Forced Offer (10 page)

The girl was the first to see her, for the others had their backs to the door. She cast a quick look at Belinda and turned away as though she had not seen her.

Belinda moved shyly up to where Lord Berrington and Flora were and at that moment Lord Berrington sensed someone in the room and turned.

"Ah, there you are, my dear," he said cordially, calling Belinda "my dear" for the first time in their married life. "I was telling Flora how lucky we were in the accommodations along the way.”

This brought to Belinda's mind their last "accommodations" at The Black Horse and she turned away, for she felt a flush rising in her neck.

"Yes," she said awkwardly, pretending to look at an imposing painting on the wall within an enormous gold leaf carved frame that seemed to want to topple over all of them.

The drawing room was as elegantly furnished as the rest of the house, and the luxury everywhere made Belinda feel like an impostor. Everywhere she looked there was grace and beauty and elegance.

Lord Berrington introduced Belinda to his sister, making small talk as he did so.

Irene nodded, mumbled something and then proceeded to ask Lord Berrington about London, an adoring look in her eyes as she gazed at her brother.

"Tonight will be just ourselves for dinner," Flora said when Lord Berrington had answered Irene's questions to her satisfaction, "but we will have guests for tomorrow—Lord Wilbur sent word of his return yesterday, so I returned his missive for an invitation for dinner tomorrow night. Cathy, of course, is still not visiting, but Sir Lawrence and Lady Lawrence have accepted. And Lord Wilming, who is most anxious to discuss the coming hunting plans with you, Richard—"

"I wish you hadn't invited anyone," interrupted Lord Berrington with a frown. "I have made plans to return to London the day after tomorrow. I shall be there until Parliament adjourns, which will be at the end of July—I had rather looked forward to a quiet day tomorrow before my journey back."

"The day after tomorrow—so soon? But you have just got here," Flora protested, and then a fleeting look passed through her eyes, a mixture of disappointment at not having him at Winterhill and satisfaction that he was leaving his bride so soon after their marriage. "Surely you can extend your stay just a few days."

"No," said Berrington with finality, and then on spotting Leeks at the door, said, "Let's go in to dinner, now."

"He was about to turn to take Belinda's arm, but Flora had already laced her arm in his, and rather than remove her arm forcibly from him, for it was quite firm, Berrington proceeded to the dining-room while Belinda was left to make her way by herself behind them.

Irene, not wanting to walk alongside Belinda, was trailing sullenly behind.

Once seated in what was called the small dining room, a table which seated only ten, the servants came in to serve the first course.

Flora kept up a conversation by asking all manner of questions to Lord Berrington and commenting on people known to them both, and in this way, excluding Belinda from the conversation. Not that Belinda was in any way trying to be part of the chitchat, shy as she was and knowing very well that the marriage had been discussed by those seated at the table in derogatory terms and that they must view her as an interloper.

She was increasingly aware of the hostility toward her that emanated from Irene and was having a hard time pretending everything was all right and keeping her hand on the soup from shaking.

"I hope," Lord Berrington said, trying to rid himself a bit from the endless stream of talk without pause that Flora was keeping up with him and in order to draw his wife into the conversation, "that you and Belinda will get to know each other better, Irene. There are some nice sites, apart from our woods, which you could perhaps show her."

But Irene, who had done nothing but stare at her soup and cast venomous glances at Belinda, looked up as though she had been slapped.

"You—you want me to show 
her 
Winterhill?" she asked, her eyes wide with amazement.

"Is something the matter?" asked Lord Berrington, alarmed.

"Something's the matter—everything's the matter!" Irene's voice came out high and strident.

She stood up suddenly and dropped the heavy silver spoon she held without noticing that it had crashed to the soup and splashed liquid on the tablecloth around her plate and on her blue linen dress.

"Irene!"

But Irene was beyond hearing. She turned to Belinda, who was on her right, on the end opposite Lord Berrington, and lashed out in a loud, unnatural voice,

"You! You—you 
thief
—you—you stole my brother's life, like a thief in the night—"

"Irene!" gasped Flora, rising.

"I'll take care of this—" Lord Berrington made a motion with his hand to Flora and Flora sank down on her seat again.

"You and your mother plotted it—like spiders—like—" Irene continued, her voice higher and higher so that the servants who had been in the hall came to the door, their faces aghast at the scene.

"That's enough, Irene!" said Lord Berrington as he strode quickly toward her.

