The Selfless Sister (2 page)

“Yes, but your other sisters did not. Can you deny they are equally as happy?”

“Most definitely I can deny it,” Lucinda exclaimed emphatically. “Just look at Bess. She looks
—” Lucinda looked behind her, to make sure no one was listening, and lowered her voice to practically a whisper ”—absolutely miserable. And who wouldn’t, married to that stony-faced prig?”

“Lucinda!” Her mother’s voice. She must have been just outside the door. Dressed in a lovely pink gauze gown, Lady Linley went around the desk to stand beside her husband. As they always did, Papa’s eyes seemed to light at the sight of her, and no wonder. Mama’s hair was a lovely snow white, her figure still slender, despite seven children, and her pleasant, even-featured face still unlined. Since as long as Lucinda could remember, it had been a source of family wonderment that Papa and Mama’s romance never seemed to fade. If anything, their love for each other grew deeper as time passed, and they were bonded closer by the births of their many daughters.

Mama laid a hand gently on Papa’s shoulder and gazed at Lucinda with reproachful eyes. “I am surprised at you, Lucinda. One of your most outstanding virtues is that you rarely ever say a bad thing about anyone, particularly your sisters and their husbands. This isn’t like you.”

“I suppose not. It’s only...” Lucinda paused to gather her thoughts. This was always so hard to explain. “You wonder why I don’t want to marry. Well, just look at Bess
—then you’ll know why.” When Mama started to speak, Lucinda raised her hand. “Don’t worry, we needn’t discuss it. I am well aware I’ve been shirking my duty.”

“Aware of it, but will you do anything about it?” Papa grumpily remarked.

Mama ignored him and smiled. “I’m glad you recognize it’s time for you to be the dutiful daughter and take your turn at the altar.”

Lucinda felt almost resigned. “It might be worth it, even if I have to marry that stick, Lucius Whittlesby, just to see Henrietta blissfully happy when she marries Lord Carlton.”

Lucinda watched as Mama and Papa exchanged those unhappy glances again. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Papa looked questioningly toward Mama. “Our daughter senses we’re disturbed. Do you suppose now is the time?”

“It’s as good a time as any,” Mama said with a sigh. “In fact, what better time than when all the family are gathered here and you can explain?” She hesitated, frowned, and added, “Or try to. One moment while I fetch Henrietta.”

Mama returned shortly with blond, bright-eyed Henrietta by her side asking curiously, “What is this about?” Mama closed the study door tight and they both took chairs next to Lucinda.

Papa cleared his throat uncomfortably. “We have something in the nature of, well, distressing to impart. It concerns you two girls more than the others since you are the only two left unmarried.” A sad expression covered Papa’s face. He lowered his head and muttered some sort of oath—so unlike him!

Lucinda felt a clutch at her throat. It was clear Papa had some news that would not be pleasant.

Her father addressed Henrietta. “I fear you cannot marry Lord Carlton.” He sat back wearily in his chair, aware of the unpleasantness to come. “The cost of your dowry would be much too dear.”

After a stunned moment, Henrietta looked desperately toward Mama. “He can’t mean it.”

“I’m afraid he can,” said Mama, a frown of concern on her face.

Lucinda, who had listened aghast, asked, “But why are you doing this?”

“It’s a matter of finances.” Papa looked as if he wished he was anywhere but here.

Mama spoke up. “We hadn’t wanted to worry you, but the cost of five dowries in six years has been prohibitive, to say the least.”

Papa managed, “We’ve always wanted the best for our girls and, by gad, they have gotten the best. Fine husbands, all of them.”

“But the price,” Mama lamented. She regarded her two daughters with sad eyes. “We have sold all the land we can possibly sell. Now I fear we’ve overextended ourselves. At present we are almost penniless.”

Papa addressed Henrietta again, his voice full of regret. “We can scrape up the money for one more dowry, but in order that both you girls can marry, we shall be forced to divide it. I’m afraid this means no Lord Carlton, Henrietta, or any man of the highest quality, but still, there are plenty of decent men available who would be happy to accept half the amount.”

