“But it cannot be what is right.” The dowager began fanning herself. “Indeed, it is altogether wrong.”
“The facts are plain,” Thornton said, stepping back into the verbal fray. “Mr. Whitney cares for Bella. He has a more generous income than most men in our social circle could even dream of calling their own. He has promised to look after her, and I take him at his word. As for Bella going to America, he has assured me that he and Bella will take up residence in London upon their nuptials.”
Bella hadn’t expected he would want to remain in England. She was startled to realize the question of their living arrangements had never even occurred to her. She had been so caught up in the web of haunting emotions and yearning that she had entirely overlooked the more practical facets of their future life together.
“Has he a home in London, then?” Although the dowager still seemed rather overset by the news of Bella’s engagement, she showed signs of softening. Bella was certain it was Thornton’s talk of a generous income that had proved the cure to her upset spirits.
“I am to understand he has taken one in Belgravia,” Thornton affirmed. “It is surely more than suitable to a woman of Bella’s means and station. Moreover, he has refused to take her dowry. He hasn’t any need of it.”
Good heavens. Her life had been decided already, without her ever having been the wiser. It was awfully arrogant of Jesse to assume he would win her. He’d purchased a home, had arranged every last detail as if she would be his.
The dowager appeared somewhat placated, perhaps by the news of the dowry more than anything else. “I will have to commission a trousseau.”
“Naturally, Mother.” Thornton bowed. “You have carte blanche.”
“Just so.” Their mother sniffed. “I would expect nothing less, Thornton.”
Their courtship began without fanfare. The same afternoon as the dowager’s reluctant capitulation, Jesse was to bring his daughter to the drawing room for her official presentation. The dowager was to preside over their afternoon visit in the interest of both propriety and familial harmony. The dowager was not yet ready to relinquish her position as de Vere family matriarch, and Cleo was, to her credit, willing to entertain the dowager’s demands and politely bow out in this instance. Meanwhile, Thornton was taking no chances with Bella’s reputation after the way the situation had played out already. She was thankful for that much at least, even if it meant suffering an uncomfortable interview with her dragon mother.
But perhaps the dowager would lend a calming air to the affair. Bella was unaccountably nervous to make the girl’s acquaintance. After all, she was to become her stepmother. She wished to make as an advantageous impression as possible. Their circumstances would not be ideal, it was true, for she knew the girl had only recently lost her mother. But she hoped to be a true companion to Clara. She hadn’t the slightest notion of what to expect from a young girl. She could only hope that Clara would be kind and gentle, willing to make friends with a woman she’d never met.
“Are you very certain this is what you wish, daughter?” the dowager asked of Bella as they waited for their guests to be announced. “You’ll recall that even now, the Duke of Devonshire thinks it may be his great earthly joy to call you his duchess.”
“As certain as I may be of anything,” Bella returned with bare honesty. “While the duke has been a faithful correspondent to me and a most appreciated friend, I fear that we are not suited after all.”
The truth was that she wasn’t precisely certain of her alliance with Jesse. After all, there remained a host of questions that needed answering. He had left in the midst of the night only to return months later with a grown daughter in tow. There was also the matter of his claiming to have written her dozens of letters she’d never received. Bella was quite confused by his assertion. He had never lied to her in the past, but his abrupt departure did not exactly engender a sense of trust. In fact, she was quite hopelessly confused. But she did know that Jesse had made it impossible for her to wed the duke any longer, and that furthermore, she hadn’t wanted to wed Devonshire anyway. It was all rather a mess.
There wasn’t, however, time for her to dwell on the questions swirling in her mind. The drawing room was set for tea. It was all to be quite properly done. There was no reason for her to feel as if her heart were about to pop inside her chest. None at all. She swallowed and picked at an imaginary wrinkle in the overskirt of her gown. She very much hoped this first meeting would go well.
She had the opportunity to take a deep breath for composure’s sake as Levingood appeared, formally announcing Jesse and his daughter.
