by Amy Corwin
Blushing, she glanced away, her slender hands shuffling through the music on the stand.
Miss Cecilia Polkinghorne, on the other hand, appeared positively appalled at the change in their after-dinner plans. However, after a brief conference with Miss Stainton, she selected a piece of music and settled down at the pianoforte, her fingertips brushing the keys as she prepared to play.
“Miss Stainton, come and sit down,” Polkinghorne said, gesturing to the settee where his wife sat across from Marcus.
Glancing from Marcus to her niece, Mrs. Polkinghorne bolted to her feet and smiled broadly. “Yes, do come and sit here, next to Lord Arundell.”
Her husband frowned at his tactical error, clearly not anticipating that while Miss Polkinghorne played, Miss Stainton would be free to have a cozy chat with the earl. His face suddenly cleared, however, and he smiled at Marcus. “We would be honored if you would turn the pages of music for our dear Cecilia, my lord.”
“Oh, no—it is so bad for one’s digestion to stand—you must sit here and enjoy yourself, my lord,” Mrs. Polkinghorne interrupted. “One of the girls… Grace! Please be good enough to turn the pages of music for your cousin!”
Her peremptory order startled Grace, who had been gossiping with the two younger Polkinghorne girls. She sprang to her feet, her eyes wide and mouth open. After a glance at her older sister, her mouth snapped shut. She nodded. “Of course, Aunt Mary,” she said meekly as she brushed past her aunt.
Marcus glanced at Miss Stainton to find her struggling to control her laughter. Nonetheless, her slender shoulders shook, and her blue eyes danced with mirth. A small gasp of a giggle escaped her when her younger sister heaved a heavy sigh as she took a position next to Miss Polkinghorne.
Polkinghorne glared at his wife.
She smiled serenely and resumed her seat on the settee. “Do sit, my lord,” she said, gesturing to the sofa across from her. “And dear Miss Stainton, as well.”
Still fuming, Polkinghorne sat on the edge of the settee next to his wife, his shoulders stiff and a deep crease slicing between his heavy brows. He studied his niece with distaste before venting his displeasure on his youngest daughters. “Jane and Katherine, it is time for you to say goodnight. We allowed you to join us at dinner as a special treat, but you must not presume too much—you are too young to remain with the adults.”
“Oh, but Papa, Cecilia is awfully young, too! So is Cousin Grace!” Jane protested.
Nonetheless, she stopped abruptly when she caught the glowering look on her father’s face. She glanced at her sister before dutifully nodding. Gazes downcast and shoulders drooping, the two girls curtseyed and said goodnight. Jane then turned and caught Katherine’s hand, dragging her with reluctant feet out of the drawing room.
The rest of the evening passed without much to recommend it. Cecilia’s playing was lackluster and timid, with a great many fumbles. Due to her uncle’s furious gazes each time she opened her mouth, Miss Stainton spoke only briefly and quietly to avoid additional black looks. By half past eleven, Marcus was more than ready to depart.
“Miss Stainton adores the fresh air and walks each afternoon in Hyde Park.” Mrs. Polkinghorne jumped to her feet, edged past her husband, and intercepted Marcus as he stood to depart. “Do you also enjoy such vigorous exercise, my lord?”
“I do enjoy a brisk walk or ride on occasion,” he admitted with a twinkle.
“Then perhaps we shall see you there.” Mrs. Polkinghorne threaded her arm through Miss Stainton’s, forcing her closer to Marcus and edging out Cecilia, who stood unhappily at her father’s shoulder. “I, myself, am a great believer in the value of a vigorous walk.”
A peculiar snort, hastily smothered behind her hand, emanated from Miss Stainton. When he looked at her, her eyes were firmly fixed on the carpet, but her lovely mouth trembled with laughter. She bit the corner of her lower lip and straightened her shoulders, patting her aunt’s hand where it rested on her forearm.
Mrs. Polkinghorne didn’t look like the kind of woman who enjoyed walking anywhere, let alone briskly, but he accepted her statement with a nod.
“I am at your convenience, my lord,” Polkinghorne said, with a meaningful wag of his thick brows. “Anytime you wish to discuss, er, the matter under discussion.”
His wife gave him a quick, suspicious look and frowned before she forced a bright, polite smile. “And I hope we will see you soon, Lord Arundell.”
