A Date with Dishonour. Mary Brendan
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tone couldn’t conceal an undercurrent of hurt.
‘Yes, I know,’ Elise concurred softly. ‘Unfortunately his fiancée had a firm grip on him. And now they are married.’
‘He told me if Papa had even a little to offer to ease his financial situation he’d propose in an instant. He only got betrothed to her because cash was dangled by her father.’
‘It tends to make a big difference,’ Elise agreed on a sigh. ‘That’s why I’m amazed you think this harebrained scheme of yours will work. Mr Vaughan liked you very much, yet he was unable to wed a woman without good connections or a dowry to recommend her.’ She frowned as Bea continued staring dreamily into space.
‘Will you write and ask Verity if we may stay for just one week?’ Beatrice was acting as though she’d not attended to a single sensible word Elise had uttered.
‘Tell me truthfully,’ Elise demanded. ‘Have you received replies to your advert? Is that why you want to go to town—to meet fortune hunters on neutral ground?’ From the moment Beatrice had started pestering her to get them to London Elise had feared her sister was planning to disgrace herself—perhaps them all—by risking secretly meeting a gentleman.
Beatrice hesitated just a fraction too long before issuing a denial.
‘I knew it!’ Elise gasped. ‘You’ve made an assignation with a stranger to beg him to marry you!’
‘I won’t need to beg,’ Bea said airily. ‘I’ve had a dozen or more replies, but only two seem worth considering.’ She grinned at Elise. ‘Some have sworn that the money is not a temptation and they simply have fallen a little in love with me after reading my sweet prose.’ She chuckled. ‘What piffle! I can spot a liar a mile off.’
‘Do you think these two gentlemen you are pinning your hopes on aren’t able to do the same?’ Elise choked a mirthless laugh. ‘Your respondents are doubtless not as gullible or upstanding as you hope they’ll be.’
‘Neither am I gullible,’ Beatrice asserted. ‘I want a fellow who’s honest enough to admit my money was a lure. Of course, he’ll also need to have sufficient income of his own and to like me well enough to propose when he finds out I have nothing. We must then both try hard to make a go of it. But I can forgo luxuries.’ She continued sourly, ‘I am well used to doing so.’
‘Nevertheless, I think you want too much,’ her sister told her. ‘Your chosen two might suspect you are a doxy touting for business, then you’ll be in grave trouble as they won’t have falling in love or marriage on their minds.’
‘They don’t need to fall in love with me. I just want a kind husband and a little family.’ Beatrice hung her head, concealing her yearning expression with a curtain of blonde locks. ‘Is that too much to ask?’
A surge of emotion overwhelmed Elise on hearing her sister’s plaintive wail. A hiccup of breath caught in her throat, bringing a salty sting to her eyes. Of course, she knew it was not too much to want! How often had she daydreamed about something similar for herself? But painful memories of her parents’ miserable life had damaged her ideal of romantic love. She’d seen there was a dark side to desire that was selfish and cruel.
‘Why are you acting so silly?’ Elise demanded in frustration. ‘You might bring disaster down on all our heads if you carry on with this.’ She quickly approached her sister, clasping her hands. ‘I will talk to Papa and ask him to arrange for Aunt Dolly to give us board and lodging in Hammersmith. She knows a few good families, and if she arranges some social outings you might meet a gentleman in the customary way instead of resorting to this daft—’
‘I have already asked Papa,’ Bea interrupted despondently. ‘He insists he can’t afford frivolities like trips to town to see Aunt Dolly. He says his sister is a tight-fist who will want a pretty penny to feed us mutton and cabbage.’ She glowered at Elise. ‘He’s right, too. She served up scraps last time we went there. Papa said why don’t I ask you if we can arrange a trip to stay with your friend Verity Chapman, for it will be more pleasant and economic.’
Elise turned away, her brow puckered in thought. Her sister was not to be dissuaded from her pursuit of a husband. Beatrice’s need to be away from the dreary life in the countryside was making her very depressed at times.
For almost seven years they had shared a bedchamber in the cottage their father continued to rent. As the time had progressed Elise had been woken at night by the sound of her sister weeping softly into her pillow. Bea’s melancholy was now overtaking her during the daytime too and Elise didn’t want to see her sister seriously ill.
Walter Dewey surfaced from his papers and ledgers on occasions to notice what went on in his household and had more than once enquired of Elise what ailed his eldest daughter. On hearing the truth he tended to become impatient. He would then impress on them both—usually as they ate their dinner, and with much tapping of cutlery on china for emphasis—that the fearful plight of those less fortunate made him proud that, as a fellow abandoned by a weak woman, he was able to keep his two daughters in adequate fashion, despite the constant trial of it all.
Elise glanced at her sister’s miserable countenance. If they went to stay with Verity, perhaps it might be possible to put Beatrice in the path of a decent bachelor who might fall for her and propose. Their papa would have his oldest child settled and the financial burden on him would be eased.
‘I’ll write to Verity on one condition,’ Elise said. ‘You must promise not to contact any of these ne’er-do-wells who have replied to your advert.’ Having received Bea’s brisk nod and breathy affirmative, Elise continued, ‘But I won’t badger for an invitation if I receive an ambiguous reply. You know they are not much better off than are we, and now that Fiona has a beau Mr Chapman might soon have the expense of her wedding to pay for.’
Verity had written recently to let Elise know that her older sister was at last being courted. Fiona was a pleasant-looking young woman who had seemed content to let romance pass her by. Even during her début she’d seemed happier at home drawing landscapes than seeking a husband. Elise gathered from her friend’s amusing prose that neither the fellow’s appearance nor his character was attractive, and that Verity was of the opinion her older sibling should have stuck to her watercolours.
Elise became aware that Beatrice was waiting expectantly for her to continue. ‘I will try to get you your wish...’ Elise squealed as Beatrice rushed to thank her with a hug before she’d finished speaking.
* * *
‘Ah...Mr Chapman is here!’ Elise exclaimed in relief. She urged her sister to pick up her portmanteau.
‘So sorry to be late,’ Anthony Chapman burst out as he heaved his bulk from the trap to politely assist the young ladies on to it. ‘A costermonger had turned his cart over and I had a devil of a job getting through the press of carriages. It all got very heated and I thought a fight might break out between two jarveys.’ He wheezed in air. ‘I hope the way is now clear or we will be delayed on the road back.’
Verity’s papa seemed stricken to have missed the appointed hour to meet them on alighting from the mail coach to transport them to his home in Marylebone.
‘It is no trouble to us to have waited a few minutes,’ Elise replied soothingly. ‘It is very kind of you to fetch us. We could have hailed a hackney, after all, and saved you the journey.’
‘No...no...’ Mr Chapman flapped a stout hand whilst the other assisted in hoisting him back up on to the carriage seat. ‘Wouldn’t hear of it, m’dear. It’s a pleasure to see you both and looking so very well.’ Having sucked in a heavy breath, he turned his head and beamed at the young ladies seated beside him. ‘And your papa is in good health, I trust?’
‘Indeed he is, sir, and he sends you and Mrs Chapman his very best wishes.’
Anthony patted at Elise’s closest hand. ‘Verity will be so pleased to see you. As will Fiona, although she is in a tizz over Mr Whittiker.’ His mouth drooped to blow a sigh.