Rachel burned to ask her how they were best for her—or if truthfully, they were best for her parents. But she swallowed over the bitter words and sat quietly.
“These lords are respectful, modest, and have a good hold on their territories holdings and finance,” her mother said.
Ah, there it is—money. Why do you need more, Mother? You and Father have a dukedom with more riches than you can spend in a lifetime. Or is the greed of sin not applicable to you?
“These lords are being chased after by women in the ton, but they have not married. It is your task to give these men a good impression of you and get them to call again without being prodded to do so.”
“These men have been in the ton, Mother,” Rachel said evenly. “They have seen women in the best clothes and who wear cosmetics. They will not take a second look at me in the clothes that I wear.”
“Your clothes are fine,” Lady Mary objected. “What you need to do is to learn your place, be subservient, and agree to what they say.”
Again, Rachel had to swallow over the words brimming on the tip of her tongue. She would not act like a feather brain with any of these men, no matter how hard her parents were going to push her to be.
Her mother told her about the lords—names that she promptly forgot because her irritation eclipsed everything inside and around her. She might not know much about balls, but the little she had seen told her that lords looked right over drear, unfashionable women.
I would be surprised if these men come at all, and if they did come, it is because my parents are wealthy.
She sat through her mother’s rant and heard little of it by the end.
“Do you understand?” her mother said.
“Yes,” she lied.
“Good,” Lady Mary said.
As Rachel hurried out of the room, her mother’s words stopped her. “And your father has seen you with Mr. Smith, daughter. It is the oldest story in society and for scandal. A society lady with a liking for a servant—he will be gone soon and out of your life. We will find your husband for you at the ball.”
A chill raced down her spine at her mother’s words, and though Rachel wanted to deny them, she knew they were true.
“Mr. Smith is a friend, Mother,” she said calmly. “He has been nothing but respectful to me while he told me about his life growing up as an orphan and how he got into being a painter. Jane is the only friend I have here—are you going to stop me from having another?”
“Only if you are sure that is what it is,” her mother called back though Rachel heard high skepticism in her voice.
With the steady and disheartening belief that there was nothing she could do to win over her parents, Rachel left for her room. She had to start preparing for her sitting with William in a half-an-hour, but she sank to a chair even while knowing that.
What would it take to prove to her family that she did not want to marry Lord Thistlelake or Lord Yardley?
I suppose I had not forgotten them as I believed.
“My Lady?” Jane asked. “The sitting in quarter-of-hour…are you all right?”
“No,” Rachel said. “But it does not matter much. What dress do I have to wear to the sitting?”
Instead of moving off to the wardrobe, Jane sat near her. “Are you sure that you do not want to tell me? I can see that you are distressed.”
“There is nothing to say,” Rachel shrugged. “It has been said before, and since I cannot see a way out of it, what is the sense of rehashing it all?”
“To give you peace of mind?”
“It has not before, and I will not now,” Rachel dismissed. “I have cried about it. I have grumbled about it, and nothing has changed. Now, about the dress.”
“But My Lady—”
“No, Jane,” Rachel snapped, then pressed her lips tightly together. Turning her head away, she sighed, “I am sorry, I did not mean to do that, but I am a bit tense and distressed.”
Jane gave her an understanding smile. “I realize, My Lady. Let me go fetch that dress.”
***