“Soon, indeed,” he replied.
Thankfully, Mrs. Jolly held out his hat and walking stick, so he made his farewells without any additional awkward conversation. A tiny demon suggested that Polkinghorne might also be due for a significant amount of extremely awkward conversation tonight after the girls were sent to their rooms. Mrs. Polkinghorne was not a woman who would suffer lightly machinations in opposition to her own, and Marcus rather thought that her husband might be more docile to her wishes the next time they met.
Then, remembering Mrs. Polkinghorne’s fear that her husband might learn of her gambling debt, Marcus revised his conclusion. Polkinghorne had room to maneuver if he was astute enough to realize it.
But no matter. In the end, Polkinghorne’s plans might very well come to naught, and his wife might be the victor.
Marcus had already made his decision.
Chapter Six
“That went rather well, did it not?” Dorothy said as she helped Grace disrobe.
The two girls acted as maids to one another. While Mrs. Polkinghorne had sent her abigail to assist Dorothy before the supper party, she was unlikely to allow the maid to return afterwards since she would require her services in undressing as well.
“Yes. He seemed quite captivated by Cecilia’s music,” Grace replied with a saucy twinkle in her eyes. “Do you suppose he will make her an offer? I can’t imagine why else an earl would consent to dine with the Polkinghornes.” A brief frown of concentration wrinkled her face. “Though I suppose the families have long been friends, or so Jane said.”
Dorothy opened her mouth and then shut it. “I have no notion,” Dorothy said at last.
If the two families had long been friends, then that might explain a great deal. No point in mentioning the mythical five thousand pounds and getting Grace’s hopes up for an inheritance. Dorothy might have misunderstood Aunt Mary’s conversation with Lord Arundell. The girls might not receive the money, after all, or Aunt Mary might not have understood the situation, herself. It would not surprise Dorothy in the least. She’d already noticed that her aunt had a habit of jumping to conclusions, warranted or not.
Poking through the top drawer of the chest and pulling out ribbons one at a time to hold them up to her hair, Grace flickered a glance at Dorothy. “Well, it does seem odd, no matter what Jane says.” Her bright blue eyes widened as another thought struck her. “Oh, I nearly forgot—Jane and I are going to visit the Foundling Hospital tomorrow. Jane has a great interest in such institutions, you know, and I believe such charities do a great deal of good. Every vicar’s wife I know shows an interest in such things.”
“Oh?” Dorothy asked in innocent tones. “I didn’t realize that Jane was intending to become the wife of a vicar. Aunt Mary didn’t mention that, and you would think she might have if Jane were already betrothed. And isn’t she rather young? As I recall, she isn’t even out yet. Odd, indeed.”
Blushing, Grace threaded a few ribbons between her fingers. “You know very well what I mean. I was not referring to Jane at all.”
“Oh?” Dorothy raised her eyebrows. She had to clasp her own hands to prevent her from wresting the abused silk right out of her sister’s restless fingers. “Are you referring to you and Mr. Blyth, then? I had no idea he had found a living and become a vicar. I must send my congratulations. When do you propose to marry?”
Grace’s cheeks grew even redder. She thrust the ribbons back into the drawer and turned around, leaving it hanging open. “There is no need to be so… so cruel, Dorothy. You know very well that Mr. Blyth
is still a curate and that we have no formal arrangement.” She blinked rapidly and chewed her lower lip. “But I have hopes… Well, he cannot remain a curate forever, can he? And he will marry at some point.” Her chin rose. “And he will obviously want his wife to support charities such as the Foundling Hospital.”
“I suppose he will,” Dorothy admitted, struggling not to smile as she reached around her sister to close the drawer. “Though I hope that your interest in orphans is not solely based upon your desire to prove yourself worthy of Mr. Blyth’s love.”
“Of course not! Poor things—someone must care for them and give them a home. It is not right to simply leave innocent children to starve in the streets.” Grace stared at her before realization dawned. She turned away abruptly and began opening and shutting the ribbon drawer to avoid Dorothy’s glance. “Oh, you are simply amusing yourself at my expense—hardly a charitable action, is it?”
“No, I suppose not.”
After opening the drawer one more time, Grace shrugged and wandered away, leaving it for Dorothy to shut once again.
