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His eyes narrowed. “Peter always was a fool, but that will make it easier for you to divest yourself of such responsibility. No wonder you are so prideful and obstinate. You have never been taught your place.”
Hard, hateful words battered at the back of my firmly closed lips. Father had taught me many things, including the waste incurred expending energy against a closed mind. “My father educated me very carefully,” I began, only to be interrupted as if I hadn’t spoken.
“You are a Wentworth. Your place is here at Wentworth Hall, and you will take it, accept the duty you were born to and do the family honour.”
A frisson of something that might be fear danced in the back of my brain. Surely he didn’t intend to keep me here against my will! That was something straight from one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s more improbable Gothic novels.
“I am over twenty-one,” I returned slowly in reasonable tones.
He interrupted me mid-word, “And well past the age when you should be married and breeding.”
I paid no mind and kept speaking, “And therefore able to make my own decisions. My father ensured that I am financially independent. I hope I will always do the family honour, but I am here only for a short visit to see the place from whence my father came.” I did not add that my visit was becoming shorter by the moment!
“Your father was a fool,” he repeated bitterly. Though it could scarcely be credited, he almost looked sad. “And you are most unfemininely obstinate, but as your father failed you so severely, I shall have to see that things are handled properly. First you must write to your uncle of the necessity of your staying here, and give him power to end the idiocy of your ownership and transfer the proceeds here so that the family can take over the stewardship. Such responsibility is far too taxing for the female brain. You will be given the rest of your instructions in good time, and for the good of the family you will obey them. It is past time you learned your duty as a woman and a Wentworth.”
Give up the control of my company? Hand over all of my fortune to the Wentworths without question? At least Charles Pennyworth had offered me marriage for the same concessions!
I would have replied, but Sir Mordecai suddenly stood and stalked out of the room without a backward glance. In a lesser being it might be said that he slammed the door behind him.
Seldom have I been so upset by an interview, even when my unwanted suitor Charles Pennyworth swore that he would abduct me by force in order to become my husband. I avoided his avaricious intentions, I inwardly declared in an attempt to calm my quivering heart, and I can handle this situation, whatever it holds. After all, I am a Wentworth!
Chapter Four
I might be a Wentworth, but that was not an unmixed blessing. With no thought of anything but going to my room for a rest - and perhaps begging Patience to find me some liniment for my protesting legs - I was not really surprised to be pounced on by Great Aunt Zipporah and all but dragged into the morning room for, as she called it, a cosy little chat. Neither was it a surprise that Edwin was there as well.
We did chat, meaning that I listened as Edwin talked about his glittering social life in London, the great and important people who called him friend, and how desirable he was. Great Aunt Zipporah talked about the glories of Town living - and of how desirable Edwin was.
They both talked about how wonderful it was that I had come to England to stay - and of how desirable it would be to join Edwin’s glittering life. When I protested that this was just a visit and I fully intended to return home before long they both laughed, saying that this was my home, and discounted that I should even think of ever returning to such a primitive country after seeing the superiority of England and most especially Wentworth Hall.
Disagreeing, I finally decided, was like flying a kite in a hurricane - both useless and uncomfortable - so I merely sat and smiled.
After an incredibly tedious half hour what I thought was rescue came in the person of Patience, but it was a false hope.
“What is it, girl?” Great Aunt Zipporah snapped with a heretofore unheard sharpness as Patience peeked around the door. “Can you not see that we are in private conversation?”
“My apologies, Mrs. Draycott, but Mrs. Wentworth was most insistent that I find Miss Wentworth and bring her to her at once.”
“Well, tell her that you could not find her!”
“I’m afraid that is impossible, Mrs. Draycott, as it was she who told me where to find Miss Wentworth.”
Great Aunt Zipporah scowled, which made her look like nothing so much as an ill-favoured infant on the edge of wailing.
Even though I had a strong suspicion of what was awaiting me, I also knew it could not be avoided. Besides, I had had more than enough of Great Aunt Zipporah’s blatant matchmaking.
The next hour was even worse than I expected. Aunt Lucinda and Mountjoy awaited me in the grand drawing room, looking much like two cats crouched in front of a mousehole waiting for a feast to wander out. Patience, the coward, ushered me into the room and then escaped. I envied her.
As it was now early afternoon, Aunt Lucinda had requested a light repast of bread and butter served with negus - a nauseatingly sweet drink of port, sugar and lemon. It was, however, served hot, which I appreciated. To a woman accustomed to Low Country heat an English summer was downright cold. I could not imagine how miserable the winters would be here.
Mountjoy dominated the conversation, outlining his plans for expanding and improving his already self-admittedly grand stable, once he received suitable funding of course, and how rich he and his partner would become and what a wonderful life they would have. Aunt Lucinda let him carry the weight of the conversation, only occasionally interjecting how much the Prince Regent had complimented Mountjoy’s horses when he had visited there, and how lucky some girl would be to land such a prime catch. Mountjoy, of course, not the Prince Regent. Even in South Carolina we were cognisant of what a wastrel His Highness was.
I also knew exactly from where Mountjoy hoped to get his funding - me. He even talked of how Saracen would improve his already self-proclaimed superior stud and how fortunate I should feel to stay in England for the rest of my life. The mere idea of such a future with Mountjoy - or Edwin, for that matter - revolted me.
The fact that forbidden images of Stanhope fluttered around the edges of my mind was something I did not wish to examine, and so I concentrated on Mountjoy’s perpetual drivel more than was pleasant or necessary.
Having learned my lesson with Sir Mordecai, though, I did not waste my breath contradicting anything, but merely sat and murmured neutral responses. Neither Aunt Lucinda nor Mountjoy seemed to notice that my monosyllabic answers could have been inserted into almost any conversation with anyone about anything which did not interest me.
I did not know then how things were going to become worse.
