A Chance to Dream Read online

  Dedication

  To Chris and Elspeth, who help me with much laughter and friendship.

  Chapter One

  April, 1754

  Orlando Garland, seventh Earl of Blyth took his time studying the woman sitting on the hard chair on the other side of his desk. It was one of the few times it was acceptable to stare at someone so blatantly and he made the most of it, leaning back in his own comfortably upholstered chair to get a better view. What was it about this woman? The moment she had walked into his study, he felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. There was something—something, though he had no idea what it was.

  He suspected subterfuge the moment he saw her. Such elegant deportment didn’t usually go with the plump, dowdy figure this lady presented to the world. Her hair, screwed up tightly into a bun at the back of her head, was a mousy brown, but despite the heavy, tinted spectacles perched on her nose he could see that her eyes were beautiful, almost violet. Her slim wrists belied her stout figure and her neck showed no extra folds of flesh. She had deliberately disguised herself.

  It might just be an effort to make herself less attractive. Comeliness was not a welcome attribute for companion governesses in most households. Orlando glanced at the paper in front of him, noting her relative youth and lack of experience. He looked up, meeting her gaze directly, looking for any other signs of deception. “Have you worked as a governess at all, ma’am?”

  She looked away and then lifted her head once more, meeting his regard with a spark of defiance. He liked that spark. It might prove useful for the position he had in mind for her. “I am considered too young by most prospective employers. That is the reason I thought to apply for a position as a companion instead. It is only recently I have found myself in the position of having to look for work.” She swallowed, the only sign she had given so far of nervousness.

  Orlando sought to reassure her, wondering at the same time why it should be important to him to put her at her ease. “Your age will not be a problem here. I need someone about the same age as my sister, to share in her interests. Did Mrs. Thompson explain the nature of the post?” Not wanting to take any chances, he had sent his enquiry to the best—and most expensive—agency in London. He wondered if Mrs. Thompson had asked her about the efforts to disguise her appearance, or whether the practise was too commonplace to be remarked upon.

  She bowed her head once. One small gloved hand clenched in the folds of her unbecoming gown. “I was told you wanted a companion for your lady sister.”

  Orlando pulled his mind back to the matter in hand. “Indeed I do. If I may, I will remind you of the circumstances. I am sure Mrs. Thompson was discreet when she explained the situation to you, and you may not be aware of the full story. It is essential you know the whole before you begin.” He felt a pang of the sense of failure he always felt when thinking of Perdita, but he took care nothing showed on his cool countenance. Picking up a quill pen from his desk, he put it in its proper place, in the pottery jar with the others. They formed a feathery bouquet on one side of him, the only flowers he allowed in this room. The rest of the house was dedicated to feminine delicacy, but here, and in his own bedroom, masculinity was allowed to declare itself.

  He kept his account brief and to the point, firmly locking his sadness deep inside. That was too private to show to someone he had only just met. “My sister, Lady Perdita Garland, had a riding accident last year. Sadly, she broke both legs. She has not walked since.” He paused, but refused to allow himself to dwell on that dreadful day. There was nothing to be gained by remembering it now. “According to her physician Dr. Sewell, her legs have healed completely, but she needs rest and will always be weak and in need of medical attention. I fear she has lost the confidence she once had in abundance. By providing her with a companion, she might be encouraged to take her place in society again.” He wondered how much to tell this young woman; she might not stay more than a week, if he decided to take her on. He decided on the truth. After all, there was nothing shameful about it, and most of it was known, at least by his family. “Perdita is a lovely woman, but she is seven and twenty and she feels she is past the age of looking for a husband. Until recently I could only offer a modest dowry, and Perdita is a fastidious woman. No one has come up to her exacting standards.” He hid his deepest sadness with a deliberate lack of emotion, something he had become used to doing over the years. “Now she doesn’t go out at all. I would like that to change.”