“Well, Jane and I are going, and Cousin Stephen is escorting us. You might go with us and show a little charity, as well. Don’t you wish to join us?”
“While I am honored to be included, I am afraid I will have to beg off. I have a great many things to attend to tomorrow.” Dorothy shook her head, amused at her sister’s earnest air.
Although she knew that her sister had a good heart and genuinely cared about the poor, Dorothy suspected that her sister’s current interest was sharpened by her hope that her good works would be noticed by Mr. Blyth. Grace seemed determined to convince him that she was precisely the helpmate he required.
Still, Grace was being kind. Supporting orphanages such as the Foundling Hospital was undoubtedly an excellent thing, and it spoke well of Jane, too. Their cousin was displaying more thoughtfulness as she matured, and it spoke well of her. Dorothy just hoped that conditions at the orphanage wouldn’t prove too wretched.
Staring into the oval mirror affixed to the washstand, Dorothy struggled to unpin the elaborate hairstyle inflicted upon her by her aunt’s maid. She dropped her arms with relief when Grace stepped behind her.
“Let me—you will never get to bed if you go about it like that,” Grace said, smiling over Dorothy’s shoulder into the mirror. Then, without another word, she yanked the false hair from Dorothy’s head with an abrupt movement. “There! You see? There was no need to fuss about it at all.” She threw the offending rat’s nest onto the chest of drawers.
“Ouch!” Dorothy yelped, rubbing the top of her head. To her relief, her fingertips didn’t show any traces of blood. “You nearly ripped all my hair out!”
“Well, I had no idea you had pinned such a nest of horsehair on your head. You’ve never done anything like that before.”
“I wished I hadn’t done it this time, but I had no choice. Aunt Mary’s maid had quite definite ideas about hairstyles and wouldn’t listen to a word of protest.”
“Too bad her notions are about thirty years out of date.” Grace glanced at her sister with a speculative gleam in her blue eyes. “Perhaps that is why Lord Arundell preferred Cecilia—her hair was quite natural.”
“Perhaps so,” Dorothy answered crossly, stepping out of her blue gown and folding it carefully before placing it in the wardrobe.
Her fingers trailed over the yards of lace and beautifully worked silk flowers adorning the skirt. The dress was the most expensive one Dorothy had ever worn, and yet she felt curiously let down by it.
If Lord Arundell didn’t notice her when she was wearing that gown, then he would never notice her.
She shook her head to dislodge the thought. Why should it matter to her if the earl did prefer Cecilia? If he were hanging out for a wife and liked fox-faced, sharp-tongued girls with deep-set eyes hidden under heavy brows, then all she could do was wish him well. Wish both of them well.
At least he hadn’t drooled over Grace, which had been Dorothy’s worst fear. Strangely enough, he hadn’t appeared to notice her at all, even though she was by far the most beautiful girl present. A small, vulnerable part of her sighed, despite her decision that she really didn’t care what he thought. But he had shown at least some partiality for her, hadn’t he? Or had she mistaken his charm and politeness for liking? Maybe Grace was right, after all. Perhaps he simply preferred Cecilia. He had seemed to enjoy her music, stumbling and halting though it was, and if that wasn’t a sign of attraction, she didn’t know what was.
She studied her sister. Now robed in her long, white gown, Grace was clambering awkwardly into the high bed. Every piece of furniture in the room was littered with bits of her evening wear, and Dorothy heaved an even deeper sigh. One by one, she picked up the various items, folded them, and tucked them away in the wardrobe.
The last thing she wanted was to wake up to a room drowning in a sea of petticoats, chemises, shawls, fans, and gloves.
When she turned to the small mirror again, she noticed Grace reflected in the silvery surface. Her younger sister watched her with eyelids drooping over sleepy eyes, looking younger than ever.
Should Dorothy tell her that they might have a small inheritance, after all? She opened her mouth and then shut it again as Grace’s eyes drifted shut. No point in upsetting her when she was so tired, and what if she were wrong? There was still a question in Dorothy’s mind about the veracity of Aunt Mary’s assertion. And it was entirely possible that Dorothy had misunderstood what she’d overheard. In fact, she wondered now if both Aunt Mary and she had misunderstood the marital plans of Lord Arundell.
Despite Aunt Mary’s notions, Uncle Cyril seemed to be making arrangements with the earl not for Dorothy’s future, but for Cecilia’s.
