The Cinderella Debutante (14 page)

“And how can that signify when Belinda inherits £40,000 on her marriage? Naturally I would prefer Belinda to marry a wealthy man, but perhaps Lord Sneyd has fallen on hard times like many young men of fashion. If he is looking to make a marriage of convenience it is no more than many others have done before.”

“And if I don’t object to that, why should you?” demanded Belinda.

They were not to be diverted whatever objections Lucy raised. Her one consolation was that Belinda would never elope. A respectable marriage was not only desirable but a necessity.

Later, they all journeyed to Green Street to enquire after Olivia. She was suffering from a badly sprained wrist but had recovered enough to join them. Outwardly as gracious as ever, to Lucy’s ear there was a distinctly cool note in Lady Barchester’s voice whenever she addressed Belinda. Belinda also sensed it and this did nothing to improve her mood. By the time they left Belinda wore a petulant expression and a flow of spiteful comments punctuated the journey home, ranging from how boring she found London to the ugliness of Lucy’s pelisse.

Her ill humour continued throughout lunch and beyond so when Mr Pottingham called and asked Lucy to accompany him on a drive around the park, she agreed. Almost anything was preferable to remaining in the house.

Lucy was soon regretting her decision. Although Mr Pottingham seemed irritable and less composed than usual, his conversation had been civil. It had been confined to the latest gossip which he always had a ready supply of for all his professed disdain of the tattle-mongers, but he shocked her when he suddenly blurted out in a bitter voice,

“So you and your family traveled to Richmond with Lord Devlyn yesterday? I am persuaded that you would have preferred to have spent your time in a more useful way!”

Lucy’s gaze flew to his profile. “Mr Pottingham—” she began, taken aback.

“No doubt you found the trip tedious and accompanied your mother and sister out of a sense of duty.”

“A sense of duty—!”

“You could not be content for long with idle enjoyment of that kind.”

Her lips firmed. Clearly he was jealous, but she refused to be cowed. “You are mistaken. I enjoyed it a great deal. My character is not as sober as you suppose and I am frequently given to indulging in idle enjoyment
.”
Resentment simmered in her voice.

“Oh, I did not mean you should forsake pleasure altogether, just that you would prefer one of the more
intellectual
pursuits,” he said. “London has many to offer and I would be happy to accompany you to any of your choosing.”

He looked at her worshipfully, like a puppy eager to please, and a more brutal riposte died on Lucy’s lips.

“I’d like to visit the British Museum,” she heard herself murmuring, “My father described it, but I have not yet persuaded my sister of its merits.”

“An admirable choice! I should be pleased to escort you and offer some pertinent commentary – I have visited many times.”

“Indeed? Then I look forward to my education being furthered, although I have no hope of matching your well-informed mind.”

Her companion looked gratified and, with his good humour now apparently restored, he broached the subject he had thus far avoided.

“Miss Sinclair, are you aware I have spoken to your stepmother regarding my offer of marriage? She seemed a little distracted during our conversation yet I was encouraged by her response. Lady Sinclair has no objections and is happy with my estates and fortune. She has given me permission to approach you again.” With no warning, he pulled his team to a halt awkwardly before turning to Lucy, grasping one of her hands, kissing it and then trailing more kisses up her arm. “Let me do so now most earnestly, my dear!” he continued breathlessly, “Miss Sinclair…Lucy…My sentiments are unchanged and I beg you to accept me as your husband. We would deal extremely well and enjoy a marriage of comfort, routine and restrained affection. Too excellent creature, only think what we could achieve together! Your modesty, your sense of propriety, your excess of virtues bound in matrimony with my scholarship and attainments. And you need not worry about my mother or my newts… they will adore you as much as I do. ” He gulped, apparently overcome.

Startled Lucy glanced around to see if anyone had seen them. Fortunately they had moved away from the other carriages. Breathing a sigh of relief, she snatched her hand away, saying urgently, “Mr Pottingham, I must beg you not to importune me further. My feelings are also unchanged and there is no hope they will alter in the future, with or without newts!”

