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“I hope you are happy with yourself,” continued Lady Hunter, in an anguished voice. “I hope it was all worth it, Henry. You have gambled the futures of Patricia and Margaret away. I am only grateful that Margaret is still only sixteen and has not yet debuted.” She took a deep, ragged breath. “It will be different for Patricia. She is nineteen and this is her second season. I was hoping she would have time to find a gentleman she actually admires and likes. Now all is ruined for her.”
Patricia couldn’t bear it any longer. She fled down the hallway toward her chambers. She knew that Margaret was still waiting for her in the carriage, but she simply could not attend a garden party now. She didn’t think she could speak to anyone. She didn’t have a single word of sparkling repartee within her.
She threw herself upon her bed, sobbing piteously. Her whole world had tilted on its side and she was bereft. How had it come to this?
She had been brought up as a lady, the daughter of a viscount. Lord Hunter was worth a fortune. She had never been pressured to desperately seek a matrimonial match for the want of fortune, as some poor ladies in her acquaintance did. Like Miss Lucinda Pettigrove whose father had died leaving her little income. The young lady’s mother hounded her from noon to night to secure a wealthy husband. Poor Miss Pettigrove often had the pinched look of a hunted bird. Patricia had always felt sorry for her.
And now she was in exactly the same position.
She sat up, wiping the tears away, with the back of her hand. She must think clearly now. So much was at stake. Not just for herself, but her younger sister too.
Her heart sank. It seemed that she must secure a good matrimonial match very soon. It was imperative. A gentleman of great fortune. It hardly mattered who he was, only that he was wealthy. It was the only way that she could not only make sure she was secure, but that Margaret was, as well. An obscenely wealthy husband could be persuaded to hand over a dowry for her sister if she played her cards well, and Margaret would then have the freedom to choose her husband.
And she was willing to sacrifice herself if it assured Margaret could one day have the marriage she deserved.
She shuddered. Only an hour ago she had believedshecould choose her own husband; that she had time to wait until she found a gentleman she admired and, hopefully, loved. That hope was gone now. But she would be content if Margaret could still have that option when her time came. It would have to be enough.
There was a knock at the door. Patricia took a deep breath, wiping away the last of her tears. “Come in.”
The door opened. Mrs. Black, the middle-aged housekeeper, stood there, dressed in a severely plain dark green gown, keys jangling from her apron pocket. Her brown hair was pulled back into a simple bun, covered with a white cap.
“Your sister asked me to check on you, my Lady,” said the housekeeper, gazing at her impassively. “She says you must come to the carriage now or else you shall surely be late to your engagements.”
Patricia nodded, standing up. There would be many eligible, wealthy gentlemen at Lady Davis’s garden party, after all. She had suddenly become a fortune hunter and must think and act accordingly, from now on.
She took a deep breath. It seemed the show must go on.
* * *
Late that afternoon, after they had returned from the party and all was chillingly quiet in the house on Park Lane, Patricia stood at the window of the drawing room, gazing out at the street beyond.
She sighed wearily. It had been a moderately successful afternoon, she supposed. Two gentlemen had paid attention to her. She had taken a turn around the gardens on the arm of Lord Walters, a very wealthy baron, who had seemed charmed by her. But Lord Walters was forty if he was a day, with a balding pate and bad breath. How could she endure encouraging him?
She sighed again, thinking of the other gentleman. Lord Cosgrove, who had engaged her in a game of croquet. He was younger, at least, than Lord Walters. Only in his early thirties, she supposed. He was not handsome or witty in the least, but he was blandly pleasant. She could encourage him, couldn’t she? He did not set her heart afire, but he might be a good husband. And he owned two grand country homes, as well as a townhouse on Berkeley Square.
She gripped the lace curtain tightly. It was all so very mercenary. But she could do it. Shemustdo it.
The door opened. Yates, the butler, stood there, clutching a letter with a red wax seal.
“Pardon me, my Lady,” he said, in his familiar clipped voice. “A letter has just arrived for you.”
Patricia thanked him, taking the letter. The wax seal broke easily between her fingers. She smiled slowly as she read it. It was from her dear friend, Lady Eleanor Reynolds, who had just arrived in London, and was now resident at her house on Grosvenor Square.
Patricia’s smile widened. Eleanor wanted her help to plan a charity event for St. Anne’s Orphanage, which was in a very poor area of London near Westminster Abbey, called the Almonry. An area that Patricia knew was also infamously referred to as The Devil’s Acre. Eleanor had always been kind of heart and compassionate, wanting to help the poor. She was the patron of many charities and chaired a few altruistic committees as well.
Patricia sat down at the desk, dipping a quill into the ink pot, to pen a reply. Helping Eleanor would distract her from her troubles. And besides, she was itching to see her friend again. It had been a whole season since she had last set eyes upon her sweet face.
The door opened again. Patricia turned from her writing; the quill suspended in the air. It was her mother, eyeing her carefully.
“How was Lady Davis’s garden party?” Lady Hunter asked, slowly walking into the room.
Patricia’s heart thumped uncomfortably. “It was agreeable,” she said, in a cautious voice.
There was an awkward silence.
“Patricia,” said her mother, looking stricken. “Mrs. Black told me that she saw you at the parlour door, when your father and I were…talking heatedly.” She paused. “There is something I must speak with you about…”
Patricia lay down the quill, rising to her feet and facing her mother. She took a deep breath.
“There is no need, Mama,” she said slowly. “I understand my duty. I understand everything.” She took another deep breath. “And I shall do what is required, for Margaret’s sake. So that she may secure a match she deserves, with a gentleman she loves and who loves her equally.”
Her mother looked shocked. “Oh, dearest,” she said, in a stricken voice. “I am so very sorry for your sake.”
They gazed at each other. There was simply nothing more to say. The die had been cast, and it had not fallen in her favour. She must accept it.
Patricia’s heart dropped to the floor. Itwasreal. Her dream of securing a love match was well and truly gone.
