Barbara Metzger by Rakes Ransom

countess to countess for centuries, part of the Merrill clan’s history. They weren’t mine to sell.”
    “But you can give this one away?”
    “Yes,” he told her, squeezing her hand but gesturing around the room with his other. “You see your home, your friends, your father? I wanted to bring you a bit of my heritage, to have you meet the family, so to speak. I wanted the pleasure of making you smile, and I wanted something of mine to be special to you. Do you understand?”
    Bien. Bien.

Chapter Six
    The heavy old coach had new black paint and the Claibourne family crest. It had four hired horses and two hired postillions with weapons. On the box it had Clive, Madame’s old coachman from the Abbey in Durham, and a huge, scraggly dog sitting beside him, to Clive’s disgust. His first trip to London in twelve years, and to arrive looking like a travelling road show. Pah. Enough to throw a man off his feed, it was, especially when the beast had enough of feeling the wind in its face and stretched out across the box seat—all across it, so those big cow eyes looked up from Clive’s own lap, and hairs were clinging all over his new uniform. “I wouldna do this for nobbut the young master,” Clive told the animal as he watched the road ahead, where Claibourne led the way on his grey stallion. Clive spat tobacco juice over the side of the coach. “You’re my paying off a debt, belikes, for all them easy years a-driving madam to the village ’n church on Sundays while Master Leigh was off to war. ’Sides, if gettin’ you and young miss to London is going to settle ’is lordship down ’n right things at the Abbey, guess I’d tote a bear up here.”
    *
    The situation inside the coach was very similar. Mme. Simone would rather have stayed in Stockton-on-Tees than spend another day being jostled across the length of England, but she also dearly wished to see Claibourne happy and the Abbey restored to a semblance of grandeur, if not glory. The little heiress seemed to suit on both counts. In her day the deed would have been done: a scandal, a wedding. Simple, no? Names and funds would already be transferred, and the bride and groom would be left to find love and affection later, inside the marriage, it was to be hoped. But these young English, they wanted it all. Leigh wanted to woo the fille and show her a good time in London. His Aunt Simone would do her part.
    “So,” she said to her charge when they were finally on their way and silence had lasted long enough. “We go to make you a success, no?”
    Jacelyn laughed. “Oh no, Madame, we’re not attempting the impossible, only the improbable, getting the ton to accept me.”
    “Why should it not? You have the birth, the breeding, I see. My nephew gives his ring. What is to interfere? You have manners, no?”
    “Well, not always, Madame!” Jacelyn was looking self-conscious in her new navy wool Spenser and light blue travelling dress. She’d placed her new bonnet on the seat opposite almost reverently, to protect the blue silk flowers which peeped from under the brim. His lordship had called it a lovely cross between innocence and allure. Just like Jacelyn, he’d said, giving her a great deal to think about, beyond how she was going to miss her father and all she held dear. What a confused muddle her emotions were in altogether!
    She was sad to leave Treverly, of course, but eager to explore London’s attractions, including the exclusive shops, now that she had a taste of fashion. She was excited over Claibourne’s company, yet anxious that she wouldn’t please him. Mostly Jacelyn was uncertain she could remain a lady under such conditions as Mrs. Bottwick and Mrs. Phipps tried to drum into her up to the last minute: A lady never goes anywhere alone, a lady never walks on Bond Street in the morning. A lady may not waltz until approved, may not speak to a man unless introduced, may not—not—not! So many senseless and stupid restrictions, yet the