Chapter Four
Gwendolyn scowled as the footman brought in yet another armful of bouquets, more tributes from hopeful swains who had danced with her at the previous night’s ball. “What am I supposed to do with all of these flowers?”
Mariana picked up one of the bouquets and fingered the soft petals of a deep pink rose. “They are pretty. Could I put these in my bedroom?”
“Of course,” Gwendolyn said, after she glanced at the card that accompanied them. “I certainly don’t want to have a reminder of Robert Walker near me. Not after all the fuss last night.”
Mariana wisely said nothing but detached the card from the flowers and put it with the others on a pretty little Sevres tray used for such purposes. Her cousin had been irascible all morning and she had learned that it was usually best to let Gwendolyn sort through her grumpiness on her own.
Gwendolyn, who was seated cross-legged on the rug, emptied the tray of cards into her lap, and idly sifted through the invitations and notes hopeful admirers had sent her.
“Mind you, I really don’t understand what the fuss was about.
I had a headache and was looking for a quiet place away from the crush in the ballroom and Robert joined me.
We should have been dancing, so I don’t see what difference it made to talk to him in a quiet place instead of on the dance floor. ”
Mariana tilted her head to the side. “You were sitting rather close to one another and without any chaperone.” Gwendolyn frowned and Mariana hastily added, “It would be so much more convenient and practical if we could be friends with men instead of just conversing with them on the dance floor or when we are seated next to them at dinner. It doesn’t give us much practice for when we marry one day. What do husbands and wives talk about?”
Gwendolyn’s golden curls bounced as she nodded. “From what I’ve seen, they don’t talk much.” Her voice dropped, “But when I marry, I want to feel connected to my husband, to share thoughts and ideas and opinions with him. I want to love him and be loved by him. Is that so very wrong?”
The door of the sitting room opened again. Gwendolyn didn’t turn around, expecting that the footman was simply bringing in more flowers and notes. She was startled when the stentorian tones of her mother rang through the room. “Stand up, Gwendolyn. Ladies do not lounge on the floor.”
Gwendolyn leaped to her feet. Mariana slipped out of the room, carrying the posy of pink rose buds Mr. Walker had sent to Gwendolyn.
“Good morning, Mama,” Gwendolyn said very properly, as if she had never given her mother a moment’s despair in her life. Her mother had refused to talk to her on the way home from the ball, and she had been just as sullen, refusing to attempt any explanation or excuse for her behavior.
“Your father wishes to discuss your disgraceful behavior with you. He is on his way upstairs. Tidy this mess before he arrives.”
Meekly, Gwendolyn gathered the scattered flowers and cards, placing them on a side table.
She carefully kept her back to her mother, not wanting to face the fury and disapproval of Lady Burroughs who was standing ramrod straight in front of the window.
When the flowers had been heaped onto the side table, she picked up a cushion and plumped it before placing it back on the sofa.
“It is not becoming for a young lady to do the work meant for housemaids. You need to learn to command the servants or your own household will be in chaos before you have been married a month.”
Gwendolyn gritted her teeth but bit back the retort that rose to her lips.
A footman opened the door to the sunny little sitting room she and Mariana usually used in the mornings and announced her father’s arrival.
She bobbed a curtsey as the footman closed the door behind the baron. “Good morning, Papa.”
Lord Burroughs ignored his daughter and swept his eyes critically over the room.
His mouth twitched at the heap of colorful flowers on the side table.
He did not bother to suppress a shudder of abhorrence as his eyes passed over his wife who had moved closer to Gwendolyn.
It was her he addressed, although his eyes were fixed on a vague object beyond the curtains.
All the bitterness of twenty years of marriage made the baron’s words sharp.
“It is, sadly, no surprise that the daughter of Hester Browne, has grown up to be coarse and lacking all decency.”
The harsh and unpleasant words caused Gwendolyn to flinch, but neither of her parents paid her any attention.
