Page 7 of A Spinster to Reform the Duke
“He is not worth your concern anymore,” Amelia said firmly, brushing off the mention ofthat manwith a wave of her hand. “Especially when we now only need concern ourselves with gentlemen like Lord Herberton. Look what effect he has had on your sister.” Amelia whispered the latter sentence conspiratorially.
“I know,” Rebecca murmured, chewing her lip with a little fear. “We shall have to stop her soon, Mama, or she’ll fall over the chairs.” As if in answer to her words, Eliza collided with the nearest armchair. Just as Amelia winced, Eliza fell into the chair, laughing away. “Well, I issued my warning too late.”
“Rebecca, there is something I must speak to you about.” Amelia reached forward with her words, taking Rebecca’s hand in hers.
“It must be a grave matter, Mama,” Rebecca said playfully. “The last time you took my hand in such a way, a rabbit had gotten into the house.”
“I am being serious, Rebecca.”
“Very well, I am giving you my full attention.” Rebecca fixed her attention on her mother, finding Amelia’s smile had vanished. Around the lips, a few wrinkles were beginning to show, with the lips pursed together.
“Your father and I were talking last night. With Eliza clearly having an effect on Lord Herberton, and who knows what other gentlemen, it is quite possible one man could ask to court her. Her debut was a very successful one.”
“This is hardly an aberration,” Rebecca said mischievously. When she earned a warning look from her mother, she softened her look. “I am being serious. Eliza is beautiful, kind, and loving. Any man would be lucky to court her.”
“To court either of you, dear,” Amelia said, shaking her head. “As you know, it is traditional for the elder sister to marry first.”
Any temptation to jest left Rebecca. She hung her head, looking down toward the papers she had pushed to the back of the writing desk, longing to be alone with those papers again, instead of having this conversation.
“What do you wish me to do?” Rebecca asked quietly.
“Dearest,” Amelia lovingly entwined her hand with Rebecca’s. “Your father wishes you to marry first, as is the custom. I wish you to stop closing your heart off to the idea. That is all I long for.”
Rebecca couldn’t speak at first. Her mother had always been a kind soul, to the point that Rebecca could see how Amelia was trying to soften the blow.
“Marriage can be something of love. It can be a wonderful thing!” she said gushingly. “Do not let me see you cut your heart off from such a life. Not when I know it can make you happy.”
“Mama, you are very kind to me, but I have a feeling you are trying to mask what my father truly said.” Rebecca stiffened her spine and lifted her head, trying to find some courage. “What did he say?”
“He said…” Amelia faded away for a minute, fidgeting in the chair. She seemed to find other things to focus on for a minute. She looked at the crescent of armchairs and chesterfield settees, each one embroidered with a damask pattern. Then she looked to the curtains nearby too, pale cream and gold, that framed the view out onto the garden beyond, where the ground was dappled with white frost.
“Mama?” Rebecca encouraged. “You do not need to worry for me. Please, tell me what father said.” At last, Amelia returned her eyes to Rebecca.
“He loves you dearly, Rebecca, you know that.”
“This is still softening the blow,” Rebecca said with a wince. “Must we wrap me in the softest silks and cotton first before you tell me?”
“Enough jesting,” Amelia said with sadness. “Your father says you must marry, dearest. If you are labelled a spinster for much longer, then it could harm Eliza’s reputation too, and mar her chances of making a good match.”
These words were uttered loud enough to get Eliza’s attention. She sat forward in her chair, looking toward Rebecca.
“Is that true?” she asked, her voice very quiet.
“I cannot magic a man out of thin air to marry me,” Rebecca said, releasing her mother’s hand and turning back to the papers. She dragged them forward, determined to lose herself in the words scribbled there.
“I know, dearest, but –”
“‘But’ does not help us here, Mama. I have been called a spinster for a reason.”
Silence descended on the room. Rebecca could feel her mother’s and sister’s eyes upon her. She could feel their pity and their sadness, boring into her, as if each look really pierced her through her skin.
Most days, Rebecca tried to hide the heartbreak through her jesting. It was just what she did these days, a desperate attempt to mask how much she had truly been hurt by the man she had loved.
He never loved me. Remember that.
Other days, it was difficult to hide what she felt. At this moment, she felt weak, unable to hold the laughing mask in front of her face she usually wore. She turned her eyes down to the papers instead, hiding the temptation to cry as she blinked past the stinging feeling in the backs of her eyes.
In the distance of the house, a bell pull rang, signifying there was someone at the front door.
