Charity shrugged. “I am declining a proposal. It is ridiculous. I do not care for him. Not in the least.”
“My dear, you need to marry. You know what your father’s will says. You will not inherit anything until you are married.”
Charity rolled her eyes. “I do not wish to marry him. I would rather not inherit at all if it means marrying him.”
“Charity, do not be silly. You must marry sometime. Otherwise, what will you live on? Pembroke is gone. All we have left is this house.”
“We have your inheritance, and the Dower House as well as this one.”
“We do not. I have sold the Dower House to your cousin. He wished for the entire estate to be intact and under his control, and I did not disagree with him. Thus, I have sold that house. This is our permanent home now. I beg of you, reconsider and speak to Lord Markham. Accept him and all shall be well.”
Charity didn’t know what to say. It had been hard enough losing her father, and then losing their home right after that. The reading of his will had been yet another blow. Because her father, her beloved father, who she thought worshiped her as much as she did him, had added a clause that seemed both arbitrary and cruel; she could make no sense of it.
He had set his eldest daughter up to inherit a tidy sum, a cottage in Brighton, as well as the contents of his library and many investments. However, she would receive none of this unless she married.
Her younger sister, Eleanor, had not been saddled with any such condition; she was simply expected to find a husband that would provide for her. Charity did not understand it. Of course, her father had to know that by making such a stipulation, her mother would not rest until she was settled.
The truth was, her mother was well provided for. Arrangements had been made even before their wedding that this would be so. Her jointure was generous, and she had received a hefty sum from her own parents, as well as the entire content of their home at Pembroke. The house itself had been passed on to the new Earl of Pembroke, her distant cousin Oliver. Due to the lack of an heir in her direct line, the title and the home were now lost, but Oliver was not an unreasonable man and had not fought the stipulation that everything inside the house, save for a few paintings that had been there when her father took possession, would be given to the family.
After all, Oliver was married to the daughter of a duke, and would likely not spend much time at the estate.
Still, her mother acted as though they were headed for the workhouse, which of course they were far from. They were still wealthy. Still respectable. Just without a title holder in the family.
In fact, Charity hadn’t minded terribly. Still, her mother acted as though not finding a husband immediately would be the end of them. It was silly, of course; the last thing Charity wanted was to get married. Not now, not so soon after losing her father. So soon after giving up her home, she had yet to truly experience London.
They had only come here a month ago, and they had still been in mourning. Now, at last, she was able to experience the balls, the dinners, and the parks she had so often heard about.
Unlike most peers, her father had not ventured back and forth to London for Parliament unless he chose to. Most other noble families packed up at the start of the season, relocated to their London homes if they had them, or rented them, and spent the season there. This had been the case for hundreds of years. But her father had hardly ever shown any interest in the House of Lords.
“You must get ready,” her mother said, drawing her from her thoughts. Was their argument concluded?
“Get ready?” she asked, for where in the world was she going to go after this ambush? Nowhere but her bedchamber, she'd decided.
“The ball at Stafford House. You said you were going, and you are. We cannot afford you getting a reputation for being unreliable,” her mother hissed.
“Nobody will notice if I am not there. It is not as though we are fixtures in the London circle,” she replied. The idea of a ball was as tedious as it was ridiculous, given the situation.
“You will go, and I will not hear a word about it. Your cousins will be collecting you in two hours. Lord Markham will be there, you can at least appease him with a dance. Now go. I will hear nothing more of this,” she said. Charity shook her head and made her way toward the hall when her mother called her back.
“You must do something about your hair. Have Stevens fix it before the ball. She knows what I want.”
Charity nodded before departing properly this time.
* * *
“Why must she push me like this? First a proposal from this horrid man and now a ball? Why does she hate me so?” she complained a half hour later, after Stevens, her mother's lady's maid, had put her into her gown.
“Your mother loves you, and you know this very well, Lady Charity. It must be that business with the will,” Stevens said with a sigh. Charity no longer had a maid of her own because Jean, her former maid, had been assigned elsewhere due to her reluctance to make a match. Her mother had claimed Jean was part of the inheritance, to be regained once Charity was married.
“I do not know what Father was thinking either,” she said, exasperated. “He must have known I would not want to marry someone I do not know. I want to marry for love, not by force. And what is the hurry anyhow? We are not hurting financially,” she said while Stevens walked to the cupboard and came out with a box, which she placed on the dresser before pulling it open. At once, Charity groaned.
“False ringlets? Must I?” she complained and got up, but her maid gently guided her to the seat.
“I am afraid you must, my lady. Your mother insists. And it is all the fashion.”
“It might be, but I think it is silly. I shall fear moving my head all evening lest they fall out,” she said.
“You will look lovely. You'll see, a fine gentleman will catch your eye tonight, perhaps even one you can love. Then you can do both what your father wanted and what you want.”