Lady Burroughs spat like an angry cat. “She has inherited her vulgar propensity to flaunt herself and flirt from the noble line of the Burroughs. It is no secret that both your sisters were required to make hasty marriages, and your own conduct is hardly above reproach. If you had accompanied us to the Wetherspoon’s ball last night instead of entertaining your paramour, your daughter would not now be entangled in a scandal that can only be resolved by a so-called gentleman offering for her hand. ”
Lady Burroughs had retained much of the beauty that had caused her husband to think he had fallen in love with her twenty-five years ago but it had been many years since she had lost his regard.
In his younger days, the baron had been a reckless spendthrift, wasting his days in gambling, drinking and whoring, and while spending time with some school friends in Hampshire, he had been smitten with the brassy prettiness of Hester Browne, the daughter of a small market town solicitor and granddaughter of a man who had made a reasonable income through trading wool.
Lord Burroughs had married her in spite of the objections of all his relatives.
Not long after they had exchanged marriage vows, disillusionment had set in.
His anger at his own folly had quickly turned into bitter resentment of his wife.
And that had spread to include his daughter.
Having no son and his property and title being entailed, his only interest in his one legitimate offspring was to marry her off to a gentleman who was as foolishly smitten with her gaudy prettiness as he had been with her mother’s.
Gwendolyn had grown up knowing that her only value was in her appearance and at a very young age, she had learned that pouting and preening was sure to elicit smiles and the attention of fawning gentlemen.
The baron ignored his wife’s angry accusations, but did respond to the last part of her speech.
“Montgomery has already written to me, washing his hands of her, as has Viscount Ludington who sent a letter to call off the negotiations we were engaged in as he will not take damaged goods. I will not go cap in hand to the likes of Walker who lacks both status and fortune. If he will have the baggage, he must come and get her.”
Gwendolyn stiffened as her father spoke.
She had not known that her father had been discussing a possible marriage between her and Viscount Ludington, a man of more than forty years whose years of indulgence were evident in his corpulent stomach, ruddy face, and multiple chins that waggled whenever he talked.
“I’m glad,” she said. “I don’t want to marry Lord Montgomery or Viscount Ludington.
” Her voice squeaked as she made her protest and she sounded more desperate than defiant.
“Or Roger Walker,” she finished softly. He was always very kind to her and she had felt comfortable sitting quietly next to him.
Conversation with him was easy and he was a pleasant companion when they were together at society events, but she didn’t want to marry any man who was forced to do so to salvage her reputation.
It was vastly unfair that she was the one who would suffer the censure of society while gentlemen waltzed through life, earning the praise of their comrades for the very actions that brought dishonor to girls.
“You will do as you’re told,” her mother retorted. “You are hardly in a position to indulge your whims and fancies after your shameless display last night. No decent man will come near you and society will shun you unless your father exerts some effort to preserve your reputation.”
Gwendolyn’s face was a defiant mask, covering the anguish and despair her parents’ words engendered in her heart.
She knew from long experience that any attempt to protest her innocence, to explain that she had been alone in what she had assumed was an unnoticeable alcove and that Roger Walker had sought her out, would lead to further recriminations on her carelessness and disgraceful behavior.
She swept her arm wide, knocking at least three bouquets to the floor.
“Just as many proper and respectable gentlemen have sent me flowers and cards as usual. If I snapped my fingers, each of them would come running to beg for my attention.”
Her father gave a scornful laugh. “They believe you to be a common hussy who will entertain and amuse them for a while. They’re more likely to offer marriage to that nondescript cousin of yours than to a strumpet like you.”
Neither of her parents had used Gwendolyn’s name since the beginning of the interview, as if to do so would sully their tongues. Gwendolyn blinked her eyes to hold back the sharp sting of tears. She would not let her parents know how their words affected her.
To give herself something to do, she dug through a pile of notes and cards and pulled one out.
When Mariana had opened it earlier, Gwendolyn had tossed it aside, her conscience suggesting that it would not be prudent to pursue a friendship with the Blythes.
But perhaps now it would alleviate some of the ire her parents were aiming at her and give her a little of the respectability her unwitting actions had stripped from her.