He sighed and shook his head, smiling dreamily. “I admire your modesty – you have so little self-esteem, so little idea of your true worth that your heart rebels at the notion of my offer. Allow me to reassure you. I appreciate the model of feminine excellence you represent. I should spend every hour of our marriage encouraging the improvement of your already outstanding qualities and directing your thoughts into ever more sober channels.”

Lucy stared and then began to laugh. “You ridiculous man! I am
not
a suitable wife for you. We should make each other appallingly miserable. I shan’t reconsider, but pray do not be unhappy – it is for the best.” She thought he might be offended at her laughter, but she couldn’t contain it and it would be unfair to encourage him.

He looked downcast for a moment and then brightened. “Very well. I shall not press you further at present. I leave town shortly to conduct some business and simply ask that on my return, I be allowed to arrange the visit we discussed earlier. A few days removed from my company will give you time to reflect.”

To Lucy’s relief, he made no mention of marriage on the way back. He was surprisingly cheerful considering her reaction to his proposal. After helping Lucy from the carriage, he took his leave with his usual punctilio.

Lucy entered the house, marveling at his persistence and, because he believed himself in love with a paragon existing only in his imagination, despairing of ever convincing him otherwise.

Stanton appeared in the hallway. “Her ladyship is entertaining visitors and has requested you join them on your return. A Mrs Wimpole and her daughter.” He sniffed disapprovingly, leaving Lucy to wonder about these guests. She nodded and stopped only to remove her bonnet and shawl in her room before hurrying back downstairs where she found her stepmother and Belinda entertaining two women.

The visitors, strangers to Lucy, were chatting and eagerly sampling the refreshments that had been set out. Her stepmother introduced them as Mrs Honoria Wimpole and her daughter, Annabel. Mrs. Wimpole claimed some vague connection through marriage to Lady Barchester and because of this wanted to make themselves known to Lady Sinclair and her daughters.

Mrs Wimpole, after giving Lucy a speculative look, resumed her chatter and lapsed once more into breathless flattery, praising the elegance of Lady Sinclair’s town house, her dress sense, her taste and that of her daughters before explaining to Lucy,

“—and so you find us here this afternoon, anxious to secure your mama’s acquaintance and hopeful that a friendship between my Annabel and you and your sister will spring up.”

She smiled, encouraging Lucy’s approval in addition to that she had already secured from Lady Sinclair and Belinda. Lucy was not so easily convinced. Their claim to be distantly related to Lady Barchester did not mean they should be encouraged. Lucy’s unfavourable first impressions were strengthened when she studied Mrs Wimpole and her daughter more carefully.

Remnants of Mrs Wimpole’s youthful beauty remained but now she looked a trifle worn. Her complexion owed more to a pot of rouge than to nature. Nor were her manners those of a lady. She indulged in raucous laughter following Lady Sinclair’s observations on the
ton
.

Her daughter fared little better under Lucy’s searching gaze. Annabel Wimpole was seventeen yet her manners were as brash as her mother’s. Her low cut gown revealed far more of her bosom than was proper and, from what Lucy could overhear, her whispered conversation with Belinda involved listing those gentlemen slain by her obvious charms.

“Lucy, Mrs Wimpole has been kind enough to invite Belinda to Vauxhall on Saturday,” said her stepmother. “I am already engaged at a card party but Mrs Wimpole has assured me that Belinda will be quite safe and must be allowed to go as the evening will be vastly entertaining.”

“It that wise, Mama?” protested Lucy, inwardly aghast. “We have not yet been to Vauxhall ourselves and you would prefer to accompany Belinda on her first visit.”

“Annabel tells me the gardens are delightful,” pouted Belinda. “Why are you are always putting obstacles in my way? I will go with Mrs Wimpole and Annabel and you should be happy for me. You are to be guest of honour at Lady Gainsford’s tomorrow yet you still insist on trying to spoil any amusement that comes
my
way!.”

“It is absurd to suggest she will not be safe with Mrs Wimpole, Lucy, but if you are concerned you may accompany Belinda.” Lady Sinclair turned to her guest. “You will not object to Lucy joining the party – she is protective of her sister on account of her ravishing beauty.”

Mrs Wimpole declared she would be delighted, but for a moment she looked anything
but
pleased with the arrangement. Lady Sinclair considered the matter settled and turned the conversation in another direction.

