Forced Offer (4 page)

Chapter 4

"Stop fidgeting, Belinda", said Mrs. Presleigh, "and let Minnie do your braid or we will be late for the ball."

"Mama, could we not—I hardly feel up to it. We have gone to six balls in six days. I'm exhausted!"

"Not another word on the subject, missy," said Mrs. Presleigh sternly. She glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece and sighed in exasperation.

When Minnie had finished with Belinda's hair she started on Mrs. Presleigh's.

"I'll wait downstairs, Mama," said Belinda with resignation. These balls were anything but joyful to her. She invariably adorned the wall, along with the chaperones and matrons.

"There is no joy in dressing Belinda," said Mrs. Presleigh with a loud sigh. "Do you remember, Minnie, what delight we took in dressing my darling Roselle?"

"Ah, Ma'am, but there was a beauty," said Minnie, "and not a one to touch her in several counties."

"Why our Lord took her, I shall never understand, Minnie."

Minnie said nothing and concentrated on Mrs. Presleigh's hair. Soon they were all ready and ensconced in the large town chaise for the sixth time that week, on the way to the ball, one at Lord Algerton's mansion in Grosvenor Square.

Belinda, dressed in virginal white with ivory Venetian lace at the sleeves and a cape of the same cloth, hunched inside the costly cape and saw the evening ahead as a punishment to be endured. She glanced out at the passing scenery and saw instead the crawling hours ahead as dance after dance in which she would not participate. Only the music would divert her, but even this was not to be enjoyed in calm but under the tension of pleasing her mother.

"Here we are," said her mother.

* * * * *

"Well, there he is, arrived at last," said Mrs. Presleigh to her Aunt Jenny, and without turning, Belinda knew whom Mrs. Presleigh referred to. She felt a thrill run through her like a bolt of lightning even without gazing at the beloved face of her dreams.

"Come, Belinda, let us stroll around the ballroom."

Belinda blushed to the roots of her hair. Whenever her mother said those words Belinda knew that it was to cast out her net to trap an unsuspecting young man into dancing with Belinda.

She closed her eyes, praying to God that it would not be to 
him 
that she would be pushed to. She could bear anything but that. She would rather be dead and buried and have become a banquet for the worms, than have her mother force the Earl of Berrington into dancing with her.

And that was exactly what Mrs. Presleigh intended as she neared her quarry, and nodding her lavender turban coquettishly, accosted Lord Berrington.

Belinda noticed he was in conversation with Lord Wilbur, his best friend and of about the same age as he, and his neighbor on the opposite side from the Presleighs.

But Lord Berrington was experienced in outmaneuvers, surprising even his friend, Lord Wilbur, who raised his eyebrows at the quickness with which Lord Berrington acted. Berrington turned without a glance at Belinda, and murmuring his apologies to Mr. Presleigh informed her he was on his way to greet a friend who was waiting for him in the library. Belinda blushed furiously at the obvious lie but her embarrassment went unnoticed, as both men quit their sphere with such practiced ease as to leave Mrs. Presleigh breathless.

This was the first of several such episodes during the long evening.

Blushing to the roots of her hair, Belinda saw her mother stand directly in the path of a young man in uniform, whom she recognized as Captain Wesneye, having been introduced to him at another ball. The light brows above his washed-out eyes shot up as Mrs. Presleigh, unbelievably, entwined her arm in his. His color rose, making the freckles on his face more angrily obvious and as Mrs. Presleigh directed him almost by force to Belinda. Forced to dance now with Belinda, he stared at her resentfully.

Wesneye, his arm around Belinda, turned his scorn to loathing. He had been on his way toward a girl he had had his eye on all evening when he was cut off by Mrs. Presleigh and was now forced to dance with Belinda. Mrs. Presleigh, having retreated happily to the wall to view her handiwork from a vantage point was now forgotten as Wesneye sneered at Belinda.