Her eyes went to Jesse first. Their gazes clashed and he sent her a tentative smile. He was as nervous as she, it seemed. His daughter was a petite creature indeed, standing at his side with a stiffness of posture that suggested either uncertainty or disdain. Bella was not certain which. Dressed in austere mourning weeds, she was an ethereal blonde and rather lovely. Even Bella had to admit she very much took after Jesse, though she had initially questioned the girl’s lineage.
“Miss Whitney,” Bella greeted with as much warmth as she could muster with worry swirling through her. Her stays seemed suddenly tighter. It was surreal meeting Jesse’s daughter.
The girl gave her a haughty stare. “My surname is Jones, miss, if you please.”
The correction would undoubtedly provoke questions from the dowager, who had not been made privy to the exact circumstances of the girl’s birth. Thornton had deemed it best to avoid complete disclosure, given their mother’s disapproval of the union in the first place. Now Jesse’s daughter had quite ruined their chance to keep the truth a secret.
Bella had to admit too that she was taken aback by the frosty reception. So was her mother who, bless her heart, could never hold her tongue.
“My dear girl,” the dowager clucked, looking appalled. “If you are to remain on in England, you must learn how to address your betters.”
Jesse bowed, his expression one of embarrassment. “I apologize, my ladies, for my daughter. As a newcomer to this country, she is still acquainting herself with your customs.”
Miss Jones, as she would be called, appeared unmoved. Her face was a stiff mask of feigned politeness. She seated herself on a settee opposite Bella, holding herself with a regal air that belied her youth. Bella had to give her credit for her gumption, if nothing else. Jesse seated himself at her side and the interview commenced with an awkward silence.
Bella decided she would have to try her hardest to avoid further insults from the dowager. She began pouring the tea and looked to the girl. “Miss Jones, I’m delighted to finally be meeting you. Tell us, how do you find England?”
“I think it dreary and cold,” the girl responded, her drawl rather pronounced. “I told Mr. Whitney I desire to return to Virginia as soon as possible.”
Jesse exchanged a meaningful glance with Bella as he accepted a teacup and saucer from her. “I informed Clara she would be well advised to avoid making hasty decisions.”
“Indeed,” the dowager drawled in a wintry accent. “In this matter, I would defer to your father, Miss Whittlesby. England will, I feel quite certain, be incredibly improving upon your character.”
Oh dear. Maman was still insisting upon mispronouncing Jesse’s surname, never mind that Jesse’s daughter was determined to go by a different name entirely. She feared her mother would call her Mrs. Whittlesby after the wedding, so stubborn was the old bird. Bella cleared her throat, wondering if the awful heaviness of the interview weighing down upon her would break her back.
“Miss Jones, we must take you shopping,” she tried. “I’m certain you shall find our shops and dressmakers to your liking. I would very much enjoy showing you the finer aspects of London, once we return there.”
“You are kind,” Miss Jones said, her tone rather disingenuous, even to Bella’s ears.
“Indeed.” Bella grew impatient with pretense and decided upon a different tactic entirely. “Miss Jones, w
ould you like to take a turn in the gardens with me?” She sent Jesse a sympathetic glance, hoping he wouldn’t be too displeased to be left at the mercy of her mother. “Mr. Whitney, I should like to have a moment alone with your daughter, if you don’t mind.”
Jesse didn’t appear pleased, nor did the dowager, but both politely accepted her sudden change in plans. Miss Jones looked as if she’d swallowed a bite of rancid mutton but she allowed Bella to lead her away nonetheless. Outside, it was a gray day, the weather having turned damp and oppressing. They collected their wraps before venturing out into the cool afternoon.
Bella waited until they were beyond earshot of servants to begin her conversation. She still wasn’t entirely certain what she wished to say. She knew frighteningly little about girls of an age with Miss Jones other than having been one herself. She decided tact was in order.
“Miss Jones, I do admire your dolman,” she said of the fashionable cloak, noting that it was finer than the dress Miss Jones wore. “The trim is especially lovely.”