  Orlando stared across the table. Something underneath her disguise called to him, made him wonder. There was an underlying grace she couldn’t hide, despite the careful concealment, something about the way she disposed her hands upon her lap. He felt sure she was a beauty, disguising her natural assets to obtain a position. From the detailed account Mrs. Thompson had sent him, she was a clergyman’s daughter from the North. She had worked as a teacher, but the school was closed now, and she needed another situation. Her references, such as they were, were excellent. “Do you feel up to the task, Miss—ah—” He consulted the paper on his desk, although he didn’t really need to. “Miss Lambert?”

  She coloured up slightly, for no reason he could discern. “I would like to try, my lord.”

  He shuffled the papers on his desk, straightening them between his hands and putting them down. “You will be required to make an appearance in the highest circles, should my sister decide to re-enter society. I trust you know how to conduct yourself?”

  “Yes indeed, my lord. I was born into a good family but we found ourselves in straitened circumstances shortly after I left school.”

  He frowned. “Lambert is a familiar name. Have we met before?”

  “No, my lord, I’m sure of it. I would have remembered.” That charming tinge of colour crept into her porcelain pale cheeks once more.

  Orlando suspected hidden depths. It boded well. If he was interested, it was to be hoped Perdita would be, too. From a lively young lady his sister had turned into a listless stranger in the last year. Engaging a companion was the last of a series of strategies Orlando had tried to get her back on her feet. Even if she never did that, he wanted to see her the centre of a group of admiring beaux again.

  “Then, Miss Lambert, let us be frank. You are not the first young woman I’ve employed to try to encourage my sister to return to society. I need someone to take a strong line with her, to fight her if need be. I am convinced that is the only way. I have tried kindness, persuasion, even bribes, but she doesn’t respond. If I employ you, I would require a degree of frankness from you. While I don’t expect you to break any confidences, I would appreciate regular reports on my sister’s progress. Since I do not particularly wish for anyone else to know, this would involve personal contact.” He took a breath and watched her closely. It was impossible to read her expression, serenely regarding him from those remarkable eyes. “In case that should cause you any alarm I should inform you I consider it bad form for a man to take advantage of his own servants.”

  “In any circumstances?”

  Her comeback was so sharp he grinned, forgetting his dignity in his pleasure at her impertinence. “I’m only human, ma’am, but I do my best. However, I never use underhand methods, and I always honour my obligations.”

  Miss Lambert appeared unperturbed, not changing her calm expression one whit. “I do not judge until I meet the person involved, my lord. My—family has been subject to gossip, and I know how much rumours can exaggerate a basic fact.”

  He wondered what she meant by that intriguing comment. Strangely, Orlando had no doubts about allowing this young woman, for all her false padding, near his sister. There was a bone deep integrity about her that he trusted. He had always succeeded when he had trusted his instincts, invariably fail
ed when he ignored them. He trusted them now. “What would you say to a week’s trial, to be terminated without prejudice on either side? If Perdita dislikes the stance you take on my instruction, I promise to give you a good character to take with you. Unless, of course, you’ve transgressed in some way.”

  “It seems fair, my lord.”

  “Very well then.” He stood and shook the heavy skirts of his formal coat into place. It was an automatic gesture, but with her interested gaze on him he became aware of the movement as he’d rarely done before. The coat was an expensive one, bought new that season but wasn’t particularly unusual. The dark red was positively staid compared to some of the coats that he used in the evenings. Perhaps it wasn’t the coat, but Orlando himself she stared at so fixedly. He was not accustomed to such a frank appraisal by a woman. He moved towards her.

  She came to with a start. “I beg your pardon, my lord, my mind was elsewhere. I could start almost immediately, but I have relatives in London, with whom I am staying. May I have permission to visit them to let them know what has happened? I would hate them to worry.”

  “Yes, of course.” He walked around the desk and was interested to see that his proximity didn’t seem to bother her. A sign of good breeding, not to shrink back when a man came close, though the other companions he had engaged had shown a particular preference to shrink back at his approach. “May I take you to meet my sister?” He lifted his arm in an invitation for her to lay her hand on it. She did so and immediately removed it, then put it back.