Nearing the end of what was to Belinda an agonizingly long dance number. Captain Wesneye stepped purposely on Belinda’s slippered left foot. Silk slippers were no match for leather shoes and Belinda was forced to retreat to a chair even before the end of the dance.

Her mother might have made the purchase but it was Belinda who had paid the price.

Her foot hurt so much that she had almost limped out of the ballroom. Thankfully this had happened at the end of the long evening, and as the family finally headed for their carriage, Belinda dreamed only of her bed—and oblivion.

And this was the way she had marked her eighteenth birthday.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror and sighed. A long hopeless sigh. A year had not brought any changes for the better to her face. If anything, she seemed even thinner, she thought.

Another agonizing round of balls.
She would do anything to escape them. She had often wondered at those who took off to the Colonies, leaving everything behind them. Now, she understood perfectly. Given the chance, she would grasp it. A life in the Colonies would be far less torture than what awaited her in London.

No amount of extra feeding brought any more plumpness to her face, which was chronically thin. This unnatural thinness left her unfashionably high cheekbones exposed and angular and made her seem gaunt. And eyes that could have been pretty had they been on a fuller face, seemed merely commonplace. There was a myriad of blue, gray and green tints in her eyes, but her long lashes were so light as to be almost invisible, so that the unusual shadings in her eyes went unnoticed. And those assessing her never saw past her thinness, commonplace shade of hair and coloring, height higher than was normal, and quiet nature. Her painful shyness was a direct result of her mother's overbearing attitude toward her and her constant reminders of her homely appearance. In her imagination to which she often escaped, Belinda was eloquent, possessing a keen mind and liberal views, and an uncommon perception of literature. But knowing full well that to express her opinions would instantly brand her as a "bluestocking," she kept her views to herself. Her mother had enough ammunition with which to badger her, she would not give her even more.

Mrs. Presleigh was certain this time Belinda would take and be married into one of the great families of England and thus she would fulfill her mother's obsession, which was to regain the social prominence her family had once enjoyed. They had an adequate income from the estate yet this was not enough for Mrs. Presleigh who yearned once more to be included in the prominent circles that her family had once belonged to.

Her constant nagging often sent Mr. Presleigh to the card rooms in search of prey to wheedle invitations to balls and soirees. Socially prominent acquaintances that were in their cups were easy prey for the amiable Presleigh, who had a natural charm.

Mrs. Presleigh had insisted on a new and expensive wardrobe for Belinda. She and Aunt Jenny pored for hours over fashion magazines, although Mrs. Presleigh's choices generally prevailed over the better taste Aunt Jenny possessed.

On the eve of the Presleighs' departure for London for Belinda's second Season, unknowingly, Belinda had given her mother an idea. Belinda was sitting on the window seat, absent-mindedly scrawling Berrington's name over and over on the border of a notebook. There was a faraway look in her eyes as she did this, her mind going back to that day when she had seen Lord Berrington naked.

Mrs. Presleigh, flushed and excited, had come up from behind her at the window, bursting with wardrobe plans, had surprised her lost in daydreams and had glanced at her notebook.

"Belinda, what is this?" She had asked as she snatched the book from Belinda's hands. "Are you fond of Lord Berrington?"

Blushing, Belinda had answered quickly, "No, no, Mama, of course not—I was just—I don't know why I was doing that."

Belinda's chin trembled in remembrance of an incident that seemed as though it had happened a century ago.

"Are you in love with him? Answer me, girl," Mrs. Presleigh had pressed, her eyes like an Inquisitor's, probing Belinda's features.

"No, Mama—you're imagining things. Of course I am not."

"Why then were you writing his name?"

"He's our neighbor…that was the only reason."

"Does he look at you?" her mother had asked with extreme interest.

"No, Mama, he has never glanced at me."

"At the last ball at Winterhill, did he speak to you?"

"No, other than the usual greeting at the receiving line."

