Page 6 of The Scent of Intuition
And she was waiting for him.
Chapter Three
Earlier that morning, at Cloverdale House, on Abbotsbury Road, London…
Bea opened thedrawer of her dressing table and retrieved her mother’s latest letter. Tattered from the many times Bea had read it, it showed as much wear as her nerves.
Singapore, March 11, 1819.
Dearest Beatrice,
We left the port of Singapore, and hearts and sails set toward home. It is with a sentiment most earnest that I entertain the anticipation of beholding you, not merely as the daughter we left behind but as a lady ensconced in the felicitous state of matrimony. Should this expectation be greeted by disappointment, and you find yourself still unattached, pray and allow no disquiet to trouble your heart. Your father, in his boundless wisdom and regard for your future felicity, has pledged his most vigorous endeavors to secure a match of unimpeachable nobility and suitability for you.
With the fullness of time marching inexorably forward, it behooves us to remember that the season for securing such advantageous connections is fleeting. A young lady of virtues and education must seek a husband who both appreciates her merits and can elevate her station. Thus, it is with a mother’s urgency and concernthat I impress upon you the gravity of this period in your life. I urge you to apply yourself with renewed vigor to this most critical of pursuits so that you might soon grace us with the joyous tidings of an engagement.
I remain, with the sincere expectations for your imminent success,
Your mother,
Lady Claudia Wetherby
No love. No missing her. Just a slur of expectations wrapped in a neat little letter that read more like a warning between the lines despite the seemingly loving platitudes. Her mother’s missive was clear:Marry or I’ll see to it when I return.
A knock.
“Bea, are you there?” Pippa peeked into Bea’s chamber from behind the door.
“Come in!” But when Bea saw Pippa, her breath hitched. “You’re wearing a veil!”
In nothing but her white muslin nightgown and a bridal veil, Pippa swayed into the room as if carried by a cloud until she stopped in front of Bea. She pushed her spectacles up her nose and beamed. “What do you think?”
Bea tapped her index finger on her mouth and tried to suppress a chuckle. Although Pippa was all grown up, this was rather like in their childhood when they’d wear a crochet tablecloth over their heads and would dance like brides with each other. That had been pretend play, but this was real. Bea’s smile gave way to a heaviness in her heart. In only a few days, Pippa would be Mrs. Folsham and move to the townhouse near Nick’s practice. She’d never storm into Bea’s chamber in her nightgown again; she’d be all grown up and Bea would be alone.
“So the stitching of the crochet hem is lovely, the right shade to complement your complexion,” Bea started. Pippa twirled inher nightgown as if it were the finest wedding dress. “But the cinching at the waist of the dress needs work.” Bea gave Pippa’s side a friendly pinch through the nightgown just like she had done when they were little girls. They both burst into laughter at Pippa’s ridiculous dress and then Bea sighed. “It’s a lovely veil, dear cousin. You’ll be such a beautiful bride.”
Pippa dropped her hands to the sides, but Bea didn’t want her troubles to cast a shadow over Pippa’s happiness and gave her a hug. “I’ll move out. I’ve overstayed my welcome. You have plans for Cloverdale House as a rehabilitation center and you’re readying your new home with Nick.”
Her cousin tore herself from her arms and took a wide step back. “Where would you go? I didn’t plan to do anything with your chambers. You’re welcome as long as you like.” But Pippa’s voice fell as if she realized what she’d said. There’d always be room for the former diamond of the first water who’d been too picky to catch a husband.
“It’s all here in Mother’s letter. I need a husband to be free from the expectation—”
“But you never wanted your inheritance to fall into the hands of a gentleman of the Ton. You said they’d probably gamble it all away.” Pippa’s protest rang true. Most men—especially those without wealth of their own whom she’d met in the Ton expected to gain their brides’ fortunes. For Bea, that meant losing her independence in exchange for a husband and a life of social pressure among the Ton, not quite a fair exchange in either of their opinions. She sighed.
“It’s rather morbid, isn’t it? As a lady of station, I have to write my life over to a man to seek freedom, and thus exchange autonomy for something I can’t be sure I understand or want.”
“Marriage, you mean? How could you not want it?” It was everything they’d been raised to pursue as high-ranking ladies.
“Oh, Pippa! None of the men I’ve come to know at the balls shall control my life; I want to take charge of myself.”
Pippa narrowed her gaze and Bea thought about her mother’s expectations. She’d disappoint her even though she’d been a diamond of the first water at every ball—none of which her mother ever saw anyway because she’d been away.
The letter had been sent nearly five months ago. It could be weeks, or perhaps mere days before her parents arrived in London. Bea could not tell how much time she had left before her parents would assign her a husband. If she wanted to have any say in the husband she’d have to have, Bea had to find one posthaste.
Bea inhaled and thought about who she knew, but not a single man in the ballroom of the previous night caught her eye. The most common trait of the men in attendance at this most recent ball at the Langleys was voyeurism and gloating.
“You know,” Pippa started, speaking slowly and enunciating every word as if she’d formulated each as it had come to her, “I unleashed quite a grand scandal at Violet’s ball last night. You rather relished staging the coup with Alfie, didn’t you?” Bea bit her lip as bile rose to her throat at the memories. The supposed “nobility” had systematically singled Pippa out at balls and set her traps with folded-over carpet corners, so she’d trip. Those allegedly coveted “gentlemen” of the Ton had stepped out of the way when Pippa had stumbled. The ladies had been anything but ladylike in requesting the music to stop when Pippa made a mistake, adding emphasis to her embarrassment. Then Nick had seen her—truly seen her, the brilliant, beautiful woman that Bea knew—and he’d appreciated her. Then he fell in love with her and was going to be her husband. Together they’d do more for society—rich and poor—than the supposedly highborn “best people” of the Ton.
“After all these years in which you stood by me when I was mocked, hazed, and even cruelly excluded from society because of my clumsiness—due to my poor vision—you were always there. And if it weren’t for your help, I couldn’t have gotten engaged to Nick.”
