Stunning might be a better word. She would certainly draw all eyes when she entered a room. She did not wear a bonnet. Her fair hair shone and—oh, my—it was cut quite short into the neck with curls that lay softly, without artifice, against her cheeks and forehead. When it was all the rage to wear ringlets falling to the shoulder from a high crown, Judith could not but stare. It was quite outrageous. But quite—charming, if one had the courage to wear it so. Judith knew that she would never dare. As Miss Wooton-Devereux turned her head, there was a touch of burnished copper amongst the gold where the sun caressed it. And those dark lashes and brows—an interesting combination with the deep blue of her eyes. Were her lashes actually dyed? And was there just a hint, the faintest brush of cosmetics on that flawless skin? Judith feared so—and was entranced. Her gown was both expensive and tasteful, but definitely not that of a débutante, shimmering as it did in pure silk of deepest amethyst, trimmed with knots of ribbon and a profusion of tiny silk flowers, in the same hue, around the hem and low-cut neckline.
Definitely not a débutante! Judith decided.
Nor did she wear the single strand of pearls so appropriate to a young girl on the brink of her presentation to society. Instead, a golden necklace of tiny entwined flowers and leaves lay against her throat, coloured stones winking in their depths, and matching earrings dripped exotically from her delicate ears. A stole was draped in artistic folds over her arms, of distinctly eastern pattern with just the hint of sparkle in the weave and the long fringes. Her hands, now revealed as she placed her gloves and reticule on the occasional table beside her, were long-fingered, slender, with a number of intricately worked rings that gleamed gold and silver in the sunlight.
The vision immediately stirred Judith’s jaded appetite. It was as if some exotic butterfly had taken it into its head to land in her withdrawing room and bring it to life.
‘You said that your name was Theodora?’ Judith enquired when she had completed her survey as tactfully as she might.
‘Yes. My mama, Lady Drusilla, called me for the Empress of the Roman Empire, the wife of the Emperor Justinian. She admired her, I believe. But do call me Thea.’
‘Thea. Yes, of course. An unusual name.’
‘Unfortunately. We do not choose our own and my mama has eclectic tastes.’ A glinting smile touched Thea’s face. ‘I have to be grateful that she did not name me Cleopatra. Or Dido.’
‘No, indeed! That would be most unfortunate!’ The Countess of Painscastle had no idea who Dido might be but decided that it did not matter. Ah—you must call me Judith. You say that you are to have a London Season?’
‘Yes.’
‘Forgive me, but …’
‘I know what you are thinking.’ Thea smiled with cheerful composure. ‘You think that I am too old to be a débutante. My mama warned me that it must be so.’
‘Well … That is to say … You are very forthright!’
‘I was brought up to be so. And your comment is certainly accurate. It is not my choice to have a Season at all. I wish to go to Russia instead. But my mother insists. She wants an Earl for me, you see.’
‘Really.’ Judith blinked. ‘Well—that is to say … I expect she might …’
‘Yes. So my father has taken a house in Upper Brook Street and we are set to entertain. Your mama is acquainted with mine—and so suggested that you might give me some advice—how to go on here. I know the protocol in Paris and Constantinople. Even Vienna. But I have never lived in London before.’
‘I see.’ Judith didn’t, but she was sure that this fascinating creature would soon explain.
‘And so I thought I should come and see if you are willing—or if you would rather not. I hope that you would tell me what you truly feel. Parents can be so thoughtless and inconsiderate when they compromise their offspring—particularly when that offspring has no inclination for it at all!’
‘Very true.’ Judith found herself returning the smile in astonishment—and total agreement.
‘Perhaps I should have not come here before we were introduced. Perhaps it is not comme il faut?’
Judith found herself sitting on the very edge of her seat. ‘Perhaps not—well, no, it is definitely not the done thing, but I am delighted that you did. I was suffering from such a megrim before you arrived.’
‘I have never suffered from a megrim in my life, but it pleases me that I can restore your spirits.’ Miss Wooton-Devereux laughed gently, showing perfect teeth, her eyes gleaming with amusement. What an odd creature she was, to be sure.
‘Tell me—’ Judith had to satisfy her curiosity and decided that she felt no compunction in asking ‘—why have you not been presented before?’
Thea was perfectly willing to explain. ‘My father, Sir Hector, is in the diplomatic service. He has been Ambassador to the Court of Constantinople of late. And we have travelled extensively so I have never had the opportunity to stay long in London or enjoy a Season. But now he is between posts. He expects to be sent to St Petersburg later in the year, but for the present we are to remain in London.’
The simple explanation was interrupted by Matthews, who brought in a tray bearing a decanter of ratafia, two glasses and a plate of little biscuits. He arranged them on the table beside Judith’s chair and left, but not before directing another disapproving glance in the direction of their guest.
‘I can not think what is wrong with Matthews.’ Judith watched him as he left the room, shoulders rigid.
Thea laughed again, an infectious low chuckle that instantly encouraged Judith to smile in response. ‘I believe that I have the answer. I am the cause of your butler’s disapproval.’
‘Why? What can you have done?’
‘I came unchaperoned. Without my maid. He appears to disapprove.’
‘Yes. I imagine that he would.’
‘But it is only a step,’ Thea explained. ‘Hardly a stroll. Why should I need a maid with me? I am hardly likely to be set on by footpads in Mayfair in broad daylight, I presume.’
‘No. Of course not. But it is most unconventional. It is not considered … seemly for an unmarried lady to venture on the streets unaccompanied.’
‘I do not see—’ She broke off as Judith handed her a glass of ratafia. She sipped it reluctantly, but with a practised pretence at enjoyment.
‘It would not be good for you to be seen as fast,’ Judith explained after taking a sip from her own glass, ‘if you are to be accepted by the haut ton. You are not in Constantinople now—or Vienna.’
‘I suppose not. I think your mama had the right of it. I need advice. Are you indeed willing to give me your support, Judith?’
‘I think it would be the most delightful thing.’ Judith put down her glass and all but clapped her hands with pleasure. ‘It is just that you must be careful not to offend. You will wish to acquire tickets for Almack’s, I suppose. And the patronesses are so strict, unpleasant even. The slightest whiff of scandal and they could refuse—and that would be fatal for anyone wishing to cut a dash in London.’
‘Oh,