  Orlando stood silent, absorbing the unexpected sensation. Had she felt the jolt that had gone through his body at the touch of her hand on his coated and shirted arm? That was impossible, surely. How could a mere touch have such an effect? He looked away, gently urging her forward, trying to forget the shock. This was a perfectly ordinary young woman, and what was more, she would be an employee.

  He found the jolt impossible to forget. As they climbed the stairs to the drawing room, his mind lingered on the strange shock he’d experienced. She was a small woman and one he found himself attracted to, despite the heavy spectacles and mousy hair, but it couldn’t be that, surely? It had been too long since he’d given his last mistress her congé. Perhaps it was time he looked for another. That must be the reason for his visceral response to her touch.

  Perdita would be in the drawing room at this time of day, although the only visitor she received was her friend Judith Wayland. Orlando sighed when he remembered the lively social life his sister had enjoyed a bare year ago. Men lined up to offer for her this time last year, and during her “at home” days the house had rarely been quiet. Now it was so peaceful Orlando missed all the activity. It was like a deserted mansion, except for the lack of dust. The silence was uncanny sometimes. He could go out for his amusements, but Perdita refused to leave the house, even to take the air. He was more worried than he cared to admit. If this didn’t work, this firmer line, he had no idea what he would do next to help his sister.

  He turned to escort Miss Lambert into the drawing room and caught her looking at him. He stared back. She looked away. This was so unlike the prim, proper lady he had thought her that it gave him pause, but not enough to prevent him rapping lightly on the door and then pushing it open. In a statelier house, there would be a footman stationed outside the door to perform this role, but since no guest was allowed entrance any more Perdita had deemed it a waste of money. Despite his recent affluence, Orlando had become accustomed to counting the pennies, and to Perdita it was second nature although she was fond of cavilling at the economies they had been forced to use in the past.

  As Orlando had expected, Lady Judith Wayland was keeping his sister company that afternoon. It appeared he had interrupted a comfortable gossip, for he heard a flurry of silken skirts when he opened the door. Despite her seclusion, Perdita seemed to know what was going on in the fashionable world outside her window. Lady Judith regularly relayed all the information she came across, and the papers were delivered daily, even the more disreputable ones. Perdita read them all. They looked up from their conversation, silver-gilt head and darker, golden one moving in harmony. Two sets of finely plucked eyebrows arched in surprise.

  He stood to one side of Miss Lambert, so she could make her curtsey. “This is Miss Lambert, Perdita. Thompson’s sent her. I hope she may prove of some use to you. She has permission to visit her family tonight, but she will be living her while she is with us.” He felt rather than saw Lady Judith’s fulminating stare at the newcomer so was not surprised to see it when he turned. He smiled guilelessly. “My dearest wish is to see you return to society, Perdita, but if you will not, you will doubtless need some company.”

  Perdita smiled vaguely at Miss Lambert and immediately looked away, towards Lady Judith. “You always think of my comfort, brother.” The two ladies exchanged a speaking glance. “Won’t you stay and have some tea with us?”

  “I fear I cannot. I’m expected elsewhere.” He turned and bowed to Miss Lambert. “Ladies, I will leave you to become acquainted.”

  Lord Blyth left the room in a flourish of heavy silk and sheer male presence. Violetta felt her senses relax; they had somehow been surrounding him while he had been present. Her heritage, she supposed. It came of having a mother like hers, a woman who needed an intimate knowledge of men for her livelihood. Violetta schooled her face to what she hoped was an expression of a humble desire to please. It wasn’t easy. Lord Blyth may have advocated the strong approach, but she wanted to assess Lady Perdita first, to plan her campaign.

  “Miss Lambert,” Lady Perdita said. She tapped her pale pink lips with her fan. “What is your first name?”

  “Charlotte,” Violetta replied without blinking or looking away. It was a name she had always liked and one that suited her disguise well.

