Page 53 of A Wicked Business

6th August 1850, Keston House, Grosvenor Square, London.

“I liked the rhinoceros best,” Doris said with a reminiscent smile as the carriage took them back to her father’s house. “Though the Egyptian exhibition was quite fascinating. Reckon those mummies will give me nightmares, though. Nasty things,” she added with a shudder.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, and what about Mr Kirby?”

“Oh, he’s a sweetheart,” Doris said with a sigh. “Don’t know what he sees in me, but he seems to think the sun shines out of my—”

“Doris!”

“I was going to say my eyes,” Doris said with a sniff, though her lips twitched. “But it’s true. He could do much better.”

“Don’t say that,” Belinda said crossly. “He’s a lucky man to have such a wonderful woman even consider him as a suitor. You are loyal and loving and kind and you’ll be a wonderful wife to anyone you choose to marry, and don’t you forget it.”

“Ah, thank you, my lamb, but do you think everything will change when you marry Mr Knight?” she asked, looking anxious.

“Not for me. So long as you wish to remain my maid, I shall be glad to have you, but if you marry Mr Kirby, that will be something you must decide with him. He may not wish you to work.”

Doris frowned. “Well, he hasn’t asked me to marry him yet, so we’re probably getting ahead of ourselves, but I think he might not want me to,” she admitted. “He seems to want to save me from a life of hard work.”

Belinda smiled. “But that’s wonderful. Why do you look so forlorn?”

Doris reached over and clutched at her hand. “Because I shall miss you dreadfully.”

“Miss me?” Belinda said with a laugh. “Why, you silly goose, Mr Kirby is Mr Knight’s secretary. They practically live in each other’s pockets, and we will be friends. You need not see to my clothes and pick up after me, but we will call on each other and take tea and chat and go for outings, just as we do now.”

“Oh, my lady, do you promise? You won’t forget me?”

“As if I could! What do you take me for?” Belinda said, a little indignant that Doris could even think it. But her redoubtable maid’s eyes filled with relief and Belinda realised she had been genuinely concerned. Pressing her own handkerchief into Doris’ hand, she hugged the woman to her. “You are my dear friend, and that will never change. The only thing that must change is the way you address me. We have never been formal, but if no one is about, don’t you think you ought to call me Belle?”

Doris smiled. “I shall, my lamb.”

Belinda chuckled and patted Doris’ hand as the carriage drew up outside Keston House.

“My lady, the earl is desirous of speaking to you.”

“Very well, Kimble,” Belinda said, handing the butler her coat and bonnet. “I shall just change my dress and—”

“I beg your pardon, Lady Belinda, but he asked that you attend him at once.”

“Oh.” Belle’s heart skipped as she wondered what this meant, but she nodded her thanks to Kimble and went directly to her father’s study.

“Papa, you wished to see me?” she asked, sticking her head around the door.

“Belinda, yes. Come in, come in,” the earl said, sounding so jovial that Belinda immediately wondered if he’d been drinking. But whilst a glass of brandy was set upon his desk, he did not appear to be intoxicated. “I have some excellent news for you.”

“You do?” Belinda replied politely, realising what this must be about.

“I do. Sit down, my child.” The earl guided her to a chair and looked down at her, his expression that of a beneficent father bestowing a great gift. “I have this morning received a visit from Lord Ashburton. As I suspected he might, he has taken the time to consider my offer and come to realise the advantages of such a match. He has agreed to wed you.”

He looked triumphant and happier than she had seen him in… well, ever.

Belinda’s heart sank. She had no intention of marrying Ashburton, but the revelation still depressed her spirits, for she did not wish to deceive her father deliberately. Indeed, there was still some childish corner of her heart that wished to make him happy, but she would not sacrifice her own happiness to do so for a man who had shown so little interest in or love for her.

“Well?” The earl looked a little affronted that she had not leapt to her feet in joy to embrace him.

“It is, on paper, an excellent match, Papa, and I thank you for that,” she said carefully, needing to try one last time to make him understand. “But did you never stop to wonder what I might like? What might make me happy?”

“Happy?” Her father stared at her as if she had spoken a foreign language. “What the devil has happiness to do with it? You’ll be the Marchioness of Montagu one day and my grandson the Marquess. Now, that is something to be happy about.”