The Spinster Bride Page 10

  The only thing she had left to do was buy a hat for the first race. It was a terrible oversight not to have already ordered one. She only had four days, after all, until the races. But her milliner, Mrs. Gibson, would accommodate her. Dorothea was her best customer, after all.

  Her shop was located just off Regent Street in a charming little brick building. She walked in, her stomach nervous, and she saw it. The perfect hat. She actually gasped, and clutched at her maid’s hand.

  “Tillie, that’s the one,” she said.

  Mrs. Gibson, a middle-aged woman with blond hair just starting to go gray, smiled as Dorothea walked in. “It’s my favorite creation this year, I think,” she said, walking over to where the hat sat on a counter. “But I’m afraid it’s for another lady.”

  It was large and high, with big blue bows on each side and flowers adorning it, as if sprouting from the wide brim. Dorothea had to have it.

  “I see. May I try it anyway? Perhaps I can have you make one similar.”

  Mrs. Gibson hesitated, but no doubt remembering just how much money Dorothea had spent over the years, acquiesced. Dorothea picked up the hat lovingly, walked to the mirror, and placed it on her head. Behind her, Tillie gasped.

  “Oh, my lady, it’s beautiful.”

  And it was. There was something about the hat, the color of the flowers, the wide brim and high crown that all combined to somehow transform her face. She had never in her life felt so pretty.

  “I’ll take it,” she said.

  Mrs. Gibson had come up behind her, looking slightly ill. “I’m so sorry, my lady, but this hat was designed—and paid for—by another lady. Perhaps a different—”

  Dorothea shook her head. “No. This one, or an exact duplicate. You must, Mrs. Gibson. Surely you have duplicated hats in the past.”

  Looking torn, Mrs. Gibson said, “Yes, but this one is so special and designed by the young lady herself... Of course, I will make it for you. You do look lovely in it, my lady. It is, by far, the most charming hat I’ve seen on you.”

  Dorothea looked in the mirror again and smiled. This hat, along with her new dress, would make all the difference. What were the chances the other lady would be invited to enter the Royal Enclosure at Ascot?

  On the way home, Dorothea was assailed with familiar doubt. She turned to Tillie. “You would tell me if it was absurd, would you not? It was a rather large and unique hat.”

  “But that’s what sets it apart, my lady. And you did look ever so pretty in it. Truly.”

  Relief flooded her. “Thank you, Tillie.” The final piece was now in place.

  Chapter 7

  The morning after the Fielding ball, Marjorie peered in the mirror, examining the left side of her face, which was still red and slightly swollen. She prayed a bruise would not form. She still could not believe her mother had struck her so viciously. Now she had sore fingers and a sore face. She smiled grimly at her reflection, noticing her smile was a tad lopsided at the moment. Lovely.

  Though she wanted to stay in her rooms all day and hide, Marjorie forced herself to walk down the stairs to breakfast. She was hungry and refused to starve herself from fear of another confrontation with her mother. When she reached the sunny room, her mother was there and Marjorie’s stomach clenched.

  Her mother looked up and greeted her warmly, as if the previous evening had never happened, as if her face weren’t slightly red and swollen.

  “Good morning, dear. The fish is especially good today.” Then she turned to the footman who stood silently by the door and said, “You may go.”

  Marjorie gave her mother a cautious look. She’d never before asked a servant to leave.

  She walked to the sideboard and filled her plate with a scone, eggs and sausage, even though she had lost whatever appetite she’d had. She sat across from her mother, who, as usual, was enjoying a hearty breakfast.

  “I’ve something for you to read,” Dorothea said sweetly. “I think you’ll find it enlightening.” Her mother handed over several sheets of thick vellum filled with tightly written script. It looked to Marjorie like a legal document, and she took it from her mother with some trepidation.

  Without touching the food on her plate, Marjorie began reading the words, at first confused about what the document was. Then, it began to dawn on her and her breathing became shallow.

  “Oh, Mother, you cannot,” she said, laying the offensive pages aside.

