Forced Offer (5 page)

Having first made certain that Lord Berrington's valet was downstairs in the servant's hall, Mrs. Presleigh, trembling with excitement at her daring, entered Lord Berrington's rooms and quietly closed the door behind her. She breathed the scent of orange water and leather that hung in the air, and after a quick cursory glance, went to the writing desk upon which a leather case of stationery stood wide open.

With trembling hands she grabbed an envelope and rapidly stole out of the room and down the hall, her heart racing. She reached her bedroom out of breath and closed the door behind her, leaning against it to calm her racing heart.

She looked around and saw her daughter's notebook, and flipping the first few pages on which poems were scribbled she began practicing Berrington's handwriting.

After an hour of assiduous work she was content enough with it to try it on the paper. After writing Belinda's name in a perfect imitation of the earl's handwriting she sat back in satisfaction, proud of her work. She had been clever as a girl and had quickly learned penmanship, and this, together with a natural ability for drawing had made the task considerably easy. Then she carefully removed Berrington's seal with a knife, softened it up with a candle and replaced it on the envelope.

Glancing at her daughter's name on the envelope, Mrs. Presleigh was certain that even Lord Berrington would be hard put to distinguish it from his own writing. She was glad Berrington used the modern envelopes rather than folding and sealing the paper as was the custom. It must be his years at war that had made him adopt envelopes, she thought.

She slipped the letter into her large reticule and went in search of her daughter.

She found her by herself, as usual. All that would soon change, she determined, as catching her daughter's eye she beckoned her toward her.

"Darling—"

"Mama," said Belinda, "Lady Belmont was looking for you."

"Never mind Lady Belmont," said her mother excitedly, taking her by the arm. "I have something of the utmost importance to tell you. Come, let us go over to that quiet arbor where we can talk."

Once there, Mrs. Presleigh led her daughter to a bench and sat beside her.

"What is it? Why are you so agitated?" asked Belinda.

"My dearest…" Mrs. Presleigh hesitated, then said boldly,

"You sly creature, you could have told me Lord Berrington had his eye on you!"

"Lord Berrington!" Belinda stared at her mother in astonishment.

"As I was leaving my bedroom, a footman approached me, Belinda, asking for you," said Mrs. Presleigh as she leaned toward her daughter.

"For me? What did he want?"

"He wanted to deliver a letter to you from Lord Berrington."

Speechless at these words, Belinda stared at her mother.

"There must be a mistake," she finally said, her voice coming out in gasps. "Lord Berrington would never write to me—"

"And why not?"

"Why, because—because—"

"Don't talk fustian, Belinda," said her mother, her voice severe. "Why shouldn't his lordship write to you as well as any other? Are you of lower birth than the rest?"

"You said a letter?"

"Yes, dear, and here it is." Mrs. Presleigh dug into her reticule and brought out the envelope. She handed it to Belinda.

"I read it, my dear, you must forgive me. I could not imagine why he was writing to you and curiosity overtook me."

Belinda gazed for a few moments at her name written in bold black ink on the envelope, her eyes wide. Then she unfolded it to get the letter out. Her eyes raced across the square masculine handwriting:

My dear,

I agree with the general opinion that the wine cellar is a most romantic place for a rendezvous. Will you meet me there tonight at midnight? Send word with the carrier of this letter. I shall not be here this afternoon, as I am to meet a friend and will not be back until late.Instruct the footman to wait for my return so that he can give me your answer.

Yours everlasting,

Richard Berrington

Again Belinda ran her eyes over the words, unable to believe that Lord Berrington had written her such a letter and with such a request. Why, they were strangers to each other!

"Mama, there must be some mistake—perhaps Lord Berrington wrote my name—meaning to write someone else's."

"There is no mistake. Stop acting like a fool, Belinda!"

"Mama…there is an intimacy in the tone of this letter, which suggests he is writing to a friend. And even if he wrote the letter to me, it is a most improper request. He could not possibly think I would accede to such a proposal."

"And why not?"

"Mama!" Belinda stared at her mother. "You would allow such a meeting?"

