Page 25 of The Marriage Wager

“It is my father’s estate in Kent. They hold a house party there every summer. It is not far from London, only a few hours’ drive. I asked Constance to go with me. I hope you will not mind. It is for two weeks, and I vow I shall be quite bored without her company.”

Aunt Blanche turned toward Constance, and Constance could see the deep dislike in her eyes. She was going to refuse to allow her to go, Constance thought, and she wondered what she would do in response. If she were to defy her aunt and go without her permission, she feared that her aunt would have no qualms in casting her adrift.

“Oh, my lady, how very kind of you,” Aunt Blanche said, turning back to Lady Haughston. “But I am afraid that I cannot allow Constance to go off on her own in that way. It would be most improper for her to be alone among strangers for two weeks. I must think of her reputation, after all.”

Francesca’s eyebrows went up delicately, and she said in a cool voice, “She would be with me, Lady Woodley. She would not be unchaperoned, and I can assure you that the Earl’s parties are quite respectable affairs.”

“Oh, I am sure they are, Lady Haughston,” Aunt Blanche told her, her voice somehow managing to be both fawning and obdurate. “And your reputation, of course, is above reproach. But I am afraid that I take my responsibilities to Constance very seriously. I could not possibly let her travel or be on her own for such a length of time without a member of her family there.”

“Indeed.” Francesca studied Constance’s aunt, and Aunt Blanche returned her gaze steadily.

It was all too clear, Constance thought, what her aunt was after, and she squirmed a little inside with embarrassment. She was afraid that Francesca might simply give up on taking her to the party at Redfields. Constance was aware suddenly of how very much she wanted to go to it. She waited, holding her breath.

“I see,” Francesca said after a moment, giving Lady Woodley a steely smile. “Well, of course, when I extended the invitation, I did not mean Constance alone. You and Sir Roger and your daughters are invited, as well.”

“You are too kind, my lady,” Aunt Blanche replied, casting down her eyes to hide the triumph therein.

SO IT WAS THAT A WEEK later Constance was in a post chaise with her aunt and uncle and cousins, rolling out of London and down the road to Kent.

It had been a trying week. The house had been full of little except talk of Redfields and the treat that lay before them. Even Sir Roger, normally a most unexcitable sort, was filled with anticipation at seeing the house. One of his hobbies was architecture, and he had told them, a light gleaming in his eyes, that Redfields was one of the finest examples of Elizabethan architecture in the country.

Aunt Blanche, of course, had rolled her eyes at such a peculiar notion of why they would enjoy Redfields. The house itself was of little importance, in her opinion—provided, of course, that it was grand. What mattered was the people who would be there. She spent most of her time that week calling upon her friends to impress them by dropping casually into conversation that she would be out of town for a while, as they were attending a party at Redfields. Her secondary purpose, of course, was to extract all the gossip she could about Lord and Lady Selbrooke, their family, the estate and all the people who were likely to be there with them.

Aunt Blanche’s frequent absence, of course, meant that nearly all the work of planning, packing and preparing for their two-week sojourn was done by Constance. Between helping Georgiana and Margaret go through their gowns and choose what to take—doing her utmost to try to talk them out of their ugliest choices—and sewing back on buttons and flounces, and repairing rips to their clothes, as well as giving instructions to the housekeeper for the time they would be gone and guiding the maids in the packing of the family’s clothes, Constance barely had time to get her own things in order to take.

Much to her delight—and dwarfing all the other problems that cropped up—the clothes that she had ordered at the dressmaker’s, as well as the ones she had ordered from a more ordinary seamstress, arrived before they left. She could hardly restrain her excitement.

Aunt Blanche, predictably, looked over the new dresses lying on Constance’s bed and gave a loud sniff of disapproval. “These are much too young looking for you, Constance. Not at all suitable for a chaperone. I cannot imagine what you are thinking these days. I only hope you will not embarrass us at Redfields.”

Anger spurted up in Constance as she turned to look at her aunt. She had done her best for many years to please her. She had never expected her aunt to share her interests or be someone she would consider a friend; she knew they were far too different. But her aunt and uncle and their daughters were the only family she had, and she had thought that perhaps her aunt would have come to regard her with some affection. But over the last few days, since she had met Lady Haughston, it had been borne in on her that the only thing her aunt cared about in regard to Constance was Constance’s doing things for her. The moment she deviated from the path Aunt Blanche had set out for her, the woman was quick to belittle and hurt her.

“I will strive not to humiliate you,” Constance said flatly, looking her aunt in the eye. “However, I feel I must tell you that I am not a chaperone. I have helped you with Margaret and Georgiana, and of course I will continue to do so. But chaperoning your daughters lies with you, Aunt, and not me. I was invited by Lady Haughston to Redfields to enjoy myself, and that is what I intend to do. I will not spend my time fetching and carrying for you and the girls, or hovering over them.”

Her aunt’s eyes sparked with anger. “Well! You have become most insolent. I daresay it is Lady Haughston’s influence. I do not believe that she is a good companion for you.”

“Indeed? No doubt you think it would be better if Lady Haughston removed herself from our lives.” Constance cast a challenging look at her aunt.

Aunt Blanche drew a breath, but she seemed to think better of what she was about to say. She pursed her lips, then, after a moment, went on. “What is perfectly acceptable behavior in a woman of Lady Haughston’s stature is not necessarily attractive in an unmarried woman, especially one with no fortune or high name to recommend herself.”

“I believe the Woodley name is good enough for anyone,” Constance said stoutly. “I cannot believe that you think differently.”

Her aunt looked nonplussed. “I did not mean…The Woodleys are as fine a family as one could find.” She stopped and scowled at Constance. “I don’t know why we are standing here talking about such things. We had better get back to packing.”

She cast a last sour look at the garments on the bed and left the room.

Constance finished packing, doing her best to put her words with her aunt out of her mind. She was going to enjoy this visit, and she was determined not to let her aunt spoil it for her.

They left the next day, after spending a trying morning getting the luggage loaded onto the post chaise. It was not a long journey, which was fortunate, as Georgiana was not a good traveler, and they had to stop often to allow her queasy stomach to subside.

They arrived at Redfields in the late afternoon, driving through a pleasant park of old spreading chestnuts and pink-flowered hawthorns, emerging at last to see the main house spread out before them.

“Oh!” Constance sucked in a quick breath of admiration, leaning her head out the carriage window to get a better view.

The setting sun washed the redbrick house in a warm glow, sparkling on the glass of its many windows. Three stories tall, with a peaked roof and three tall pinnacled gables jutting out from the front in a classic E pattern, it was a house that was at once both stately and welcoming. A multitude of chimneys adorned the steeply pitched roof of the central section, and a long wing, only one story in height, ran off the east side of the house, topped by a balustraded walkway.

It was a beautiful home. How, Constance wondered, could Lord Leighton be so reluctant to visit it? She thought that if she were heir to such an inviting home, she would spend all her time here.

Their vehicle pulled to a stop before the central gable, which jutted out a little more than those on either side of it, forming an enclosed porch leading to the heavy wood door. They disembarked, looking up in some awe at the house, which was even more impressive up close. Three sets of coats of arms were carved into the stone above the porch, and more carvings adorned the stone archway leading to the front door.