The bright star, p.1
The Bright Star, page 1
The Bright Star
©2024 Paula Panariello
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
print ISBN: 979-8-35098-536-8
ebook ISBN: 979-8-35098-537-5
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Prologue
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chapter 1
Philippa Stanhope rolled her eyes as she watched a young couple glide past her. She imagined the giggling girl was hoping her partner, a stiff-looking young man with a shock of hair the color of carrots, would choose her as his future bride. The young girl’s feigned attempt at looking coy, combined with her incessant giggling, wasn’t working. Phil could see the boredom and disinterest in the young man’s dull eyes and forced smile. He was simply doing his duty, checking out the new crop of debutantes as if they were prized cows, searching for the best choice to take home to the waiting herd. This fresh-faced girl didn’t have a chance. Phil gave a sigh as the couple breezed by; her little mouth turned up at the corners in a smirk.
The St. James ball was the grandest event of the ton social season. Each spring, its members waited eagerly for their coveted invitation to the glittering event. Among the ton’s future brides, the possibility of a match during the great Marriage Mart was greatly enhanced during such a prestigious squeeze.
Visions of dances with suitable young men whirled through every young woman’s head. That is, except for Miss Philippa Stanhope. Sitting along the side of the enormous ballroom in one of the chairs reserved for wallflowers and their chaperones, Phil absently pushed one of the multiple pins back into her heavy sable hair and sighed again. She hadn’t wanted to come and only agreed to attend due to the insistence of her brothers. Once her obligatory dances with her brothers’ friends were accomplished, she had returned to her seat on the sidelines.
Crossing her right leg over her left, her right foot began moving under her rose silk ball gown. Watching the waltz being performed before her; her mind began to wander. One…Two…Three…One…Two…Three…One…Two…They must have beeswax candles on the chandeliers. My brother tells me they are costly, but they don’t drip. Two…Three…One…Daffodils. I just love daffodils. The scientific name is narcissus. There is also Lily-of-the-valley. The scientific name is …what is it…let me see… oh yes, Convallaria majalis…Three… One…Two…Three…What beautiful marble edging around the wood floor. I wonder if it is quarried in great slabs or if it comes out as a rock and must be chiseled and polished to achieve this look. Two… Three.
“Philippa Stanhope! For heaven’s sake! Sit up straight!” Mrs. Darling had been chatting with a friend. Her sharp tongue and piercing blue eyes jolted Phil out of her reverie and she quickly straightened her spine to full capacity, revealing a toned and shapely figure that would be the envy of any girl in this sea of prospective brides. That is if anyone could see the beauty hidden under the slouch and boredom.
Phil slapped on a big smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, but that she hoped would appease her chaperone. She missed her longtime governess and companion, Miss Cleves, who had been called away to care for her mother. Cleves understood Phil like no one else and would understand the misery she was enduring in what they both dubbed The Cattle Call Ball. They had had a good laugh over that one.
So, Miss Cleves’ absence had necessitated Phil being left to the supervision of Mrs. Darling, her Grandmama Sharp’s bosom friend. Where Cleves had been an ideal companion, Mrs. Darling didn’t understand Phil at all and felt it was her duty to get her protege married off quickly before she became totally unmarriageable.
The waltz taking place in front of her was winding down and Mrs. Darling had paused her conversation with her friend. She would see it as her duty to find the next partner for Phil.
Philippa was entering her second season on the great Marriage Mart. Smoothing her hands over her pale rose-colored silk gown, she tried to appear interested in what was looking to be a very long and arduous evening. She tugged on her long white gloves and reached up to straighten her rose-colored plumes, patting the curled strands of hair around her heart-shaped face. Her attire was so unlike the normal drab skirts and the scarves she used to pull her hair back that she had a hard time not fidgeting, ready to flee at the slightest opportunity. She just wanted to be back home in the library where she spent most of her days.
She glanced around the ballroom as Mrs. Darling resumed her conversation with the dowager on her other side. The orchestra was taking a break and pockets of people stood around the tables heavily laden with food and drink.
Phil’s eyes wandered around the beautiful ballroom with its sweeping two-story green and gold walls that gave the appearance of vines climbing up the sides. Five enormous chandeliers lit the space, and the floors were a creamy marble. On every windowsill, flowers from their gardens showed the care of their superior gardener. The sprays of daffodils, tulips, and lily-of-the-valley were majestic in their artful placement around the ballroom.
The young ladies fortunate enough to receive an invitation to this prestigious event were the creme de la creme of high society. It was the dream of every eligible, marriageable girl in the kingdom—except her. She could not stand the silly primping and preening and knew that she was deemed unusual. She rather enjoyed being unusual.
Again, her reverie was interrupted by a voice in her ear. “Allow me to remind you,” Mrs. Darling hissed, “That it is your responsibility to find a young man to marry this season. You know better than I, that your brother can ill afford another season of allowing you to sit along the wall.” Mrs. Darling was portly and had a large bosom which she disguised with fichu lace in the neckline of her dresses. She gave off a formidable air that made Phil even more uncomfortable.
