Chapter 8
“Your sister and her husband are coming to London!”
Florence tried to smile as her mother waved a letter about in an excited fashion. “How wonderful.”
“They are going to join us for Christmas, which I think is most kind of Lord Brighton. Though that does mean that we shall have to decorate this house properly, does it not?”
With a nod, Florence reached for her teacup and then drained it before setting it back down.
She had intended to call upon Helena this afternoon before an evening soiree they were to attend, but the snow had begun to fall again in the earlier part of the morning.
Seeing it, her mother had forbidden her from taking out the carriage for fear that something would happen, leaving them unable to attend their evening occasion.
Thus, Florence had been forced to linger in the drawing room, listening to her mother’s chatter and waiting for her to berate her terribly for lying to her.
The ball last evening had proven disastrous, leaving Florence in a state of great despair.
Lord Applegate had shown himself to be no gentleman at all, shattering her expectations and ruining her hope that her mother might, for once, understand that she was not to blame for all embarrassments or mishaps.
She did not know what to think now. There was, as far as she had seen, no real reason for Lord Applegate to pretend he had not done such a thing.
Helena had tried to speak with her about it, but Florence had begged her not to bring the subject to the fore, battling to keep her composure for the remainder of the evening.
“We have only just passed Stir-Up Sunday, but I am certain Cook will be able to provide us with all that we need to make the Christmas pudding, even if it is a little late.”
Florence glanced at her mother and then looked into the roaring fire, feeling the heat from the flames, but the cold in her heart did not fade.
Christmastime did not hold any sense of expectation or hope for her, not now.
She would undoubtedly fail in securing a match, would upset her mother’s standing and reputation for having all her daughters wed in the first Season, and would bring yet more shame and upset to her family.
No doubt it would be spoken of around the Christmas table by both her mother and her sister, for Laura had always been openly critical of Florence’s shyness.
“We must have everything we need to decorate the house,” Lady Grangemouth continued, as if Florence were not present.
“Apples and oranges, yes? And hawthorn, laurel, and hellebore. I do so love hellebore, do you not? I am sure your father will wish to host some sort of occasion here very soon also, mayhap in time for Laura and Brighton’s arrival.
That means that everything must be in place. ”
“Yes, Mother.”
Lady Grangemouth tutted lightly. “You are showing no interest whatsoever, Florence. Whatever is the matter?”
If I tell you, Florence thought to herself, you will not understand. “I am a little tired, Mother, that is all.”
Her mother frowned. “At least the bruise on your cheek is fading.”
“Yes, it is.” Florence looked down at her hands, quite certain that a beratement was soon to follow.
It was somewhat surprising that her mother had not mentioned the mark on Florence’s forehead, but that, she knew, had been easier for her maid to hide than the one on her cheek.
All the one on her forehead had required was for her hair to be pinned in a particular way, so that it was quite covered.
“Lord Applegate’s sister – Lady Lanark, if I recall – corrected Lord Applegate on his confusion.” With another click of her tongue, Florence’s mother tossed her head. “I thought her a little rude coming to interrupt as she did, but I suppose she meant well.”
The chill that had been in Florence’s heart began to fade just a little. “I beg your pardon, Mother?”
“Lady Lanark.” Her mother shrugged at Florence’s bewildered look. “You must be acquainted with her, for she told me she was there when her brother accidentally struck you, or is that not so?”
Swallowing hard, Florence nodded quickly. “Yes, that is quite true. I am only surprised that she spoke up for me in such a way.”
“She said that her brother had forgotten.” Lady Grangemouth’s lips thinned as she looked at Florence sidelong. “It seems that you spoke the truth, Florence. I did not believe you, as you well know, but it appears this was quite correct. I am relieved, I must say.”
Florence did not know how to respond to this.
Last evening, she had told her mother that she expected an apology from her once she had been proven incorrect but now, sitting here and having this conversation, Florence did not have the desire to demand it.
Her own shock was much too great, astonished that Lady Lanark would be so willing to speak against her brother and in such a public place as well!
She did not dare ask how Lord Applegate had responded, quite certain that he would not have been in the least bit pleased by being corrected so.
“Now to this evening, Florence. Whilst I have accepted that this bruise to your cheek was not your fault, I must remind you of the expectations we have for you.” Lady Grangemouth Caster glittering eye over Florence, who was still trying to come to terms with what she had heard about Lady Lanark and Lord Applegate.
“You are to find a husband, Florence. Your father and I have been guiding you towards some of the gentlemen we would consider suitable, and I have hoped that Helena has been doing the same.”
Florence, who had not had any understanding that her mother had been guiding her so, gave only a tiny nod in response. She did not even think to ask which gentleman her parents thought suitable. The only gentleman she was thinking of at the present moment was Lord Applegate.
“You will have your dance card filled this evening, Florence. That means every dance must be taken.”
This caught Florence's attention, and she snatched in a breath, her eyes wide with surprise.
“Mother, you cannot expect me to fulfil such a demand. I do not know which gentleman will be there, I do not know which of them I will have been introduced to, and I certainly do not know which of them will offer to dance.”
Lady Grangemouth shrugged. “Well, what is it that you have been doing with Helena if not being introduced to all the eligible gentlemen of London? That was what she promised to do, was it not?” A frown flickered across her expression.
“You know what our expectation is for you this season, Florence. I cannot see any reason as to why you would pull away from that. You do want to be married, do you not? And I would most certainly like the accolade of being the only mother in London who has every daughter married at her first Season!”
The way her mother returned the conversation towards herself again made Florence despair.
For a moment, she had thought that this fresh understanding might spark something new in her mother's heart towards her.
No, she realized, she had been foolish to even have had that thought.
Lady Grangemouth was just as she had always been.
There was no understanding there. There was no gentling towards Florence's dismay and struggle.
There was only the expectation, and Florence began to fear what would happen to her if she did not fulfil her mother's desire.
Would she be labelled a spinster before her time, cast out of the house, and thrown onto some relative instead?
Would her mother always blame her for her failure?
Would she be deemed the one who had brought the family low?
“Florence, you are not listening to me!”
With heat burning in the back of her eyes, Florence did her best to pay attention to her mother.
The festive season was meant to be a joyful time 1 where she could celebrate with family and loved ones.
This was quite the opposite of that. There was heartache, pain, and sorrow.
There was disconnection and confusion, and given what had already taken place, Florence was quite certain that such things would only continue.
“As I was saying,” Lady Grangemouth continued, “I have every intention of introducing you to at least three particular gentlemen. Your father and I have discussed them, and we find them quite suitable. You must do your very best, Florence. We will tolerate nothing less.”
The only response required at this juncture was a nod.
Florence gave it and watched her mother walk from the room, clearly satisfied that the conversation had done all it was required to do.
She was left with anxiety beginning to rise in her again.
She was worried about seeing Lord Applegate again, and on top of that, she was concerned about these gentlemen that her mother was to introduce her to.
What if her nervousness got the better of her, took control of her limbs, and made her do something foolish?
Her heart pounded, and putting her elbows on her knees, Florence leaned forward and pressed her hands to her eyes.
Tears came, but she did not hold them back.
Yes, she was glad that Lady Lanark had given the truth to her mother, but that did not resolve the situation.
Lord Applegate had chosen to lie. He had chosen to tell an untruth to protect himself.
How could she think well of such a gentleman?
Perhaps he would not come to speak with her, she considered.
Perhaps he would stay as far away from her as she wanted to be from him.
That would bring her some relief and would allow her to focus on the other task at hand, namely meeting a suitable gentleman…
although Florence feared she would not find any success there, no matter just how much her mother hoped for it.