At least there had been no tears since Lord Padleigh had appeared and declared his intent to marry her.
“I am grateful that Lord Padleigh appeared before you and father had chance to write to Lord Wetherington.” Her words made Margaret grip her chest.
“Why?” Margaret whispered in a sort of horror. “Lord Wetherington loved you. Was that not something? I know your father and I could not refuse Lord Padleigh. After all, he is a marquess. The connection this could bring your father…” She trailed off when Frederica glowered at her. “Are you not at least sad to miss out on Lord Wetherington’s love?”
“It was not love, Mother.” Frederica shook her head. “Whatever he felt for me sounds more like infatuation than love, and if you think for a single second I could return it…” She paused, staring at her mother. “… then plainly you listened to none of my complaints against marrying Lord Wetherington last year.”
Margaret looked rather hurt. She sat down and reached for the teapot, trying to pour out tea for them both.
“Come and sit with me. Let us share tea and talk as if nothing has happened.”
“But so much has happened,” Frederica said, marching toward her mother. “Do you really intend to sit here and drink tea as if nothing has changed?”
“It’s what we must do.” Margaret calmly took a sip of tea. “If we are seen to panic, dearest, it will make people talk all the more. If this second scandal is to be avoided, then we must appear perfectly calm and in control, mustn’t we? I’m sure it’s what your betrothed would want.” She tried to push a second cup toward Frederica.
Lord Padleigh. What would he think of this, I wonder?
Frederica regretted all that had passed in conversation with Lord Padleigh that morning. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she hadn’t actually thanked him for trying to save her reputation at all.
Neither had she brought up the fact that he clearly had a lover though it was a doubt now niggling in her mind. Wouldn’t he rather marry this lover than her? After all, he was on his way to meet her last night at the ball.
There is so much I wish I said to him.
“Here, drink.” Margaret tried to pass her the cup another time.
Frederica took it though she refused to sit down and look calm with her mother. She took to pacing around the room instead as she distractedly sipped her tea.
She kept replaying the conversation she’d had with Lord Padleigh in her mind. Never had she seen him so assertive or firm before. It had shocked her even though she knew he had the capacity for such assertive behavior. After all, Dorothy had talked much of him over the years.
“I’d like to go and see my friends,” Frederica said with finality, returning the cup to her mother’s table. Lord Padleigh had assured her that Dorothy was well, but it was not the same as seeing Dorothy with her own eyes.
The danger is past now though, is it not?Surely when Lord Wetherington hears I am to be married, he will give up any pursuit. He will not harm Dorothy…
She still had to be sure.
“You are going nowhere.” Margaret stood up, with such sudden rage that her face was white, and her hand shook around the teacup. It made the cup clink in its saucer.
“Why not?”
“Why not?” Margaret repeated. “You ask me that? You vanished in the middle of the night last year. You are a flight hazard. You shall stay here. In fact, you are not to leave this house until the wedding.”
“Mama, please. I ran away last year to escape a hurried marriage to Lord Wetherington. Evidently, I do not need to worry about that now.”
“It does not matter.” Margaret shook her head. “I do not trust you outside alone.” She took a step toward Frederica.
She had always known that her mother had the capacity for great strength. What disappointed Frederica was that such strength was now turned against her.
“Other than to leave this house in my company to visit the modiste for your wedding gown, you shall stay under this roof.”
“Is a new gown really necessary?”
“Of course, it is. That ridiculous pink thing you turned up in the other night was so far from being fashionable…” She trailed off and shuddered, as if a ghoul had spooked her rather than a gown. “You need something new. Whoever bought you such a gown had taken leave of their senses.”
“I liked it,” Frederica insisted, but her mother was no longer listening. Instead, she had opened up one of the women’s pamphlets and stretched it across the tea table, pointing toward ‘fashionable’ gowns which had far too many frills and were nowhere near as elegant as the style Frederica had liked so much.
“This discussion is at an end. Whilst you are under this roof, you are staying under it,” Margaret snapped. “Now, what about this one?”
Frederica didn’t answer her mother as she sipped her tea. She was wondering when she was under Lord Padleigh’s roof instead, how much freedom she would have in comparison.
