Charlotte Louise Dolan (16 page)

“Hah! You have just shown how truly ignorant you are of the ways of the
ton.
A ring on the finger is no deterrent to a man in pursuit of a woman he admires.”

“Are you implying that Beth would so far forget herself as to have an affair?”

Her sister again looked so angry, Florie hurried to back down from a position she knew was untenable. “I am not saying anything about Cousin Elizabeth. I’m sure she would not consider a thing like that. I am just saying that ... that ...”

“That her admirers are in daily expectation of having her grant them all her favors?”

“Now you are putting words in my mouth.”

“So, what are you trying to say, hmmm? How can you explain away that they are all dancing around her like a pack of fools?”

“They are just being polite. But speaking of dancing, my card is always filled as soon as I arrive at the ball, so there, little Miss Know-it-all!”

Dorie glared at her, but Florie glared right back. Let her sister explain that away if she could.

“What has that to say to anything? Beth was hailed as the incomparable her first week in London, and by the second week she had two offers of marriage.”

Florie was ready to claw her sister’s eyes out, but she hid her anger behind a sweet smile. Children really could not be expected to understand about such things, after all, and one must make allowances for their ignorance.

“A lady never mentions the offers she has declined. Only someone of the mushroom class would brag about such things.”

“Humdudgeon! You are implying that you have already received countless offers, but you need not try to bamboozle me with what I know to be a bag of moonshine.”

“Really, Dorinda, where you pick up such language is beyond me. Have you been hanging around the stables again? I feel it is my duty to tell Mother about the vulgar expressions you evidently think it is proper for a young lady to employ.”

“Oh, give over, Florie. Now you are talking like a governess, but it won’t work.”

“What won’t work?”

“I will not be fobbed off so easily. We were talking about the fickleness of your admirers.”

“All men are fickle. What has that to say to the point? I can still have any man I want.” Florie again looked at her reflection in the mirror and patted her light-brown curls. She was so lucky her hair was naturally curly—the other girls being presented this Season were undoubtedly sick with envy. Even Cousin Elizabeth’s hair had to be coaxed into curls.

“I have five pounds that says you cannot.”

Turning away from the mirror, Florie looked at her sister. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“I will make a wager you cannot get any man you want.”

Florie chuckled. Really, her sister was too childish for words.

Her laughter was more effective than her words had been, and she could tell Dorie was becoming discomposed. Pressing her advantage, she continued, “My dear Dorinda, you show not the slightest understanding of what life is all about. It is nothing like the lurid romances you are always borrowing from the lending library. In real life, no man decides to offer for a woman; the woman makes the decision and then manages things in such a way that the man thinks it is all his own idea.”

Dorie’s mouth dropped open, then she snapped it shut, scowling in a way that was bound to put wrinkles on her face. Well, that was her problem, along with the freckles that liberally covered her nose, caused by her constantly forgetting to wear a hat when out-of-doors.

“I had not realized your cockloft is to let. Are you seriously implying that Beth managed things so that all those idiots threw themselves at her feet?”

“No, of course not. But that she deliberately set her cap for Simon Bellgrave cannot be disputed.”

“Simon! That dolt!”

“Dolt? Oh, my dear, you had best go back to the schoolroom. That
dolt,
as you would call him, is
only
the most
eligible
bachelor in town, as
anyone
can tell you. It was quite a feather in her cap when Cousin Elizabeth managed to
ensnare
him.”

“Ensnare? She didn’t ensnare him; he fell in love with her.”

“Love? Of course he fancied himself in love with her—that was the whole point. But if you are trying to convince me that Cousin Elizabeth did not set out to make him fall in love with her, then it is you who are off the mark.”

“That’s ridiculous. I think you must have been out in the sun too long, because you are obviously touched in your upper story.”

Florie did her best to hide her irritation. Really, it was too much to have a younger sister always underfoot. Dorie should be sent back home, which course of action Florie had even suggested to her mother, but unfortunately there was no one for her to stay with there.

“It is not ridiculous, it is simply the way life is. The only thing that really makes a difference is being pretty enough, dressing to the best advantage, and then letting a man know in subtle ways that he has a chance to win your hand. That puffs him up in his own conceit, which makes him easily manageable.”