Irene turned to him as he reached her, her face white with fury.

"You know it's true," she went on even as Lord Berrington grasped her arm. "You ugly girl!" she spat out. "No one would have married someone like you so you had to do it with tricks—"

Lord Berrington grasped Irene's shoulders and shook her, his face drawn with anger.

"You will be quiet or I shall carry you upstairs," he said in a voice as hard as stone.

Irene stopped her onslaught of words, her eyes still blazing at Belinda.

In all this time, Belinda, who was seeing reenacted all her guilt and fears in a horrible real life nightmare saw only a red haze before her as a feeling of sadness and loneliness washed over her in sickening waves. She sat as still as if she were already dead, her face as pale as the wall behind her.

"You will," Lord Berrington said in a slow, deliberate voice, "apologize to Lady Berrington, Irene, and you will promise never again to insult her with your lack of breeding and your insensitivity. If you refuse to do so you will be sent away to school. The choice is yours. Which is it to be?"

A silence descended on the room. Irene looked at the brother she adored and her eyes clouded, while stinging tears filled her eyes. From birth up she had worshipped him and lived for the times when he would raise her high up and romp with her on his shoulders or play with her hide-and-seek or blind man's bluff, for she had been born when Lord Berrington was already a young man. And as she grew she looked forward to his arrivals from London as other children look to the arrival of Christmas. He had been father and brother and friend to her and now she had been trapped against his will by—

"I'm sorry—"

"Not to me," Lord Berrington said grimly, "to Lady Berrington." He took Irene by the shoulders and turned her roughly toward Belinda.

Irene looked up at Belinda, her eyes blank, unfocused, while tears now streamed down her face unchecked.

"I am very sorry, Lady Berrington," she said in a dull voice. "It will never happen again."

But Belinda saw into Irene's eyes, and knew that she had apologized only because she didn't want to be sent away from her brother.

Lord Berrington let go of Irene's shoulders.

"May I be excused?" Irene asked in a subdued voice.

"Yes," Lord Berrington said in a weary voice and returned to his seat.

The rest of the meal passed in almost silence. Once in a while Flora would break the silence with a comment about something or other of the estate, glancing furtively at Belinda, while Belinda stared at her plate as course after course were removed from her untouched.

Finally they all stood up and Belinda excused herself and walked quietly up to her room.

Chapter 10

Belinda stayed in her room the following day until the maids came to clean it and returned to it when they had finished. In the interval she went to the library and found that this room was seldom used by anyone, for Lord Berrington used the study for conducting the estate's business.

Belinda found a fair collection of the classics in the library and the small comfort that a retreat of sorts provides for an aching soul.

Sitting on the window seat for almost an hour with the curtain drawn she lost herself in her unhappy thoughts.

She realized now the full force of her deed. Irene's stinging words had exposed it raw like nothing else had. Her marriage was an appalling selfish act and she was now reaping the bitter harvest. She realized that by forcing the earl to marriage against his will she had brought catastrophe on the Berringtons. They considered her an interloper who had forced herself into their family through shameful means. They neither wanted her nor welcomed her. They might put a polite mask on their faces and a veneer of civility on their speech to greet her but Irene had put their thoughts and feelings into words.

Lord Berrington was a gentleman, and had come to her defense the night before, but he not followed this with words of comfort to her during the long dreadful night, which followed. How she had yearned for a word of comfort from him even though she knew she would never get it.

She had lain alone in the huge four-poster bed, tense and sleepless, and engulfed with the horror of her life, feeling that she was within a vice grip.

Feeling light-headed from not having slept the night before, Belinda returned to her bedroom and sat at the window, staring out at the tops of the trees beyond, and at the clouds above Winterhill forest. She dozed off and reclined her head against cushions and was awakened by Bessie asking her if she were going to go down for luncheon.

She told her she wasn't hungry in an almost inaudible voice.

"I'll bring something up, mum, just in case I can coax you to eat something." Bessie had already been told that Lady Berrington hadn't touched her food at dinner save for a couple of spoonfuls of soup.

Being of a sunny disposition, Bessie had already made friends among the staff, who had also informed her in hairy detail of the scene that had been enacted in the dining room the night before.

How could she go down to dinner tonight, thought Belinda, when she could hardly keep the tears from filling her eyes? She would be unable to hold them for long, and her humiliation would be complete as a tableful of strangers stared at her without the least bit of sympathy.