  Her mother smiled that horrible smile. “Of course, I can. As you can see, my dear, I can and will have your brother’s title stripped from him. Whether that happens or not is entirely up to you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Dorothea let out a long-suffering sigh. “I have been very patient with you, my dear. I have let you refuse suitor after suitor. Fine men, most of them, whom you set aside for no good reason. It is your duty to marry well, Marjorie. It is the only thing this life will ask of you, to marry. And now you shall. For if you do not, your brother will suffer the consequences.”

  The full realization of what her mother planned sickened Marjorie, and filled her with a helplessness she’d never thought to feel. This was no spontaneous act. The document must have taken weeks to prepare.

  “If you love me at all, Mother—”

  Dorothea held up a hand, stopping her. “This has everything to do with love. Do you think I would go to such lengths for a child I did not love?”

  Hot tears filled Marjorie’s eyes. “And what of George, Mother? Do you not love him at all?”

  “Of course I do. He is my son. But that does not make me blind to the fact he is flawed,” she said calmly. “But you, my dear, you are the jewel of this family. The day you were born, I knew you were special. I am fully aware I am not a beauty. Even in my youth I was not. And goodness knows your father was an uncommonly ugly man.” She pursed her lips as if tasting something disagreeable. “But you are a miracle. I knew it then and I still believe it now. You could marry a prince if you set your mind to it.”

  Marjorie could only stare at her food, now grown cold on her plate. Her throat ached from unshed tears.

  “Look at me, Marjorie,” Dorothea said placatingly. Marjorie forced herself to look at her mother. “You should be the mistress of your own home by now. You should have produced your heir. It is not too late. You are still young enough. Still pretty. Lord Shannock is interested and he is now my first choice. His estate borders ours and he’s mentioned you on more than one occasion over the years.”

  Lord Shannock was a man in his fifties, who had already outlived two wives. He seemed ancient to Marjorie, for although he wasn’t terribly old in years, he was thin and stooped, with a greasy, stringy pate of gray hair. And his breath always smelled of onions.

  “You are willing to have the title go into abeyance to force me to marry the most onerous man in our acquaintance? If you believe he is such a good man, marry him yourself.”

  Dorothea’s smile faltered. “The title will go to your cousin, Jeffrey. And Lord Shannock wants children, something I cannot give him. But you can.”

  Marjorie felt bile rise in her throat at the thought of Lord Shannock touching her. “I’ll marry, but I won’t marry Lord Shannock. I won’t, Mother. This is eighteen seventy-four. You cannot force me to marry against my will.”

  Dorothea smiled. “Of course I cannot. But I can strip your brother of his title if you disobey me on this.”

  “That’s not possible.” Even as she said those words, she wondered if that was true. She knew nothing of the legal merit behind the document she held. She’d never heard of anyone losing his title, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been or couldn’t be done. “Besides, Jeffrey is a toad.”

  Her mother slammed her hand against the table, making the teacups dance in their saucers. “He has all his wits and that is enough for me.” Dorothea took another bracing breath. “Now, my dear, enjoy your breakfast. I believe we should do some shopping before the opera tonight.”

  This could not
be happening. Could not. Her mind whirled, trying to think of a way out, but nothing came. She’d never felt so alone in her life, so completely helpless. Who could help? Perhaps Mr. Norris would know what to do. Perhaps he could give her some sage advice. Surely he would help her if she asked. They were friends, after all.

  She lifted her head and gave her mother her most winning smile. “I planned to go to the Christy Collection this afternoon, if that’s all right with you.”

  Her mother pursed her lips unpleasantly, no doubt knowing it was the day George always went to the exhibit. “Certainly. Be home by six so you have time to rest and get ready.”

  Marjorie stood, her breakfast untouched, and made ready to leave the room. “And Marjorie,” said Dorothea, “George need not know anything of this conversation. I don’t want him becoming overwrought. You know how he can be.”

