Page 8 of An Arranged Marriage with a Mad Marquess
Apparently, he even accused his own family of being against him. Can you imagine that?”
Lucy pursed her lips. “Well, I don’t know. These rich, old families are always a bit odd, I think. But anyway, his lordship and her ladyship would never allow you girls to come to harm. You said yourself that your father promised you wouldn’t be forced into anything, and I’m sure you won’t. If you don’t like him, that’s that. There. Your hair’s done.”
Patrina sighed, leaning back in her seat. Lucy Pearson had come to work for the Marshville family – before they began heading towards ruin, of course – as a gawky fourteen-year-old. Patrina couldn’t even remember how they had become friends, only that theyhad, and she had begged her mother to let Lucy be her companion, and later her lady’s maid.
Lucy was short, inclined towards stockiness, with nut-brown hair and large, keen hazel eyes. She had a pretty round face and was sharp enough to see through any nonsense. She alone had gotten Patrina through the humiliation of that latest, hellish Season.
“I suppose I’ll have to agree to meeting him,” Patrina remarked, tilting her head this way and that in front of the mirror. “If only out of curiosity. After all, nobody else will come to save us. Things are bad, you know.”
Lucy said nothing, but didn’t look surprised. Patrina supposed that the servants knew just as keenly how bad things had become, just as her parents did. They probably knew more than Patrina and her sisters. She imagined, briefly, what it must be like in the kitchen, day after day, stretching out meagre rations. Not having enough money to buy proper meat, serving cheap fish and boiled vegetables instead. Baking bread when the flour basket was depleting at a worrying rate. Going to the grocer’s and the butcher’s when you did not know how much further the credit would stretch.
Although not with the butcher. Not anymore, not until their bill was settled. Which would never be.
Patrina bit her lip, eyeing her reflection a little more closely.None of this would have happened if I’d just caught a duke in my first Season.
“Lucy, don’t you think I look almost pretty in this light?”
Lucy stopped in the middle of folding something, and came to stand behind her mistress, hands on her hips.
“Almostpretty?” she repeated, tartly. “I can no longer endure your disparagement of yourself, milady. You are a paragon of beauty, though I daresay looks are of little import when one truly considers the matter. You possess such kindness, thoughtfulness, intelligence, and a delightful spirit that makes your company so enjoyable. Just because those insufferable gentlemen of Society label you a bluestocking and suggest you lack the willowy delicacy they so admire does not make their words any more valid.”
Patrina bit her lip, looking away. “I don’t care what they say about me, Lucy. But I can’t bear how they talk about Agnes. And Gillian, too, once she comes out. You know how she says whatever she thinks. And I know fine well that they only talk so cruelly about us because we are poor. It isn’tfair.”
“No, it’s not,” Lucy conceded. “But the truth is that you find yourself in straitened circumstances. You cannot conjure wealth from naught.”
“I can’t, that’s true. I’d have to marry it,” Patrina sighed heavily, leaning back again. “It seems only yesterday that I was an optimistic girl, dreaming of a love-match. I did so want to meet my Prince and find myself utterly beguiled. It’s foolish, isn’t it?”
Lucy gave her a level look. “I don’t think that wanting to fall in love is foolish.”
“It is, though. For women like me, it is. If I were sensible, I’d have married Mr. Bowles in my first Season.”
Lucy wrinkled her nose. “That old, bald man?”
“Yes, him. I couldn’t stand him, but hedidhave a good deal of money.”
“You’d have caused quite the scandal within a year and been the talk of the town for it.”
Patrina pursed her lips, considering. “No, I don’t think so. I believe I could have navigated the situation with grace, if Iwere careful. And after a while I would make a most intriguing widow, I fancy.”
“Forget about being an intriguing widow; you’ll be a chilled young lady if you don’t stop wandering about in your nightdress. Get into bed, milady. Do be sensible.”
Patrina smiled wryly, obeying. She and Lucy had been friends for long enough to speak in this way to each other. Frankly, Patrina liked it – it was good to feel that one’s maid would speak honestly and fairly about important matters.
“Thank you, Lucy.”
The maid fluttered around the room, tidying up and plumping cushions, while Patrina lay back, pulling her blankets up to her chin, and waited for the bed to warm up.
I’ll have to meet him,she thought at last.But what does he want with us? Perhaps after all this flutter and worry, it’s got nothing to do with marriage at all.
