The Bridal Quest. Candace Camp
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been distressed by her exchange of words with Maura, it had been her mother.
“Oh, dear,” her mother said with a sigh. “I fear it will be a difficult few months. Maura will doubtless be…very sensitive.”
“Doubtless,” Irene agreed drily. “Do not worry. I promise that I will try my utmost to curb my tongue with Maura.”
“I know you will, dear.” Lady Claire mustered up a smile, but it quickly fell away. She glanced toward the open door guiltily and dropped her voice. “I fear it will be hard to do. I mean no disparagement upon your brother’s wife, but…”
“I know you do not, Mother. No one could be sweeter tempered than you are. The truth is that Maura is difficult at the best of times.”
“It is hard on a young couple, having a mother live with them. I do wish that your father had left us a larger portion. Would it not be darling to have our own little cottage?” She smiled to herself as she thought about it.
“Yes, it would.” Irene’s musings were less sweet than her mother’s. “Father should have provided better for you.”
“Well, what’s done is done.” Even now, Irene knew, Lady Claire was reluctant to speak ill of her husband. “We must simply work as hard as we can at making the house run smoothly. Maura will need help, surely, as she becomes more advanced in her condition. Of course, she may prefer having her own mother and sister, although the house will be a little crowded if they come.”
Lady Claire paused, frowning a little as she thought. “Perhaps I should not have danced so much last night. I could see that Maura was not well pleased with my standing up so frequently with my cousin. It might not have been appropriate.”
“You would never conduct yourself any way but appropriately,” Irene assured her mother. “There was naught amiss with you dancing with your cousin and friends. You have lived among the ton all your life, and you know far better what is appropriate than some daughter of a Yorkshire country squire recently arrived in the city.”
“Irene!” Her mother cast an anxious glance at the doorway, then turned back to her. “You must not say such things. You promised that you would make more of an effort to get along.”
“I will,” Irene said disgruntledly. “But that does not mean that I cannot have my own opinions. However, I promise that I will refrain from mentioning them in front of Maura. But only for your sake, Mother, not because I feel any regard for Maura’s opinions or her sensibilities. As far as I’m concerned, Maura’s skin is about as tender as an elephant’s hide.”
Her words surprised a gurgle of laughter from Lady Claire, who quickly covered her mouth with her hand to hide the sound as she shook her head reprovingly at her daughter. Then she took a sip of tea and set her cup down, saying brightly, “Well, now, after we finish breakfast, we must go through the yarns and pick out something for a baby blanket. Won’t it be fun, making things for the baby?”
“Oh, yes.”
Her mother chattered on, paying no attention to the dryness of Irene’s tone.
“Booties and caps and little sweaters—oh, there is nothing sweeter than baby clothes.”
Irene supposed it would be a pleasant task if she had more affection for the mother-to-be. However, it was important to keep her mother’s mind on enjoyable topics and off the worry of displeasing her daughter-in-law, so Irene went along without protest, retiring to her mother’s room to pull out yarns and knitting instructions, and listening to her mother chatter on about cradle caps, embroidered gowns and receiving blankets. It seemed that the arrival of a baby would require more articles of clothing than a bridal trousseau.
She tried to steel herself for the task of keeping Maura happy. It would be, she thought, an impossible goal, but still, for her mother’s sake, Irene knew that she had to try. It galled her to think of catering to Maura’s whims, of biting back her own opinions whenever they disagreed with her sister-in-law’s, of putting on a pleasant smile whenever Maura chose to criticize her. However, if she did not do those things, she would, she knew, subject her mother to endless worry. Claire would take it upon herself to apologize and excuse and try to please Maura if Irene crossed the woman, and Irene could not bear to think of her mother debasing herself in that way to a woman who should be thanking her stars that she had Lady Claire for a mother-in-law.
More than ever, Irene wished that she could take her mother away from this house. But she was well aware that the few options for earning money that were open to a gentlewoman, such as hiring out as a governess or a companion, would not provide enough income even for them to let rooms. Part of the compensation in such jobs was the provision of a genteel place in which to live, but one could not bring along a dependent to live there, as well. And even if she could provide enough money by doing one of those things, or by taking in sewing or working in a shop somewhere, her mother would be aghast at the idea of leaving her son’s house to move into some small place on their own. It would reflect badly on Humphrey for them to do so, Claire would explain, and she would never do that to her son.
Irene’s thoughts were bleak as she contemplated how their lives would change with the coming of a new baby. Maura would be even more puffed up with her own importance at producing a child for Lord Wyngate, especially if it turned out to be a boy and heir. Irene could well imagine the sort of sweetly pitying remarks she would make to Irene regarding the fact that she would never know the satisfaction and joy of motherhood, the needling about Irene’s wasted opportunities and lack of effort to acquire that most basic of necessities for a woman: a husband.
She was relieved that Maura stayed in her room all morning, not emerging until after luncheon. But the pleasant interlude could not last, and early in the afternoon Maura rejoined Irene and Lady Claire in the sitting room, where Claire had already begun work on knitting a blanket.
Maura was a trifle paler than usual, and she played the role of invalid to the hilt, sending servants to fetch her shawl, then her fan, then a stool upon which to set her feet, and letting Lady Claire tend to her, tucking the shawl in around her and jumping up to reposition the stool when it did not exactly suit Maura. However, Irene kept her tongue still, maintaining a pleasant smile on her face as she listened to Maura prattle on about the upcoming blessed event, interspersing her remarks with frequent sighs and complaints.
When one of the maids came into the room to announce a visitor, Irene was grateful for the diversion. It was with some amazement, however, that she heard the maid announce that Lady Haughston had come to call. She glanced toward her mother and saw an equally puzzled look on her face. Francesca Haughston had never been a frequent caller to their home, and since Maura had arrived, her calls had stopped entirely. Irene could scarcely blame her; she would have avoided Lady Maura’s conversation herself, if only she could.
But it seemed strange that Francesca should suddenly have reappeared, especially after she had sought Irene out last night at the party. However, Maura clearly saw nothing strange about the other woman’s arrival. She beamed at Lady Haughston and greeted her effusively, then proceeded to chatter away for the next few minutes without giving Francesca a chance to interject anything more than an occasional “Indeed?” or “Oh, really?”
It did not surprise Irene that Francesca soon began to stir a little restlessly in her seat, and she suspected that their visitor would cut the call short at the first chance she had. Sure enough, when Maura at last paused for a moment, Francesca quickly jumped into the brief silence to tell them that she was sorry she could not stay any longer.
“I was about to take a ride through the park,” she explained. “And I just thought I would drop by to ask Lady Irene if she would care to join me.”
Maura’s face fell almost comically, and Irene hastened to speak before Maura could come up with some reason why she could not spare Irene’s company this afternoon.
“Why, yes, Lady Haughston, that sounds most pleasant.”
Irene rang for a servant to fetch her a bonnet and pelisse, and whisked Francesca out of the room, warding off Maura’s broad hints about a ride doubtless