Candice Hern
Authors: Once a Dreamer
ONCE A DREAMER
for literally supporting me throughout
this endeavor, and for many great story
ideas, including the notion that
the Busybody should be a man
“But I love him!”
“Mrs. Eleanor Tennant to see Lady Westover.”
He reeled back from the force of her blow, then…
Eleanor turned on her heel and headed up the stairs.
“Of course you must accompany Mrs. Tennant on this journey.” Constance…
“There is nothing for it, I’m afraid. We’re going to…
An early start and sunny skies did little to lift…
She fell so hard against him the breath was knocked…
They arrived in Market Harboro not a moment too soon.
It was late when Buxton came into view. They had…
“Barkwith?” had gone. “Geoffrey Barkwith?”
“What I am about to tell you,” Simon said haltingly,…
Dear God, what had she done?
Eleanor had slept like the dead. It had been an…
Ehe trip to Kendal was fraught with a new kind…
Eleanor looked down at her dress and sighed. She feared…
Eleanor sat on the side of the bed and brushed…
They lay together for some minutes, slick and panting. Still…
“I wonder Eleanor paced the coffee room as she waited…
Eleanor sat beside Edwina in the hired post chaise that…
London
May 1801
“B
ut I love him!”
Eleanor Tennant wanted to shake her niece by the shoulders, but settled for a theatrical sigh of frustration. She was tired of this discussion, which had been repeated in one variation or another a dozen times in the last week. She reined in her impatience in one more attempt to provide mature and sensible guidance to the girl. “Belinda, my dear, you barely know the man. It is your ?rst Season in town and Barkwith is the ?rst man to ?irt with you. Do not misunderstand his intentions.”
“He is not ?irting with me,” Belinda said with an unladylike stamp of her dainty foot. “He loves me.”
Eleanor groaned and reached for the teapot. “I suppose he has told you as much?”
“Over and over,” Belinda said with a haughty lift of her chin. “A hundred times. A thousand.”
It was worse than she suspected. Belinda had always been a headstrong, willful young girl. But of all things, this was the one situation Eleanor had hoped to avoid. Her niece was too innocent to understand the peril of encouraging the attentions of a man like Geoffrey Barkwith, a seductive charmer with a rakehell reputation and a penchant for gaming. He was a younger son with no fortune of his own, and was widely known to be under the hatches. A man like that could have no interest in a girl like Belinda. Though strikingly beautiful, Belinda had no particular fortune to tempt a man sorely in need of one. Her father, Eleanor’s brother, was a naval captain who’d been away at sea for almost three years. The prize money he sent home now and then amounted to little more than was needed to support their household. Belinda was no heiress.
In fact, it had been Eleanor’s fondest wish to establish her niece in a respectable marriage with a man of means. The girl’s beauty and lively personality would outweigh her lack of fortune for the right man.
Eleanor took a long, restorative swallow of tea. “And what of Mr. Pendleton?” she asked. “He practically lives on our doorstep in hopes you will notice him. Don’t you think you might give him a
chance? And perhaps a few other gentlemen as well? The Season has only just begun.”
“Oh, bosh. Mr. Pendleton is only encouraged by
you
, Aunt Ellie. I have given him no cause to expect anything from me. Besides, he’s a dead bore.”
Confound the ungrateful girl. Eleanor had worked hard to engineer an introduction to the Honorable Charles Pendleton, heir to a viscountcy and already in possession of a considerable fortune in his own right. On top of all that, he was sensible and grounded where Belinda was flighty and excitable. He was perfect, absolutely perfect. What a coup it would be for Eleanor to announce such a fine match to her brother.
“In all fairness, my dear, I do not believe you have given proper consideration to Mr. Pendleton,” Eleanor said. “I think if you allowed yourself to get to know him better, you would see what a fine—”
“I don’t want Mr. Pendleton. I’m in love with Geoffrey.”
The obstinate child would be the death of her. How could Eleanor make her understand? She knew all about men like Geoffrey Barkwith. He could want only one thing from a beautiful girl with no fortune, and it was not marriage.
“Please try to be sensible for once, Belinda. You need a husband who can support you properly, who can guarantee you a life of security, and more. Mr. Pendleton is—”
“A dry old stick who happens to have deep
pockets. I don’t care about his fortune, Aunt Ellie. Or about him. I want Geoffrey and none other.” She sank down on the settee beside Eleanor and gazed at her with the smug, condescending look of the young who believe their elders are much too old to understand anything important. And though Eleanor was only twenty-nine, she was quite sure that Belinda thought her a stuffy, middle-aged nuisance.
