Mr Fairclough's Inherited Bride. Georgie Lee
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Mary sat across from Richard in the carriage, her yellow-silk ball gown pressed in by Mrs Parker who sat beside her. They waited in the long queue of vehicles inching towards the Pennimans’ front door. Christmas was still three weeks away but the Pennimans’ Christmastime Ball marked the start of the festive season in Baltimore and the round of parties before everyone secluded themselves with their families to celebrate the season. The Pennimans’ Mount Vernon Square house was built in the classical style with wide columns flanking a massive wooden front door. It stood with a number of equally impressive homes surrounding the wide, tree-filled square at the centre of which stood a tall Doric column topped with a statue of President George Washington.
‘You spoke to Mr Fairclough again about your idea, didn’t you?’ Mary asked Richard, struggling to sit still on the squabs as the carriage moved forward, then stopped. Foundry business had kept Mr Fairclough away from Baltimore for so long that Mary was afraid he’d forgotten about her. While he’d been gone, she’d purchased a new ball gown and two day dresses to make herself more appealing. She’s been afraid to order more items, wanting to maintain some dignity should Mr Fairclough laugh off the idea of marrying her. Even if Mr Fairclough entertained the prospect, she didn’t relish the ball being the first chance to broach the matter with him. There were too many things that could go wrong and ruin this venture before it even began. Mary had been thrilled when the invitation had arrived. She wasn’t so thrilled now. It’d been years since she’d last attended a ball and she’d been a very different woman then, inexperienced and immature. She was none of those things tonight.
‘I spoke with him.’ Richard clasped the leather strap as the carriage shifted forward again.
‘Was he amenable to the idea?’ The promise of a sizeable inheritance should help him overlook her past mistakes, but she wanted to be loved for who she was, not how many dollars were in her bank account.
Love. Mary silently huffed, rapping her closed fan against her gloved palm. There was a notion she’d better dismiss. She’d placed her trust in love once before and it’d ruined her. She wouldn’t make that mistake twice. If Richard believed Mr Fairclough was a good match for her, then that was enough reason for her to encourage the gentleman.
‘He hasn’t rejected it.’
‘That’s hardly comforting.’
‘When it comes to Silas Fairclough, the lack of an outright rejection is good. He takes time to consider things. I’ve done my best to demonstrate the advantage of a union with you. It’s up to you to close the deal.’
Mary resisted the urge to sigh. She’d been reduced to nothing more than a foundry to be negotiated and invested in. Well, it was better than being damaged goods that couldn’t even be given away four years ago. She smoothed her gloved hands over her dress, wondering if she should have allowed the modiste to cut the bodice of the gown a touch lower. Mary had learned a long time ago what really caught a man’s attention—there was no point in not advertising its availability to Mr Fairclough along with the potential for her more monetary assets. He might be thoughtful when it came to making decisions, but he was a still a man and, thankfully, a very nice-looking one with an admirable physique. She might not be pursuing him out of affection, but even she wasn’t about to chase after any man, no matter how old or pudgy he was, simply because he might make her a wife. She wasn’t so desperate yet.
‘Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll succeed. You have Silas’s tenaciousness and good sense and he has your forgiving and kind-hearted nature, and both of you possess an eagerness for life that I admire. The two of you will get on well.’
‘I hope so.’ The future she wished to claim seemed to depend on it. Although she wasn’t so certain she was as forgiving as Richard believed. The grudges she held against those still living across the ocean made the Rock of Gibraltar seem like a pebble in comparison. She took a deep breath and reached up to caress the watch, but it wasn’t attached to her dress. She’d left it at home, but she pictured Ruth and the many hours she’d spent coaching Mary in patience and forgiveness, encouraging her to see past people’s shortcomings. Mary had done her best to learn those lessons, but not even Ruth’s influence had been enough to soften Mary’s heart against her family. Mary adjusted the skirt of her dress, putting the old grievances aside. This ball was about claiming a different destiny than the one the people in England had chosen for her, not being bogged down by the past.
The carriage finally rolled up to the front walk and a footman opened the door. He offered Mary one gloved hand to help her down and she took it, Mr Fairclough momentarily forgotten in her eagerness to rush up the steps and into the light, music, voices and energy spilling from the house. There had been little life in the country with Ruth and a sedate and quiet one with Richard in Baltimore, but the self-imposed semi-seclusion which she’d endured for the past four years ended tonight. She would make her presence in Baltimore known in a way that even sitting at the head of Richard’s table hadn’t done. There would be no going back to anonymity after the ball and it terrified her as much as it thrilled her.
Richard escorted her inside and Mrs Parker following behind as expected of a respectable chaperon. In England, a lady’s maid would never accompany her lady to a ball, but things in America were different and Mary was glad. She needed the comfort of friends around her tonight. Mary and Richard stepped into a rectangular hall with a black and white marble floor, white walls and more of the tall columns that had dominated the front of the house. They waded through the crush of people, Richard exchanging greetings with fellow businessmen while Mary smiled pleasantly at them. It wasn’t long before they were in the receiving line and in front of the hosts.
‘Lady Mary, it’s a pleasure to have you here,’ Mr Penniman greeted from where he stood beside his plump wife. ‘May I introduce Mrs Penniman?’
Mary curtsied to their hostess, noting the fine flowers embroidered on the mauve silk of the other woman’s ball gown and the massive diamonds encircling her wrists and throat. Mary’s mother had once looked this radiant in her silks and family jewels and Mary had admired and coveted them the way she did Mrs Penniman’s. If all went well tonight, she might enjoy such elegance again. It made her heart flutter as she rose, smiling respectfully at the matron who offered a beaming a smile in return.
‘Lady Mary, you honour us with your presence. I never thought to have the daughter of an earl in my humble home.’
Mary’s stomach tightened at the mention of her lineage and she braced herself, sure someone would step up to call her a fraud, but no one did, leaving it to her to make an impression on the hostess. ‘Your home is as fine, if not finer, than most in Grosvenor Square and I’m delighted to be included in tonight’s festivities.’
‘Thank you so much, Lady Mary.’
Mary could see the matron sought as much approval as Mary did when it came to her efforts to entertain. She wondered from what humble roots Mrs Penniman had risen. She would have to ask Mrs Parker later.
The required pleasantries complete, Richard escorted Mary away from their hosts. They strolled through the high-ceilinged main hall with its white plaster and marble curving staircase leading up to the higher floors, past the ancient Roman sculptures and towards the large ballroom at the back of the house. It was slow going as they stopped every few feet for another meeting or introduction. Mary did her best to give her full attention to each new person, all the while aware of everyone around them. She was, without being too obvious, searching for Mr Fairclough.
When they finally extricated themselves from Mr and Mrs Baxter, who proved as eager as Mrs Penniman to meet Mary, Richard escorted her to the ballroom. The sight of it took her breath away. It was as impressive as any in England with a soaring-glass and wrought-iron ceiling. Tall columns interspersed with numerous windows dominated three of the four walls, allowing the city lights from outside to twinkle like the candles did in the chandeliers and sconces. On a raised dais at one end, the musicians played for the dancers who whirled and turned in their wide-skirted dresses and dark suits. It