Keeping the Castle - By Patrice Kindl Page 0,54
grateful I am to hear you say so!” said my mama, pressing her hand to her heart. “I have been so frightened! But as you remarked only this spring, you are young yet at seventeen. Many years lie ahead in which you will have the opportunity to meet the man who will make you a good husband and father to your children.”
A thought struck me, and I smiled.
“I believe I am growing too refined in my taste, Mama. Last spring I thought I would be glad to marry anyone, so long as he had the wherewithal to save the castle. I agreed to marry Mr. Godalming. The only thing that saved me from that fate was his chagrin at discovering my motive. Now listen to me! I regard a handsome nobleman as not good enough for me! I demand to marry a man I both like and respect!” And I shook my head at my own folly.
“Liking and respecting one’s husband, even loving him wholeheartedly all your lives together, is possible,” Mama said. “Your papa was a fine man. Had it not been for my love of you, and concern for my unborn child, I believe I would have died of grief at his death.”
“Yes,” I said. “I know. I remember.”
“The sole reason I married Mr. Winthrop so soon was—”
“I know, Mama. I know. You tried to do the best you could for your children. I understood then and I understand now. You have no need to explain.”
“Good. But you must marry a fine man, too, whatever the financial consequences may be. I could not bear to see you unhappy.”
“Very well, I shall try. Do you know, Mama? I believe this situation has a positive side. With Charity married off, we shall have one less mouth to feed!”
I tried to keep this aspect of the state of affairs in mind as we rejoined my stepsisters. Imagine, I told myself as I went to Charity and embraced her, imagine not having to endure her petty jealousy every day, not having to allow her precedence every time we walked down a hall together. Imagine, I thought as I congratulated her on her upcoming nuptials, not having to listen to her shrill rendition of “The Bluebells of Scotland” of an evening, or being able to give Alexander a sweet without fearing that Charity would filch it as soon as my back was turned.
“How grand it will be to have a baroness for a sister, will it not, Prudence?” I said, gaining strength from the deflated expressions on their faces. They had both expected me to be crushed by the news. Well, I was crushed, to a degree. But I was able to remain with them for a good quarter of an hour, discussing the match in measured tones, before I made an excuse and left them.
Fido and I climbed the stairs to my bed chamber, and I curled up in my bed with my dog (the dog that he had given me!) and had a little weep.
After a time I began to think of my friend Miss Vincy. She too had lost the Baron by means of this day’s events. Perhaps she had had less cause for hope than I had, but the heart is not always reasonable in these matters. I remembered the letter I had seen her reading. Could it have been a letter from the Baron explaining his intentions? If so, it was more explanation than I had received. I decided that, on the morrow when the Baron came calling, I would remain at home long enough to grant him civil good wishes on his engagement, and then go and seek out Miss Vincy.
“Ah, Miss Crawley. Good morning.”
As it happened, I was the only one downstairs when the Baron arrived. Judging by the expression on his face, he had hoped to arrive early enough to whisk his fiancée out-of-doors without encountering me at all. He would realize soon enough that his lady love was not an early riser.
I allowed a small pause to occur before responding, and searched his handsome face and form for some telltale little sign I ought to have seen that would have alerted me to the fact that he was a weak-willed, despicable, mercenary . . .
Of course, I had been prepared to wed for money, myself.
I sighed, went to him, and shook him by the hand. “Welcome to the family, my lord,” I said. “Many congratulations on your engagement.”
“I—I thank you for your generous words,”