring after Susannah had died, he had fled with his family here. The house had certainly been physically comfortable for the last year, and it was the house where he had grown up. There was no sense providing the girls more attachment to it, however, none of them would inherit it. The entire family should return to London for the Season.

The house, together with the home farm, a good many other farms in Kent, and several other farms scattered about England, was entailed. Father had taught him that the baronet could live comfortably on half the income that came from the entailed property and invest the other half for the dowry or inheritance of his other children. Father had liked Susannah and had lived to see his daughters married and his elder son buried. Richard had inherited the London house and some unentailed farms and consols as well as the entailed property. Then, too, Father had left a modest trust in consols towards the dowry of each of the girls.

Before he had inherited, he had practiced as a barrister. He had made a good living and saved some of it. Doctors’ fees had not taken all of that.

“Baronets,” Father had said, “do not need to live large.” Well, he would live larger next year. He would attend the Season. He couldn’t shine in it; a baronet widower with a modest income and decent savings was not the acme of potential husbands. Still, he shouldn’t be the nadir, either. He was solvent, not diseased, titled -- however modest the title. Thirty-eight was not young, but he was not crippled by gout, either. His episodes of public drunkenness were long enough in the past to be forgotten and had been experienced when he was young enough to be easily forgiven. A few episodes of quite private drunkenness after Susannah’s death would hardly be the conversation of the ton.

Sir Richard had a slight acquaintance with the local baron who always attended parliament. He begged an interview with him by letter, and was invited to dine with him. There were only 8 at dinner, and when the gentlewomen had left and the cigars had been passed around, Sir Richard dared bring up the coming Season.

“I don’t expect you will have much trouble,” a Major Walter Seldridge said. The major was retired and held a seat in Commons from a borough in another county. “Last year, the maidens outnumbered the men, and some of them are coming back.”

“Yes,” Baron Charles said. “I cannot say how grateful I am that Florence is just turning 15 next month. Her Season will be a year later, and by that time the sexes should be equal. I shall tell Her Ladyship that you will be available, and I’m certain that many hostesses will be happy to learn of one more bachelor.”

“And I shall tell both Helen and Mother,” the major said. Both women had been at dinner, which was probably why Sir Richard had been invited. “They know different hostesses.”

Then the conversation turned to topics that would also interest the other male guest.

Over the next days, Sir Richard concerned himself with moving his household from Kent to London with the least discomfort. This was something that a great lord would leave to his steward, but Sir Richard did not have a steward.

Still, soon after he arrived in town, he had invitations to balls on two separate nights. He was not discomfited that these were probably not the most fashionable balls on those nights. He doubted that he would interest many maidens who attended the most fashionable balls.

“Vivian,” Hortensia, dowager Viscountess of Carlton, told her daughter, “I am not giving you as much as I would wish, but I am giving you all that I am able to.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Seasons are expensive, for all that many great ladies participate in every season, and spend many times what we will in each.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“And your dowry is respectable if not great.”

“Some of the girls were gossiping at the dressmakers, and they all seemed to have much larger ones.”

“Well, I had to choose between a larger dowry and a full season. Your father died too soon, I have felt that many times for many reasons, but this is one more reason.”

“Yes, Mother.” Vivian knew that they had not exactly skimped for the last decade and a half. Still, her mother now had more new dresses than she had bought in all the years that Vivian could remember, and Vivian had three to her one.

“So, dear, you need a proposal this season. I held back last season because there were too many debutantes chasing too few bachelors. This season is better, but there are unmarried girls who are having their second season. I cannot afford a second season for you, and I expect no help from the current viscount.’

“No, Mother.”

“So, smile tonight.” Vivian smiled for her mother, but she thought that this command to smile after the litany of problems was ironic.

She pasted her best smile on her face as they entered for the first ball of the season. It did not seem to help. She saw lines of gentlemen lined up to be granted a dance with those from the best families, those with the best dowries, and those with faces -- or bosoms -- the most attractive to gentlemen. They did not seem to notice her, and she spent the first two dances standing with Mother.

Finally, a young and handsome man came over to them.

“Madame,” he said to Mother, “I am Lionel Grant, brother to the Earl of Fenhurst.”

“Lord Lionel,” Mother said, “I am Hortensia, dowager Viscountess of Carlton. May I present my Daughter, Vivian?”

“Lady Hortensia, Lady Vivian.” He bowed and she and Mother curtseyed. “Lady Vivian, might I have the pleasure of the next dance?”

She looked at Mother. She should have looked at her dance card, but she was afraid that he would see that it was empty. Mother nodded, trying to look permissive rather than relieved, and Lord Lionel led her out onto the floor. The dance was a quadrille, and the other gentlemen were a man past his first youth, one apparently an undergraduate, and another looking quite eligible if a trifle pudgy.

The dance was vigorous, though, and she was dancing instead of looking on. By the time the set had ended, she was happy.

She had one more dance, a minuet. She saw others dancing the waltz, and it looked more risqué on the ballroom floor than it had in her classes. She was happy that she was not subjected to that temptation, but she was also jealous of the girls who were.

Then am older man who looked somewhat familiar approached them.

“Madame,” he said to Mother, “I am Sir Richard Davis.”

“Sir Richard,” Mother said, “I am Hortensia, dowager Viscountess Carlton. May I present my Daughter, Vivian?”