“Thank you,” said Jesse’s daughter with obvious reluctance. “It is arctic fox, I believe. It belonged to my mother. I wouldn’t wear it now, but Mr. Whitney has not seen fit to procure me a proper mourning wardrobe.”
It was likely that Jesse didn’t have the slightest idea what to do with a fifteen-year-old girl who required mourning dress. But Miss Jones was not precisely accommodating, either. Indeed, if she’d thought she and the girl would readily develop a relationship, she was rapidly rethinking her supposition. Miss Jones was neither kind nor gentle.
“Let us be candid with one another.” Bella slowly led her deeper into the formal gardens. “I am very sorry for your loss, my dear. I feel it quite important for you to know that I don’t wish to ever take your mother’s place in your affections.”
“That is best, for you never could,” the girl said coolly.
“Just so,” she agreed. “But you are now your father’s ward, and I am to become his wife. We shall be forever linked inextricably. I understand you’ve seen a great deal of change in the past few weeks, but that is no reason to be ill-mannered to those who only wish to help you.”
Miss Jones looked taken aback by her bluntness. She opened her mouth, then closed it, twice, before finally speaking. “I haven’t been ill-mannered.”
“Yes you have.” Bella patted her arm, if not affectionately, then with a consoling air. “There is to be no nonsense between us. As you’ve seen, my mother is quite the dragon and I am made in her mold.”
The girl stiffened. “I’m not afraid of your mother or you, my lady.”
In her ire, her Virginia drawl was all the more pronounced. She very much looked like Jesse in that moment, all stubborn fire. She was so much his image that it gave Bella pause. No, there was no doubt the girl was his daughter.
Bella stopped and considered Miss Jones more fully. “My dear, you ought to fear both of us. We are in possession of your future. With our aid, you will see the proper dressmakers, meet the right members of society, and make a fine match one day. But if we are to be enemies…” She shrugged, allowing the girl to make her own inference.
“Do you dare to threaten me, my lady?” Miss Jones adopted a perplexed tone.
“I am not governed by spoiled children,” she informed her. “I have no patience for insolence and nor does your father, I expect. As I said, I sympathize with your plight, but that doesn’t mean I’ll allow you to treat me with disrespect.”
Miss Jones, it seemed, was not ready to bend. Her face darkened. “I am his daughter. You are not even yet his wife. You cannot dictate to me. I don’t care if you’re the queen.”
The little imp certainly possessed a great deal of foolish bravery. Bella pinned her with a hard stare. “You mistake me, Miss Jones. I am not allowing you the opportunity to plead your case. I’m telling you how it will be between us from this day on. I will very soon be your father’s wife, and you will be beneath my rule every bit as much as if I were Queen Victoria herself.”
They eyed one another warily, each testing the other’s mettle. Bella wasn’t concerned. She was every bit as determined as a spiteful fifteen-year-old. She was well aware who would win this particular war, and it wasn’t the blonde spitfire before her.
“I don’t like you,” Miss Jones growled.
“To be perfectly frank, my dear Miss Jones, the sentiment is mutual.” Bella raised a brow.
Miss Jones tightened her lips, looking quite sour. It would seem she realized she’d happened upon a well-matched opponent. Poor Jesse, tasked with raising this minx on his own. He never would have stood a chance.
“Now then,” Bella said brightly, confident the matter had been mostly settled. “Why don’t we join your father and the dowager to enjoy the remainder of tea?”
Bella didn’t have much time to savor her minor triumph. Before the drawing room door had even closed upon Miss Jones’ black skirts, the dowager turned on her, demanding answers.
“Is she the product of a divorce or is she a bastard?” Either prospect, it appeared, suited the dowager as well as a dinner of spoiled mackerel.
“The girl has chosen to take her mother’s surname,” Bella tried to evade. She disliked such labels very much. After all, her own babe, had she not lost it, very well could have been born a bastard. Of course, she didn’t know whether or not Miss Jones’ mother had been married to Mr. Jones or not at the time of her birth. Oh heavens, life could be incredibly complicated.
