The Bluestocking’s Absolutely Brilliant Betrothal (The Notorious Briarwoods #6)

Chapter 1

London

1794

L ady Aurelia Pritchard had already danced innumerable dances with innumerable gentlemen, and there was no end in sight. She was supposed to marry one of them.

She wasn’t going to marry any of them. Of that she was certain! No, she wasn’t going to get married at all. She had far more important things to do! This was going to make for a very long night of dancing. Luckily, she rather enjoyed it, even if she didn’t always enjoy her partners.

The clock had not yet struck midnight, which meant she would be here for at least another two hours charging up and down the well-waxed ballroom floor and making light of the world around her.

She had danced with tall men, short men, educated men. Men she feared could not write their own name, despite numerous tutors. Affable men and deeply unpleasant ones. She had danced with aged ones who she was really quite impressed could do a jig. She had also danced with extremely athletic ones who were clearly very pleased with themselves and their abilities.

She was quite lucky.

She was not in need of a fortune. She had a very large one of her own. Her parents were exceptional people. Her mother was well-read, well-educated, lovely, kind, and pleasant. Her mother had come from a great deal of money and a name older than England itself. Her father was essentially the same. She was blessed with parents who not only loved their children but who also loved each other.

They had been happily married for years, and Aurelia was delighted by their success.

They did not look out at the tumultuous nature of the world and feel fear. No. They looked out at the tumultuous nature of the world and felt a shocking sense of optimism. But, in Aurelia’s opinion, the optimism was dangerous because it meant they just continued on in their lives as if nothing untoward could ever happen to them.

Something untoward was happening, both in the world and in their personal lives. Aurelia could not deny this, and it was having a profound impact upon her.

She wondered at her parents’ and most of the ton’s ability to ignore the catastrophes occurring at present, and, quite frankly, she was rather resentful about it.

For no one had prepared Aurelia for the present set of circumstances around the globe and in her own home. The circumstances happening across the English Channel—a rather infamous body of water, which had been the beginning of many a war—were harrowing. The events in France clearly meant the beginning of another war.

That was unquestionable.

No one had told her when she was growing up on her father’s beautiful estates that life was going to come unraveled, and that all her beliefs about the world, and about her family, would come to a rather shaking end. And yet everyone around her seemed content to pretend that nothing was happening at all. No, no. Each dance was performed with the sort of precision the ton expected. The ballroom was beautiful. Wine and punch flowed. Rather weak lemonade was served. Every dance was danced in an attempt to find a mate to further propagate the ton.

It was as if they had all collectively agreed to largely pretend, at least in public, that France had not completely imploded. That France’s queen and the king had not been beheaded. That the rule of order as they had all known it for some time wasn’t completely destroyed.

And that blood flowing in the streets of Paris, putting many of her friends in grave jeopardy, was a distant impossibility.

Perhaps it was because England had seen such tumult before. Many a war for power had occurred on England’s soil.

The Bourbons on the other hand? Well, the Bourbons had been ruling France for quite a long time. The English, she supposed, were a great deal more accustomed to, dare she say, transition.

And perhaps that was why they were all acting as if everything would be, well, just fine, but she did not feel fine. Her insides were a riot of emotion. And as she slipped about the ballroom floor, bouncing up and down to a country dance and attempting to smile at the rather genteel man across from her, with hair curled to perfection, eyes flashing, and a coat that was so tight about him she wondered if he could breathe, she screamed inwardly.

After all, there was the fact that her father was quite ill and in Bath. And that, too, was a subject her family did not dare discuss.

She marveled at her own ability, and foolishness, to join in this mass jovial facade. The truth was she was afraid that her friends were in jeopardy in Paris. The intellectuals that she admired, the women who were fighting for rights. Those who had risen up against a king who had done everything he could, with cruel intent or not, to keep the people of Paris controlled? Those people were now at the mercy of the Tribunal and being executed en masse.

Revolution. It was a word that should crackle down the spine of every person and invoke fear. Fear of the annihilation that seemed to be taking place across the water.

But though there was an undercurrent of it in the ton, it did not stop the dancing.

And just like the ton with Paris, her own family seemed to refuse to acknowledge that her father was growing weaker every day. That he could no longer attend balls. No, he had insisted on going to Bath alone because he was in need of a bit of rest… But he looked far more dire than that.

Aurelia swallowed back her rising discomfort. After all, she was a daughter of the ton and a master at hiding her feelings. It was what was expected of a young lady.

And a young lady such as herself was allowed to have only one pressing goal.

She was to find a husband. That was what her mother and father had told her this Season. It was her duty as the eldest daughter of their rather large family. A family she adored. A family she wanted to please. And so, here she was doing exactly what the eldest daughter of every family in the ton was supposed to do.

Make a good match so that more good matches, and connections, could be made to keep certain people in control and in power. That was how it had always been done and likely always would be.

Still, she’d gone through many a gentleman this night, hoping to find the one , and yet she could not keep her thoughts away from the wild things occurring in the world.

Truly, she felt completely unprepared.

