A Marriage of Inconvenience (13 page)

“Leave,” she heard herself say in a low, brittle voice. “Leave at once.”

“But, Lucy! Surely you understand. You offered yourself to end the engagement if I preferred to court her.”

“You should not be in this room. You are engaged to another woman. It is in every way improper.”

He bowed his head. “Of course. You are quite right. Only—you won’t speak of it to anyone, will you, Lucy?”

“Why would I? What would I possibly gain?”

“You give me your word? You’ll never tell?”

“Yes, yes, I give you my word!” she said impatiently as she flung open the door. Prudence compelled her to glance quickly up and down the corridor. There was no one in sight. “Now, go at once.”

Obediently he walked to the door and paused there for a moment. “Lucy—I do realize—I owe you my deepest apologies.”

“Go.”

He went.

Lucy shut the door firmly behind him and sagged against it.
Now
she was weak,
now
she was tearful. How could he? How could the Sebastian she had always so admired and loved, the man she had always believed to be the model of a gentleman, have treated her so? Did he not realize that if he had come to her openly and said that both his sentiments and circumstances had changed, that he must follow both heart and interest to Miss Wright-Gordon, that she would have granted him his freedom? It would have been difficult, it would have broken her heart, but it would have been honest and honorable.

Now she could hardly believe that a mere fortnight ago she had thought all her dreams might come true, and that until early that very afternoon she had been contented with her lot in life. She’d had the promise of a husband and the hope he’d forget Miss Wright-Gordon—and she Lord Selsley—after they left Gloucestershire behind. She’d been confident that her brothers were provided for.

Now—what was to become of any of them? Sebastian was marrying a rich woman, it was true, but Lucy somehow doubted provision for the Joneses would be included in the marriage settlements. In any case, she didn’t want Miss Wright-Gordon’s money. She nonetheless knew she would take it if it were offered. She and her brothers could not afford the pride of refusal. But it humiliated her to think that all her hopes for a secure future depended on the lady who had stolen her betrothed.

When she was calm enough to do so, she rang for her maid and told her that she was feeling ill and would not be going down to dinner. Molly fussed over her and brought her one of Cook’s potions guaranteed to cure the headache. Lucy drank it meekly. She did have an aching head, though she was not sure a headache brought on by weeping could be cured in the same way as an ordinary one. She then submitted to Molly’s assertion that she must be a
little
hungry and allowed the maid to bring her a tray of broth and toast. But she determined to stay in her room until after tomorrow night’s ball. She would not watch Sebastian and Miss Wright-Gordon dance together, nor hear the guests exclaim and congratulate them upon their betrothal. It was too much to be borne.

James didn’t get an opportunity to talk to his aunt or uncle about his worries about Sebastian Arrington. His morning correspondence contained both business and political matters that needed his immediate attention, and then he got word that one of his tenants, a shepherd, had been injured, and he rode out to visit the man and make sure he received proper care.

When he returned, he found Anna in the little parlor with their aunt and uncle.

“I hope the man—Stebbins, isn’t it?—isn’t too badly hurt,” Anna said civilly, though there was an air of suppressed excitement about her.

“He’ll do very well in due course,” James said. “It’s only a sprain.”

“I’m glad,” Anna said. She sprang to her feet and danced across the room to meet him. Reaching out to clasp his hands, she said, “Congratulate me, brother. Sebastian Arrington has asked me to marry him.”

Good God. It had happened as fast as all that? He looked over Anna’s shoulder to where Uncle Robert sat. “You gave your consent to this?” he asked incredulously.

“James!” Anna cried. She dropped his hands and went to sit by Aunt Lilias, her face red, her chin held high in indignation.

“Of course I did,” Uncle Robert said mildly. “Lieutenant Arrington is a gentleman and an officer, an officer from Alec’s regiment. That’s enough for me, if my lass is happy.”

“I am,” Anna said firmly.

“What do you think of this, aunt?” James asked.

Aunt Lilias shrugged helplessly. “It’s no great match for her, to be sure. But Robert is right. He’s a respectable man, and Anna can afford to put her happiness first.”

Anna shot him a look composed of equal parts hurt and venom. “Can you not at least
try
to be happy for me, James?”