"Lord Berrington is a gentleman, my dear," said her mother quickly. "You can have no fear in that regard. And it is quite obvious he has an interest in you—"

"Mama, please. Lord Berrington has never once glanced at me, not even when you have cornered him into it."

"Listen to me, miss," Mrs. Presleigh said in a strident voice, "Your father and I have been practically shunned from society; humiliated so many times I have lost count. Can you not care more about your parents?

"Belinda, you are the only one left that can restore the family's social prominence. And now Lord Berrington expresses an interest in you and you act in this way? Have you no love for us?"

"Mama— I cannot, I’m sorry, but I 
will 
not."

For a few moments Mrs. Presleigh searched her mind desperately for an idea with which to convince her reluctant daughter. Then a smile came to her lips.

"My dear," she said, "you leave me no choice but to reveal a confidence." She took her daughter's hand, and went on,

"Lord Berrington had a private word with me yesterday, while you were out in one of your endless walks where you go to hide from everyone."

"You spoke to him? But—but I have seen how he avoids you, Mama, he almost runs when you approach him."

"Belinda," said her mother severely, "you are speaking nonsense. Are you with me every minute of the day to say for certain I have not had the opportunity of speaking to him?"

"Well, no…"

"Well, then, be quiet and listen to me. It was yesterday in that little parlor behind the drawing room, my dear. We began to converse casually. I suppose, dear man that he is, on seeing that I was in a receptive mood, he felt he could trust me with a confidence. And I must confess, Belinda, that I was startled at his revelation, for it was about you! Believe me, dear, I was so unprepared for it that it came as quite a jolt.

"He told me that on several occasions when he is at a ball, he has approached you with the intention of speaking to you, to ask you for a dance. And every time this happens you turn away from him, deliberately avoiding him.

"I told him that you are a shy girl, and that perhaps in a less crowded place you would not repulse his advances."

"I can hardly believe that," said Belinda in a ragged voice.

"Are you saying that I am lying?" Mrs. Presleigh stared at her daughter.

"No, of course not," Belinda gasped out the words, for she was feeling breathless. "But perhaps you misunderstood him…perhaps, because you would like to see an interest in him you misconstrued his words."

"I misconstrued nothing, nothing at all," said Mrs. Presleigh, highly excited. "He spoke to me as plainly as I am speaking to you now."

Belinda thought back to the balls when Lord Berrington had walked in her direction. But at all these times it had been to ask someone standing beside her for a dance. Belinda, unable to look at him as he asked someone else to dance always turned away at his approach. Now a doubt had been planted in her mind by her mother's words.

Could this be true? Had Lord Berrington at any of those times have had the intention of asking 
her 
to dance? But he could not. She had overheard people calling her a wallflower and an ape-leader. Lord Berrington danced with beautiful girls, girls she could not hope to equal. And he was often seen in the company of Lady Celeste, who was a renowned beauty.

Yet the tiny doubt that had been planted in her mind was taking root, as sturdy as any seed can be that gives hope to a hopeless love.

"Mama—what was it you wanted me to do? You didn't intend for me to meet him alone, did you?"

"Of course not, silly girl," said Mrs. Presleigh, letting her breath out in relief. "I will be there too. But of course he will not see me. I shall stay in the shadows. I shall only be there so that in your own mind you know you are not doing anything improper and can speak at ease with him. It is in such a setting, away from crowds of people, Belinda that you are at your best. This time you will not turn away at his approach as you do at balls, for, as he told me, he is beginning to feel that he is repulsive to you."

Mrs. Presleigh was now freely expanding on her imaginary conversations with the earl, for now she was certain that she had this business well in hand. Her intuition had not been wrong. Belinda was secretly in love with the earl. And a girl in such a state will believe anything, she thought with satisfaction.

She led her daughter back to the house. "Everything will be perfectly fine. You'll see."

"I want you to plead a headache tonight, my dear," said Mrs. Presleigh to her silent daughter. "I will have Cook send up a tray for you. I want you to take a nice refreshing nap instead of having to make small talk to the guests."

"No one ever talks to me," said Belinda.

"All that is going to change," said Mrs. Presleigh with conviction. "Now, go up to your room. I want you refreshed for tonight. I will help you prepare for it with care. This is the most important meeting you are likely to have in your life."

