Constance could not hold back a chuckle. “I am sure not, Francesca. But the truth is, I have given up hope of marrying.”
“Do you want to spend the rest of your life with your aunt and uncle?” Francesca asked. “I am sure you are quite grateful to them, but I do not think that you are…very happy with them.”
Constance cast her a rueful look. “It is that obvious?”
“The differences between you are clear,” Francesca told her flatly. “One could hardly expect to live a happy life with people with whom one has so few traits in common. Nor can I think that your aunt and uncle have done well by you. You told me last night that you did not have your come-out because of your father’s illness. That was a good and properly filial thing to do. But when your father passed on and you came to live with your aunt and uncle, how old were you?”
“Twenty-two. Too old for my coming out.”
“Not too old to have a Season,” Francesca retorted. “Had they done the right thing by you, they would have given you a Season. I am sure it is what your father would have wanted, and it is what you deserved. Oh, yes, I know, you were older than the silly little seventeen-and eighteen-year-old girls being presented to the Queen. But, really, it isn’t necessary to have the presentation. Many do not. You could have had a Season. There are still a number of girls who are unmarried at that age. I know I should not malign your relatives, but I must tell you that I think your aunt and uncle acted selfishly. They saved themselves the expense of a Season, and they kept you at their beck and call for the past few years. Looking after their children, no doubt, and running errands for them. Doing the little things that no one else wanted to do. Now instead of letting you enjoy yourself at these parties, your aunt has forced you into the role of chaperone, making you wear dull clothes and dull hair.”
She cast a shrewd look at Constance and added, “Of course, she would want you looking as plain as possible. You outshine her daughters as it is.”
Constance stirred uncomfortably in her seat. Lady Haughston’s description of her life with Aunt Blanche was uncannily accurate. Constance herself had thought the same things many times. Aunt Blanche had used Constance’s sense of duty and obligation toward her, taking advantage in countless ways of her gratitude and her good nature.
“You cannot want to spend the rest of your life with them,” Francesca said, pressing her advantage. “Besides, you seem to me to be a rather independently minded young woman. Do you not wish for your own house, your own life? A husband and children?”
Constance’s thoughts turned to that brief time, many years ago, with Gareth, when she had let herself believe, at least for a little while, that such a life might be hers.
“I have never wanted to marry just to achieve a position in life,” Constance told her quietly. “Perhaps you will think me foolish, but I would like to marry for love.”
Constance could not read the look in Lady Haughston’s eyes as she regarded her. “I hope you do find love,” she said gravely. “But whether one loves or not, marriage gives a woman independence. You will have a place in life, a status that one can never find even in the happiest of situations, living with loving and wealthy parents. There is certainly no comparison to living under the thumb of a selfish and demanding relative.”
“I know,” Constance answered quietly. She knew, she thought, better than the lovely Lady Haughston, the facts of such a life. “But I cannot tie myself to a man for life without love.”
Francesca glanced away. Finally, after a long moment, she said lightly, “Well, surely, there is no reason to believe that one cannot find a husband one loves during the Season. No one will force you to marry any man who asks you. But would you not like to have the chance? Don’t you think it is only fair for you to taste some of what you missed?”
Her words struck a chord with Constance. She had stayed with her father through his years of illness, and she had done her best not to pine for what might have been. But she could not deny that there had been times when she had wondered what would have happened if she had been able to have even one London Season. She could not help but yearn to experience a little of the glamour and excitement herself.
Francesca, seeing Constance’s hesitation, pressed her argument. “Would you not like to have a Season? To wear pretty dresses and flirt with your beaux? To dance with the most eligible bachelors in England?”
Constance’s thoughts went to Viscount Leighton. What would it be like to have a chance to flirt with him? To dance with him? She wanted, quite badly, to meet him again, this time wearing something pretty, her hair falling about her face in curls.
“But how can I have a Season?” she asked. “I am here to act as chaperone. And my clothes…”
“Leave it all to me. I will make sure that you receive invitations to the right parties. I will be there to guide you through the treacherous waters of the Ton. I will make you the most sought-after woman in London.”
Constance chuckled. “I do not think that I could be made into such a creature, no matter what your efforts.”
Francesca cast her another haughty look. “You doubt my ability?”
Constance could not imagine even Francesca pulling off what she promised. But if anyone could do it, she supposed, it would be Lady Haughston. And even if she did not make her the most popular belle of London, Constance had little doubt that she would enable Constance to have a far better taste of a real Season than what she was experiencing now. Aunt Blanche would dislike it, of course. That thought gave Constance a wicked little spurt of amusement.
“I will deal with your aunt,” Francesca went on, as if guessing Constance’s thoughts. “She, I think, will not complain. Your family will, after all, receive the same invitations. And she will not want to go against me. If I choose you as my special friend, I do not think she will fight it. As for the clothes, you may not believe it, but I am rather good at economizing. We will look over your dresses and see what we can add to make them more attractive. The gown you wore last night, for instance—a slightly lower neckline, a bit of lace and it will do well enough. My maid Maisie is a wonder with a needle. She could raise it in the front and add an underskirt. We would just have to buy some material. I will send my carriage for you tomorrow, and you must bring your best dresses with you. We will go over your things and see what can be done, and I will see what dresses of mine we can use.”
Constance felt excitement starting to bubble up in her. She thought of her small hoard of money. She had saved as much as she could every year from the income left her by her father, hoping one day to increase her principal enough that she would be able to live off it, no longer dependent on her aunt and uncle for a place to live.
She could use some of that money, she thought, to buy a pretty gown or two. Something that would bring a man—someone like Lord Leighton, say—rushing to her side from across the room. So what if it meant that she had to spend a few more months, even years, scrimping and scraping her money together? She might have to live with her aunt and uncle for longer than she’d hoped, but at least she would have had a wonderful summer to remember, a time that she could look back on and treasure always. A season of fun and excitement, memories that she could keep forever.
Constance turned to Francesca. “Would you really do all this just to win a bet?”
Francesca’s lips curved up in that little catlike smile, her eyes glinting. “This is more than simply a bet. It is with a gentleman I most particularly want to prove wrong. Besides, it will be fun. I have helped a young girl or two through their first Seasons. They ended up engaged, as well, before long. But with you…”
“It is more of a challenge?” Constance asked, smiling to take the sting out of her words.
“In a way, because with them I had free rein to spend