He supposed he was going about this all wrong. “I want
you
to be made happy,” he said. “And I’m not certain he’s the man that can do that.”

“I hope you will allow that I’m a better judge of my own happiness than you are.”

“Of course,” he said, though he was by no means sure of that. “But this has all happened so very quickly. Have you never thought well of someone the first fortnight you knew him, then changed your mind upon longer acquaintance?”

“It won’t happen in this case,” Anna said. “I feel like he’s the person I’ve been waiting to meet all my life.”

With difficulty James restrained himself from rolling his eyes. “Have you set a date yet?” he said, striving for a neutral tone.

“Not definitely,” she said. “We’re thinking we should wait till a few days after his sister’s wedding.”

Miss Arrington was to marry Lord Almont a week from that day. “But that’s less than a fortnight!” James exclaimed.

“You cannot expect us to post the banns,” Anna said. “He must return to his regiment very soon, after all.”

James turned imploring eyes upon his uncle. “Surely it would be best to defer the wedding until he returns from campaign.”

“But that could be years!” Anna cried tragically.

“Not if this expedition is as ill-starred as the last one,” James said grimly, remembering the defeated, half-starved army that had sailed home from Spain at the beginning of the year after a brutal winter campaign in which their Spanish allies had evaporated and the French had harried them to Corunna.

“It won’t be,” Uncle Robert said. “Wellesley knows his business.”

“Are you saying that Moore did not?” James asked, naming the general who had at least managed to extricate the army from the wintry debacle before dying in the battle to cover its retreat onto the navy’s ships. “I don’t doubt the quality of our army, and as for the generals, I daresay Wellesley is the most competent of the lot. But we simply cannot stand against the French on land without reliable allies—we haven’t the numbers—and I’ve yet to see any sign that Portugal or Spain will prove up to the task.”

Uncle Robert leaned forward. “What, do you believe we should simply surrender the continent to Bonaparte and—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, don’t argue politics
now,
” Anna said.

“Please,” Aunt Lilias agreed.

James and Uncle Robert held each other’s gaze for a moment, then exchanged tight nods. “All I’m saying,” James said, turning toward Anna, “is that if this campaign turns out like the last one, your lieutenant will be home in a few months, a year at most, and you can marry him then with full pomp at Dunmalcolm, or at St George’s in Hanover Square, if you prefer. If it’s a long war, why, he can take a few month’s leave at some point, and come home and marry you then.”

“He has a point,” Aunt Lilias allowed, laying a gentle hand on Anna’s arm. “I should like to see you married from the castle, with all of our family there.”

“I know, aunt,” she replied. “And I always dreamed of such a wedding. But Sebastian is going to war, and I—I cannot bear to
wait.
If he should die—”

James sighed. There would be no dissuading her, with both romantic patriotism and youthful passion to fuel the fires of her infatuation.

“Don’t worry so, James,” Uncle Robert said. “He’s a good man, and I was pleased with what he said when he came to seek my permission this afternoon. His speaking so honestly about his family’s financial circumstances shows honorable intent, and—”

“His family’s financial circumstances? What are they?” James asked sharply.

“His brother had run up some debts over the past few years, and tried to recoup the whole by investing in a canal,” Anna said. “It turned out to be a fraudulent scheme, so he lost his whole investment. They were planning all sorts of dire measures—finding a tenant for the family home, selling their town house and moving to some watering place and so on—but now that won’t be necessary.”

“Good God,” James said. How could Anna be so untroubled by this, and how could his uncle allow it? He took a deep breath. He could not prevent the marriage now, not with Anna so determined and their aunt and uncle backing her up. “Will you at least let me be the one to draw up the marriage settlements?”

“Of course,” Uncle Robert said with a wave of his hand. “I’d planned to ask you to do so in any case. You are our expert in all matters financial, after all.”

James smiled tightly. Uncle Robert’s remark was an insult and a compliment woven together. His interest in money was vulgar, but his gifts in that area, and his father’s before him, had been invaluable to the Gordons of Dunmalcolm. “Very good,” he said. “I’ll begin work at once.” He’d find a way to keep as much of Anna’s money out of the Arringtons’ hands as he could. At least he could protect her from some of the consequences of her folly.