* * * * *

"Belinda, wake up, dear. It's time."

Belinda's troubled dream of running in the woods trying to escape a pursuing wild horse—a horse with Lord Checkster's face—ended abruptly with the sound of her mother's voice. She opened her eyes and glanced at the ceiling of the bedroom, and a sudden realization of what was in store for her that night sent a series of sick waves to her stomach.

Groggy still from sleep she allowed her mother to help her down from the large bed and took a few sips of the tea her mother was pressing to her lips.

"Such a deep sleeper," her mother said indulgently. Mrs. Presleigh was in a good humor when things were going her way.

"I shall help you with your toilette, my dear. I did not want Minnie to assist you tonight," she added, referring to her abigail. "The least number of people involved in this…I mean, the poor girl must get her sleep—"

It was the first time in her life Belinda had heard her mother speak kindly of a servant.

"The pink sprigged muslin, I think," she added, "and your cloak. It's damp in that place and the nights here are cool."

"But I didn't bring my cloak—"

"Ah, well, no matter. You will wear mine. I never travel without it, even in the middle of summer."

"Mama," Belinda said, her voice cracking, "I have a feeling of foreboding about this—could we not—"

"No, we could not. Belinda, I thought we settled the business this afternoon. I will not go through the whole thing again. Don't think about it at all.

"Come, sit before the dresser so that I can begin with your hair."

Chapter 5

Staring at the gloom before her, Belinda blocked any thought of the fearful things the morning was to bring them, wishing the hours to stretch. She preferred this fearful limbo in which she was suspended than the terror of facing the day.

She knew very well the scandal that would explode in the morning.

The night wore on. The large wax candle lasted throughout. Mrs. Presleigh, enterprising lady that she was, had provided them with one that would outlast the night. A few times, Belinda saw Berrington walk up the stone stairs and try the door, kicking it and yelling out. Finally, drinking himself senseless, he finally slept, leaning his head over his arms on the table, the slightly wavy dark hair falling over his forehead. But Belinda kept her vigil. Thoughts of spiders crawling over her head as she slept kept her awake, though her eyes felt grainy and her head was pounding with a sick headache. But as the hours crawled even she could not keep her eyes open, and her eyes closed against her will.

* * * * *

Another kept a nightlong vigil in the vast mansion. Mrs. Presleigh waited patiently for dawn, sitting by her bedroom window and making plans. And when her husband's watch pointed to five o' clock she summoned her maid, calling her in an agitated voice.

"Minnie! Belinda is not in her bed!"

"Not in her bed?" asked the maid, her mouth falling. "But—how could she not be?"

Minnie looked around the room, as though with her eyes she would summon Belinda and she would materialize before them.

"Madam, perhaps she went out for an early walk."

"It's still dark!"

The abigail looked out the window at the dark and shivered. Where could Miss Belinda be?

Then Mrs. Presleigh, with a performance worthy of the stage grasped her bosom and gasped out:

"Summon Mr. Presleigh in the next room, Minnie, I cannot bear to think something may have happened to our dear Belinda."

Minnie hurried out and soon dashed back into the room, a disheveled Mr. Presleigh in her wake.

"What is this about Belinda not in her bed?" he demanded.

"Just as I said, my dear," said his wife in an agitated voice, "she is not in her bed."

"Could she have gone out for a walk?"

"A walk! Have you taken leave of your senses, Presleigh?"

"Where else could she be?"

"Minnie…go search her bed, her dresser—anything," said Mrs. Presleigh, "perhaps she left us a note of where she was going."

Minnie went hurriedly to Belinda's bedroom and rummaged there for a while. Finally she saw an envelope peeping from under one of Belinda's pillows. She rushed back with the envelope in her hand.

"I found this under one of Miss Belinda's pillows, madam," she said, handing it over to Mrs. Presleigh.

"Presleigh, you look at it, dear," said Mrs. Presleigh. "I cannot bear to think what it might be!"

"What have we here," said Presleigh as he unfolded the envelope and took out the letter.

"Upon my word!"

"What is it, dear? What?" Mrs. Presleigh asked him.

"This is an assignation!"

"And assignation? Quick tell me!"