  “Charlotte. Very well. Have you had much experience at this work, Charlotte?”

  “Not a great deal, my lady.”

  “I see.” There was a pause, which Violetta was aware Lady Perdita deliberately allowed to lengthen. Of all things, she disliked the way Lady Perdita and her friend stared at her. The gazes seemed to violate her, where the frank gaze of his lordship had not bothered her at all. Violetta waited.

  “You may sit down, Charlotte, in the chair beside me. We will discuss your duties.” The cold, flat voice came as a relief.

  “Yes, my lady.” Violetta took the chair indicated, a hard chair next to the comfortable sofa on which Lady Perdita sat. She kept her regard steadily on the young woman while Lady Perdita examined her.

  “If I could stand I think I might overtop you by an inch or so,” Lady Perdita said, tapping her fan against her hand. “Your dark hair is an excellent foil to my looks. I would call your skin olive, don’t you agree?”

  Violetta humbly agreed although she’d heard her skin described as “creamy” before. She knew she was striking, and had ample evidence of her attraction to the opposite sex, but she had no vanity. Violetta knew exactly how she looked. Another gift bestowed by her mother; the ability to see herself frankly. The knowledge had enabled her to disguise herself into a dowdy female, a disguise she felt uncomfortably sure had not entirely fooled his lordship.

  “Do you need the spectacles all the time, Charlotte?”

  “In general, my lady.” Violetta met her ladyship’s pale stare steadily. She had become good at untruths over the years, a skill forced upon her by necessity. It didn’t make her enjoy it, though.

  Lady Perdita waved her fan in a dismissive gesture. “Keep them. I’d rather you saw what you were doing when you hand me my tea. Your figure is a trifle full, don’t you think?”

  Violetta inwardly rejoiced. She had laced her stays loosely and stuffed a shift down the front to pad it even more, succeeding in giving the illusion of plumpness on her normally trim figure. However, her new mistress bade fair to outshine her even without the padding, wig, spectacles and dowdy clothes.

  Lady Perdita was ethereally lovely. Her unpowdered hair
was the fairest of blondes, gleaming pale gilt in the spring sunlight. Her eyes were a heavenly blue, lighter than her brother’s but the shade suited her porcelain-pale complexion. She would have suitors at her feet if she decided to re-enter society, whether she walked or not.

  Under the voluminous skirts of the ice-blue gown Lady Perdita wore, it was impossible for Violetta to see what damage the accident had done to her ladyship’s legs. Lady Perdita had fallen from a bolting horse last summer. The breaks had been clean and they mended, but her ladyship refused to leave her chair. It might be a failure of confidence, but looking at her ladyship Violetta did not think that was a quality Lady Perdita lacked. Everything about her said elegance and poise.

  “My figure has never been remarkable,” Violetta ventured. Not to her, anyway.

  “Gentlemen are such swine. They will go after anyone wearing a skirt,” Lady Judith put in. “I’ve remarked it often.” Her supercilious air seemed to Violetta, used to summing up people quickly, bone deep. Violetta mentally scolded herself for prejudice.

  “Most gentlemen,” Lady Perdita agreed. “My brother, however, is more perceptive. He used not to be, but I have great hopes he is more discriminating in his choice these days. It is why you must be here for him to notice you, dear Judith!” She patted her friend’s hand, and they exchanged a fond look. Violetta began to understand.

  Violetta knew a great deal about Lady Perdita and her family, having an intimate acquaintance with a close family member, but thought it more discreet to pretend ignorance. She also knew of Lady Judith.

  Lady Perdita raised an eyebrow. “Where were you before?”

  “Yorkshire,” Violetta answered and immediately wished she had said Cumbria, because it was further away from London. “Yes, my lady, I know something of your family’s history, but I don’t listen to gossip.”

  The two ladies exchanged a speaking glance. “You won’t last long in London if you don’t listen to gossip,” Lady Judith commented, a tone of acidity in her voice. “I would advise you, however, not to take part.”