Lucy awoke the morning of the Almont ball determined that she would not dance at it. As she sat in her room, picking at the breakfast Molly had brought her, a peremptory rap sounded at the door and Lady Marpool sauntered in. Lucy gaped at the stern figure in her voluminous lace cap and severely cut purple dress, feeling inadequate and underdressed in her nightdress and wrapper.

“You, Miss Jones, are a coward,” Lady Marpool said calmly as she shut the door behind her.

What?
Lady Marpool, who had barely acknowledged Lucy’s existence for most of her visit, had invaded her room to accuse her of cowardice? She set her fork down and blinked. “I beg your pardon, ma’am?”

“You look quite healthy for a girl claiming an indisposition so great that she is willing to miss her first ball.”

“I’m very sorry to miss it,” Lucy said, “but I’ve such a dreadful headache.”

“No, you do not.” Lady Marpool, uninvited, took the chair just opposite Lucy at her little table and fixed her with a withering look. “You are a coward.”

“Ma’am?” Lucy sat awash in hurt and bewilderment. She would never have guessed that Lady Marpool cared whether or not she attended the ball, and she wished the countess were as indifferent as she had always believed her to be. Surely it was not cowardice to avoid the presence of a gentleman who had just discarded her in favor of another woman.

“Do you know what your cousin, Miss Arrington, is saying about you?” Lady Marpool asked conversationally.

“No, ma’am.” She was sure it was nothing good.

“She said she was hardly surprised you didn’t want to dance at a ball where the talk of the assembly would be her brother’s engagement to Miss Wright-Gordon. She said she was sure you were quite
heartbroken,
given that you’d always been such an absurdly devoted admirer of his—so childish of you, she said, to be so infatuated with a cousin from your own household, and quite ridiculous to think that someone of your birth and lack of fortune could aspire to anything above some farmer or curate.”

Lucy closed her eyes. She had never realized that Portia knew how she felt about Sebastian.

“Your aunt and your other cousins were in the room, too,” Lady Marpool added. “Would you like to know how they responded?”

“I am sure you would like to tell me, ma’am,” Lucy said, a little sourly.

“Much better. I
thought
you had more spirit than you generally reveal. Well—they laughed.”

Lucy’s eyes stung, and she swallowed hard. She could believe it of Hal, but Aunt Arrington was usually kinder—and Sebastian? “All of them?” she said in a weak voice.

“All of them. Lieutenant Arrington turned red and looked cross—but he laughed.”

Lucy rested her forehead in her hands. She could not look at Lady Marpool. Sebastian had laughed at her. From Lady Marpool’s description it sounded like nervous laughter, but nevertheless he had joined Portia’s mockery. She would never have believed it possible.

“Do you really want to give them further cause for mockery by continuing to hide in your room?”

“You don’t know the whole of the story, ma’am.” If Lady Marpool knew about the broken engagement, surely she would exonerate Lucy. But she could not tell her. She had given her word. Even if she had not, she did not want the humiliation of admitting her rejection.

“I know enough. I know that you admire your cousin, or are thought to by your family. Whether or not it’s true hardly matters. I also know that your older cousin Sir Henry finds himself in reduced circumstances.”

Lucy blinked. “I’m surprised they spoke of that.”

“Oh, they didn’t, not directly. But there were hints, and Sir Henry has been showing himself fawningly grateful to his brother since he returned from Orchard Park and announced his engagement.”

“I’m sure you must know how dependent my brothers and I are,” Lucy said slowly. “I find it difficult to…celebrate with a light heart when I don’t know what’s to become of us.”

“Miss Wright-Gordon’s fortune is large enough to cover all of Sir Henry’s deficiencies,” Lady Marpool said. “But I wouldn’t depend upon any of it being directed toward you. I would not depend upon
any
of your family from what I’ve seen. You must provide for yourself, which is all the more reason you should dance at the ball, light heart or no. You’ll not attract suitors by hiding in your room.”

“No one is going to make an offer of marriage to me at the ball,” Lucy said tiredly.

“True, but a gentleman who dances with you tonight is more likely to offer next week, or next year if you and your aunt come for another visit, than one who hears gossip that you’re hiding in your room because you’re wearing the willow for your cousin.”