Dead silence filled the room as Papa sat shaking his head. Then a grievous wail of “No!” filled the air. In tears, Henrietta cried, “No!” again, followed by a desperate outflow of words. “Mama, Papa, I want to marry Lord Carlton. Lucinda will marry soon, so give her all the dowry. Then couldn’t I just wait until you’ve saved enough for another suitable dowry? I don’t care how long I have to wait for Lord Carlton. I know he’ll wait for me!” Henrietta buried her head in her hands. “Otherwise, my heart will break,” came her muffled words.

Lucinda looked pleadingly towards her parents. “You simply cannot break Henrietta’s heart this way. And it’s so unnecessary. Give Henrietta the full dowry. I shall remain single, which is no great hardship, I assure you.” She looked at her father beseechingly. “Papa, I—”

“Arthur, you must hold to the course,” warned Mama.

“Absolutely not,” Papa stoutly declared to Lucinda. “The dowry will be split. You have stepped aside enough. Much as we love Henrietta and want her happiness, you, as second eldest, are the more deserving.”

Mama said, “It’s only proper. I know it’s wrong of me to care what people think, but frankly, Lucinda, I am tired of explaining to the entire countryside why my second daughter is not yet married. In any event, Whittlesby is quite willing to accept the reduced dowry. He’s a well-respected member of the community and should make a fine husband.”

“But I don’t love him,” protested Lucinda, feeling ever more desperate, “whereas Henrietta loves Lord Carlton, and he loves her, and...and...” Lucinda looked into the set eyes of her parents and realized she had not made a dent. Unable to keep the bitterness from her voice, she remarked, “No wonder you’ve been singing the praises of the Reverend Lucius Whittlesby lately, despite his being a second son and not the least wealthy, and a nodcock besides.”

Henrietta, too, was bitter. “And whom did you have in mind for me, Papa? The sausage man?”

“Girls, girls,” admonished Mama. “We’ve done our best.”

Lucinda felt instantly contrite. Of course her parents had done their best. Now she could tell by their stricken faces they were devastated. “We’ll be all right, Mama, I don’t want you to worry about it. As for the Reverend Lucius Whittlesby...” she had to choke the words out “...perhaps I shall like him better when I get to know him.”

Mama cast miserable eyes at Papa. “What about the other solution we discussed? Are you sure you won’t...you know—” she inclined her head toward a letter lying on his desk.

“Out of the question,” Papa quickly responded.

“What’s out of the question?” Lucinda asked. Was there some way out of this muddle?

With uncharacteristic firmness Mama said, “Arthur, read them the letter. That’s the least you can do.”

Papa sighed. “It won’t do any good. I shall stay firm on this matter, but if you insist...”

“I insist.”

Papa cleared his throat uncomfortably and picked up the letter, commenting as he opened it, “Last week I received this letter from my sister-in-law, Pernelia, who lives near York. As you know, she is the widow of my brother, William, who died many years ago. The letter came as quite a shock, actually, even though she and I correspond regularly. I had always thought...well, I shall read it and you can see for yourselves.” He adjusted his eyeglasses and began,

“My Dearest Brother-in-law,

I trust this letter finds you and family in good health. I wish I could tell you all is well here at Southfield, but alas, such is not the case. A few weeks ago, I fell, injured my hip, and now am forced to remain in my bed. Although my physical needs are well-taken care of, I am in need of a companion to brighten my tedious days. Having heard nothing but good reports concerning all your daughters, I send this urgent and heart-felt request that you send me the youngest to be my companion. From all that I hear, Henrietta is of a cheerful disposition and amenable nature. I am certain she would do much to pull me from the doldrums into which I’ve sunk in recent months, made worse by my now bed-ridden condition.

As you know, Southfield is fairly isolated. This, coupled with the old tragedy, makes it impossible for me to promise that Henrietta will be ecstatically happy here. However, York is close by, wherein one can find a variety of social activities. Should your daughter find someone suitable, I am even willing to provide a more-than-adequate dowry, providing she remains with me for at least a year.

