All the Ways to Ruin a Rogue (The Debutante Files #2)(9)

Smiling wryly, she reached for a beaded bracelet and then set it back down with a sigh. A bracelet would make no difference to the night’s outcome. Another dinner party filled with empty chatter. And tomorrow morning she would wake to yet another day of activities planned by her mother. Luncheon with the ladies from one of Mama’s many charitable societies. Teas. Shopping. A ball or the opera or a dinner party in the evening. Her days stretched out before her in familiarity. All planned in the hopes that she would make a good match for herself. For the family. Even if she had not succeeded yet, it was expected she would.

Without her drawings, she would go mad. Her work gave her more than comfort. It gave her purpose.

Aurelia turned from her mirror and stood up from the dressing table, smoothing out her pale yellow skirts and trying not to think how poorly the color complemented her. Mama still tried to pretend she was a pale English rose who looked ethereal in all things pastel.

At least they needn’t travel from home tonight. If she grew weary of it all, she could simply escape upstairs to her chamber, change into her nightgown, climb into bed with her sketch pad. There was solace in that.

She glanced at her bedchamber window. Rain sluiced down the mullioned glass. Abysmal weather plagued London this season—even more than usual. Another advantage for staying in tonight.

Squaring her shoulders, she departed her chamber before Mama sent someone to drag her down to dinner like a recalcitrant child and not a woman full grown. Lifting her skirts, she descended the staircase. Voices and laughter floated up from the drawing room. Hopefully, she was not the last to arrive. It would make her goal of slipping inside and finding a chair in the corner to observe the guests Mama had seen fit to invite all the more difficult. She liked watching people, listening to them, memorizing their characteristics to later catch on paper.

It was a safe assumption that Mama had selected the guests. Her brother was a married man now. His wife was the new countess and, thereby, the new hostess over all events taking place beneath this roof. Only Mama sometimes forgot that fact.

Living in the same house with her brother and his wife—no matter how much she liked Violet—was awkward. Under normal circumstances, she and Mama would have taken up residence at another property . . . a dowager estate or town house. Only her brother had sold the additional town house in London. He had, in fact, sold all properties that were not entailed, to help satisfy the nasty debts Papa had left behind after his death.

Papa had ruined them. It was a burden made only more onerous when Will fell in love with a woman who brought no dowry to the marriage. Aurelia couldn’t begrudge him, however. He was brilliantly, ridiculously, in love with Violet. Aurelia was happy for both of them. And when Will assured her that his investments would soon reap benefit, she pretended to believe him. Perhaps he was correct and not merely delusional.

In the meantime, they all lived under one roof. She and Mama guests in the home that had once been their own. Her mother was merely the Dowager Countess now. And she was the unwed, cheeky sister. One breath from spinsterhood. No one knew of her secret vocation. Nor did anyone know that she secretly longed for more. For adventure.

She’d had a taste of it with her friend Rosalie, before she went off and married Declan. Now Rosalie was no longer a fit companion for illicit activities. There would be no more sneaking out in the middle of the night together. No more visits to Sodom, where she engaged in scandalous card games. Her face heated as she recalled Max that night. The vile man with his vile words and his impossibly wicked body had made her feel achingly alive.

Aurelia stopped outside the drawing room, listening to the hum of voices and clink of glasses as libations were dispersed and consumed. With a bracing breath, she entered the room to find that it was, indeed, brimming full. Declan and Rosalie were present, as well as Violet’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Howard. Mama’s good friend, Lady Agatha, and her son, Lord Buckley—or Freddie to his familiars.

Aurelia fought a smile at the sight of Freddie’s expression. He always wore a grin even when he stared vacantly into space. As boys, Will, Declan, and Max had pranked him mercilessly—nothing mean-spirited, just foolishness. A hidden shoe. A frog in his bed. Freddie had smiled through it all. Now, Freddie’s gaze landed on her. He sat up straighter on the sofa and looked at her in that puppy dog manner of his, patting the space beside him for her to occupy. The fact that he resembled a hound dog with his long face and loose jowls only added to the visual. He would make an excellent subject for a caricature, but Aurelia wouldn’t dream of depicting him in a less than flattering fashion. He was a kind soul. Once upon a time, Mama and Lady Agatha had anticipated a match between Freddie and herself.

Aurelia’s lack of a dowry had put an end to that notion. Lady Agatha might be her mother’s best friend, but she was as mercenary as any other dame of the ton. At least one good thing resulted from their family’s indigence. As much as she liked Freddie, Aurelia could not imagine spending the rest of her life with him.

Sinking down upon a chaise opposite of him, she accepted a proffered drink from a tray that appeared before her. “Thank you, Cecily,” Aurelia murmured, lifting the cup to her lips.

Cecily winked. Only a year older than herself, the servant was like family. When they were forced to reduce the staff by half, Cecily had remained. Not only did she act in the capacity of her and Mama’s maid, she helped in the kitchens and lent a hand when entertaining guests. She did whatever was required with no complaints.