“Nonsense.” The dowager’s gaze narrowed. “Do I have the look about me of someone who was born yesterday?”
“Maman.” Bella frowned.
“Quite so.” Her mother’s tone was triumphant. “The girl is a bastard, isn’t she?”
She faltered, not wanting to dissemble but not wanting her mother to go into high dudgeon just the same. “Miss Jones is his daughter, and that can be all that truly matters.”
“Oh, my poor heart.” The dowager’s hands fluttered over her breast as if she were experiencing difficulty breathing. “I knew no good could come of this match. Surely Thornton was influenced by drink when he gave that dreadful American permission to wed you. We cannot introduce the girl to society as his bastard. Blessed angels’ sakes, we’ll be ruined.”
Bella hadn’t contemplated the matter in that way. She’d been too preoccupied with becoming a maternal figure to the girl. Her mother did have a valid argument on that score. Questions would be asked, whether behind fans or drawing room doors, and they would need to present the answers in the most advantageous light possible.
“Perhaps she must be introduced merely as his ward,” she suggested.
“Dear me. I daresay we shall be inundated with all manner of ugly insinuations. Tell me something, Bella.” She pierced Bella with an intense, searching glare. “Have I utterly failed as a mother?”
She hadn’t many soft feelings toward the dowager, but the termagant was still her mother, after all. Empathy flitted through her. “Of course not, Maman. Why would you ask such a silly thing?”
“I suppose I was so absorbed with the commotion your brother caused at that cursed house party, I never knew you’d fallen in love until it was too late.” She startled Bella by reaching out and patting her hand in a rare show of affection. “You do imagine yourself in love with him, do you not? Ah, how I wish now to never have attended Lady Cosgrove’s country house party.”
She contemplated her mother’s words. “You cannot fault Lady Cosgrove for hosting a country house party.”
“I most certainly can.” The dowager sniffed. “That woman is proof that society is going to the dogs.”
“I hardly think so.” She paused, still concerned by the potential storm of scandal on the horizon. “Will you agree that we must call Miss Jones a ward? The truth is that she was raised by her mother’s husband and her existence was only recently made known to Mr. Whitney.”
“Oh pish.” The dowager swatted the air as if a persistent fly were buzzing around her h
ead. “I know Mr. Whittlesby’s sordid tale of the discovery of his daughter’s existence already. You know how I deplore provocation.”
Bella raised a brow. “I believe you meant to say prevarication, Maman. And you must cease referring to Mr. Whitney by the incorrect surname. It shall soon be my own.”
Her mother pressed her lips into a ferocious frown. “Just so, precisely what I said. You are forever mishearing me.”
“Indeed.” She summoned her patience, knowing that today had cost her mother dearly. “Will you prevaricate for the greater good of the family? If we all stand together in this, no questions shall be asked.”
“I suppose I may try,” the dowager conceded. “But I’ll not escort her about London if she can’t be bothered to learn how to address her betters with proper care.”
“Thank you.” Something occurred to her then. “Maman, you said you already knew Mr. Whitney just learned of his daughter’s existence recently. How could you have known, when I only discovered the news yesterday?”
“I said no such thing.” The dowager rose from her chair. “Now if you’ll excuse me, all this nonsense has made me positively bilious. I daresay I require a nap.”
Bella watched her mother disappear from the drawing room with uncharacteristic speed. She couldn’t shake the sudden suspicion that something was not quite right. She and Thornton had mutually agreed that the less their mother knew, the better off they’d all collectively be. How then would the dowager have known about Miss Jones? It was a question she was determined to answer.
The answer to Bella’s question, as it turned out, was procured fairly easily. With a little help from Smith, she’d discovered that the manservant assigned to Jesse during his original stay at Marleigh Manor was none other than a cousin of Hollins, the dowager’s lady’s maid. This suspicious information, coupled with the dowager’s recent admission that she’d read Bella’s private correspondence with the duke, was enough to have Bella marching into her mother’s chamber.
Rebel Love (Heart's Temptation Book 2) Page 22