“I know you want only what is best for me,” Belinda said, “that you want to settle me in circumstances perhaps better than your own. I do understand that.” Her voice had taken on a sweet, patronizing tone that made Eleanor’s teeth ache. “But you must understand that the love Geoffrey and I share is founded on more than mere fancy. It is refined by delicacy, and exalted by a purity of heart and dignity of mind. He has poured vows of constancy and unalterable affection into the bosom of my heart, and my own affections are roused to the bliss of reciprocal delight. With such a love, a bare competence will be sufficient to subsist.”
“Good heavens, where did you pick up such high-flown, mawkish, Byzantine language? What have you been reading? Oh, don’t tell me. It’s that dreadful magazine again, is it not?”
“It’s not dreadful.
The Ladies’ Fashionable Cabinet
is a fine publication with excellent articles.” Her gaze fell to her lap, and she set about adjusting the arrangement of her skirts. “I took the liberty of writing a letter, anonymously, of course, to the—”
“Oh, no. Please do not tell me you have written to that beastly woman?”
“I sent a letter to the Busybody and set my case before her.”
“Belinda! How could you?” Eleanor set down her teacup with such force, it was a wonder the saucer did not shatter into pieces. Dear Lord, give her the strength not to murder her brother’s only child. “The Busybody! Never was a woman more aptly named. I cannot believe you pay the least heed to anything that interfering, sentimental old biddy has to say. And you actually wrote to her? Good God, my girl, I thought you had more sense. I suppose you are now to tell me she has published your letter for all the world to see.”
“Yes, she has, and I think you ought to read her response, Aunt Ellie. She is a very wise woman, you know.”
Belinda plucked the little magazine from behind a cushion where she’d hidden it, and offered it on her outstretched palm as though it were the Holy Grail. Eleanor grabbed it and began to riffle through the pages of essays, book reviews, fashion hints, and poetry until she found the dreaded article.
THE BUSYBODY
The letter which now claims my attention is from a young lady whose case is not, I believe, in any way singular, but instead represents a common misapprehension of those fond
guardians of behavior who introduce young women into society. I brazenly intrude into this situation in hopes of encouraging other overzealous parents and guardians to allow some lenience in matters of such consequence to the happiness of their charges.
Madam,
I take the liberty of applying to you in a matter of the utmost importance, and solicit from your experience and good nature such advice as may serve to preserve me from a fate more wretched than can be described. My affections have recently become engaged by a wonderful gentleman. He is everything I could wish for in a companion for life—kind, loving, handsome, charming, considerate, honorable, and true. He is nothing short of perfect, and is in full possession of my heart. I am the most fortunate of women to know that he feels an affection for me as deep as mine for him. My happiness would be complete in knowing that I might become his wife.
Unfortunately, the aunt who acts as my guardian in the absence of my father cannot see the excellent qualities of this fine gentleman. Instead, she is blinded by old rumor and innuendo and sadly influenced by his lack of fortune. He is not destitute by any means, and his modest income is sufficient to support us both. My affectionate aunt, however, encourages me to accept the ad
dresses of a man of superior wealth and rank. I am naturally desirous of conforming in all things to the wishes of my dear aunt, who on all occasions has so studiously sought my welfare and the promotion of my best interests. However, I cannot feel anything but repugnance at the notion of marrying a man for whom I feel no affection, most particularly when another is the object of them all. Please advise me as to whether I ought to be bound to my aunt’s wishes and sacrifice all future happiness, or ought I to be allowed to accept the suit of the gentleman who holds my heart?
Miss Dora Doleful
It is my firm belief that the woman who unites her destiny with that of a man for whom she feels little more than indifference cannot expect to find any degree of comfort in the married state. Where mutual affection and esteem are lacking, felicity can never dwell. Worse still, if a wife’s affections have been bestowed upon another than her husband, she is fostering a situation wrought with dangerous potential. Such a circumstance is unkind and unfair to both parties. Many well-meaning guardians are so determined that their charges marry well that it is sometimes allowed that they are not also married happily. Wealth may provide the means for material pleasure, but cannot bring consolation for the wounds of a broken heart. Moreover, the
deprivation of wealth does not presume the deprivation of happiness. If Miss Doleful’s love for the gentleman who holds her heart is a love founded on more than mere fancy, is refined by delicacy, and is exalted by purity of heart and dignity of mind, a bare competence will be sufficient to subsist. It is hoped that her esteemed aunt will modify her thinking to favor a true attachment over the allure of wealth and position, and encourage Miss Doleful to follow her heart’s desire.
Eleanor looked up from the page to find Belinda beaming with triumph.
“You see?” Belinda said. “She agrees with me about Geoffrey. She says I should follow my heart.”
Eleanor’s teeth were clenched so tight she could barely speak. “And I suppose you intend to take her advice?”
“Of course.”
“Of course.” And Eleanor intended to hunt down the Busybody and wring her interfering neck.