Nicola Cornick - Undoing of a Lady

“If you are to be free, my lord,” she said gently, “you cannot have it any other way. A lady is allowed to change her mind. A gentleman is not in honor. It is as simple as that.”

“I don’t deserve for you to make it so easy for me,” Nat said. He sounded grim. He came to her and took her hand in his, pressing a kiss on the back. Once again Flora’s heart did not flutter, but stayed beating as calmly as it always had.

“You are an exceptional woman, Flora Minchin,” he said. “I had no idea.”

“Which rather illustrates why we should have been badly suited,” Flora countered dryly. “Let us leave it at that.”

She could tell he did not want to go and leave her with the unconscionable mess of canceling a marriage on the wedding day itself. She could tell that every muscle in his body was straining to tell her the reason for his defection and to take the blame. She could even tell that he wanted her to lose her temper, to rant at him, scream and cry, because in doing so she would somehow lessen the intolerable guilt he was feeling.

It gave her a small amount of satisfaction to appear totally calm and to deny him that relief. She was human, after all.

She waited until he had gone out and Irwin, the butler, had closed the front door very firmly behind him, and then she went to find her mother and father and to tell them that their most cherished dream of seeing their daughter as a countess was over. And the relief to have been given a second chance at the future swelled in her heart until she felt as though she was going to burst.

“YOU WILL HAVE HEARD the news, of course,” Mrs. Morton, the draper, said as she wrapped up a parcel of blue spotted muslin for Lizzie. “Miss Minchin has cried off from her wedding this very morning!” She reached for the string and tied an expert knot. “I feel most distraught—a number of ladies have purchased gowns and bonnets from me for the event and now no one will see them! It is very unfortunate and most inconsiderate of Miss Minchin. And why whistle an Earl down the wind when one is only a banker’s daughter? Do you think she has had a better offer? A Duke? Are there any dukes newly arrived in the village? That is thirty-six shillings and sixpence, if you please, Lady Elizabeth. Have you taken up dressmaking? You never buy cloth here.”

“Yes,” Lizzie said. She fumbled in her purse for some coins. She felt a little strange. I am tired, she thought. I did not sleep well. That is all. She tried to concentrate on finding the money but her head was buzzing.

Flora had cried off from the wedding. That was not meant to happen. Nat was supposed to be getting married in three hours time. He was going to the Lake District and from there to Water House near York, and she was never going to have to see him again, and she could keep on pretending that the events of the previous night had never occurred…

“Thirty-six shillings, Lady Elizabeth,” Mrs. Morton said, a little sharply. “And in ready money, if you please, rather than notes. I don’t trust the banks.”

“Of course,” Lizzie said numbly. She put some coins randomly on the counter. She was feeling very hot. Perhaps it had been a mistake to come into the village. She had not wanted to sit around at Fortune Hall in case Nat had called to see her, but neither had she wanted company. She was not sure why everything felt so difficult and complicated this morning. Her mind felt weighted with lead.

“I hear that most of the fortune hunters have left the village now that almost all the heiresses are wed,” Mrs. Morton said, counting out her change. The soft clink of the coins seemed very loud and made Lizzie’s head hurt. “A pity. Your half brother’s plan to fleece all the ladies of their money was good for many businesses here because it brought in so much new custom. I suppose it is not worth a gentleman the cost of a journey from London now that there are no more fortunes to be had.”

“I imagine not,” Lizzie said. “And good riddance to them. I am glad,” she added, “that Monty has been thwarted in his plans to use the Dames’ Tax to take half of our dowries. His money-grabbing ways are a total disgrace.”

“The man’s a greedy whoremonger,” Mrs. Morton said, with great relish, “and his brother’s no better! The way young Tom treated little Miss Cole…Well, she’s never going to be able to make a respectable marriage now, is she?” Mrs. Morton shook her head. “And now Miss Minchin as well—I wonder what the scandal is there? For there has to be some, Lady Elizabeth. No girl calls off her wedding on the very morning of the ceremony unless there’s scandal afoot. You mark my words!”

Scandal afoot…

Something sharp and painful twisted inside Lizzie. She thought of Nat and of the previous night and pushed away the memory violently. When she had woken that morning she had resolved never to think on it again. But that had been before she had heard about the canceled wedding. Why had Flora cried off? Surely Nat could not have told her what had happened? It was impossible. Lizzie was desperate to know but in order to find out she would be obliged to face Nat, to talk to him, and nothing could be worse when her emotions were still so raw. Panic rose, suffocating, in her throat.

Nothing happened, she told herself. There is no scandal, for nothing happened at all.

She tried to gather up the change from the counter, but the coins slipped and scattered on the floor. Mrs. Morton was looking at her with curiosity in her darting brown eyes. “Are you quite well, Lady Elizabeth? You seem a little distracted this morning. I wondered—” she gave a little artificial tinkle of laughter “—whether you knew aught of the broken betrothal. After all, you are a great friend of Lord Waterhouse, are you not? A very great friend indeed.”

Lizzie bent to pick up her money. She did not answer. The shop felt airless. She felt a little dizzy.

“And you are the richest heiress left,” Mrs. Morton’s voice continued, above her head. “A very rich prize indeed. Will you wed, Lady Elizabeth, before your half brother steals your fortune?”

There was a ping as the door of the shop opened and the bell rang loudly. Lizzie jumped. She stood up abruptly. Nat Waterhouse had come in and was standing only a few feet away. Lizzie’s head spun with the sudden shock of his appearance when she had been thinking about him only a moment before. She put a hand out to steady herself and the smooth wood of the counter slipped beneath her fingers. Damn it, if only she did not feel so strange about everything…

Nothing happened…

Nat looked so tired, she thought. There were deep lines about his eyes, as though he had not slept, and a grim set to his mouth, but he still looked fiercely intimidating enough to make her legs feel weak.

“Lady Elizabeth,” he said, bowing.

He looked the same, Lizzie thought. He looks exactly the same as he did last week, so why do I see him differently? Why do I see him as my lover and see an answering knowledge in his eyes when I do not want to think of him like that because I still love him and it hurts… It hurts as though I am wearing all my feelings on the outside and have no protection against him.

“Lord Waterhouse!” Mrs. Morton was fluttering around. “I was so very sorry to hear about your broken betrothal—”

“Thank you, Mrs. Morton,” Nat said. He did not take his eyes from Lizzie. Nor did he offer any explanation whatsoever.

He was standing between Lizzie and the door. She realized that she could not get out—and that he had done it deliberately in order to force her to confront him. Suddenly she felt as though the walls of the shop were closing in on her and all the bolts of cloth Mrs. Morton had swathed so artfully about the place to display her wares were swooping down to smother her.