Page 25 of A Story of Love

“She had her seventeenth birthday only a few weeks ago.”

“Is that disapproval I hear in your voice?”

“Yes,” Freddie said without hesitation.

“Seventeen isn’t a terribly early age to have one’s first Season.”

“It is for her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Miss Pascoe’s mother died giving birth to her and her father did not want to be bothered with the raising of her, so she has spent most of her life in a convent. The girl is as innocent as a kitten.”

Lori gestured to Freddie’s current clients, who were dancing as well. “The Conroy twins just turned eighteen so they are scarcely a year older.”

“That is true, but the twins have spent the last two years attending country assemblies and moving in society, even if it was rather rustic. They haven’t been torn from a nunnery and pitchforked into the ton with all the subtlety of a veal calf being led to the auction block.”

Lori blinked at her friend’s uncharacteristic vehemence. “I’m surprised Mr. Pascoe didn’t ask you to launch her,” she said after a moment.

“He did. I told him I would sponsor her if he waited, but he refused.”

“He wouldn’t agree to wait another year?”

Freddie hesitated, a delicate pink color staining her exquisite cheekbones. “I could not promise him next Season as I had already accepted a client. In any case, I advised Mr. Pascoe that it would be better to wait two years. The girl is beautiful and an heiress. She doesn’t need to fling herself into a marriage right away.”

“I pity her,” Lori said, her eyes once again drawn to the beauty and her partner. “Especially as she has already attracted Moreland’s eye. He is a handsome man, but I cannot like him for some reason. I daresay he’s in the market for a new wife now that his mourning period is over.”

Freddie clucked her tongue. “I did not know his wife personally, but I do know the poor woman was with child almost constantly for the past sixteen years and gave Moreland only daughters.”

Lori snorted. “Only daughters. Lord, Freddie, I never believed you to be so harsh on our sex.”

“You misunderstand me, Lori. If there is no son, then everything will pass to some relative and those daughters will be left to fend for themselves.” Again, she spoke with unaccustomed vehemence.

Lori desperately wanted to ask Freddie if that is what happened to her, but she bit her tongue. Her reserved friend had never spoken about her past in all the years Lori had known her. It was doubtful that she’d suddenly share the most intimate details of her life in the middle of a ballroom.

Instead, Lori changed the subject. “You said you have already accepted a client for next year—who is it?”

Freddie’s lips tightened until they were almost white. “The Duke of Plimpton’s daughter.”

“But I thought you had told His Grace no.”

“I had.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“Honey wrote and begged me to reconsider my decision.”

All Lori could manage at this fascinating intelligence was, “Oh.”

Honey—or Honoria Keyes as she was professionally known—had been a teacher with Lori, Freddie, and four other dear friends who had all met at the Stefani Academy for Young Ladies.

After the school closed, Honey had flourished as a portrait painter, which is how she’d met her husband, the Marquess of Fairchild, the Duke of Plimpton’s brother and heir.

Honey’s relationship with the duke should have guaranteed Freddie’s sponsorship for his daughter, and yet Freddie had rejected Plimpton’s first request. Lori was certain the duke must have done something to anger Freddie, although she had not been able to discern what.

It was interesting that Honey had needed to write and change Freddie’s mind on the matter.

Honey had lived with Freddie before her marriage to Saybrook. In fact, the house Lori and Freddie lived in still belonged to Honey.