The Marriage Wager. Candace Camp
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Aunt Blanche trailed off uncertainly. She could scarcely disagree with Lady Haughston’s pronouncements, especially given the way she so graciously linked Aunt Blanche’s thoughts with her own.
Lady Woodley watched as Francesca and Constance matched up ribbons and lace to some dresses and discarded others as unfit for anything but the most mundane daily wear, and talked of lowering necklines and adding overskirts or demi-trains, of replacing dull sleeves with others slashed with contrasting color.
Constance, too, had experienced a certain embarrassment at exposing her unimpressive wardrobe to Lady Haughston, but Francesca’s manner could not have been more matter-of-fact or uncritical. Her eye for color and style was unerring, which did not surprise Constance. One need not look at her long to realize that she was an artist when it came to clothes. But Constance did find it rather peculiar that someone like Lady Haughston should be so conversant with ways to modify, update and generally renew one’s wardrobe. It was as odd as her knowing where to buy ribbons, lace and other accessories at the best prices. Constance could not help but wonder if Lady Haughston might not suffer from something of a lack of funds herself. She had heard no rumors to that effect, of course, but clearly Francesca was quite adept at hiding such a thing, at least in regard to one’s wardrobe.
Before long, Georgiana and her sister drifted down the hall and stood with their mother, looking awestruck as they watched Francesca bustle about the little room. When, finally, Francesca left, reminding Constance that she was to come to her house the following afternoon before the ball, the two girls turned to their mother, their voices rising in a wail.
“Why is she going to Lady Haughston’s?” Georgiana cast a disparaging glance toward Constance. “Why can’t we go, too?”
“I am going because Lady Haughston asked me,” Constance told her calmly, refraining from pointing out the obvious corollary that Georgiana and Margaret were not going because Lady Haughston had not invited them.
“I know that,” Georgiana snapped. “But why? Why does she want you there? Why did she take you out today?”
Constance shrugged. She was not about to tell her relatives of Francesca’s plans for her.
“And how did you buy all these things?” Margaret added, looking at the dresses and adornments scattered all over the bed.”
“I used money I’d been saving.”
“Yes, well, if you have so much money, you might have thought to help us a little,” Aunt Blanche sniffed. “We have been giving you a roof over your head and food to eat for the past six years.”
“Aunt Blanche! You know I give you money every month!” Constance cried. “And I always pay for my clothes and personal items.”
Her aunt shrugged, as though Constance’s argument had nothing to do with what she had said. “I cannot see why Lady Haughston has such a preference for you. It is most inexplicable. Why does she not ask to take out Georgiana?”
“What about me?” Margaret asked indignantly.
“I am the eldest,” Georgiana told her sister haughtily.
The two girls began to squabble, and Constance turned away to begin to fold and put away the things that now lay all over her bed. After a few minutes, her aunt and cousins moved out of her room, continuing their conversation in the more comfortable arena of the sitting room.
But the subject did not die. Georgiana and Margaret brought it up again at the dinner table, until finally their normally lax and imperturbable father snapped at them to be quiet. The two girls lapsed into a sullen pout, but they took up their grievances again as soon as their father had retired to his port after dinner. Their mother, of course, agreed with them that it was neither right nor fair that they had not been taken under Lady Haughston’s wing instead of Constance. Constance retired early, claiming a headache—which was indeed the truth, after listening to the other women harp on the subject of Lady Haughston all evening. The next day she stayed to herself as much as possible, working quietly in her room on the various small things that she and Francesca had determined could be done to her dresses. The larger alterations, of course, she would have to take with her to Lady Haughston’s for the more skilled hands of Francesca’s maid.
Constance even considered foregoing her luncheon. Sir Roger always went to his club during the day, so there would be no one to put a stop to Georgiana’s and Margaret’s complaints. Their mother rarely reined them in, and in any case, Constance knew that Aunt Blanche also disliked the fact that Lady Haughston preferred Constance to the rest of them. Her worst fear was that Aunt Blanche would forbid her to go to Francesca’s house, even though it would clearly work against her own best interests. Aunt Blanche was often as slowwitted as her daughters, and much more stubborn.
However, Constance reasoned that if she did not show up for the meal, her aunt would decide that she was feeling ill and should not go either to Lady Haughston’s or to the ball this evening. So she went downstairs, vowing to keep a rein on her tongue and her temper, an ability that was often sorely tested by her cousins and aunt.
Just as she had feared, Georgiana and Margaret started in on what they saw as injustice before they even sat down at the table. Constance did her best to disregard them, but she could not ignore it when her aunt at last said to her, “Constance, I am thinking that, if the matter is going to cause this much dissension and misery in the house, perhaps you should not go to Lady Haughston’s this afternoon.”
Constance looked at her, trying to hide her alarm, and pondered briefly what would be the best tack to take with her aunt. “I should not like to offend Lady Haughston, Aunt. She is very powerful in the Ton, and she seemed most adamant about my joining her this afternoon.”
“Yes, well, I am sure that she would understand if you sent her a note telling her that you were feeling a trifle under the weather and could not come.” Lady Woodley’s face brightened. “In fact, the girls and I could call on her and deliver your regrets personally.” She nodded, looking pleased with herself. “Yes, that might be best.”
Anger flared up in her, but Constance firmly thrust it down. “But I am not feeling at all ill, and I should like to go to Lady Haughston’s this afternoon,” she replied calmly. “And I am not sure whether she would like anyone else to go to her house, uninvited.”
Her aunt’s eyebrows shot up. “She has called here. That makes it perfectly acceptable for me to call on her.”
“She will not like it if I do not come,” Constance told her aunt firmly. “She might very well retract the invitation to Lady Simmington’s ball tonight if she is displeased.”
“She can hardly expect you to come to her house if you are ill.” Aunt Blanche looked at her, her eyes hard.
“I am not ill.” Constance looked back at her, making her gaze as obdurate as she was able.
“Lady Haughston will not know that,” her aunt reasoned.
“Yes, she will,” Constance replied flatly.
Her aunt’s eyes opened wider in surprise. It was a moment before she could speak. “Are you—Do you defy me?”
“I intend to go to Lady Haughston’s this afternoon,” Constance replied calmly. “I do not wish to defy you, of course. Therefore, I do hope that you will not forbid me to go.”
If possible, Aunt Blanche looked even more astounded. She gasped, then opened and closed her mouth without saying anything, looking remarkably like a fish.
Constance took advantage of her aunt’s momentary speechlessness to lean forward and say earnestly, “Lady Haughston is very important. Her father is an earl. She is friends with the Duke of Rochford. She can do much for you and the girls, as you well know. But it would be equally ruinous for you to cross her. Pray, however angry you may feel at me, do not offend Francesca.”
Her aunt had been swelling with ill-feeling during Constance’s words, and Constance knew that she wanted to break into a long, loud tirade against