Forced Offer (11 page)

"Oh—what do you think? Perhaps the brown Levantine. I really don't know…"

"May I make a suggestion mum?" asked Bessie and went on without waiting for an answer. "Now, I think that brown dress costly and fashionable, but it don't do a thing for you, mum. It makes you out thinner than you are and there ain't no contrast with your hair—kind of fights all over with it. I think that blue-green slate sarcenet brings out the color in your eyes much better," she added, glancing at the gowns she had spread out for Belinda's inspection.

"Alright, Bessie. Put away the others then," said Belinda without argument. "I shall wear the one you chose."

She felt better now that she had gone back to reading her poems. They were like a little island she went to when her life became unbearable. They relieved her stress and she was able to face the evening calmly.

Flora had mentioned that Lord Wilbur would be at the dinner. At least one person there would not be judging her or looking her over with disdain, she thought, for he had been most cordial when they had met him on the road and seemed genuinely happy at the marriage.

Bessie helped Belinda into the dress, which was a simple yet elegant design. The gown fell from the high bodice in a few pleats, giving Belinda the illusion of a few more pounds and the sleeves, which reached her elbows, disguised her thin arms. A ribbon of the same shade fell from the bodice halfway down and the same ribbon edged the sleeves and shoulder seams.

Mrs. Presleigh had been talked into the design by the modiste at the end of a long day of shopping and had agreed simply because she was fagged out and wanting her tea. Usually she overrode the opinions of the seamstresses and imposed her will on them. The result of this was that Belinda's thinness was emphasized and her faults, rather than be played down would be exposed.

"Oh, mum, you do look the countess!"

"Dear Bessie, you must be blind," said Belinda smiling. "If I live to a hundred I will never look like a countess."

"But then, mum," said Bessie sagely, "you 
are 
a countess, whether you look it or not, and that's what's important, ain't it?"

"It—doesn't really matter to me," said Belinda.

"If a doctor don't look like a doctor," Bessie pressed on, "does it matter if he don't look like a doctor?"

"You are a smart one Bessie," said Belinda, "but we must try to keep it from Flora. I don't think she would allow you to remain as my abigail if she knew that I am so happy to have you working for me."

"Mum," said Bessie with a shake of her head. "Mrs. Liston is a guest in your house.
You
are the mistress of this house."

Belinda laughed. "Mrs. Liston thinks otherwise, Bessie, and I haven't the authority to put her to rights. Anyway, you have managed to shake me out of the doldrums, at least. And because I do love having you here, don't go telling Mrs. Liston she's not mistress here, I promise you she wouldn't take kindly to it."

"Mum—can I say something?"

"Yes, of course."

"Mrs. Liston—she ain't your friend."

"Yes, I know." said Belinda, taking the handkerchief Bessie handed to her. "I have no friend—except for you."

Chapter 11

The guests were assembled in the drawing room when Belinda went down. She saw as she walked in that Irene was sitting in a settee away from the others, a listless look in her eyes.

"Ah, there you are, my dear," said Berrington and came forward to introduce her to Lord and Lady Lawrence and Lord Wilming.

Belinda appreciated the fact that Lord Berrington was trying his best to make her feel at home and to have his neighbors and friends accept her, and she determined that she would do her best to contribute a little more than her single word phrases.

"Good evening, Lady Lawrence," she said, her voice faltering painfully.

"Good evening, Lady Berrington," said the lady with a smile, but the smile did not reach her eyes. "I trust you had a pleasant journey?"

"Yes…I…we…"

"We made good time," Lord Berrington rescued Belinda, while Lady Lawrence hid a smile of disdain from him that Belinda saw clearly.

Lord Berrington glanced at Belinda's eyes unconsciously as Belinda was looking at Lady Lawrence, and noticed the color of her eyes.

He now saw they matched the color of her gown—a blue-green gray, and most unusual in eye color. Funny he hadn't noticed that it was such a pleasing color.

"Good evening, Lord Wilbur," Belinda said as Lord Wilbur greeted her.

"Countess, how nice to see you again," Lord Wilbur said pleasantly. "I hope you are well settled in your home?"

"Yes."

"I had hoped Cathy would be able to meet you tonight but she is not yet feeling well. Perhaps in a week or so you may be able to meet both Cathy and Penny. Penny is my sister and she makes her home with us."

"Yes," Belinda answered, the strain beginning to show in her eyes as she noticed that Lord Berrington was now engaged in conversation with Wilming and Lawrence.

"Do you ride, Lady Berrington?" asked Wilbur.

"I have a fear of horses, I’m afraid.”