Well, no one had prepared her, had they? She wondered if everyone else felt like she did. Were they all dancing about with smiles upon their faces while actually quaking inside?

Were they wondering if what had happened in France was going to slip across the water and take place here in England? Could Fleet Street run red with blood? Could they erect a guillotine out in front of Parliament?

It could happen.

England had executed a king before. She swallowed.

And her father… Did she dare contemplate what his illness might truly mean for herself, for her mother?

“I say, Lady Aurelia, you look quite perplexed,” said Lord Georgeson.

She jolted. Apparently, she was not hiding herself behind a mask as well as she had thought.

“I do feel a bit, well, not myself,” she confessed. “Perhaps you could escort me off the floor?”

“Oh, absolutely. My pleasure, my lady,” he said, and they stopped bouncing up and down to the country dance.

He extended his perfectly clad arm to her, the silver embroidery on his cuff winking in the light, and gave her, quite frankly, a rather winning smile. There was nothing terrible about Lord Georgeson.

As a matter of fact, he was a very pleasant gentleman, and most ladies would be thrilled to have him as a husband. No doubt he would allow all sorts of fun and freedoms, and he had a large fortune himself.

But Lord Georgeson did not seem at all concerned with the state of affairs in London, let alone the world. As a matter of fact, she rather felt that he had no idea what was going on outside of his perfectly cut coat and styled hair.

Perhaps that was the way to live. To be completely oblivious to the way the world was coming undone. She did not know.

Lord Georgeson led her back to her mother.

“I’m going to go fetch a cup of punch,” he said with an air of exaggerated concern. “She is feeling, no doubt, overwhelmed by the excitement of the evening.”

“Oh, yes,” Aurelia’s mother said with a smile. “Aurelia can become overpowered by events. It’s quite true. She feels everything passionately. Simply everything,” her mother exclaimed.

She shot her mother a quick glance, but the truth was her mother was not incorrect. She did feel passionately about the world, and life. And if she was to be honest, she felt rather passionately about country dances too. About how no one should be doing them in the face of so much horror.

She fought a sigh. Perhaps they were all correct and she was mistaken.

Perhaps they should be dancing till dawn every day before it was all taken away from them. She did not know. Did anyone know? She stood by her mother and let herself bask in the pure comfort and nature of the woman who had raised her. She adored her dearest mama. Her mother was like a soft, warm down blanket, or a rather fluffy hen who could squawk when necessary. But she could also gather one up and be protective with her warm feathers.

“My dear, my dear,” her mother tutted, “I can see it upon your face. You must stop worrying so.”

“Mama, I corresponded with half the Jacobin party for years, and now half of them are being swept up and persecuted. Is it not bad enough that the king and queen are dead? That now we must see half the revolutionaries who wished to fix all the ills killed too?”

Her mother gave her a long, exhausted stare, blinked her eyes, and then said, “My dear, no one ever said that the path of life was a smooth one.”

“You did!” she exclaimed in return. “You absolutely did. You made me think that every day was a fairy story.”

Her mother cocked her head to the side. “Well, my dear, if you actually listened to those fairy stories, you would realize that about halfway through the story, everything goes really, truly, terribly wrong. Very, very bad indeed.” Her mother’s eyes widened before she continued, “Goodness, characters lose limbs and are taken from their families. And sometimes…” her mother leaned in and whispered conspiratorially “…they are nearly eaten. So I think it best, my dear, you understand that fairy tales are not happy at all. And they’re certainly not smooth, and they’re certainly not all pleasant—”

“But you still believe that it all works out in the end?” she asked her mother.

“Of course I do. Look at me and your father. Haven’t we achieved the most marvelous end?”

“I don’t know yet,” Aurelia replied softly. “It isn’t over yet, is it?”

Her mother frowned and, for a moment, doubt danced over her features. “Well, you do make a good point there, my dear. Perhaps we are still in the middle of our story and having a rather good chapter, but I refuse to give up my good chapter to be destroyed by someone else’s bad one.”

Aurelia swallowed. She wanted to argue with her mother, but there was some reasonable logic to this. And who was she to force her mother into feelings of terror and sorrow? Her mother might soon have to contend with a great deal of grief. Why bring it about precipitously?

Still, shouldn’t her mother feel outraged at society? Her mother had friends in France.

“Oh, my dear,” her mother said, taking her hand as if she could all but read Aurelia’s thoughts. “Of course, I am worried for them. There are nights when I struggle to sleep, and you know I am raising funds for many of the ladies who have been forced to flee Paris. Poor things. They would starve here without any money, or help, or assistance. Now, the only thing to do when one feels that the world is coming undone,” her mother said, “is to take action and help people.”

She nodded. Her mother was right, and yet she still felt unsettled.

“Find a husband,” her mother said with a confident nod. “That will do you no end of good.”

“Mama, that cannot be the answer for everything,” she retorted.

Her mother’s lips tilted in a merry, knowing grin. “My dear, you’ve never had a husband. How will you know until you’ve tried?”