“Yes, he went out of his way to try and frighten me off, not just from him, but out of the castle itself!” she replied, shaking her head in amusement.
Crecy went off into peals of laughter and sat back on the bed in her shift and stays, leaving her dress where it had fallen. Belle sighed and picked it up.
“Well I think you would do him good, Belle, but I’m afraid you might be right,” she admitted as Belle hung it beside her own. “I heard him muttering to Lord Falmouth about the peculiar Holbrook girls and their vulgar aunt. I believe he referred to me as the pretty, odd one, though I think he may have meant, the pretty odd one,” she corrected with a grin. “And apparently you’re a blue stocking with too many opinions.”
Belle gaped at her. “He ... he said what?”
Crecy tutted and began to repeat herself. “He said Aunt Grimble was vulgar ...”
“Oh, I don’t give a damn about Aunt Grimble, everyone can see she’s vulgar!” she cried in fury, as Crecy gaped at her outburst in astonishment. “What did he say about me?”
Crecy swallowed and gave her a wary look. “Umm, he said you were a blue stocking with too many opinions.”
“Well, of all the ...” Any sympathetic feelings she made have harboured for the damaged marquess went abruptly up in smoke as Belle seethed with indignation. How dare he!
Of course, she should never have shown such an interest in Stevenson’s locomotive engine, usually she knew better. But meeting a man so recently having seen the project first-hand had lit her enthusiasm, and Mr Russell hadn’t seemed to mind at all, nor Mrs Russell, come to that.
With fury, Belle made herself a solemn vow that if ever she should have words with the marquess again, she would stand up to him and not, under any circumstances, back down. A blue stocking she may be, but hen-hearted she wasn’t.
On the other hand, she also decided that - if at all possible - she’d go a long way out of her way not to speak to him at all!
Chapter 7
“Wherein vulgar aunts and a mocking marquess give poor Belle a fit of the dismals.”
Belle closed her eyes and prayed that Aunt Grimble would choke on the pastry she was stuffing her face with, and save them all from further humiliation. Sadly, God was disinclined to help her out at this moment, and the blasted woman continued to address remarks to her social superiors as if they were bosom buddies of many years standing.
Lady Scranford tittered and smirked, and spoke behind her hand to her friend Miss Cranton in a whisper that was loud enough to be clearly heard by most of the table, about the vulgar, inching creature and her shabby nieces.
Swallowing her ire with difficulty, Belle reached for her chocolate and sipped, her stomach too twisted with tension to face eating anything. Crecy seemed oblivious, eating little either, but stared out of the window at the grounds with a dreamy countenance that suggested her thoughts were a very long way from the assembled company. Her admirers all bore identical expression as they in turn, gazed upon Crecy.
“Yes, yes, that’s quite enough of that!” Lady Russell barked, effectively silencing Aunt Grimble, who finally did choke on her pasty.
There was a God.
“What are all you young people up to today, then?” she demanded.
Various plans were put forward, some venturing out to visit the village of Longwold itself, some riding, and others opting to stay inside in the warmth and play cards.
“I’d love to go for a walk in the gardens,” Crecy said to Belle, unwittingly giving all the young men in the room an excuse to offer their arm to her. Lucretia shot Belle an appalled look of pleading and Belle swallowed a smile.
“I’m sure my sister would love nothing better on another day, gentlemen,” she said with a kind smile. “But she is too sweet to tell you that she has something of a headache this morning, and so, not up to company.”
The gentlemen all stood as she and her sister got to their feet.
“Nonsense!” Aunt Grimble snapped, startling everyone in the room, especially poor Lady Sinclair who dropped her teacup, gaining herself a tut of reproach from Lady Russell. Aunt Grimble, however, was oblivious and undeterred as she scowled at Belle. “If the earl wants to walk with Lucretia, he should be allowed to!”
Belle and Crecy froze, both appalled as Lady Scranford tittered once more and muttered the fateful words, fortune hunters, under her breathe.
Both of them glanced at the Earl Stanthorpe, who had gone a remarkable shade of red behind his tumbling yellow curls and Belle could almost feel her sister’s flinch of humiliation.
“I’m sure his lordship will understand,” Belle said, annunciating each word with deliberation and staring at her Aunt with quiet fury. To her horror, Aunt Grimble actually opened her mouth to offer further objection, but Lady Russell got in first, calling loudly across the breakfast table.
“Mrs Grimble, do tell me, wherever did you get that remarkable turban, it’s the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever seen!”
Belle smothered a grin as the words were most certainly not complimentary, and lost no time in guiding Crecy away.
“Come, Lucretia, let us go and get you some fresh air.”
The two of them hurried from the room, rushing to collect pelisses and bonnets, and escaped into the garden as fast as they were able.
Belle hauled in a lungful of crisp, icy air and exhaled with relief. “Oh, my word,” she moaned. Crecy slid her arm through hers, shaking her head.
“I just wanted to sink,” she muttered, looking dejected. “As if I would be interested in that silly man.”
Belle looked over at her sister and gave a sad smile. “Oh, but he’s rather nice I think, Crecy.”
“Of course he’s nice!” Crecy replied in astonishment, looking utterly horrified. “But why on earth would I want to marry a nice man?”
Belle stopped in her tracks, staring at her. This was not the first time Crecy had uttered such incomprehensible and concerning words, and Belle felt a chill of foreboding. “Why wouldn’t you want to marry a nice man?” she asked, frowning.
Crecy glanced at her and for a moment Belle thought she caught a slightly panicked, guilty look in her sister’s eyes, but then she laughed and the moment was gone. “Oh, Belle,” she said, her voice light. “Do you really think the Earl of Stanthorpe would make for me a suitable husband?”
“No,” Belle replied, still watching her sister with misgiving. “I think it would be a terrible match and that you would scare the poor man to death. But that doesn’t answer the question. What kind of man do you want, if not a nice one?”
Crecy fell silent and avoided her sister’s gaze. “Not one like that,” she said at length. “In fact, I may never marry at all,” she added, with such defiance that Belle began to feel truly alarmed.
She stopped and caught Crecy’s hands, turning her so that they stood face to face.