And she knew with freezing certainty that everyone at the table would by then know of the drama that had been enacted the night before.

* * * * *

Flora was going over the dinner menu with the housekeeper when a footman informed her that Lord Berrington required her presence in his study.

"Tell him I shall be there shortly," said Flora beaming, as she handed the list to Mrs. Hunter.

"Tell cook I shall see him after I talk with his lordship, Mrs. Hunter, for I do want the sauce and the aspic just right and he has not tried these recipes before."

"Yes, ma'am," said Mrs. Hunter as she gathered up the paper and a ledger and left with the footman.

"Ah, Richard," Flora said brightly as she walked into the study, "What a fine summer day we are having today, don't you think?"

Lord Berrington glanced at the window absently. "Yes, I suppose."

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, won't you sit down?"

He helped Flora to a chair before him by the desk and went to stand by the window.

There was a weariness in his eyes that she noted duly and she almost smiled at the thought it wasn't because he had stayed up making love to his wife. He had gone into town and returned well into the morning, probably high in his cups. And who wouldn't drink in his place?

"I will be returning to London in a couple of days," Lord Berrington now said, his arms crossed on his chest as he glanced out, then turning to Flora, he added, "and would like to have Belinda in charge of the house before I leave."

"In charge of the house?" Flora could hardly bring the words out.

"Yes."

"But is that wise, Richard?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I meant—"

"Yes?"

"Why, she's so young, and inexperienced and—"

"She's nineteen," Berrington interrupted. "My mother was a year younger when she took over Winterhill. As you know, my grandmother died when my parents had been married only three weeks."

"Yes, of course I know but—" Flora grasped desperately in her mind for something that would deter him from this course.

"Your mother rode to hounds at fifteen, Richard, and ran Severelle Manor when her mother was bedridden. She was a forceful woman even at sixteen. Why, she took charge of her own wedding plans and organized the annual balls at Winterhill from her first year here without much help from anyone. There is simply no comparison."

"I wasn't comparing Belinda to anyone," said Lord Berrington wistfully, for Flora's words had brought to mind his mother, whom he still missed.

"Belinda is afraid to even look at a footman, Richard, and can't say a word to save herself," Flora insisted. "Why, you would be doing her an injustice to toss the reins of this house to her, when she has not been trained for it. She would be overwhelmed. You know her mother, and how overbearing she is. She must have cowed the girl to a degree that broke any spirit she might have had. Belinda is as shy as a mouse and just as inconspicuous. Why, the servants would be hard put to follow her orders—"

"That's enough," Berrington cut her short.

"Forgive me, Richard," said Flora quickly, "I didn't mean to sound critical. I am fond of the girl myself, having had some time with her in London when I helped her with the wedding."

"In future, Flora," interrupted Berrington in a cutting voice, "you will kindly refer to my wife as either Lady Berrington or Belinda. I hope I will never again hear you refer to her as 'the girl'. Is that understood?"

"Yes, of course. Forgive me, Richard, I meant no disrespect," she said hurriedly.

"But you must understand that she is younger even than her years. Richard, each time I pressed her to a decision or left choices up to her concerning the wedding she would shy away, almost trembling at the thought that anything would be left up to her to decide."

"She'll have to do it sometime, in any case—" Berrington said wearily "—learn as she goes along."

"You would be unnecessarily cruel to her if you did this. I have an idea for a better plan," she added excitedly. "I could teach her. If it is done slowly, perhaps she will not be overwhelmed."

"Well, perhaps you are right," Lord Berrington was uncertain now. He knew Flora was not saying anything he had not seen himself in Belinda. Why, he hardly knew what color eyes she had, as she always had them downcast. It would surely send her into an anxiety attack, as Flora had pointed out, if he was to tell her that she was in charge of a house with a staff of several dozen. She wouldn't know where to begin.

"I had thought that she would be occupied while I was in London," he said now. "She is away from her own surroundings, and the running of the house would absorb her."

"And she will be," said Flora smiling prettily at him. "You have my promise on it. But first I shall help her in overcoming her shyness. And it will done in a way that doesn't scare her out of her wits."

"Well, I'll trust you with it then," said Berrington, wondering why everything in his life was now so difficult. He felt fettered and constricted and wanted to get away to London so that this feeling of being trapped in a bad dream would ease off.