"An assignation to meet with Lord Berrington. This is the outside of enough! And in the cellar! Can you fathom that?"

Mrs. Presleigh, who could fathom it fairly well, rushed over to where he was and snatched the letter from his hand. She quickly ran her eyes over words she knew by heart.

"We must find Berrington, and see if he knows what's become of Belinda," Presleigh stated loudly.

"No," said Mrs. Presleigh. "You must get dressed first and wake Lord Lennington."

"Lord Lennington? But is that really necessary? Why not find Berrington instead?"

"Presleigh, are you going to stand there dawdling while our Belinda has gone to who knows where?"

Presleigh rushed to his room to do as his wife asked and returned shortly, fully dressed if in a haphazard way.

* * * * *

Belinda was awakened from a nightmare by some noises and a terror greater than that of speaking to Lord Berrington made her dash over to where he was, still asleep in an uneasy slumber. She shook his shoulder and he woke up startled. He stood up. "What is it?" he asked in a groggy voice.

They were standing side by side now as they heard the heavy door pushed open and looked up. The landing at the top of the stairs seemed suddenly filled with people, the faces illuminated by a single candle someone held.

Lord Berrington, obviously drunk, stared at the tableau of staring silent faces. His hair was mussed, and his neck cloth, which he had undone during the night, hung loose, while his coat was dusty from having served as Belinda's pillow. And as he and Belinda stood side by side looking up, they could not have looked guiltier than if they had been making love all night.

Then old Viscount Clariston's voice rang out loudly,

"I say, Berrington, this is highly irregular!"

* * * * *

The Lennington Hall guests hung around in small, silent groups, or whispered among themselves. Everyone seemed to be waiting in suspense. And a house party that had seemed little more than tedious before was now charged with high drama.

No one in the large group would have missed it for the world. They each practiced in their minds how they would relate the 
on-dit 
of the Season to their friends back in London. But each also waited for the end of the story, for by now everyone knew that Lord Berrington had charged out of the cellar, past the group of people at the top of the stairs, and out the back door toward the stables without uttering a single word.

On being applied to, the grooms quickly related to those who rushed over to ask that Lord Berrington had gone riding on his horse, which he had brought with him to this party.

The Presleighs had trays sent to their rooms, unable, was the general belief, to face the scandal. After the luncheon hour passed and still Berrington did not return, the guests asked tentative questions of each other, which grew bolder in the re-asking.

Would Lord Berrington, having compromised that—that—most of the ladies had no word that would adequately describe Belinda. Would he be forced to 
offer 
for her? The idea was outlandish.

They had ignored Belinda before, as being little more than an antidote, and now that they were forced to think of her as the heroine of this drama they resented it. Had it been one among them—one of their daughters or friends, it would have been a lot easier to digest. But the Presleigh chit and Berrington? It boggled the mind.

Eventually, it occurred to one of them—Lady Celeste, to be exact—that the mother, that obnoxious, managing female, must be at the root of this business, for no one could imagine Lord Berrington looking twice in Belinda's direction. Once this idea was passed around, it was declared as the most logical.

The day wore on, the air charged with expectation.

Lady Lennington found a few moments to speak aside to her husband over a cup of tea.

"This business would have been avoided if you had not invited the Presleighs at the last moment, without any need to consult me," she said resentfully, and added, "What you find in that mushroom, Presleigh—"

"Presleigh a mushroom?" asked the Earl of Lennington of his wife. "My dear, his maternal grandfather was an earl—"

"An impoverished earl," interrupted Lady Lennington.

"An earl is an earl," said the earl. "And Mrs. Presleigh belongs to the Lancashire Geoffreys, one of the oldest families—"

"With pockets to let, all of them," said Lady Lennington unimpressed. "The Presleighs alone enjoy an adequate income. That wily Presleigh, I hear, is good at investments.

"I wish Berrington would come back from riding that infernal horse of his and settle this business either way," added Lady Lennington with exasperation. "This suspense is killing me."

Berrington did come back, unexpectedly, as it was, when everybody had decided he was 
never 
going to show up. As he walked across the large hall, everyone rushed to the drawing room entrance to catch a view of him.