Even at that ball Mrs. Presleigh had again tried to accost Berrington, dragging Belinda at her side. But Berrington had been quicker. He was adept at outmaneuvering the Dragon Mamas, as they were called, when they tried to corner him into dancing with their daughters.

After this incident they had gone on to London, and Belinda's second Season became pure, distilled torture, for if her mother had been desperate a year ago, she seemed a hundred times more so now, with her desire to have a high rank in society feeding daily on itself.

Belinda's wardrobe seemed excessive to Belinda, and fit for an earl's daughter. But she said nothing. It was useless to protest, in any case.

This year Belinda would take, her mother had declared a few days after their arrival in London.

And she had made certain of it.

Mrs. Presleigh availed herself of an invitation to a house party at Lennington Hall, a sumptuous estate an hour's drive from London. She had obsessed over the ten-days' sojourn when she had found out that Lord Berrington was in the guest list.

Lennington Hall was a vast estate, half of which had stood for four hundred years. It was said that the heir to the house of Anjou, Charles VIII, had visited here for a week. Its most peculiar feature was a huge wine cellar that seemed more like a dungeon, and indeed, there were certainly legends of enemies of the Crown having been imprisoned within its damp stone walls.

The place—a tour of which had been given to the whole group at the beginning of their stay—was declared by the ladies to be romantic, Gothic and eerie.

"And I am certain he will attend, my dear," she had expressed to Belinda, "for Lady Celeste, that fast little baggage of a widow, is also to be present."

"Mama. I would rather not go," Belinda implored. "Could we not stay in London instead? I was to go with Sally and her aunt on a long walk along the Serpentine and to the Tower and on Saturday to the gardens at Kew."

Belinda's love for Richard Berrington had grown with the years, rather than abated, into a sturdy, painful passion she kept locked in her heart. She could live with the realization that hers was the most impossible of dreams so long as it was kept hidden and away from the ridicule and humiliation it would shower her with should it ever be exposed.

Whenever she coincided with him at a ball or soiree, she kept as far away from him as possible, preferably with the length of a ballroom between them. A rush of feeling went through her on entering a room and instinctively knowing he was among the guests, or when he walked into a ballroom she was in. The sight of him each time was overwhelming, and she often felt she was drowning when near him. She glanced at him rarely, for this reason, and only when she was certain he was not looking her way.

Her mother, on the other hand, had no such reticence and often pointed him out to her with a proprietary air, merely because he was their neighbor. Mrs. Presleigh had always believed that but for the untimely death of her beautiful daughter Roselle, she would now be calling Berrington "son-in-law."

By the third day at Lennington Hall, Belinda was spending a lot of time in solitary walks, avoiding the female guests who stared rudely at her and whispered unkindly. The gentlemen, on the other hand, merely ignored her.

But while Belinda was out in her solitary walks, her mother was busily at work, bribing servants into her bidding.

"Why do you do that, Mama, what do you hope to gain by it?" She had asked her mother.

"Hush," her mother had hissed. "It is nothing for you to concern yourself with. Great opportunities don't just fall on your lap, you must go looking for them."

"What opportunities?" Belinda had asked, realizing with a sinking heart that her mother was scheming on her behalf.

"Never you mind," her mother had answered dismissively.

It was in this way Mrs. Presleigh had come across a letter for a late night assignation from Lord Berrington to Lady Celeste.

There were few footman tempted with Mrs. Presleigh's gold coins that could resist her bidding. In this way she had intercepted the letter from Lord Berrington which bore his family crest. The note addressed the intended recipient only as "My dear."

Mrs. Presleigh had sat for a few moments in fierce concentration in the privacy of her room to think of a way to convince Belinda that the letter was addressed to her.

The hallway was deserted, for everyone was out in a garden party, everyone but Lord Berrington, who had gone into town to meet the coach of a friend who was a late guest, when Mrs. Presleigh made her foray.