Free Winning Miss Wakefield: The Wallflower Wedding Series by Vivienne Lorret

Merribeth never would have had a Season. So then, how could Eve afford any of it?
    “Her nephew, from her first marriage to Mr. Fennecourt, keeps her in good standing. I daresay, he’s had to come to her rescue on more than— my dear , we should not speak of such things. Not only is she our hostess but my friend as well. After losing touch with her for a dozen years, gossiping shows a severe lack of faith on my part.” Sophie pressed her lips together, looking askance above the rims of her spectacles, though more so with affection than admonishment. She shook her head as they crossed the threshold. “No more. I believe I’ve told you enough to satisfy your curiosity.”
    “Never,” Merribeth replied with a grin. In fact, she was more curious now than ever. When Eve had simply shown up at their house in Berkshire, little more than two years ago, she never questioned her aunt’s unlikely friendship with Eve or even the reason why Sophie had never spoken of her. Instead, she’d been more excited at the prospect of having a London Season. Though it shamed her to admit, she’d been so busy with her friends, Mr. Clairmore, and embroidery that she’d taken her aunt for granted.
    She opened her mouth to ask why she’d never heard mention of this nephew of Eve’s until now, but the question disappeared from her tongue as they entered the foyer.
    Merribeth was in awe.
    Gleaming marble floors shone like mirrors beneath their feet. The far walls curved in, giving the space a semicircular feel, with rounded archways that led off to other rooms. Above them, the vaulted ceiling could put a church to shame, painted with a mural that made it appear as if one could glimpse heaven from this very spot. Ahead, a wide staircase, ornately decorated with a wrought-iron balustrade, curled like a serpent toward a minstrels’ gallery.
    “You’re here,” Eve called from the gallery, giving an uncharacteristic clap of glee.
    As if she’d designed the house as an accessory to her wardrobe, flattering golden light followed her descent down the curved stairs, the train of her crimson gown trailing a step behind, as if flames licked the hem.
    Sophie removed her straw bonnet and handed it to the maid, along with her knitting satchel. “Of course we are. We wouldn’t have missed your first house party since . . .” Her words trailed off, leaving an obvious void in the room.
    “I know,” Eve said with a nod when she reached the bottom, her eyes going hard for an instant. Then she blinked and continued forward to embrace Sophie. “You are the first of my guests to arrive, not counting my nephew. Then again, he doesn’t count.”
    Another mention of this mysterious nephew blared in Merribeth’s ears like the blast of a horn at the start of a foxhunt.
    Eve turned to Merribeth, took her by the shoulders, and startled her by pulling her in for a quick embrace. “I can’t wait to introduce the two of you. He’s nearly as sharp witted as you, and I just know you’ll keep each other amused.”
    Why was it she never recalled hearing of him before? Surely, as Eve’s benefactor, he would have been invited to dinner in the very least. Yet even more suspiciously, why was she hearing so much of him now?
    “I’m not certain I want to amuse anyone.”
    “Don’t worry, pet,” Eve said with a laugh. “I wouldn’t steer you in his direction. Why would I, if your main goal was to reclaim Mr. Clairmore? It would hardly be worth my effort anyway. My nephew is a confirmed bachelor and abhors the idea of marriage. I was merely suggesting that the two of you could make clever dinner conversation. That is all.”
    If that was all, then why didn’t the instinct for caution wane?
    Inwardly, Merribeth shook herself. Likely, she was on edge and overtired from the journey. There was no reason for her to imagine Eve was manipulating her—even if Eve was known for her infamous plots. “Then I’ll have something to look forward to this evening,” she