Chickadee

Excerpt From: Chickadee

Papa had been right, Chickadee thought—the exhibition was the spectacle of the century and every turn presented a wondrous new thing to see and exclaim over. In fact, Chickadee, whose mind was always inclined to wander—hadn't stopped exclaiming since the moment the carriage had put her down outside the imposing structure.

She fiddled with the clasp on her reticule, her brows drawing together in a frown. There was only one dark cloud hanging on the horizon to spoil her day, and that was the thought of Henry Peverel. Chickadee experienced a sudden surge of anger.

Henry was the Earl of Wilberton and his family owned a draughty mansion that was perched on a hill, around which the wind whistled. The draughts made the windows rattle and her feet wriggle in her slippers. The trouble was that Chickadee had rather liked Henry as a friend, but darling Papa had had other ideas. Seeing that Chickadee hadn't dismissed this suitor with quite the vociferousness with which she'd dispelled all the others, her father took the initiative and before she knew it, Henry was being groomed as her prospective beau.

What was more, Papa was entirely consumed with what he termed his 'pursuit of old English money', and somehow or other he'd discovered that Henry had obscure links to royalty. That, in his own words, had been 'the icing on the cake'. Poor Papa. For as long as she could remember, he'd been obsessed with English history and bloodlines, and their Baltimore home had been full of dusty old books and maps showing the distant links the family had to their English forebears.

Chickadee had no such desires. She had been enjoying her life in Baltimore until her father had got it into his head that he needed to investigate a glass manufacturer in England, and that was how Chickadee had ended up in Morthrup Park—not that she didn't like Morthrup Park. The house had been standing empty and in a state of decay until Papa had seen it, fallen in love with it and renovated the substantial pile. Not too far from the razzamatazz of London and high society, the house was in sight of the Thames and had a wonderful lawned garden, a large boating lake and a small wooded copse, which was perfectly delightful to stroll in. However, Morthrup Park had not guaranteed easy admittance into closed English society and it seemed everyone still looked down their noses at the American Devereuxs.

She'd begged Papa to let her stay with her Aunt Harriet back in Baltimore, but, despite her sulking and cajoling, Papa wouldn't leave her behind.

"Aunt Harriet be damned. Not on your life," Papa had said. "You have no mother now, Chickadee, and Aunt Harriet, as much as I love her, isn't the kind of woman a girl like you should be around—especially in my absence. No, I'll brook no argument—you're coming with me and, whilst we're there, we'll find you a splendid English gentleman with blue blood to marry."

"Papa," Chickadee had groaned. "I don't want an Englishman with blue blood. For that matter I don't want any Englishman."

No, in fact Chickadee had set her heart on a rather more exotic kind of husband, one like the gallant Colonel Cole Dashet. Dashet was a sparkling romantic character—a decorated soldier who had fought Indians and had once wrestled to the death with a fierce bear. Chickadee had felt weak with excitement when Dashet had flirted with her and, drawing up his sleeve, had shown her the silver scars on his arms.

Once, when in the stables, he'd even treated her to the sight of his large, muscular, scarred thighs—before giving her that very same bear's tooth to wear around her neck. That bear's tooth was now safely hidden in her jewellery box and she always felt a flash of wet sexual excitement when she stroked it. Chickadee had fancied herself in love with Dashet for a while, though it was a match her father had thoroughly disapproved of. He'd called Dashet a hard—drinking whoremonger, elaborations that only made the thrilling colonel, who was as excellent a jockey as Chickadee, a finer catch.

She'd cried for a week when she'd learnt she had to come to England, but Aunt Harriet had soothed her considerably and had told her to look upon it as a formative adventure, as her Papa would surely not settle there but be straight on the next ship home when he found that England wasn't half as romantic a place as he'd dreamed. Well, that hadn't happened yet. Instead, her father had seen Morthrup Park, bought it and turned it into a pseudo palace, full of oddments and strange antiques. Then he'd kept his promise and set about finding a man for Chickadee to marry.

There were plus sides to this, as Chickadee rather fancied meeting a prince and having the opportunity to live in a palace. What was more, this was quite likely to happen, since, when Papa got an idea into his head, he always delivered. Chickadee felt a stab of satisfaction as she thought of her coming betrothal to Henry. Well, he was better than most of the slimy examples her father had lined up for her and it would give snooty Millicent Fairweather something to think about. Chickadee twirled her parasol as she smiled sweetly at the society gossip Alison Carruthers, who had just caught her eye and nodded her head.

Oh, how Chickadee hated Millicent, who'd made it clear that she thought Chickadee was half savage, coming from America. And she wasn't the only one. There was no escaping the fact that the Devereuxs were frowned upon, despite Papa's best efforts to appear English in his tastes and inviting the well-to-do to the most excellent dinner parties with no expense spared and lavish entertainments.