You might wonder why I seek an outside companion when I am surrounded by a family of my own, including my son, Edgerton. Alas, my daughter, Sarah, has become increasingly bitter as the years have gone by and mostly keeps to her rooms. I am simply not compatible with Edgerton’s wife, Jane. As for his daughter, who is my granddaughter, Alethea, she is a most delightful young creature, but she occupies her time with her own pursuits, just as a girl of eighteen should do. As for Edgerton himself, he is my son and I love him, but you are well aware of the problems there.

And so you see, my dear brother, I am desperately searching for a ray of sunshine in my life. Twenty-five years have passed since the tragedy, yet I remember the horrible events as if they happened yesterday, perhaps more so lately since I am forced to lie in my bed with nothing to do but brood about the past.

Will you send Henrietta to me? I can only hope that you, with your kind heart, will ease this sad old woman’s pain by sending me your youngest daughter.

As ever,

Your sister-in-law, Pernelia

Her chin quivering, Henrietta said, “Say no more. Lucinda should have the full dowry, of course. I...I should be very glad to go to Aunt Pernelia’s.” Bravely she lifted her chin. “They say York is a lovely place. They say—”

“No one is going to York,” declared Papa.

“But what could be so terrible?” asked Lucinda. “You simply cannot break Henrietta’s heart. The answer is so simple—give her the full dowry and I shall to Southfield.” She gazed at her father beseechingly. “Papa, why can’t I—?”

“I have had my say and I am not backing down,” Papa stoutly declared.

Lucinda persisted, “Don’t you understand? I would truly not mind going to Southfield.”

Papa kept obstinately shaking his head. “Did you not listen when I read the letter? Does it not occur to you that Southfield might not be the most pleasant of places?”

“But what could unpleasant?” asked Lucinda. “And even if there were some sort of unpleasantness, I assure you, it would be preferable to marrying the Reverend Lucius Whittlesby.”

Henrietta asked, “What does Aunt mean when she speaks of the old tragedy? Why have we never heard?”

Papa and Mama exchanged uncomfortable glances before Papa replied, “Your Aunt Pernelia lost a daughter many years ago. The child was only six at the time. Suffice to say, the whole affair was a terrible tragedy. Other than that, some tales are best left untold. That is all you need know and all that needs be said on the subject, especially since, as far as I am concerned, you will never set foot in Southfield.”

Lucinda wanted to ask more, but Papa’s unusually grim, uncompromising expression left no doubt that the subject was closed. She felt terrible about Henrietta, opened her mouth to say so, but before she could, Henrietta declared, “Then there’s nothing more to say, is there?” With a sob, she cried, “I have lost Lord Carlton!” She leaped to her feet. Tears streaming down her face, she stumbled from the room.

“Oh, dear,” said Mama, I shall go to her in a moment, but Lucinda, I want you to know how much I admire you for your selflessness. I should have known you’d be willing to step aside, but this time, I’ll simply not have it.”

Mama didn’t understand. She would try once again. “Mama, if you would but reconsider
—”

“Not this time,” Papa adamantly declared.

“But I don’t love Whittlesby. I could never love him.”

Mama started to admonish her, but before she could speak, the butler appeared and summoned her for a minor crisis in the kitchen. “Stay firm,” she called to Papa over her shoulder.

“Whittlesby’s not a bad sort,” Papa said after Mama was gone. He looked slightly wounded and continued in a defensive tone, “Not a bad income. A pillar of respectability.”

At the thought of having to crawl into bed with that pillar of respectability every night for the rest of her life, Lucinda wrinkled her nose. “He’s dull, he’s smug, and he’s not you.”

Papa sighed and looked pained. “Is he all that different?”

She managed a wry smile. “I doubt very much if the Reverend Lucius Whittlesby has any great interest in antiquities, not like you do. And I doubt he is fond of riding horseback through the woods for hours at a time, or in communing with nature, as we do, or in rising at the crack of dawn to watch the birds.”

“I think not,” Papa replied with a small smile. “All the same, you could do far worse than Whittlesby. I know how fond you are of children. Just look at the bright side—you’d be marrying into a ready-made family of six children, which I should think...”