Page 21 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke

“Very well, Miss Sutton. Her Ladyship also wanted me to tell you that her wardrobe is your wardrobe; if you are in need of anything, please do not hesitate to ask.”

Thalia tried her best not to grimace—another very kind offer, though Charlotte’s petite and willowy frame was hardly comparable to her own…fuller attributes. “Perhaps if she has a sunhat I could use? Nothing too grand, if you please.”

The maid gave a curt nod and hurried to accomplish her task, leaving Thalia to her own thoughts. Her most appropriate dress for a day within society was the one Giles had purchased, and even thinking about touching the fabric caused a painful twinge in her wrist. “I would sooner wear a flour sack,” she grumbled, pulling at the hem of her bedjacket before returning back into her room.

Robin was sitting up as she entered, arms outstretched and yawning wide. He ran a hand through his hair and blinked groggily, then slid back into the chair, the blanket pulled up towards his chin. “Good God, that was the best night of sleep I’ve had in years.”

Thalia made a slight face as she opened her closet, shuffling a handful of simple dresses back and forth in the hopes that one would become fancier than it currently was.

“You woke up at least three times—the third you sat up with me and read over my shoulder.” She grasped for a burgundy with bubble sleeves, patterned in faded stripes, and hemmed with a frill of lace. Then, she considered hanging it back in its place.

“Infinitely better than sleeping in Whitechapel,” her brother argued. “In that I actually fell asleep, short though it may have been.” He watched his sister quietly fuss about her wardrobe for a moment more, gesturing towards the dresses with a slight tilt of the head. “I always thought you looked nice in green—why not wear that one today?”

Her eyes followed his hand, and she immediately bristled at the sight of Giles’ “gift” to her. Still, it really was the only proper dress she owned—the one for Orion’s Hunt had long-since been returned to its rightful owner—and Thalia mentally prepared herself to dawn the olive-hued dress once more.

“The Hardings have invited us to promenade about the new greenery park with them. Will you be joining me?”

Expectedly, Robin wrinkled his nose at the prospect. “I think I’ve been lucky enough to have set foot into Stonewell. Wouldn’t want to push my luck—besides, I should really let the others know I’m all right.”

Thalia smiled softly, still in her nightgown as she drew close to her brother. “All right… but be careful, won’t you?”

He stood from his chair, offering a tender embrace to his clearly-concerned sister. “I always am, Thalia. I always am.”

* * *

If there was any benefit to her age, Thalia would immediately note that the Season no longer held any sway in her mind. Once upon a time, she might have been among the many outdoor garden celebrators, trying to work her way around the guest list and socialize with as many influential individuals within the Ton as possible.

Now, she simply enjoyed the sights of spring through her carriage window, appreciating the decorated spaces rented out for this Season’s young ladies. They were all lovely affairs, each more grand in appearance than its predecessor. Gentlemen in fine suits, ladies wearing beautiful pastel gowns and highly decorated bonnets; a pretty picture to admire, but Thalia was more than happy to remain on the sideline.

The Stonewell carriage soon came to a pause, parked just outside a massive acre of perfectly manicured greenery. Budding catkins dangled from large, English oaks, their lines perfect against the brickwork pathway where couples and friends alike had already begun their long walks.

A few gingham blankets had been set along the grass for fellow picnickers, with a few more influential hands having dragged entire tea tables and stands of desserts out to enjoy beneath the springtime sun. As Thalia stepped down from the stairs, she began to search for signs of the Hardings, already beginning to pick at the thumb of her opera glove.

“They did say this was the park, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am,” an older maid affirmed from her side.

Thalia nodded nervously to her chaperone, still glancing around for some familiar face.

“Miss Thalia Sutton! Is that you standing there at the park gates?”

Thalia’s blood froze, and she stood stiffly in place. The voice was familiarly bright and cheerful, like a flock of twittering birds hoping to swoop down and steal one’s food straight out from one’s hand. She coaxed as much warmth as she could to her face for a smile, her gaze settling on the small group of women at a tea table.

Their obvious leader daintily waved a gloved hand for attention, petunias woven into her bonnet which practically gave her an extra foot in height.

“Miss Ann Fitzwilliam; so good to see you after all this time.”

Ann giggled rather childishly for a woman her age, her hand remaining upright in the air. Thalia squinted, the sunlight catching what looked to be a band around her left ring finger.

“Oh, it’s Mrs. Harrington now, Thalia dear.”

“No, no, it’s Lady Worsely, now,” one of the women corrected her.

“Ah, so it is—forgive me, but the title of marchioness is one I’m still getting used to.” Lady Worsley sat daintily, sweeping the delicate beading of her dress aside so as to show it off to all who passed her by. “Oh, but I don’t mean to bring up sore memories, Miss Sutton. You must still be getting used to… well, you know. No title at all.”

Thalia gritted her teeth and continued to grin, making her way through the gate in order to greet the women properly. It would do them no good to continue shouting across the way; already, onlookers were beginning to stare.

“I had long since made peace with that, Lady Worsley. The title was never mine to have, and thus, I never had grown used to its presence.” Some of the women visibly recoiled as she approached their table, one going as far as to flick open her fan and avoid Thalia’s gaze.

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