Chapter 9 #3
Wealtha came to a halt before a wing chair, sat, and tapped a nail on the arm of the chair.
“I am worried. I am exceedingly worried. A lot of nasty old men who treat me like a schoolgirl and begrudge us even spare ribbons for our millinery might have squandered every farthing of my future security. It happens.”
Not to young ladies whose funds were in the cent-per-cents, where Mabel had insisted they go. Orla had allowed Mabel to carry that battle, though even Mabel had had her hands full prevailing over Wealtha’s protests.
“You could gently remind Richard of that fact, too, my dear. Papa Blackstock’s will might well have been drafted in haste, and Richard’s handling of your situation now must be thorough and thoughtful. You know how to be subtle, Wealtha, and Richard is not stupid.”
Would that he were, and if Wealtha did have any capacity for subtlety—an open question, at best—she exhibited it rarely.
“I will endure a trip into York,” Wealtha said, nail tapping away.
“I will buy out the shops and put it all on the Glen’s accounts.
I will sit across from Richard both coming and going, and I will remind him, quietly, even timidly, that my settlements must be reviewed.
They are all I have and, if I should not marry, all I will ever, ever have. ”
That was Orla’s cue to offer reassurances that her own worldly treasures would be left to Wealtha, which they probably would be some distant day.
Mabel, by contrast, had had her chance to improve her circumstances, and she’d instead stepped into the first trap laid for her amid the Mayfair whirl. Such a pity.
“Come sit by me,” Orla said. “I want to make sure this blue is as flattering to your eyes as I’d hoped.
Before we know it, the weather will turn cold on us again, and you’ll need another shawl or two.
” Far easier to impersonate an invalid in cold weather, though once Richard decamped, a slow recovery would be in order.
The ailing-auntie ruse had been sufficient to hasten Richard to Yorkshire. Having inspected his holdings and dispatched the solicitors, he could be similarly hastened on his way back to London.
Wealtha joined Orla on the love seat. “You have such talent with your needle, Auntie. That is a very pretty color, like the summer sky.”
Knitting was a skill that Wealtha could have learned in childhood, but no. Even Kepler recalled that tantrum with a shudder. Thereafter, it had been agreed that knitting needles were better kept out of Wealtha’s reach.
Orla held up the completed part of her project. “The shawl is one-half a shade darker than your eyes, exactly as I’d planned. We’ll dye some slippers to match, and you will be stunning, as usual.”
Wealtha smiled with a gracious warmth that was all too convincing to the unsuspecting. “Papa Blackstock used to say that I was the picture of my dear mama. I wish you’d started on this shawl sooner. The shade is quite flattering.”
“Have you decided what you’ll wear on tomorrow’s excursion? Mr. St. Didier might be reserved, Wealtha, but he’s a man of means, and he knows absolutely everybody. You should look your best when in company with him.”
Wealtha sat back, gaze narrowing. “He’s too dark. I prefer fair men, just as men of refined taste prefer women with fair coloring.”
Where was Mabel when Wealtha needed distracting? “I’m not saying you must win Mr. St. Didier’s heart, but you are the lady of the house in a sense. A little friendliness toward a guest might be in order, and Richard would think well of you for it.”
“Richard, who ruined everything.”
“If you deal carefully with Richard, he might set a great deal to rights. Impress St. Didier, and Richard will take note. Somebody is always watching, Wealtha. How many times have I told you that? Somebody is always watching, and you must conduct yourself accordingly. You must use it to your advantage, in fact.”
“Somebody can watch me buy out the shops tomorrow. Mabel will be horrified, but I will have the most fetching bonnets in all of Yorkshire, with gloves, reticules, slippers, boots, and spencers to match.”
“And here I thought you were contemplating a new riding habit to go with your pretty mare.”
Wealtha rose. “Frigg is a darling, isn’t she?
She suits me perfectly, and she has the sweetest gaits.
You are right, Auntie: Now that I’m riding my own dear bay mare, I must assess whether a blue habit is the most flattering hue.
Green might be a better choice, though red would certainly draw the eye as well.
In any case, the blue is no longer au courant, and needs must.”
Wealtha swanned off, leaving blessed quiet in her wake. Orla demolished three cakes from the tray in succession—raspberry, pear, and bilberry. Cook was certainly making more of an effort now that Richard was in residence.
With any luck, those efforts would continue after his departure. If Orla was certain of anything, it was that the sooner Richard left them in peace, the better for all concerned.
Including Richard.