“That’s right,” Lady Pickering said. “And don’t worry about it being early in the Season, the Marriage Mart is still open.” She winked at Fiona, whose insides turned to ice.

Did they expect her to wed immediately? She’d only just arrived in London. She understood—vaguely—that young ladies had Seasons in order to find a husband. But weren’t there other reasons? Couldn’t a young woman have a Season to meet people and make friends? To experience new things and learn? To dance and promenade without any pressure to wed?

She wanted to ask but didn’t dare. Because she feared she already knew the answer.

Later that night, Fiona walked into the sitting room she shared with Prudence after paying a visit to Mrs. Tucket in her room. Prudence, seated in a high-backed chair near the fireplace, looked up from the book she was reading. “How is Mrs. Tucket?”

“Quite well, actually.” Fiona sat in the other chair near the hearth. “She confessed her relief to not have to accompany me to Society events. She was also pleased to learn that the card game every Sunday is not with women such as Lady Pickering.” This had been a chief concern, for Mrs. Tucket was, at heart, a country maid of all work and wasn’t interested in moving in Society circles. On the way to the modiste, Lady Pickering had clarified that the game consisted of retired housekeepers and ladies’ maids, women like Mrs. Tucket.

It seemed Mrs. Tucket was now retired, and the only question that remained was whether she would remain in London or return to Bitterley. For now, she wanted to stay here with Fiona. If she wouldn’t be her chaperone, she at least wanted to provide support—and love—as the only person who truly knew her.

“How nice,” Prudence murmured, demonstrating again that she was a woman of few words and low volume. Indeed, she’d uttered barely a handful of sentences the entire time they’d been shopping that afternoon.

Fiona regarded her for a moment. “I can’t decide if you’re shy or reserved.”

Prudence appeared confused. “Aren’t they the same thing?”

“I think shy is something you can’t help, and reserved is something you do. Perhaps because you’re shy.” Fiona laughed, and Prudence smiled in response.

“Then I am reserved.”

“Splendid. I am not.”

Prudence elevated her brows in a thoroughly wry fashion. “No, I wouldn’t say you are. However, you are also not completely forthcoming.”

Fiona rested her elbow on the arm of the chair. “No?”

“When are you going to tell his lordship that you don’t wish to wed?”

Sucking in a sharp breath, Fiona made a face as she looked toward the fireplace. “Why do you think that?”

Prudence surprised her by laughing softly. “Are you really going to deny it? After that reaction? No, you aren’t shy or reserved, nor are you adept at hiding your thoughts and emotions. At least, not completely.”

Exhaling, Fiona leaned back in the chair. “Very well. No, I don’t want to get married. Not immediately anyway. I only just left Bitterley, where I had no choices about my life.”