Lucy sighed. Lady Marpool had a point. Not that she was seeking marriage, of course, after what had just happened, but anything, anyone, would be preferable to continuing as a poor relation and unpaid companion to Aunt Arrington, now that she knew her aunt was laughing at her behind her back. But why did the countess care what became of her? The connection through Portia’s impending marriage was tenuous, and Lady Marpool had not been especially friendly to her before. What had driven the countess to seek her out?

“Why do you offer me advice, ma’am?” Lucy asked.

Lady Marpool shrugged. “You seem like an honest girl, and one who values honesty in others. So the answer is that I’m not helping you for your own sake. I won’t lie awake at night worrying over your fate. However, I’m not fond of your cousin, Miss Arrington. She would not have been my choice, but my brother took the bit between his teeth. Since she enjoys the thought of you hiding in your room, sobbing your eyes out over Lieutenant Arrington, that’s reason enough for me to drag you out. Why should she have her pleasure at your expense?”

That was honest, and bracing. Why
should
she gratify Portia by hiding from the family when she, Lucy, had done nothing wrong? “Very well, then,” she said. “I’ll go to the ball.”

“A most sensible decision.”

“Only—I had no idea my…admiration…for Sebastian was so generally known.”

“I doubt that it is, outside of your family. I had wondered, but I certainly didn’t think he was the
only
gentleman you admired. Though I must warn you that Lord Selsley is far above your touch, and I don’t think he’s the sort to marry so young. I daresay he’ll be thirty before he thinks of choosing a viscountess. You’d do better to think of Ned Cathcart or Sir Paul Rodham.”

Lucy felt her face heat. Did she not have a single secret to her name?

“Don’t fret, girl. Go to the ball, dance and pay attention to anyone and everyone except Lieutenant Arrington, and you’ll do quite well. If you can manage to welcome Miss Wright-Gordon into your family with any semblance of sincerity, that would go a long way toward silencing your cousin.”

“I’ll try.”

“Good girl.” With a brisk nod, Lady Marpool left her alone.

Lucy remained coward enough to spend most of the day in her room, alternating between rather mechanical sketches of various objects—she was in no mood to attempt anyone’s portrait—and a book of poems she’d taken from the castle library but found disappointingly dull.

Altogether she was relieved when a smiling Molly appeared to help her dress. In a few hours this cursed ball would be over and done and she could resume her solitude. She patiently submitted to the maid’s ministrations, reflecting that Molly was far more excited about the evening than she was.

“There,” Molly said at last when she had put the final touches on Lucy’s hair. “What do you think, miss?”

Lucy wore the finest of the dresses Aunt Arrington had given her after Sebastian’s proposal, but it was still very simple—snow white muslin, airy and light, with short, tight sleeves and a low, square neck. It was trimmed in crimson, deepest crimson, with bands of dark red ribbon edging the sleeves and hem. A long matching sash was tied under her bosom—such as it was, she thought, eying the slight swell of her breasts with dissatisfaction.

Aunt Arrington had wanted her to trim the dress in pink or yellow, but Lucy had asked for red, at first tentatively, then insistently as the dressmaker had backed her up. Red had always been her favorite color, and though she could not have a red ballgown, she had wanted a touch of that color for the finest dress she’d ever had. She’d been delighted when the dressmaker had produced the crimson satin ribbons, rich and red as blood.

But now she stared blankly at her reflection, as if it were the portrait of a stranger. She hadn’t realized her eyes were quite so large—nor so expressionless. Molly truly had a knack for styling hair, the way she’d woven strands of the crimson ribbon into the braids twisted atop Lucy’s head and left more than the usual number of shorter curls loose against her neck. She knew she ought to thank Molly—the girl had gone to such an effort—and she tried to affect the enthusiasm she ought to feel about having been turned out so finely for her first ball.

“It wants something yet,” Molly said critically. “Here, miss, may I see your necklace? There’s something I want to try.”

Lucy reached up to unclasp the thin gold chain supporting her amber cross, a gift from Sebastian on her sixteenth birthday. She wished she had anything else to wear tonight, but it was the only piece of jewelry she owned. “I know it isn’t quite right with the dress, but I haven’t anything else,” she confessed to Molly as she handed it over.

“I’m going to make it right, miss. You’ll see.”