By the time they left, it was clear to Lucy that Mrs Wimpole and her daughter were definitely not
haut ton
. Her stepmother had made a grave mistake in letting Belinda go to Vauxhall in their company.

A Note of Concern

Lucy voiced her exasperation as soon as Mrs Wimpole’s carriage drove away and Belinda had gone to her room.

“Mama, I hardly know where to begin!” she cried. “Have you taken leave of your senses? Please write and cancel the arrangements at once – I cannot believe Lady Barchester would acknowledge Mrs Wimpole as a relation even if it is true. They are not suitable people to escort Belinda to Vauxhall, a place frequented by rakes and libertines.”

Lady Sinclair’s mouth took on a mulish set. “Why must you constantly question my decisions? Mrs Wimpole may not move in our circles, but even you cannot object if they wish to introduce themselves.”

“I would not object if our contact is limited to an afternoon call. But to let Belinda go to Vauxhall with people you have known for less than an hour is madness! Belinda is wild and impulsive and if you allow her to accompany a girl like Annabel, the consequences for all of us could be dire. I have no confidence in Mrs Wimpole as a chaperone. Please reconsider.”

“I will not,” said Lady Sinclair. “Mrs Wimpole seemed a charming woman and you are being over-dramatic. Besides, Belinda would be furious if I did and while I allow she is a little impetuous, you can keep her in check.”

“She won’t pay any attention to me.” Lucy then tried a different tack. “Can’t you cancel your engagement and accompany us?”

Her stepmother gave a tinkling laugh. “There is no room in the carriage and I cannot allow Lady Brinkworth to think her card party not worth attending. I have declined two previous invitations – to excuse myself a third time would be unforgivable.”

Lucy continued to plead but her stepmother refused to change her mind. If Belinda wished to go to Vauxhall, then she must go and Lucy had to accompany her. Dinner was an awkward affair, with her stepmother stiff as a martinet after Lucy’s questioning of her judgment, Belinda cheerful at the prospect of visiting Vauxhall, and Lucy, unsurprisingly considering the emotions coursing through her during recent days, suffering from a headache. Afterward she declined a trip to the theatre. They left without her, leaving Lucy to a welcome few hours of peace. She got ready for bed and when her maid had brushed her hair, she felt a little better.

Climbing between the sheets, she sighed with relief and tried to push away a riot of thoughts and feelings, but the more she tried to clear her head, the more she found herself wide awake.

Abandoning sleep, she went to Belinda’s room to collect the copy of
La Belle Assemble
her step-sister had borrowed. She found it on the dressing table, lying among the perfumes and lotions strewn across its surface. Picking up the gazette, she hesitated, her eye drawn to a letter half hidden beneath Belinda’s jewel case. It appeared to have been quickly but ineffectively concealed.

Lucy recognized Lord Sneyd’s handwriting. She struggled with her conscience. She didn’t want to pry into Belinda’s personal correspondence or discover more secrets to add to her worries, yet she could not ignore her instincts which urged her to read the contents.

Instincts won. Lucy slid the letter out from under the case with shaking fingers and opened the single sheet.

My dearest love,

Circumstances have necessitated my departure from London and I cannot see you at present. In the hope that you will be visiting Vauxhall on Saturday, I have asked Sir Oswald Henlow to wait in one of the walks near the main colonnade during the firework display. He will carry a message from me. My future happiness depends upon your reply, but it is imperative that you do not inform anyone of this letter and its contents, or of your meeting with Sir Oswald.

Do not fail me or my heart will never recover.

Ever your devoted and most ardent admirer,

Julius Sneyd

Her hand stole to her cheek and she stared at the note until the words seemed to start from the page. She then replaced it and returned to her room in a daze.

The letter was designed to appeal to Belinda’s vanity and curiosity. There was no doubt she would comply. Lucy recalled her grandmother’s concerns that Lord Sneyd might be tempted to act outside the law. Nothing, it seemed, would be beyond the pale for the man. The visit to Vauxhall could not be mere coincidence; it had been proposed to Belinda this afternoon but he must have arranged it, even going so far as to enlist Mrs Wimpole and her daughter. Lucy suspected one of them had secretly delivered Sneyd’s letter.