  Chapter 8

  George was in an uncommonly cheerful mood as they drove that afternoon to Victoria Street. He’d spent the day with Mr. Norris and was filled with news about their adventures. It was obvious to Marjorie that George had placed Mr. Norris in the category of hero. It was nice to see her brother making a friend.

  “This is a fine hat, is it not?” George asked for the third time. “It’s smaller than my last one. I wasn’t certain I would like the way it looked, but Charles said I looked dashing and I think that I do. The other hat was too tall, wasn’t it, Marjorie?”

  “I think you look fine in both, but this one is a bit more modern.”

  “Yes, indeed. More modern. And dashing, I think. I noticed that many of the men in Charles’s club had similar hats.” He furrowed his brow. “I do hope no one mistakes my hat for theirs again and takes it. I suppose if that happens, I can get another hat, just like this one,” he said, tapping the precious hat, which sat next to him in the carriage. “Do you think Miss Cavendish will like it?”

  “Are you sweet on her, George?”

  His blush gave him away before his words did. “I think she is very pretty and she’s awfully smart. She knows nearly as much of history as I do.”

  “Goodness, a bluestocking.”

  George nodded. “She’s awfully smart. And pretty.”

  “You should court her, then.”

  The expression on his face told Marjorie that such a thought had already occurred to him, but he shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Miss Cavendish is very nice. She’s nothing like Miss Jones, George.”

  “I don’t think I could bear it if she were,” he said softly. “Miss Jones told me she would never marry an idiot. I’m not an idiot. I’m smarter than she is by far.”

  Marjorie leaned over and squeezed his knee. “You’re kind and smart, and any girl would be lucky to have you.”

  “Miss Cavendish is nothing like Miss Jones. I’ll think about it. She is awfully pretty.”

  “She does seem to like you.”

  George ducked his head and smiled. “Perhaps I’ll ask her father if I might.”

  Marjorie’s heart ached for George and she prayed Lilianne Cavendish’s father was as kind as his daughter. She’d watched such cruelty toward George over the years. If she’d been a man, she would have been in at least a dozen fistfights defending him. George did take a bit of getting used to and any woman he ended up with would have to deal with his habits, his idiosyncrasies. But that woman would also end up with a kind husband who was uncommonly devoted. Though they’d known the Cavendishes for years, Marjorie had never taken much note of Lilianne. She seemed painfully shy and was a bit plain. At the Fielding ball, when she’d been talking with George, the girl had lit up and seemed lovely. The more Marjorie thought of it, the more she liked the idea. If George married, she wouldn’t have to worry so about him. She wouldn’t . . .

  She wouldn’t have to remain a spinster. She could marry without worry. George wouldn’t need her anymore. She glanced at her brother, seeing the man he’d become, not the awkward little boy she held in her heart. Even though he was only two years her junior, she’d always thought of him as a boy who needed to be cared for. But he was a man thinking about marriage. Marjorie reached over and squeezed her brother’s hand. “I’m very proud of you, George. And I approve of Lilianne wholeheartedly. She would make a fine countess. And just think, she would be head of the household, not Mother.”

  Marjorie grinned as the idea took root in her brother’s head.

  “You mean Mother wouldn’t live with us?”

  “She’d have her own house, I suppose. Perhaps The Glen would be an appropriate home for her.” The Glen was a sweet home in Exeter, one they’d visited only a few times, but one that was quite lovely. And quite far from London and Ipswich.

  “Would you live at The Glen, too?”

  Yes, Marjorie realized, she would. Drat. She didn’t want to live in Exeter, but where else could a spinster daughter live than with her mother? Perhaps her grandmother would like some company?

  “I could live with Grandmama Penwhistle. Mother loathes her and would never come visit,” Marjorie said, laughing. She did feel a bit guilty at the thought, but Dorothea was not her favorite person at the moment. For years, she’d been a dutiful daughter, obeying her mother without question. And Dorothea had been an indulgent mother, one who, if Marjorie were completely honest, had been a bit too tolerant of her daughter’s opinions. At one time, they had been the best of friends, laughing and enjoying the social season, sharing quips and secrets.