Sitting at the dressing table, Molly removed the cross from the chain and set the chain carefully aside. She then took up a thin piece of crimson ribbon and threaded it through the cross’s loop. She stood again and tied the ribbon snugly around Lucy’s neck. “There! What do you think?”

Lucy looked at her reflection one more time. The simple change was startling. Instead of a gold chain so thin it was almost invisible, the blood-red ribbon encircled her neck, with the cross resting exactly in the hollow of her collarbone.

“If I could have an abigail of my own, I would hire you,” she said. “I wish I could.”

Molly smiled. “Thank you, miss. I couldn’t ask for higher praise than that.”

Lucy dismissed the maid and stood alone before the mirror for a moment, hardly seeing her reflection. She took deep breaths. Her courage nearly failed her. She did not want to go downstairs and face this new world where Sebastian belonged to Miss Wright-Gordon and she, Lucy, had no assurance of security for herself and her brothers. But Lady Marpool was right. To hide in her room only made her a coward.

At last she made her solitary way down the twisting staircase and winding corridors to the castle’s ancient keep. The rest of the family, along with Lord Almont and Lady Marpool, were already gathered before the great hearth, awaiting the arrival of the first guests. Lucy hesitated, unnoticed in the doorway for a moment, fretful about facing them for the first time in over a day, especially after all Lady Marpool had told her. Portia stood between Lord Almont and Lady Marpool, nodding gravely as her betrothed spoke with great animation and expansive gestures, a smile on his honest, ruddy face. Sebastian and Hal were on either side of Aunt Arrington, in evident charity with one another.

Lady Marpool spotted her first. “There you are, Miss Jones. Come and join us.”

She swallowed and did as she was bid. The stone floor felt unnaturally hard beneath her soft kid dancing slippers, and she was aware of everyone’s eyes upon her.

“I hope your ‘headache’ isn’t troubling you any longer,” Portia said, with a smirk and an arched eyebrow to show her doubts as to the validity of Lucy’s complaint. “I was certain you would stay abed again tonight.”

Courage,
Lucy told herself. “It is my first ball,” she said as calmly as she could. “I wouldn’t dream of missing it.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling more the thing, child,” Lord Almont said. “I’m sure all the young bucks will hurry to claim your dances, but perhaps you’ll do me the honor of dancing the second dance with me.” He bowed to her with an old-fashioned, courtly air.

Lucy couldn’t help but be charmed. “Thank you, sir,” she said. “The honor is mine.”

He smiled. “Nonsense, child. ’Tis nothing more than your due as my guest.”

Lady Marpool surveyed her and gave her a distant, approving nod. “You look lovely, Miss Jones. Those colors suit you.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Aunt Arrington sniffed. “I still think you should’ve chosen pink or yellow, as I suggested.”

There was nothing Lucy could think of to say to that, but Hal spoke for her. “And look like every other insipid debutante?” He favored her with a somehow debased grin; rather than feeling complimented by it, Lucy wanted to flinch away from him. “You’re looking well, Lucy, and I
won’t
ask you for a dance. Better save those for your suitors—and you’ll have them. Won’t she, Bastian?”

Reluctantly Lucy looked up and was rather gratified to find that Sebastian was red-faced and unwilling to meet her eyes. “I’m certain she will, and that she deserves them.”

The first guests were announced, and the Almont castle party formed themselves into a receiving line to greet them. Though Lucy was hardly happy to find herself ensconced between Sebastian and Hal, she was relieved that the first meeting was over. None of it felt quite real, however. It was as if she were a mechanical automaton, wound up and going through its paces, with the real Lucy watching from some distant point. She was not excited about the ball—that was impossible—but Sebastian’s defection and her fears for the future had for the moment ceased to grieve her. She was simply there.

Between greeting guests, she looked around, admiring in a distant, abstracted manner how the keep had been transformed into a ballroom. Torches burned in sconces all along the long walls, with gleaming suits of armor arrayed like an honor guard in the spaces between them. A fire crackled in the great hearth, where oxen and boar must have been roasted for the earliest Almont lords. The half-dozen hired musicians sat in a corner near the fire playing softly, striking an incongruously modern note amid the medieval splendor, though Lucy supposed they and all the guests must look equally out of place.