Page 8 of Miss Devon’s Choice

Rebecca groaned and dropped into the chair at the dressing table. “When I marry, ridding myself of that tell-tale’s company will be the first thing I do.” She rubbed at her forehead with one gloved hand. “I think she even tells Aunt Jacqueline if I so much as dirty a handkerchief.”

“You cannot fault her too greatly,” Christine said, coming to help Rebecca remove her hat. “Aunt Jacqueline is the one paying her, after all. Her position is constantly in jeopardy. Hettie might improve under someone else’s employ.”

“That is charitable of you.” Rebecca met her sister’s eyes in the mirror. “You do make a good point. And Hettie does have an exceptional way with my hair.” She grinned when Christine stuck her tongue out at her in the mirror.

Christine placed the hat on the table and stood back, allowing Rebecca to rise, before unbuttoning the back of her travelling gown.

“You are resigned to this marriage?” Christine asked, her voice lower.

“I really haven’t any choice in the matter.” Rebecca shook her head and let her shoulders droop, the weight of the situation resting more heavily. “I am under Father’s command until I turn twenty-three, unless I marry. Harry is, too.” She swallowed at the thought of her younger brother, Horace. “Father learned from being thwarted by you and Julia. He’s done a good job of setting the trap this time.”

Both of Rebecca’s sisters had secured marriages of lower societal importance than their father wanted. Mr. Devon didn’t care that his daughters married the men they loved, only that they had not given him greater consequence when they did so. He had disowned Julia when she married a Bath physician. Mr. Devon only remained civil toward Christine and her husband because of their close association with the Earl of Annesbury.

“If we thought on it, perhaps consulted an attorney,” Christine said, sounding uncertain of the plan even as she spoke it.

“It’s done, Christine.” Rebecca stepped out of her dress and bent to begin work on her boots. “I fear I have few choices left to me. The principle decision I must make is how to deal with my betrothed, which I’m afraid I won’t know until I meet him. Have you discovered anything yet?”

“Not really. I learned he’s half-Italian and his mother died in England, years ago. Then his father took him to Italy and no one saw him again until he was sent to Eton.” Christine sat on Rebecca’s bed while her sister went to a washbasin to freshen up.

“Perhaps our cousin might know more?” Rebecca ventured.

Christine shook her head. “I spoke to Virginia and Lucas. Lucas promised he would discover more, but for now they know less about Lord Easton than we do. Lucas knows his grandfather from the House of Lords, of course.”

“What do we know about the grandfather?”

“From what I gather, he sounds like exactly the sort of man our father would enjoy doing business with.” Christine folded her arms and glowered at the floor. “Cold, manipulative, and primarily interested in ventures from which he stands to profit.”

Rebecca took in her sister’s expression and posture. “Are you upset about something, Christine?”

Her sister sat up straighter and raised her eyebrows. “You mean besides my sister being forced into a marriage? A marriage that may very well leach all the joy and happiness from your heart? Rebecca, I am more than upset. I am distraught. How can you not be?”

Moving to sit next to Christine, Rebecca ignored the painful thump of her heart. “I cannot afford it, Christine. If I let my fears reign in this matter, I would be pitiful and useless. I’m trying to be brave.”

“Then I shall have the hysterics on your behalf,” Christine said, raising her chin. Rebecca nearly laughed; Christine had never had hysterics a day in her life.

Her sister continued, “But whatever are you planning to do? Are you going to attempt to sabotage the engagement? Why on earth would you ask Virginia to invite the man here, to the house party, when you could have a fortnight free of him?”

“I have a plan.” Rebecca took hold of the change in conversation, grateful to turn her mind back to the task at hand and ignore her heart. “A great deal depends on the sort of man Lord Easton turns out to be, but I have sorted through many possible paths. The most obvious thing to attempt, of course, is to fall in love with him.”

Rebecca had actually never seen anyone’s mouth gape open the way her sister’s suddenly did. For several moments, Christine looked as though all words had fled her. She opened and closed her mouth, then leaned forward to whisper, “You cannot be serious. Love isn’t something you can make happen.”

“I disagree.” Rebecca reached out and gave her sister’s hand a pat. “I think any reaction we have to a situation is a choice. It’s like when Julia used to play that game with us, when we were children. Remember?” Whenever a terrible disappointment struck them in childhood, Julia had always challenged them to find the good in the situation and be happy. That was Julia’s way of going through life, always looking for the rainbows amid the storms.

“This is not a game, and you are not a child,” Christine said firmly. “This is your life. Not a broken toy, or a spoilt holiday. Loving someone is not so easy as determining not to let the rain ruin a picnic.”

“Why not?” Rebecca asked. “It is all a matter of perspective. If I meet this man and choose to see the good in him, the qualities that one would admire and love in another, it may be enough.”

Christine didn’t appear convinced. “And if that doesn’t work? What is your next dazzling idea?”

“To be friends, of course. To find a way to make a marriage between us amicable.”

“What if he is cruel? What if he treats you terribly?” Christine pressed the issue, her dark brown eyes full of apprehension.

“There is no use worrying on it until it proves to be the case,” Rebecca said, then cleared her throat when she heard the tremble in her voice. “If I have no choice in who I marry, I must at least hold onto the possibility of choosing how I go about my life with this man. Don’t you understand, Christine? Hope and my wits are all I have.” She stood and retrieved her clean dress from the bed. “We should hurry. Aunt Jacqueline will wonder why we have not come downstairs.”

Christine helped Rebecca pull the dress over her head, adjusting the collar and sleeves to lay correctly before doing up the buttons at the back, and tying a sash around Rebecca’s waist. “Why are you putting on a peach gown? You hate this color.”

“Because Aunt Jacqueline insists it is an appropriate choice for a young lady of my age.” Rebecca grinned when Christine snorted. “Do you think you could help me secure some better clothing while I am here? At least one gown. I may be able to sneak that by Aunt Jacqueline.”