"There are some fine stables at Winterhill," said Lord Wilbur, "Perhaps in time you may wish to try your hand again. Penny and Cathy spend many hours riding. I taught Penny to ride, and I hope you will allow me to help you overcome your fear of horses. Horses are finicky creatures, if you make no sudden movements when you are near them they learn to trust you."

"I—yes—" Belinda knew little of the rules for married ladies and could not accede to riding lessons, which might be improper. Lord Wilbur, sensing this, hurried to add, "The few pointers I would give to you would be in the company of Penny and Cathy, for we usually ride out together."

Belinda sighed in relief and nodded. "Thank you," she said and added, "I have had to make do with walking—I do enjoy walking."

"Yes, walking is great exercise and helps one to think," said Wilbur, glad to see Berrington approach them.

"I was just telling Lady Berrington you have fine stables at Winterhill, Rick."

"That we have," said Berrington. "But then, so do you."

"Perhaps we might organize a riding group soon," said Lord Wilbur.

"I am leaving tomorrow," said Lord Berrington, "but I would be glad if you and Penny take Lady Berrington out to ride. Is Cathy improving?"

"Yes—yes she'll be up and around soon," Lord Wilbur answered, and then asked, "Can you not postpone your journey back to London for a few days so that you can join us?"

"I'm afraid not."

Dinner was announced at that moment and Belinda did not get another chance to talk to Lord Wilbur again.

Flora had placed herself on Belinda's left and Irene on her right and since neither of these two felt disposed to talk to her, Belinda passed the dinner in silence. Lord Berrington, at the other end of the table conversed easily and seldom glanced at Belinda.

The long dinner finally passed and Belinda sighed in relief, for she had only to get through the after dinner time and then she would be able to flee to the sanctuary of her room.

When the ladies left the gentlemen to their port, Lady Lawrence and Flora conversed the whole time, ignoring Belinda. And when she would have joined them with a tentative remark they pretended they hadn't heard her and continued in a conversation that seemed designed to exclude her, for it was about people that were not known to Belinda.

Irene was leafing through an album and ignored Belinda as if she were not in the room. After a while Belinda excused herself from Flora and Lady Lawrence and went to the far end of the room.

Belinda stood by a window and looked out at the moonlit gardens. She wished she could take a stroll out there rather than be forced to remain in the room and feel embarrassed and left out in her own home, or at least in the house in which she was to live the rest of her life.

"I had hoped that Belinda would start to form friendships with our neighbors," Lord Berrington said to Flora the following morning as he settled accounts with her in his study, for he was to leave on the morrow.

"Lady Lawrence and I tried repeatedly to include her in our conversation last night, Richard," Flora said, mustering her best smile, "but she seemed unable to cope with our friendly interest in her welfare. Perhaps Belinda feels inadequate in such exalted company—"

"Excuse me, Flora," Berrington interrupted curtly, "but there is nothing wrong with my wife's lineage. Her great-grandfather was the Earl of Sevenwick and her mother comes from the Geoffreys of Lancashire. To suggest that Lady Lawrence’s company would cow her is ludicrous. Lady Lawrence may act high in the instep now but before her marriage to Viscount Lawrence she was merely Miss Darwith, whose father was a wealthy cit."

"I did not mean it like that, Richard," Flora hurried to amend. "What I meant is that she is so shy that conversation with older ladies like Lady Lawrence is too much for her, and that no matter how much I tried to include her in the conversation she appeared terrified that we should expect her to say anything.

"But as I assured you, with my help she will overcome her shyness."

"I hope so," Berrington said impatiently. "Here is a draft for Belinda's expenses. Should she go beyond it, just have Mr. Baker issue you another draft. I will be sending you funds each month for her."

"Yes, of course," said Flora, quickly, "I shall help her with her wardrobe and in whatever else she may need me. Richard, do put your mind at ease as far as Belinda goes. I shall do my best to help her adjust."

"Thank you. I do appreciate that, Flora."

"It will be my pleasure."

One more night to get through, thought Berrington with a sigh when Flora had left.

There were piles of paperwork and correspondence that needed his attention before he was free to leave the estate, so he settled down to work and did not emerge from his study until called for dinner.

It was a quiet dinner with just them, Flora having respected his wishes of having a peaceful night before his departure the next day. Irene was morose and did not once glance his way.

Flora was brightly talkative and directed her comments as much to Berrington as to Belinda. But Belinda, with the thought of Berrington's departure the following morning invading her mind was her usual quiet self. She forced a smile when Flora directed a comment to her but did not contribute anything to the conversation.

She knew that Flora was putting up an act in front of Berrington and that as soon as he left she would ignore Belinda with her usual dismissing way.