“I understand Mrs. Darling,” Phil said meekly. She did understand. She knew well that her brother was bordering on a very impecunious existence and could only afford this season because a small amount of iron was found on his property. When that was exhausted, their resources would be depleted. It was making Philippa feel like an increasing burden. It was also time to find a husband, so she could have a home of her own. However, her chances were not good without a handsome settlement or excessive beauty, which she felt she did not possess.
Mrs. Darling suddenly smiled brightly as she peered at something over Philippa’s shoulder. Turning to look, Phil saw her worst nightmare approaching. She groaned inwardly and gripped her hands together tightly. No! No! Not him!
Lord Lanigan lumbered across the dance floor, zeroing in on her. Unfortunately, this seemed to be the one man she could attract. Everyone knew Lord Lanigan was in search of a new wife. He was an earl with a large piece of property on the Scottish border. His recently departed first wife had been unable to present him with an heir before her untimely death. Now on the hunt for a new wife to present him with said heir, he had set his sights on Phil. He either hadn’t heard about her blue stocking leanings or he didn’t care. Perhaps he thought it would make her easier prey. Phil had no interest in becoming the next Lady Lanigan. Mrs. Darling, however, thought it would be the perfect match.
“Here comes Lord Lanigan,” Mrs. Darling whispered through her clenched teeth. “You are very fortunate, you know. He comes with a considerable fortune and despite all your strangeness, he does not seem to mind.” She said this as if it were a compliment.
Lord Lanigan stepped up and bowed to the ladies who rose and curtsied in acknowledgement. “Mrs. Darling and Miss Stanhope, it is such a pleasure to see you.”
“Lord Lanigan, you are so good to single us out for your attention,” Mrs. Darling fawned.
“Lord Lanigan,” Phil mumbled, staring at the floor as if something interesting had been placed there.
“Miss Stanhope, I hope there is room on your card for the next dance.” The man’s enthusiasm was misplaced on Phil who wished the floor would open up and devour her, saving her from having to endure the rest of this evening.
“Of course there is,” Mrs. Darling hurried to say excitedly. “Even if there was not, Miss Stanhope would gladly make room for you,” Mrs. Darling flattered.
Oh, good heavens! If only she could find the right man, she might enjoy these things. Lord Lanigan was definitely not right for her, but she obediently took his proffered hand as he escorted her to the two lines that were forming for a set of country dances.
Lanigan was a short, portly man close to fifty years old, over twice Philippa’s age, which seemed repulsive to her. Taking a handkerchief fro m his pocket, he wiped the sweat from his balding pate and face. Dressed in a gray jacket and breeches and pink waistcoat and shirt, his attempt to fit in with the younger dandies simply made him look silly, not younger.
“Miss Stanhope,” he said, addressing her as if she had just come out of the school room. “I am so happy to see you again. It seems we keep meeting at these affairs.”
What did you expect? You keep stalking me! Everyone attended the same events. It was the spring season, and the point was to see and be seen.
“I was hoping that perhaps you could reserve the next set as well, my dear.”
“Lord Lanigan,” Phil, wishing she was anywhere else, managed to gather a look of utter surprise on her face. With a contrived laugh, she looked the man in the eyes and replied, “You know that young ladies can’t dance two sets in a row with the same man. Those are the rules. Besides, I am also engaged for that set.” It was a lie, but a small lie for a good cause. How will I be able to politely put a stop to this?
“How about the following set?” As he directed her onto the dance floor his arm drew her in closer than necessary and his fetid breath made her wince. Phil pushed back, hoping her repulsion didn’t show. Pasting another false smile on her face, she lied again.
“I am afraid that is gone as well.” I will leave if I must!
“I can see you have become a very popular young lady. I was hoping you would accompany me out to the terrace. I am sure you would enjoy some fresh air after sitting in this stuffy ballroom.”
The music started at that moment. All she had to do was get through this one dance and she could escape the man. As they twirled through the lines and exchanged partners, she could see him openly staring at her. She felt like a fox being hunted by a salivating wolf. A slow, portly wolf, but a wolf, nonetheless. A few more bars would end the song and she could flee. Just as the music was ebbing, he stumbled, stepping on her foot. Hard. Phil stifled a yelp. She thought he may have broken a toe or two.
“Oh my, Miss Stanhope. How clumsy of me! Please allow me to help you.” He tried to take her hand, but she stepped back, ignoring the gesture.
“No! No,” Phil said waving him off and holding back a grimace as the pain radiated up her ankle, “I will make my way back to the ladies’ retiring room. Please do not worry.
“Oh no, my dear, the terrace is much closer. We can wander out there and take a seat until your foot stops hurting.” His insistence was beginning to annoy her.
She knew, she just knew, he had stepped on her foot on purpose, looking for an excuse to get her out to the terrace. Why would he want to do that? He could not possibly be thinking of proposing or maybe something even more compromising. Taking control of the situation, she decided she would get to the lady’s retiring room if she had to crawl, pulling herself arm over arm. She hoped it would not come to that, but she was certainly not going anywhere with this oaf.