Lord Berrington went to his room and shortly after his valet rang for a tray of coffee to be sent up to him. When he had finished two cups of coffee he sent his valet in search of Presleigh, requesting a meeting with him in the library.

These bits of news rushed from the servant's hall to the rest of the house with uncommon speed.

"Cannot I go with you to this meeting, Presleigh?" asked Mrs. Presleigh, a worried frown darkening her brow.

"No, dear. Lord Berrington has asked that I meet him alone."

"See that you do not bungle this business then," said Mrs. Presleigh severely, "Lord Berrington can be very overbearing. I cannot easily forget the look of pure loathing he cast in my direction as he passed me at the top of the stairs.

"I like that," she added "the man compromises my daughter and then has the gall to resent me."

Presleigh, who by now suspected his wife was at the bottom of this business, although he could not imagine in what way exactly, sighed but said nothing. He wished himself in the Isle of Wight rather than in his impending meeting in the library with Berrington.

"You must be very conscious of what is due Belinda," Mrs. Presleigh advised her husband. "Her chances for forming another alliance are now ruined. No one will ever ask to marry her after she spent the night with Berrington in the cellar.

"And how he looked," gloated Mrs. Presleigh, who could not have hoped for a guiltier look than that which was on Lord Berrington's face as he looked up, still dazed from liquor and sleep.

"Yes, dear," said Presleigh as he went out the door and down the hall as if to the gallows. He wiped his brow on the way, and wondered if he would be able to overcome his nervousness in front of Lord Berrington whose steely look was enough to make any man quake in his boots.

How sorry he now was that he had allowed his wife to needle him into securing an invitation to this blasted house party. This obsession she had with belonging to the inner circles of the ton had increased, rather than diminished, with the years. He shook his head. And now he must contend with a high stickler like the Earl of Berrington.

He came back twenty minutes later to where Mrs. Presleigh waited, looking as if she had held her breath all the time that he was gone. Presleigh sank wearily into a settee and sighed audibly.

"Well?" asked Mrs. Presleigh. "Tell me quick, before I explode."

"Lord Berrington made it quite clear to me that he knew he had been a victim of a plot, my dear, without mincing words. He feels you and Belinda planned this together—"

"And what did you say?"

"I said nothing—what could I say? Only that I knew nothing of a plot. Was it a plot?"

"How can you say that to me? And how can you allow that man to speak thus of your wife and daughter?"

"That man has offered to be your son-in-law."

Mrs. Presleigh sat on the settee by her husband and for a few moments was unable to utter a single word.

Then finally she found her voice. "Tell me everything that happened at this meeting, and do not leave out a single word.

"Dear God, our Belinda is to be married to Lord Berrington! Just think, Presleigh, a countess! I will be the mother of a countess!"

"I have no joy in it as you do," said Presleigh in chagrin. "Lord Berrington is offering marriage against his will. He emphasized to me that he is honor bound to offer for Belinda, but that there can be no joy in a union brought about with deceit. He stated that Belinda would have his name, his position and his lands. That she will lack nothing and that he will always treat her with the courtesy and respect due his wife but that she will never have his love. He asked me if knowing this, I would still insist that he marry her."

"And what did you say?"

"I told him that it would not be any different from a large number of marriages among those of our class. The alternative, I said, was that Belinda would be forever shunned by society, her chances for marriage with any other man ruined."

"I'm glad you showed some sense."

"And now we must talk to Belinda," Presleigh said, sighing, "for I cannot force her to marry a man who has promised he will never hold any feeling of love for her. Once Berrington offers for her and she refuses him, her reputation will be restored."

"I forbid you to tell her that," said Mrs. Presleigh standing up, highly agitated. "If you say that to her all my efforts on her behalf will be in vain. Presleigh," she added, coming closer to him, "Belinda is in love with Lord Berrington."

"In love with him!"

"She has been secretly in love with him for years. He, of course, knows nothing of this."

Presleigh stared at his wife, then ran a hand through his hair, uncertain as to what course to take.

"Presleigh, dear, let me handle this," Mrs. Presleigh now said. "I know Belinda better than you do. Leave us alone while I talk to her; I know what's best for her. Could you go for a walk or something?"