“Ugh, you make it sound so coldhearted and calculating. I don’t think you know what you’re talking about, but if you believe men are so easy to manipulate, then let’s see you do it—let’s see you
entice
the man of your choosing into making you an offer. I’ll wager the five pounds I got at Christmas ... well, except for the six shillings I’ve already spend on chocolates.”

“Very well, I accept your wager, and I choose Simon Bellgrave. Before the end of the Season I shall have his offer, which I shall accept, and then you shall have to pay me—”

“Simon Bellgrave?” her sister interrupted, astonishment writ quite plainly on her face. “You want Simon Bellgrave? Why on earth would you want him?”

To show the world that she was just as much an incomparable as her cousin, but Florie was not about to admit that to her sister. “Simon is handsome, uncommonly rich, well-mannered, always dressed to perfection, and is connected to all the best families—in short, he is everything a woman could want in a husband. It is a pity, of course, that he has no title, but one cannot expect perfection.”

“Perfection? I have never met a man less perfect. He is self-centered, egotistical, and would make an absolutely wretched husband. You cannot possibly be in love with him.”

“What has love to do with it?”

“Surely you could not even contemplate for a minute marrying a man when your affections were not engaged? That is absolutely revolting!”

Florie smiled sweetly. “Cousin Elizabeth did it.”

“Ooooh, how can you compare ... After what Beth has been through ...” Incoherent with rage, Dorie could only sputter.

“You will sing a different tune when you see how I am envied by all the less-fortunate girls, how positively green with jealousy the matchmaking mamas will be.”

“Have you no sense of honor, that you would stoop to entrap a man into a marriage he doesn’t want?”

“Honor? Bah, that is nothing but an empty word men use to excuse their behavior when they wish to act childishly.”

Dorie stood glaring at her, and it was obvious to Florie that her little sister could no longer think of a suitable response. Finally, muttering to herself, Dorie turned and stalked out of the room, pausing at the doorway only long enough for one feeble parting shot. “All I can say is, I think you and Simon deserve each other.”

Florie smiled, her bad mood completely gone. Talking to her sister had made her realize that she had been wasting her opportunities by treating each of her admirers equally. What was needed was to single out one man—Simon—and concentrate all her efforts toward one goal—getting him to come up to scratch.

It was indeed fortunate that she was not faced with the problem of how to arrange “accidental” meetings with him. He was always underfoot, virtually haunting their drawing room. It should not be the least bit difficult to detach him from her cousin. He had, after all, rejected Elizabeth once, no matter that she had tried to convince everyone that it had been her own wish to break off the engagement.

Humming to herself, Florie drifted—no, floated, as gracefully as a swan—down the hallway to her mother’s room. “Mother, dearest, I am in desperate need of some new dresses,” she announced without preamble.

* * * *

As soon as Simon Bellgrave pulled his phaeton to a stop in front of the Donnithorne town house, his groom jumped down from the perch behind him and went to hold the horses’ heads.

It was a beautiful day—the perfect day to take a beautiful woman for a ride in the park. Adjusting his hat at the perfect jaunty angle, Simon mounted the steps. Before he could knock on the door, however, it was opened to reveal a vision of loveliness.

“Ah, good afternoon, Elizabeth. I was just coming to see if I could take you for a spin around the park.”

She was dressed in a new walking dress of buttercup, with scallops at the neck and half sleeves. Yellow was not his favorite color for her—that was blue—but he had to admit she glowed in the sunlight like a rare blossom—a blossom he was becoming daily more eager to pluck.

“Oh, Simon, I am so sorry to disappoint you, but Florie and I are on our way to do a little shopping. Perhaps some other day we could—”

“Oh, Cousin Elizabeth, we can surely postpone our errands for another day. It would be such a pity to waste this glorious weather in stuffy old shops. Do say we may go for a ride with Mr. Bellgrave.”

Simon had not paid any particular attention to Elizabeth’s companion, but now he eyed her with favor. The blatant admiration in her expression pleased him—so different from the younger cousin, who was not only inexplicably hostile, but also usually in a state of dishevelment that was decidedly unappealing.

