Page 9 of Tempting the Marquess

Chapter2

“Ouch!”

Eyes watering, Samantha gripped the edge of her dressing table. A sleepless night tossing, turning, and analyzing everything from Almack’s meant her hair was now the bird’s nest she’d joked about. Her new maid Trudy had already broken two brushes attempting to tameit.

“Good grief, like brambles,” the older woman muttered as she tugged through knot number six hundred. “Try not to scream too loudly, my lady, or your mother might investigate and there’ll be the devil topay.”

Samantha nodded. It was always sobering to be reminded of her status in Claremont House—a temporary guest with few allies, although Trudy was friendly and obliging.

At times like this, she missed the academy dreadfully.

Twelve years of excruciating loneliness, but her small, plain chamber had been a refuge, and the brisk headmistress a mother figure of sorts. It was she who had nodded approvingly when French verbs were mastered and tsked at torn hems. It was also she who had scolded when Samantha escaped choir practice to go to the nearby village. But if Miss Chadwick had known that one of the neat stone cottages housed a former circus troupe performer with a particular talent for knife throwing—and instructing—a lecture would have been the least of it. Fortunately the headmistress never learned about that, or the short, sharp dagger that rested at the bottom of Samantha’s reticule and accompanied her wherever shewent.

Yet her parents were as indifferent as ever. Papa was forever at his club, a meeting or locked in his library. Her mother merely waved as she climbed into yet another unfamiliar carriage. It was obvious they had only taken her back under extreme duress from Aunt Jane and wished their unwanted daughter gone again as soon as possible.

Trudy sighed audibly. “There. All done. Now, which dress are you going to wear today? The yellow always looks fetching, or there is the pink-striped gown with the white sash. Perfect to receive callers in, thatone.”

“You think I’ll have visitors?”

Her maid smiled as she gathered a fresh chemise, stays, and the pale pink gown. “Judging from the bouquets in the parlor, yes.”

“What?” Samantha gasped. “I have flowers? Why didn’t you sayso!”

Forcing herself to remain still while Trudy finished dressing her, she eventually slid her feet into matching pink slippers and nearly sprinted from the room. Bouquets meant gentlemen declaring friendship, interest or even affection! Almost dizzy at the possibility that one of the accompanying cards might say Standish, Samantha hurried down the creaky staircase to the ground floor. Even before she could see them, her nose twitched at the heady scent of blooms in theair.

Once she reached the sunny front parlor, Samantha stared reverently at a side table covered in bouquets. Oh, but they were beautiful. Pinks and reds and purples and yellows, like a chunk of rainbow brought down from thesky.

“Planning to open your own flower stall?”

Startled, she lurched around to see her portly, dark-haired father standing behind her, his usual glass of brandy in hand. “Papa! I can’t believe they’re forme.”

“Well, unless there is another Lady Samantha Buchanan in residence. When did you become so popular?”

“I made my come out at Almack’s last night. You remember, Aunt Jane and Stephen escortedme.”

“Ah, yes,” John Buchanan, Earl of Claremont, replied, absently twisting a waistcoat button straining to hold in his swollen stomach. “That came around fast. You must have made a splash. Hopefully soon I’ll be inundated with gentlemen fighting to take you off my hands.”

Trying not to wince at the phrasing, Samantha walked over to the side table and began reading the gilt-edged cards attached to the bouquets.

“My goodness! So many flowers!” Eva Buchanan, the beautiful Countess of Claremont, trilled from the doorway, tossing her enviably perfect straight blonde hair and striking the pose which enthralled every man between eighteen and eighty—except her husband.

John chuckled. “Sorry, my dear, but they are all for your daughter. Apparently she made a favorable impression at her comeout.”

“From family, mostly,” Samantha added, when her mother visibly drooped. “Aunt Jane, Stephen, and Caroline. Plus, er, Sir Eustace Quinn, Baron Vercoe, Lord Hannery...”

“Never mind,” Eva replied, all smiles again. “I’m sure if you attend lots more parties and try very hard to be charming, some eligible man who isn’t related to you will send a bouquet.”

“Thank you, Mother. Do you have time for tea? I could see what Cook is baking—”

“Goodness me, no, I have a modiste appointment. Uppity woman gets very cross if I’m even a little late, last time she threatened me with a plain gown. Imagine, not a single feather or bow! Perhaps another day,” she finished vaguely, and drifted out of the room, quickly followed by her husband.

Samantha slumped onto a chaise beside the arrangements. Maybe one day her parents would forgive whatever crime she’d committed as a child and start to like her. Another example of their aversion, on top of a crushing lack of flowers from Lord Standish, made her want to eat her weight in candied fruit. And her stays already struggled enough.

“How on earth do ladies survive a Season without losing their minds?” she groaned aloud.

“Hartshorn and shopping,” replied an amused voice from the doorway.

Samantha’s head shot up to see Caroline, and she flushed, embarrassed even a friend had heard such an outburst. “Don’t laugh. I now understand how ton daughters are driven to madness.”