She stood straight and tall, and with a tone that brooked no argument she looked the man in the eye. Laying down the law, she clearly stated, “Lord Lanigan. I will go to the retiring room and then I am going home. I am afraid this will end my evening.”
“I am so sorry. Please allow me to assist you.” Lanigan reached out to take her arm. Because she was in pain, Phil reluctantly accepted his assistance, as she limped her way to the retiring room. She flew in the door without another word, and flopped into the nearest chair, leaving her nemesis behind. As she raised the hem of her dress to assess the damage, she felt a presence nearby.
“What happened?” Melinda Baxter asked. She was standing at a mirror pinching her cheeks to a bright red glow and had seen Phil in the reflection. Oh, great! This tops everything! Could the evening get any worse?
Melinda Baxter was one of those women who made Phil feel like a strange and awkward bird. During her come-out last year, Melinda had made unkind remarks about Phil’s academic leanings. Melinda had been a diamond of the first water, making a match with a Marquess who was only slightly younger than Lord Lanigan. Remarkably, she had already presented the man with an heir, was back in shape for this season, and impeccably dressed and coiffed. Phil always felt she was being assessed by Miss Perfect when Melinda was nearby.
A lock of Phil’s hair had already fallen free of its pins, escaping in spite of the efforts of the new maid. One of her once majestic plumes now dangled over her right eye. By now, a small crowd had gathered around to watch Philippa Stanhope, the strange bird.
“I had a small accident when a gentleman stepped on my foot,” Phil explained, as she took off her slipper to examine the damage.
“Perhaps you put your foot under the gentleman’s,” someone said, and several ladies snickered.
“I will be fine. Please go on about your business,” Phil said, trying to shoo them away. Her foot was starting to throb. She was quite sure something was broken. Suddenly the door flew open and the final coup de grace waltzed in with a huff. Mrs. Darling slammed the door behind her, and the gaggle of women parted, some leaving quietly and some still at the mirrors, hoping to overhear the exchange to fuel the gossip machine.
“Philippa! I just spoke with Lord Lanigan. He said you injured yourself,” she announced to anyone who did not know.
“I certainly did not injure myself! The oaf stepped on my foot! On purpose!” Phil had had enough of this drama and just wanted the evening to end.
“How dare you make such an accusation!” Mrs. Darling was totally affronted on poor Lord Lanigan’s part. Phil could see a couple of the ladies in the room laughing behind their hands.
“Please, get my brother. I need to go home. Now!” Phil’s tone was firm as she looked directly into Mrs. Darling’s face with determination and mounting anger.
Mrs. Darling, shaking her head in dismay, looked away from Phil and, noticing the scene they had created, turned abruptly, opened the door, and breezed out as quickly as she had arrived. Phil knew her brother Nicolas would come to retrieve her.
Mrs. Darling soon returned and helped Phil hobble out of the retiring room where Nick waited to escort her to the carriage. He told her he had made their farewells to the Marquis and Marchioness and the carriage had already been summoned.
Nick had always been a responsible big brother who had stepped in after the unexpected death of their father. She didn’t know what she or her younger brother, Peter, would have done without him. Her other brother John had been away fighting in the peninsula at the time. She always knew her brothers had her best interest at heart.
When they got to the carriage, Nick swooped Phil into his arms and lifted her inside before he assisted Mrs. Darling and closed the door. He rounded the carriage and climbed in next to his sister. Taking her hand, he turned, and with a concerned look asked, “Tell me what happened.”
“Lord Lanigan stepped on my foot. On purpose.”
Mrs. Darling gasped. “I cannot imagine a gentleman stepping on a young lady’s foot on purpose! You would do well not to spread that atrocious accusation. One would think you are trying to scare him off.”
Mrs. Darling’s haughtiness was getting on Phil’s last nerve, “He did step on my foot on purpose, and I am definitely trying to scare him off!”
Nick knew his sister well enough to know she was in fighting mode and needed time to cool down before she started attacking Grandmama Sharp’s bosom friend, adding fuel to the fire.
“Enough! Ladies, it has been a long night. Phil needs to go home and put her foot up. I will speak to you both about this matter in the morning.” Nick sat back in his seat and stared out the window, his arm propped against it and his hand over his forehead. He wondered if Phil would ever find someone who would be up to the challenge of marrying the headstrong girl.
Mrs. Darling sat beside Phil like a stewing pot. As the carriage rolled toward Stanhope House, Phil was relieved she was finally heading towards the one place she felt safe and comfortable. It didn’t escape her thoughts that she might, once again, have delayed any possibility of finding a husband. In truth, this did not overly disappoint her.
Chapter 2
Nicholas, Viscount Stanhope, was sitting in the library of his townhome, Stanhope House, reviewing his latest reports from Ox Hill, his country estate in Oxfordshire. He was a handsome man with wavy brown hair and blue eyes that revealed the heavy load of responsibility he carried as the oldest brother.