This cousin, if not as beautiful as Elizabeth, still was strikingly attractive in a pale-pink outfit, although if he had the dressing of her, he would insist she burn that hat. Still, the bonnet was not so bad that he would not wish to be seen in public with her, so he added his pleas to hers.

“Ah, yes, Elizabeth, one should really not waste a moment of such a fine afternoon doing chores. I shall be utterly cast down if I am rejected in favor of a ribbon that needs to be matched.” He smiled so charmingly that, after a suitable show of reluctance, she acquiesced, as he had known she would, and with a beautiful lady on each arm, he descended the steps to his carriage.

Really, he wondered at himself for not having realized sooner what a charming accomplice the older cousin—what was her name? Florie—could be. He assisted her into the carriage, noticing in passing that her waist was every bit as trim as Elizabeth’s. Perhaps he could drop a hint to her that her hat was not quite up to snuff.

* * * *

Elizabeth smiled until she thought her face would crack. How had she ever let herself be persuaded into taking part in this disastrous expedition? Simon was being his usual self, so tediously charming and depressingly gallant that she had to fight off the impulse to scream.

To add to the misery of the afternoon, Florie was acting as if her wits had gone begging—tittering at each of Simon’s attempts at humor, hanging on to his every pronouncement as if it were the wisdom of Solomon, batting her eyelashes up at him in the most blatant example of flirting that Elizabeth had ever witnessed.

So far, Simon had given his opinion of every women’s costume. No, he had also remarked on the men’s outfits. Such a
to-do over nothing. Who cared if Lord S. had to make use of buckram wadding to give him the semblance of shoulders? What difference did it make if Lady W.’s low neckline only emphasized her scrawny neck? Why should it matter if Miss Q. were wearing a color that made her appear to be two weeks into the grave?

Maybe there was something wrong with her, thought Elizabeth. Maybe she was an unnatural female to find such subjects so boring she would even prefer to be reading a book of sermons? Most of the other women of her acquaintance—at least the ones here in London, not, thank goodness, the ones in Somerset—spent the bulk of their time talking about fashion or shopping for clothes or being fitted for new dresses.

At Florie’s suggestion, they descended from the carriage and joined the others promenading along the walkway beside the drive, stopping every other foot to greet acquaintances. Elizabeth lost track of the people she was introduced to and the people she was expected to make known to her cousin. If Florie had not obviously been having a wonderful time, Elizabeth would have long ago pleaded a headache and asked to be taken home.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. St. John. And what news have you from Colthurst Hall?”

Elizabeth was pulled out of her distraction by a mocking voice that sounded vaguely familiar. Looking up, she saw the two women she least wanted to meet—Darius’s two sisters, Lady Vawdry and Lady Dromfield, with identical looks of malicious amusement on their faces.

“It is not a requirement that my wife have anything to do with my sisters,” her husband’s words echoed in her head. “If you wish to give them the cut direct, you have my blessing.”

Averting her gaze and raising her chin to a determined angle, she walked past them without speaking, firmly dragging Simon along by the arm—and with him Florie—when it seemed as if he would stop.

There were gasps of astonishment and one or two snickers from people around them who had witnessed the scene, but that did not slow Elizabeth down as she plunged ahead. Ignoring the murmurs that now ran through the crowd, she headed directly for Simon’s carriage.

* * * *

“Oh, dear, Cecily. I feel I have touched on a sore spot with our dear little sister-in-law. Do you suppose the sweet thing is a trifle out of curl because she fears Lady Algernon’s child will be a boy?” Her tone was light and her smile mocking, but inside, Lady Vawdry was enraged at the impertinence of the chit—impertinence she must be made to pay dearly for.

“Why, Lucy, how can you even suggest that the child will not be a girl? Why, if ‘tis a boy, dear Mrs. St. John will... will ... Why, merciful heavens, whatever will she do?”

“She’ll sneak out of London with her tail between her legs, that’s what she’ll do,” said their escort, Lord Bunstable, with a great bray of laughter.