“Lady Hortensia, Lady Vivian.” He bowed and she and Mother curtseyed. “Lady Hortensia, might I ask your opinion of a matter of etiquette. Were a gentleman to ask a gentlewoman for a second dance at the same ball, that would violate the rules. What think you of one’s asking a lady for a dance who had not been her partner, but had been in the same quadrille?”

“I see no problem,” Mother said. “Consider the other situation. One finds that a former partner is in the same four.”

“In that case, Lady Vivian, would you honor me with the next dance?”

“The honor, Sir Richard, is mine.” And, since the next dance was the dinner dance, and she would feel devastated were she someone’s third choice for that, the honor truly was. The dance was a country dance, but afterwards she had to draw her dinner partner out for the first time.

Mother had told her that most gentlemen considered themselves experts on horseflesh and racing, male fashion, or politics. Sir Richard did not look like the gambling sort, and so she began with fashion.

“I am afraid,” he said, “that I am far from au courant. I was a barrister when younger, and clients are loath to trust their causes to a fashion horse.” That led to her asking questions about the law until the conversation turned and she had to deal with the man on the other side.

Lord Alexander was happy to tell her about horses. He only had one saddle horse and two on his carriage now, but he had spent his youth in his father’s stables.

Although vicious murders and messy divorces were the subject of newspaper reports of trials, most court cases were about contracts and wills and most criminal cases were about lesser crimes. Even then, a barrister spent nearly as much time in giving opinions to solicitors as in court.

And it went on like that. When the gentlewomen withdrew, she was able to report to Mother that she had left her two table companions satisfied.

And it was probably true. At later balls, Sir Richard asked her to partner her in quadrilles and Lord Alexander once asked her for a dinner dance.

Then Sir Richard invited the two of them to luncheon. The other gentleman present was Mr. Redmond, a currently-practicing barrister. There were only four at table, and the conversation was general. Vivian mostly let her elders carry the conversation. After luncheon, Mr. Redmond took his leave. Sir Richard’s children, Mary, Martha, and Deborah, were brought in.

Richard saw that Vivian was both kind and courteous to the girls. That was the last question in his mind, though the rest of the visit would have been awkward if she had not been. Well, it would be awkward enough the way he had planned it.

He suggested that the girls show Lady Vivian the dollhouse they had. She agreed, and he and Lady Hortensia watched the chattering bevy leave toward the stairs.

“My lady,” he said, “may I be frank?”

“Certainly.”

“I would like to lay out my situation. Some of it you already know. I am a widower. I loved my late wife very much. Such love does not come twice into a man’s life. She died twenty months ago after a lingering and painful illness leaving me with three children.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lady Hortensia said. “My condolences.”

“Thank you. Those three children need a mother. They have a governess, and a very good governess, but a governess is not a mother. I need a wife. That is why I participate in this season. I do not fool myself. I am far from the best match on offer this season. I am nearly forty. I own this house in the city and another house in Kent which is comparable. It’s larger, and more comfortable, in my opinion. It is also, inescapably, rustic. The farms in Kent support both houses, but they don’t gain me any huge income beyond that. A baronetcy is a title, but not much of a title. It doesn’t compare with a viscount’s title, for example.”

“Sir Richard, I hope you don’t think I would sneer at you. A dowager is a much-diminished title.”

“I never thought any such thing,” he said. “I’m being frank about my situation. There are worse prospects on offer this year, drunkards, wastrels. Forty isn’t doddering, and there are dodderers looking for wives that will be superior nurses. The worst aspect of me as a marital prospect is that I’m ready to marry again, but I am not ready to love again. That is one thing that I cannot offer a bride.”

“There are many marriages without love, not always the worst ones. Are you thinking of a white marriage?”

“When I wed, my bride will be my wife in all ways. I expect that. I also expect her to be in charge of my household -- my households. She will be mother to my daughters, but also wife to myself. Perhaps, she will be mother to other children of ours.” That should be explicit enough. He wasn’t going to share the breakfast table with a woman for the rest of his days without sharing her bed as well.

“You are being quite frank with me,” Lady Hortensia said.

“Obviously, I’m not confiding in you in hopes that you will suggest a possibility. I am considering offering for your daughter.”

“Considering?”

“I believe myself to be an honest man,” he said. “As I said, there are worse prospects every season, especially this one. There are also much better ones. It would be dishonest of me to say that I love your daughter. It would certainly be inelegant for me to tell her that I do not. You, on the other hand, can tell her that.”

“I could.”

“Tell her that she will get a proposal from me unless she precludes it by accepting another. I have been frank about my own situation. May I be frank about hers and yours?”

“Be bold.” Lady Hortensia was smiling rather ironically. Once you have asked if you can say something honestly about another, you have already criticized them.

“Lady Vivian often looks worried. She is much more attractive when she does not. If her worries are about not getting any proposal, she will be less worried and -- therefore -- more attractive if she knows that mine is in the offing. I may be working against my own interests, but I would feel terrible guilt were I to marry a woman because I had not been honest with her about her other prospects.”

“You are a strange man.”

“If I am considering a proposal,” he said, “I am also considering a marriage. I have experienced one with honesty and love. I can’t bear the thought of one with neither.”

The conversation turned to the topics of the Season until Lady Vivian returned with Mary.

Vivian could tell that Sir Richard wanted her to go with his girls. Probably, he wanted her out of the way for a conversation with Mother. The doll house that the three girls showed her, however, was well worth the climb. It was large and elaborate. Hinged in the middle, it could come apart so that every room on both floors were accessible. Closed, you could look in windows to see the furnishings and dolls in each room. The doors opened and shut, and the kitchen was fully furnished.