  But somewhere along the way, her mother had lost her tolerance for Marjorie’s fickleness. Perhaps the other mothers who had married off their daughters had made comments. Perhaps the idea that her daughter might just turn out to be a spinster was becoming a reality in her mind. Or perhaps Marjorie was simply sick to tears of constantly trying to please everyone but herself.

  She didn’t know what had caused the two of them to be at such odds. Marjorie hardly recognized the woman who’d slapped her, the woman who’d hired a lawyer to strip George of his title. For six seasons the two of them had had such fun. Six years. No wonder her mother was losing patience!

  If George did marry, Marjorie had to make a decision. Marry or remain a spinster. The idea of not marrying now seemed rather dismal to contemplate. What would she do, flit from relative to relative, slowly becoming what was so pitied among the ton—an old spinster? Would she end her days alone, no children, no grandchildren, just dutiful nieces and nephews who visited once a year?

  My goodness, if George could find a girl to love, certainly she could find a husband.

  “You could live with us,” George said, his brows knitted with worry. Oh, bless him.

  “No, George. I think this season, if you are successful with Lilianne, I shall find a husband. It’s time.”

  Mr. Norris was waiting at the door when they arrived, looking impatient, energy seeming to emanate from him like an electric current. They entered together and wandered about the exhibit for a while, George exclaiming over the artifacts that in truth bored Marjorie. How he could get so excited about chipped bits of flint was beyond her.

  The rooms, with their creaking wood floors, were well lit with gaslight sconces. Very few people were about, and most of the time the three of them had the room to themselves.

  “I suppose the fun is in finding the stuff, not in looking at it,” Marjorie said, gazing doubtfully at a display case filled with rocks that apparently had been excavated from a cave in France. George gave her an annoyed look and Marjorie wrinkled her nose and crossed her eyes at him.

  “What a lovely expression,” Mr. Norris said, laughing, and then his expression changed and he grew still. “George, we’ll be in Room Two.” He grabbed her arm and led her across the hall to the second room, which, Marjorie quickly determined, was empty but for the display cases along the walls. He maneuvered her to a small alcove between two large cases, so that if anyone did enter, they would not immediately see them there.

  “What happened to you?” Mr. Norris demanded, his eyes pinne
d to her cheek. “Who struck you?”

  Marjorie had taken great pains before leaving for the Christy Collection to powder her cheek, which had darkened to a slight bruise over the course of the day. Only the most discerning eye would have seen anything wrong, and Marjorie had left feeling confident no one would notice.

  Feeling humiliated, she quickly tried to come up with an explanation for her bruised cheek. “I struck it. On my door. It was the silliest thing—”

  “No. Who hit you?”

  “Mr. Norris, it is none of your concern. Truly.”

  “Is that why you brought me here? Are you in some sort of trouble?”

  She shook her head. “No. It’s another matter entirely.”

  “I should like to know who it was so that I might teach him what it is like to be beaten.”

  For goodness’ sake, the man would not leave off. “It was my mother. She was angry with my behavior last evening. She has never hit me before, and I daresay she never will again. She lost her temper.”

  Those words seemed to bother Mr. Norris even more. “It is my fault. I taunted her by asking you to dance with me.”

  Though this was partly true, Marjorie didn’t want Mr. Norris to take any blame for what had happened. “It had nothing at all do with our dance, but everything to do with me. I have so far refused to marry and she has grown exceedingly frustrated with me. She has devised an ultimatum and that’s why I asked you here. But on the way I’ve had some news, so it may all be a moot point.”

  Mr. Norris bent his head and searched her face for the truth. “Tell me anyway.”

  “Unless I marry a man of her choosing, she will strip George of his title,” she said, her throat clogging as she uttered those last words. Sudden tears were streaming down her face and she found herself pressed up against a warm, firm body, large hands patting her back. He smelled so nice, she thought, even as she let out a sob. “But George may marry and if he does, I can marry and she’ll leave me be. But if George doesn’t, and it’s not certain by any means, I fear she will follow through on her threat,” she said in a great rush of words.