Which was quite sensible, after all. The primary concern of any father would be for his daughter’s happiness. It would be a feather in Uncle Cyril’s cap if he could arrange for his eldest daughter to marry an earl. Why should he want to marry off his niece, first, even if she were older? Simply to be rid of the responsibility seemed like a poor excuse compared to obtaining an earl as a son-in-law.
Her shoulders drooped as she combed her hair and braided it. His eyes had twinkled so merrily and his smile… A tingle ran through her at the memory of his mouth curving with amusement, and the strength and warmth of his arm when she sat next to him on the sofa. The breath caught in her throat.
She shook herself and walked over to the bed. There was no point in dwelling on such matters, they would play out as they would. She couldn’t help feeling tired and a trifle disappointed, though, as she slipped into bed beside her sister and blew out their candle.
After breakfast the next morning, Dorothy was once again privy to a conversation she really did not want to hear. She was passing through the main hallway on the ground floor on her way to visit the tiny kitchen garden—hardly more than a small rectangle of a few vegetables and pots of herbs—when she heard Cecilia’s voice, shrill with emotion.
“But, Papa!” she wailed. “Please! I don’t want to marry him! I don’t care if he is an earl—I do not like him in the least! Mama said he was to marry Cousin Dorothy—not me!”
“Cecilia, get control of yourself this instant! You may not like him now, but I promise you, you shall grow to do so. Even if you do not, you will be Lady Arundell, and that should satisfy any girl,” Uncle Cyril said. His low voice sounded stern and harsh, holding the sense that he had made a decision and there would be no changing it.
“Please, Papa!” A sob broke Cecilia’s voice. “He frightens me! Mama said he killed his older brother just to gain the title. He even killed his brother’s wife and then threw his little niece into the Thames to drown! He will probably do the same to me if I marry him. Please—I don’t want to!”
Silence greeted this shocking statement. Without thinking, Dorothy stepped closer to the library door, her arms crossed and her cold fingers gripping her elbows. It was grossly impolite to listen to a conversatio
n that did not include her, but she could not force her feet to move away.
“That is nonsense!” Uncle Cyril said at last. “You must not listen to gossip. Few of us have the luxury of marrying the one we wish to marry, should such a thing even be possible. No, we must accept our duty and be obedient to our family and Society.”
Ignoring her father’s admonishment to do her duty, Cecilia returned relentlessly to the rumors she’d heard. “It isn’t gossip! You can tell simply by looking at his sardonic face that he has done dreadful things. He is hard! And cruel! Anyone with any sensibility would tell you the same.”
A loud snort of disdain greeted this outburst. “You are too young to understand properly, Cecilia. An earl cannot be one of those weak, frippery fellows you seem to prefer. A connection with the Earl of Arundell will improve the chances for your sisters to make good matches and provide innumerable opportunities for your brother.”
“My brother? Stephen!?” In a completely unladylike reaction, Cecilia snorted. “He is not interested in a good match. He is completely enamored with Cousin Grace, and no one can claim that is an excellent match.”
“Never you mind about your brother. He shall forget her soon enough when he returns to Cambridge.”
“If he returns.”
“He will return, and I suggest you cease concerning yourself in matters that have naught to do with you. You will behave in a proper, ladylike fashion and do as you are instructed.”
“I won’t! I tell you, I will not marry him!” The sound of wooden chair legs scraping over the floor followed this outburst. “I won’t!”
From the sounds, Dorothy had the sense that Cecilia had leapt to her feet in an outburst of frustration. She could just imagine her, face suffused with angry red, brows as thick as her father’s bunched, and sharp features pinched with rage.
“Cecilia! Sit down!” Her father stormed in an icy voice.
“I won’t! If you must be connected to an earl, then let him marry Dorothy—she is a member of our family, or so you and Mama kept saying when you gave Jane’s room to her and her loathsome sister. She even got a new dress for that ridiculous supper last night. None of the rest of us got anything—not even a new ribbon! If you and Mama favor her so much, then let her sacrifice herself for the good of the family. I don’t see why I must be the one—I’m not even out yet, and Dorothy is positively ancient. She is two-and-twenty, and this may very well be her last chance. Would you deny her that? Unless you propose to support her for the rest of her life.”
