~Twenty-four~
After a dinner of strained but polite conversation, Elizabeth and Darcy, on the premise of needing some time with their child, did not remain for coffee and port.
Matlock too, begged off, insisting that only an early night would restore him.
Believable, and hardly falsehoods, it left but Lady Catherine and the Westlakes in the parlor.
But after only a few moments, Lord Westlake too, said his goodnights knowing that his daughter desired some privacy with the lady, who despite her formerly strong objections, had now taken their side.
As to why, he could not fathom, but provided the end result was his daughter becoming the Countess of Matlock, he cared not, and would have signed a promise to the devil himself to ensure it.
“That woman may just be the devil incarnate,” he muttered to himself as he trudged wearily up the stair. Why could he not have had a son? Boys seemed much easier, whilst girls...well...they were an utter nightmare!
But if it was some manner of night terror, Lord Westlake was unready to sleep.
Since the death of his wife, now twelve years past, he had tried to raise the girl properly, had even considered remarriage, if only to provide a steady female presence.
But when he had presented the idea, Gloriana had taken such an aversion to the prospect, that he had given up.
Indeed, he had given up much...everything...
just to see her happy. Edward Fitzwiliam was supposed to be that happiness.
The young man had been titled, wealthy and handsome, what more could she want?
So, what if he liked to gad about in London?
One could overlook such, could they not?
And to his surprise and delight, she had agreed to the match...
a match that had ended before it had begun.
Sighing, Lord Westlake rubbed an ache in his lower back as he entered his chamber.
He was getting far too old for this nonsense.
Why couldn’t Richard Fitzwilliam simply have honored his brother’s betrothal?
Wasn’t one girl as good as another? But he had not, and now, his only child plotted with a woman he had always despised.
Indeed, they had become strange bedfellows...
*****
While her father bemoaned the current situation of his family, Lady Gloriana Westlake paced the parlor in frustration as her mentor, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, sipped tea, tea that was heavily laced with Scotch whiskey.
“Oh, cease with your pacing, a proper young lady does not wear a pathway in the carpet!”
“I just do not believe it will be so easy to compromise him.”
“Nonsense, all men are simpletons when one gets to the core of things. Just do exactly as I say and everything will work out, but remember, the key is to be discovered in the midst of compromise. Without proper witnesses, it does not matter.”
“I know...I know,” Gloriana replied, but did not halt her steps as she repeated the instructions. “I shall come upon Lord Matlock in the gardens, under the gazebo, and when I hear you and Lady Drummond upon the path...kiss him. Are you sure that is enough?”
“My dear girl, I have not gone through all the trouble of altering your appearance from that of a common trollop for nothing. A kiss is more than adequate, especially when Emma Drummond wants him for her granddaughter. She will be incensed beyond words... a sight that I will enjoy immensely!”
Gloriana bristled under the insult, for in her present state, she felt more like a cloistered nun, people she feared worse than death.
But once married, she would return to her former mode of dress, if not wear ones even more daring.
Her hair too...how could anyone find brown attractive?
Even a reddish brown? No, golden blonde was her color, just like the fairy tale princesses.
Or, in this instance, a countess. For now, she would do as Catherine de Bourgh directed, but if unsuccessful? Well, there were other ways....