The carriage ride from Mayfair to Hamilton House was not long, but to Lady Celine Farrington, it felt like a journey to a different world.
She sat on the plush velvet seat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She was wearing her best visiting dress, a pale rose muslin that made her look like a fresh bloom in a garden.
Her bonnet was tied with silk ribbons that fluttered every ti she turned her head.
And she was turning her head often.
"Oh, Mama," Celine breathed, pressing her gloved hand against the glass window. "I can’t believe we’re going to the Hamilton house. I’m so excited. I get to et his family. His aunt, his sister... it feels so official."
She turned back to her mother, her blue eyes shining with pure, unadulterated joy.
"Do you think they will like ?" Celine asked. "I practiced the piano this morning just in case they ask to play. And I re-read the Chapter on crop rotation, just in case the Duke wants to discuss farming again."
Lady Farrington sat opposite her daughter. She was a vision of maternal ambition in stiff lavender silk. She did not look out the window. She looked at Celine.
"Celine," Lady Farrington said sharply. "Sit back. You are fogging the glass."
Celine imdiately pulled back. "Sorry, Mama."
"And do not bounce," Lady Farrington cautioned. "You are a Lady, not a puppy. You must act like a Duchess in training. A Duchess is calm. A Duchess is poised. A Duchess does not press her nose against windows like a common child looking at a sweet shop."
Celine quickly behaved. She straightened her spine. She folded her hands. She adjusted her expression to one of polite interest.
"Yes, Mama," she whispered.
Lady Farrington sighed. She turned her head and looked out the window. Her expression was not one of excitent, but of annoyance. She tapped her fan against the window ledge.
"Where is he?" she murmured.
She looked behind their carriage. The street was filled with traffic—drays, hacks, and riders—but there was no sign of the black town coach that should have been following them.
"My brother," Lady Farrington complained, her voice tight. "He is always late. He promised he would follow our carriage. He promised he would be there to make the introductions."
Celine frowned slightly. "Uncle Wesley?"
"Yes, your Uncle Wesley," Lady Farrington said. "He should be here. It looks improper for us to arrive without a male escort, even if we are staying for a week."
She huffed, a sound of pure frustration.
"That is why he isn’t following our carriage," she muttered. "He is probably still at his club, arguing about railway shares or betting on which raindrop will fall first. n have no sense of ti."
Celine reached out and touched her mother’s knee.
"Mama, what’s wrong?" Celine asked gently. "You seem worried. Is it... is it the Duke? Do you think he changed his mind?"
Lady Farrington snapped her head back. She saw the worry in her daughter’s eyes. She realized she was letting her mask slip.
She forced a smile. It was a tight, practiced smile, but it was enough to reassure a girl as innocent as Celine.
"I’m fine, my dear," Lady Farrington replied. She patted Celine’s hand. "Just... anxious for everything to be perfect. This is a big week for you."
She took a deep breath.
"Now rember," she said, switching into serious mode. "When we arrive, you must greet the aunt first as she is the eldest female present. Then the sister and her husband. Do not giggle. I heard they have a child. If the baby is there, coo at it, but do not let it drool on your silk. And if the cousin is there..."
Lady Farrington paused. She narrowed her eyes.
"Be polite to the cousin," she instructed. "The gray mouse. Miss Kingsley. She seems to have the Duke’s ear. Do not offend her, but do not let her monopolize the conversation."
"I know, Mama," Celine replied dutifully. "I will be perfect."
Just then, they felt the carriage slow down. The rhythm of the wheels changed from the steady hum of the pavent to the crunch of gravel.
The driver pulled the horses to a stop.
"We have arrived, My Lady," the footman called from outside.
Celine’s heart gave a giant thump. She looked at her mother.
"Ready?" Lady Farrington asked.
"I am ready, mama," Celine whispered.
Inside Hamilton House, the atmosphere was frantic.
The drawing room was a flurry of movent.
Mr. Simmons, the butler, walked into the room. He did not run, but his walk was brisk.
"The Farringtons have arrived," Simmons announced. "The carriage is at the door."
Chaos ensued.
Aunt Margery was sitting on the sofa, drinking tea. Upon hearing the news, she gasped.
"They are here!"
Aunt Margery replied as she dropped her tea cup onto the saucer with a loud clatter. She didn’t care about the spill. She reached down and carried Fifi, the apricot poodle, tucking the dog under her arm like a fuzzy purse.
"Splendid," Margery declared. She stood up, adjusting her purple turban. "Absolutely splendid. The ga is afoot! Shall we all go to greet our guests?"
She looked around the room at her troops.
Ines stood by the fireplace. She was holding Baby Harry. The little boy was dressed in a tiny blue velvet suit that made him look like a prince. He was chewing on his fist, looking skeptical about the whole affair.
Rowan stood in front of the mirror over the mantelpiece. He was staring at his own reflection. He looked pale. He reached up and adjusted his cravat for the fifth ti in a minute. It was already perfect, but he pulled at it as if it were choking him.
"Stop fidgeting, Rowan," Ines scolded gently. "You look like a Duke. Just breathe."
Carcel walked over to his wife. He helped Ines adjust the baby’s blanket so it draped elegantly over her arm.
"Do not drop the heir," Carcel teased. "It makes a bad first impression."
Ines rolled her eyes at him, but she smiled.
And then, there was Delaney.
Delaney stood in the corner, near the heavy velvet drapes.
She was not wearing gray.
Aunt Margery had been very clear that morning. "No gray! No wool! No looking like a governess! You are a relation of the House of Hamilton, and you will dress like one!"
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