Flora might be right in thinking that Belinda should be introduced into her new life gradually. Certainly Irene would resent her if she suddenly started giving out orders so soon after landing.

The thought of Irene brought a frown to his brows. What a horrible evening they had spent the night before. Irene was yet another problem for which there seemed to be little solution. Wrapped in his thoughts he didn't hear Flora asking him a question.

"What was that?"

"I wanted to talk to you about Irene and last night…"

"I don't think I want to re-live that," began Berrington.

"You must understand her position, Richard, and try to see her attitude in a kinder way. She heard the story from several people and she was bedridden with the influenza, unable to even go to London for your wedding. And you know how she adores you."

"Yes, I know. And I love her very much. But she's going to have to learn to get along with Belinda. There is just no two ways about that."

"And she will," Flora assured him with a wide smile. "Rest assured that while you are in London I will be doing my utmost to bring them a bit closer together, iron out this unfortunate beginning."

"I hope so," said Berrington, frowning. "I cannot recall that scene without loathing. It was full of bitterness and hatred. I cannot understand how a fifteen-year-old girl can act in such a cruel way.

"And I don't think these walls have heard such ill-bred words in the three hundred years they've stood."

"You are forgetting Lord Salvien's outburst in '71," countered Flora, casting a proprietary look around the walls of the large study which was part of the original structure of Winterhill, "when he threw a glass of wine on Sir Hugh Galway's face and accused him of sleeping with Lady Salvien?"

"Yes," Lord Berrington agreed, "I had forgotten. Ill-bred if unoriginal."

"Then it is settled," said Flora with a satisfied smile. I shall help Belinda to overcome her shyness, but in small doses that will not alarm her."

"I shall be grateful to you for that," Lord Berrington said.

"I hope to see both Belinda and Irene at dinner tonight," added Flora, "for it will be good for everyone if they start appearing together in company. I am afraid the scene enacted last night has been carried to the furthest corner of the county."

She was certain of it, in fact, for she had been busy since early morning writing several letters, which carried this bit of gossip to her friends, both in London and in the country.

After her talk with Berrington, Flora walked across the hall briskly, satisfied with the morning's business, and determined to have a good time that evening in the dinner she had planned.

"Mistress of Winterhill, indeed," said Flora to herself and later recounted the scene to Lady Lawrence, saying that Belinda would never be anything but the scared rabbit she was and that she would 
stay 
that way too, if Flora Liston had anything to do with it.

* * * * *

What could she do to calm herself in order to live through the long hours ahead surrounded by people who would be scrutinizing her, probing her features, asking questions which would make her so nervous she would forget her own name?

Belinda pondered this as she sat in her window seat. Soon Bessie would come up to help her dress for dinner and even the thought had the power to send a tremor of fear through her.

She remembered her notebook, where she had copied her favorite poems, and which she had forgotten since this nightmare had begun. She remembered having packed it absently in one of the boxes that Bessie had unpacked.

She went to the large dressers and looked through her belongings that Bessie had arranged neatly. Then not finding it among her clothes she glanced around and saw a delicate French desk by one of the windows. She opened the top drawer and saw it there and took it out with a sigh of relief.

After the unfortunate scene with her mother, when Mrs. Presleigh had come upon her writing Berrington's name, Belinda had cut the first page and determined never to write Berrington's name again.

She put that memory away from her mind and glanced at the first poem. Whatever happened in the real world, among these lines of beauty and serenity she knew peace and contentment. She began to read a poem by William Wordsworth, and a calm washed through her as the words reverberated in her mind. Then she closed her eyes and said the words out loud, for she knew them by heart:

A maid whom there was none to praise

And very few to love…

But Lucy had been loved, thought Belinda with a sigh. There had been one who had loved her for what she was.

Belinda flicked the pages and lost herself in a Shakespeare sonnet and then John Wilton misted her eyes, for he seemed to be speaking to her:

A terrible grief suddenly gripped her heart.

"My lady, there are tears in your eyes," Bessie said worriedly.

Belinda hadn't even heard her approach.

"Oh," Belinda wiped her eyes hurriedly. "It's nothing, Bessie, just moved by these sad words."

"It's nigh on six, mum," Bessie said with a worried frown. "Should I start dressing your hair?"

"My hair? Oh, no, Bessie. Leave it as it is. As I told you, there's no hope for it."

"There is, mum," Bessie said, "but it will have to be when we have a lot of time in our hands. Which gown will you wear, my lady?"