“I will agree to marry himifI find him acceptable, Papa.”
“I have no doubt of it. Now, Nellie, leave me to this correspondence.”
She slowly mounted the stairs, the newssheet scrunched in her hand. It appeared she would have to marry the duke. She did not believe the portrait her father had painted of Shewsbury. But she could hardly let her father down when his financial future now depended on their union. She just hoped for a tolerable marriage and a husband busy with his own matters, who wouldn’t ask too much of her.
*
A month later,Nellie studied her reflection in the Cheval mirror. She gathered the violet-gray muslin folds of her dress at the waist.
“I am nothing like her.”
“Like whom?” Marian peeped over Nellie’s shoulder, her eyes questioning.
“Drusilla, Marchioness of Thorburn.”
“Oh, Shewsbury’s ex-fiancée. No, you’re not. I saw Drusilla once in London. She looked as if she’d blow away in a slight breeze. You have breasts and hips.” Marian put a hand on her own rounded hip. “Belfries approves of mine. Says he prefers a woman with a bottom. Something to grab hold of.” She raised her eyebrows. “Surely you don’t wish to be like her.”
Nellie drew in a breath. “Of course not. It’s just that I’m not his type. I am neither an exotic creature like his mistress nor a slender waif.” What she feared most, she struggled to express even to Marian. “Although it won’t be a love match, I do want a husband to approve of me. I want us to be content together and have children. But if I find it impossible, I won’t accept him.”
“You would go against Papa’s wishes?” Marian asked in mock horror.
“I have explained it to Papa. If the man is a brute, he won’t insist on it.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Apparently, Shewsbury loved Drusilla. I can’t help wondering what happened for the engagement to end.”
“Perhaps her father married her off to the old neighbor in a greedy land grab,” Marian suggested. “Do you remember Shewsbury wasn’t the heir at that time?” She turned Nellie toward her and smoothed a stray wisp back into her upswept hair. “But it’s in the past, surely.”
“Drusilla is exquisite. So fine-boned. But that’s not the point.”
“I’m struggling to see the point.” Marian smiled. “You’re just anxious, dearest. And it’s not surprising.”
Nellie sighed. “He didn’t choose me.” She gave a hard tug to rearrange the sash, which never sat well beneath her ample breasts. “I know my worth as a woman, Marian, but I fear we will not suit.”
“You can’t be sure of that, Nellie. And you don’t have time to dwell on it. He’ll arrive at any moment. The house groans with guests and their servants. There’s a distinct air of expectation.”
“And there’s the article I wrote against foxhunting,” Nellie added, leaning forward to pinch some color into her pale cheeks. Should she resort to rouge? Mama would have a fit. “Shewsbury must be told if we are to marry. If I don’t tell him, he might discover it, and I shall be subjected to his ghastly bad temper.”
“He’s unlikely to hear about it,” Marian said as she glanced over at the untidy desk piled high with books and papers, quills, and an inkwell. “Unless you intend to write another.”
Nellie shrugged. “I had planned to do more. There is a groundswell of opposition to fox hunting.”
“Well then, I expect you’ll learn how the duke feels about it,” Marian said prosaically. “But a groundswell hardly describes the few people I’ve encountered. Fox hunting has gone on for hundreds of years. Didn’t you say it began in ancient Egypt?”
Nellie frowned. “Yes, but it was because of the law passed in 1801, which allows common land to be enclosed and makes it difficult for hunters to shoot rabbits, that fox hunting became a despicable, so-called sport.” She shook her head. “I don’t like secrets in a marriage, and I shall have to tell him.”
“There are always some secrets within marriage. It’s inevitable. Might it be prudent to wait for a better time?” Marian glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “And we are late.”
Nellie sighed. Shewsbury would never understand her aversion to foxhunting. “Papa and Mama had an arranged marriage. Papa says very few in Society marry for love. Love is only for the lower classes because no money is involved.”
“Your marriage to the duke is to honor the pledge Papa made with the old duke. Never mind that it was years ago, and the duke has since passed away. Men are funny that way. A gentleman’s honor means a lot. Not always practical, but there it is. Turn around and let me take a good look at you.”
Nellie obliged.
Marian smiled. “You look wonderful in that. He will be struck dumb.”
Distracted, Nellie smoothed her skirts. “A man of his ilk will disparage my interest in poetry. We have absolutely nothing in common.”
Marian grabbed her arm and steered her toward the door. “Is that so important?”
“Well, of course it is!”
