“That has nothing to do with it, Elizabeth,” said the duchess sternly.“At any major change in our lives the sovereign must be informed. It isnot for nothing that Lucien and Belcraven are formally addressed by thesovereign as ‘Our right trusty and entirely beloved cousin.’ ”
Despite her egalitarian principles, Beth was overwhelmed by the notionthat the monarch was assumed to be interested in her affairs. She was alsohonest enough to admit that being presented at the Queen’s drawing roomwould be exciting, but it would also be terrifying. “I haven’t theslightest idea of what to do,” she said.
“Oh it is simple enough,” said the duchess casually as they returned toBeth’s boudoir. “A formal curtsy ? and you are very adept at the courtcurtsy ? a few words if you are favored . . .” She was already consideringother matters and looking at the pile of invitations she had brought withher. “We will go to Almack’s and Lady Bessington’s ball,” she said as shesifted through the stack. “Some of these are for you in the expectation ofyour return.” She passed them over. “You may recognize some acquaintancesI do not.”
“I doubt it,” said Beth, but she looked. “No, there is no one who is ofsignificance. I did hope to meet a friend or two from Miss Mallory’s, butthat has not been the case. I will go to the events you select.”
“If you could give me the names of any friends, Elizabeth, I could haveenquiries made. They may not be moving in our circle and yet be quiteacceptable.”
Beth gave the duchess the names of five girls, women now, but withoutmuch hope. Two she knew to have married military men and were unlikely tobe in London. Of the other three, only one, Isabel Creighton, had marrieda title and Beth had not heard from her in years.
The duchess then decreed that Beth should have some time to herselfbefore dinner. For the evening, a visit was planned to the Drury LaneTheater.
The duchess wanted Beth to lie down and rest, but she chose instead tosit in her private boudoir and continue her reading ofSelf-Control.She had, after all, promised Aunt Emma a criticalevaluation, and she was so out of patience with the book she wanted to berid of it.
The sentiments expressed there were impossible to reconcile with thereality of her situation. Once, from a state of ignorance, she would havefound Laura’s search for a man of unblemished perfection quiteunderstandable. Now she doubted such a paragon could exists and if he didshe suspected he would turn out to be hard to live with. It would be suchan effort to live up to his standards. Moreover, having taken the firsttentative steps into the world of passion, Beth distrusted this“controlled” assessment of candidates for matrimony.
Beth was guiltily aware that Mary Wollstonecraft had thought passion apoor basis for marriage, but surely there had to be something in it of theheart as well as the head.
Beth considered the intimate details of Mary Wollstonecraft’s life,which had always been tactfully glossed over by Aunt Emma. MaryWollstonecraft had, after all, lived for many years with her lover,Gilbert Imlay, and borne him a child. She had tried to commit suicide whenthe relationship began to fail. Not much of self-control there.
Laura, Beth thought sourly, would doubtless have been delighted to bedescribed as, “A perfect woman, nobly plann’d / To warn, to comfort, andcommand.” Beth had considered that quotation again and again and Wasbeginning to wonder if it hadn’t been a subtle insult, or at least acomplaint. Lucien doubtless wanted a paragon for wife as little as shewanted one for husband.
She was doggedly reading, disliking Laura more and more with everypage, when Marleigh announced a visitor. “A young lady, your ladyship,unaccompanied but respectable. Miss Clarissa Greystone.”
“Clarissa!” said Beth, delighted. “How wonderful. Please bring her up.”Clarissa could not really be said to be a friend, having been a pupil andsix years Beth’s junior, but she was a serious-minded young woman andpleasant company, better than Laura Montreville.
When she came in, however, there was something brittle and forced inthe girl’s manner. She was dressed in an expensive cambric gown with afashionable bonnet on her head, all evidence that the family finances musthave improved, but she did not look happy.
“Clarissa,” said Beth. “How nice to see you. So you have your Seasonafter all.”
“Yes,” said Clarissa in a quiet voice.
Beth ordered a tea tray and seated her guest.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked.
Clarissa waited until the door closed behind Marleigh and then fell toher knees by Beth’s chair. “No! Oh dear Miss Armitage ? I mean., yourladyship. Oh please help me!”
Beth pulled the girl to her feet. “Whatever is the matterClarissa?”
“I... I am being forced to marry.”
Beth pushed the girl onto a lounge and sat beside her. “Marriage is thelot of most women, my dear,” she said reasonably. “You see that even Ihave come to it.”
“But you have married the Marquess of Arden,” wailed Clarissa, “and Iam to marry Lord Deveril!”
“Deveril!” exclaimed Beth in horror.
Clarissa sunk her head in her hands. “I see you know him. Miss ? Yourladyship, I cannot! Not to save us all from the Fleet I cannot!” Shesuddenly fumbled in her reticule and pulled out a sheet of paper. “He gaveme this.”
Beth unfolded it to read the heavy black script. It was a list of rulesfor Deveril’s wife, stressing total compliance and spelling out thepunishments for transgression, mostly physical. It sounded like the rulesfor the sternest house of correction.
Beth was stunned. “I quite see how you feel ... I hear Marleigh. Try tocompose yourself, my dear.”
The entrance of the butler, followed by a maid with a cake stands gaveBeth time to collect her wits. What a pickle. But she would never abandonthis child. She had suffered the distress of a forced marriage but, sheadmitted, to a man who had much to recommend him. To be forced to wed suchas Lord Deveril!
It roused personal feelings. On the one hand, she was grateful that herfate had been kinder. On the other she recognized that the duke wouldstill have forced the match if his son had been an imbecile or anotherDeveril.