Finally the dinner was over and unable to live through another night in Flora and Irene's company Belinda pleaded a headache and escaped to her room. Let all three of them talk at length without her, she thought, for they considered her an intruder and were more comfortable when she wasn't among them.

"Mum, you're up here quick," Bessie said, beaming the smile she reserved for her mistress.

"Yes, Bessie," Belinda said sadly, "I believe I shall go to bed directly. I have no wish to read or do anything at all tonight, for I think I feel a headache coming on."

"Yes, mum." Bessie began to prepare Belinda for bed, all the time chattering.

"If you like I could brush your hair, mum. It relieves the headache like nothing I know."

"It would be too much bother."

"Oh, no, mum, not in the least," Bessie said quickly, beginning to undo Belinda's braid as she spoke. "This tight braid is pulling at your head and might be causin' it, mum."

"Well, perhaps you are right."

"Oh, yes," Bessie worked quickly and in a matter of moments her nimble fingers had undone the thick braid. She began to brush Belinda's heavy hair vigorously.

"Umm, that does feel better, Bessie. In future I shall listen to your advice concerning headaches."

"It makes the hair shine if you do it every night, mum. Perhaps if you sleep with it unbraided just one night."

Belinda remembered that Lord Berrington was not likely to ever share her bed again, so it did not matter if her hair was loose.

"Leave it undone then, Bessie," she said. "But perhaps with a loose ribbon just to keep it away from my face."

"Oh yes, that would look nice," Bessie acceded, immediately taking the box of ribbons and rummaging through it. "Here is a nice one, mum, to match your nightrail. See?"

She held up a white ribbon bordered with pink.

"That's fine," Belinda said without interest.

"I'll just gather a bit from each side and tie it loosely in the back," Bessie was saying as she worked deftly with her fingers, for she had a natural ability with hairstyles. "See how pretty it looks, mum, even good enough for daytime."

But Belinda's mind was elsewhere. The numbing in her heart had left her and she now felt the raw pain that the knowledge that Lord Berrington was leaving in a few hours gave her. Even in the privacy of her mind she could not see him as her husband. When would she see him again, when it was obvious he could hardly wait to get away from her?

"Shall I blow out all the candles, mum?"

"No, Bessie, I shall do it myself later, for it is still early," Belinda replied.

Bessie helped her into the large bed and extinguishing all but a candle on the desk and one on a side table she tiptoed out. Tears slid down Belinda's cheeks as she stared unseeing at the flame. For a long time she wavered between hope that Lord Berrington might come to her and realization that he would never do so.

The hours went by. Finally, she slept, her dreams restless wanderings where she could not find repose.

* * * * *

Lord Berrington, standing by the window of his bedroom in his dressing coat looked out toward the lawn, which was dimly lit with soft moonlight. The moonlight brought to mind another night and he suddenly felt a stirring within him, as of a remembered dream.

He was leaving in the morning. His decision had been made, yet now he wavered. All his affairs of estate were in order, for he had spent many hours with his steward, and yet he felt as if he was leaving unfinished business behind.

He thought of Belinda, asleep in a room, which was separated by his only by a sitting room, and he again felt a stirring, a feeling he could not pinpoint.

She must be asleep by now, he thought and a sudden memory of his nights with her blocked all else from his mind. He went to the dresser door and in no time had crossed the small sitting room that was dark. He opened his wife's bedroom door and saw at once that two tapers still burned.

He saw her asleep on her bed, her hair, a brown that looked rich by the candlelight lay alluringly on the pillow. He remembered the green-blue slatey color of her eyes and entered the room. He took off his dressing gown as he gazed at her, a sudden thrill running through his body and an urgency now heightened by his self-imposed abstinence.

As he walked quietly toward the bed a candle on the desk sputtered and he turned to it. By the candle was a notebook. He took it in his hands and leafed through it, reading a verse now and then.

Then he flicked the pages quickly, thinking it might yield a clue to her character.

Then in bold black letters he read Belinda's name. Over and over and over—
in a perfect imitation of his own handwriting
.

He now felt a sudden, freezing draft cutting clear through his heart as he dropped the notebook as if it were a serpent. Then silently he left the room.

He called his valet.

"We are leaving tonight, rather than in the morning," he told him as he gazed out the window. "Inform Jasper so that he can get things ready at once!"

"Very well, my lord," said the astonished valet and hurried down to inform the driver and outriders of the new plans.

In less than an hour everything was ready. During this time Berrington had composed a letter to be delivered to Flora, informing her of his change of plans. In it he told her he had decided to travel by night rather than by day but had given her no reason for his decision. He had also written a short note of farewell to Irene. To Belinda he had written nothing.

Next morning Belinda learned that Lord Berrington had left the night before through Bessie.

So she was not to have even a last word with him, she thought.