Meg Alexander - The Passionate Friends

The news of her inheritance had caused uproar within the Aveton family, though the money was to be held in trust for her unless she married. True, she might use the income from it as she wished, but she might not touch the capital.

Mrs Aveton had spared no pains to discover if it was possible to break the terms of the old man’s will. When Judith’s lawyers explained that this could not be done, the girl had been subjected to a series of merciless attacks. They had continued until Judith began to fear for her own sanity.

There was nothing she could do. A woman of her age might not set up her own establishment, even had she the means to do so. The constant quarrelling caused her to retreat even further into her shell. Until today she believed that she’d succeeded in crushing her emotions to the point where nothing mattered any more.

Yet it wasn’t entirely out of desperation that she’d accepted the Reverend Truscott’s offer for her hand. She’d been moved by his kindly interest in her, and the way he took her part against her stepmother.

Mrs Aveton had seemed a little afraid of him. Certainly the preacher’s tall cadaverous figure was imposing. Dressed always in funereal black, when he thundered forth his exhortations from the pulpit the deep-set eyes held all the fire of a fanatic.

Yet, to Judith’s surprise, Mrs Aveton had welcomed his suit. Perhaps she welcomed the opportunity to be rid of a girl who was a constant irritation to her.

Judith walked across the hall, intending to seek the sanctuary of her own room. Her thoughts were in turmoil. The sight of Dan had brought the agony of her loss flooding back again. She had deceived herself into thinking that she had succeeded in forgetting him. Her present pain was as raw as it had been six years ago.

A footman stopped her before she reached the staircase.

“Madam has asked to see you, miss, as soon as you returned.”

With lagging steps, Judith entered the salon, to find Mrs Aveton at her writing desk.

“There you are at last.” There was no note of welcome in her stepmother’s voice. “Selfish as always! Had you no thought of helping me to write these invitations?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Had you mentioned it, I would have stayed behind.” Judith glanced at the pile of cards. “So many? I thought we had agreed upon a quiet wedding.”

“Nonsense! The Reverend Truscott is a man of note. His marriage cannot be seen as some hole-and-corner affair. It is to take place in his own church, and he tells me that you are to be married by the bishop.”

“He called today?”

“He did, and he was not best pleased to miss you. One might have thought that you would wait for him. What an oddity you are, to be sure! You take no interest in arrangements for the reception, the food, the musicians, or even in your trousseau.”

“I shall need very little,” Judith told her quietly. “Ma’am, who is to pay for all this? I would not put you to so much expense.”

An unbecoming flush stained Mrs Aveton’s cheeks. “The expense must fall upon the bride and her family, naturally. When you are wed, your husband will control your fortune. The creditors will wait until then.”

“I see.” Judith realised that she herself was to pay. “Shall I finish the invitations for you?”

“You may continue. Dear me, there is so much to do. My girls, at least, are pleased with their new gowns.”

Judith was silent, glancing down at the list of names upon the bureau. An exclamation escaped her lips.

“Well, what is it now?” her stepmother cried impatiently.

“The Wentworths, ma’am? Lady Wentworth is with child. She won’t be able to accept.”

“I know that well enough. It need not prevent us sending her an invitation. I detest the woman, and that uppish sister-in-law of hers, but we must not be lacking in our attentions to Lord Wentworth and his family. I have included the Earl and Countess of Brandon, of course. My dear Amelia will be certain to attend.” With this pronouncement she swept from the room.

As Judith walked upstairs she permitted herself a wry smile, knowing full well that Amelia, Countess of Brandon, would be furious to hear herself described in such familiar terms. Mrs Aveton was her toady, tolerated only for her well-known propensity for gossip.

Judith sighed. She liked the Earl of Brandon. As head of the Wentworth family and a highly placed member of the Government she knew him only slightly, but he had always treated her with courtesy and kindness. His wife was a cross which he bore with fortitude.

She removed her coat and bonnet and then returned to the salon. There she sat dreaming for some time, the pile of invitations forgotten. Her life might have been so different had she and Dan been allowed to wed. Now it was all too late.

“Great heavens, Judith! You have not got on at all.”

The door opened to admit the Reverend Charles Truscott, with Mrs Aveton by his side.

“Now, ma’am, you shall not scold my little bride. If I forgive her, I am sure that you may do so too.” The preacher rested a benevolent hand upon Judith’s hair, as if in blessing.

It was all she could do not to jerk her head away. She rose to her feet and turned to face him, but she could not summon up a smile.

“So grave, my love? Well, it is to be expected. Marriage is a serious step, but given to us by the Lord especially for the procreation of children. Better to marry than to burn, as the saying goes.”

Judith had the odd impression that he was almost licking his lips. Revulsion overwhelmed her. How could she let him touch her? Her flesh crawled at the thought. For an instant she was tempted to cry out that it had all been a mistake, that she had changed her mind and no longer wished to wed him, but he and Mrs Aveton had moved away. Now they were deep in conversation by the window. She could not hear what they were saying.

“The arrangement stands?” Mrs Aveton asked in a low voice.

“I gave you my word, dear lady. When the money is in my hands, you will receive your share.” The preacher glanced across at his bride-to-be. “I shall earn mine, I think. Your stepdaughter is the oddest creature. Half the time I have no idea what she is thinking.”

“That need not concern you, sir. Give her enough children, and you will keep her occupied, but you must bear down hard upon her radical notions. She likes to read, and she even writes a little, I believe.”

“Both most unsuitable occupations for a woman, but she will be taught to forget that nonsense.”

The Reverend Truscott glanced at his betrothed. There was much else that he would teach her. Judith was no beauty. The brown hair, grave grey eyes, and delicate colouring were not to his taste at all, but her figure was spectacular. Tall and slender, he guessed that his hands would span her waist, but the swelling hips and splendid bosom promised untold pleasures.

His eyes kindled at the thought, but the prospect of controlling her inheritance gave him even greater joy. He banished his lascivious expression and looked down at the list of guests upon the bureau, noticing at once that there were no ticks against the names of the Wentworth family.

“My dear child, you must not forget to invite your friends,” he chided. “I know how much you think of them, and I must learn to know them better.”

“I could well do without the ladies of the family,” Mrs Aveton snapped. “Lady Wentworth is mighty free with her opinions, and as for the Honourable Mrs Peregrine Wentworth…? Words fail me!”

“A little…er…sprightly, perhaps? The privilege of rank, dear lady. After all, we must speak with charity of our fellow-creatures. And, you are friendly with the Countess of Brandon, are you not?”

“She thinks no better of them than I do myself…”