Belle of the Ball

by Pam McCutcheon

  Mama and Papa waited for her in the library, sitting side by side in two chairs that faced Belle’s. With their stern expressions, all they needed were rifles to complete the picture of a firing squad. Belle thought about asking for a blindfold, but knew they wouldn’t appreciate levity at this time. Instead, she said nothing, but sat in the chair, folded her hands in her lap, and braced herself.

  It didn’t take long. Mama sighed heavily. “Why are you being so stubborn? Lord Stanhope is a great catch—”

  “Mr. Stanhope,” Belle corrected her.

  “What?”

  “He’s not a lord—he’s just plain Mr. Stanhope, not Lord Stanhope.”

  Mama waved that away as irrelevant. “He’s still the son of a lord. And he’s perfect—just what I wanted for you, Belle. Why won’t you take what he’s offering?”

  Because he wasn’t offering the one thing she truly wanted—his heart. But Belle didn’t know how to answer that question without making Mama angry or confusing her more, so she kept her mouth shut.

  Papa scowled at Mama. “He’s perfect, is he? And that’s why ye had to pay the man to escort me daughter? This mess is all yer fault, Bridey. I’m not forgettin’ that if ye hadn’t interfered in the first place, none of this would have happened.”

  Mama bridled up like an angry dog. “Is it a sin to want what’s best for my girls?”

  “’Tis if ye hurt them in the process,” Papa shot back—and the argument was on.

  Belle watched in consternation, feeling a little sad that her troubles had caused a rift in Mama and Papa’s relationship as well. But not too sad—if they kept at each other long enough, maybe they’d forget about her.

  No such luck.

  “It’s all the fault of that horrible Millicent Mattingly,” Mama said in a huff and glared at Belle. “She’s a horrible gossip. Why, the news is probably all over town by now that you and Lord Stanhope were missing together.”

  “I told you nothing happened,” Belle said for the thousandth time. Maybe if she kept on repeating it, someone would eventually believe her. Even if it wasn’t true.

  Mama sniffed. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll still be ruined if the word gets around.”

  Belle raised her chin. “I don’t care.” If Kit didn’t love her, she would just remain an old maid anyway.

  Papa shook his head and said softly, “I don’t understand, lass. I thought ye had a fondness for the man. Did he do something to give ye a disgust of him?”

  On the contrary, he had made her love him. “No.”

  “Then what is the problem?” he asked in exasperation. “Why don’t ye just marry the man?”

  Because if Kit married her without love, she feared she would end up with a broken heart—and she couldn’t stand that. She tried to explain in a way they would understand. “Because I don’t want to marry for society’s sake—I want to marry for love . . . like you two did.” Though from the way they had been quarreling of late, no one would know it.

  Mama and Papa exchanged chagrined glances. Papa seemed to understand, but Mama said, “You could learn to love him. It won’t be difficult. After all, he comes from an excellent family, and he’s very personable and handsome. Not every woman goes into a marriage loving her husband, but it develops over time. And it would be so easy to love him.”

  I know—that’s the problem. Belle had never said she didn’t love him—trust Mama to get it confused. But Belle couldn’t set her straight. If Mama knew Belle loved Kit, she would be even more perplexed. She would never understand why Belle had to refuse him. “It would be a disaster,” she told her mother. “I would never be happy.” How could she be, loving a man who didn’t love her?

  Mama made an exasperated sound and turned to Papa. “Patrick, tell her she has to marry him.”

  Patrick shook his head slowly. “No, she has the right of it. She should marry for love, as we did.”

  Belle’s hopes rose. Was Papa on her side?

  But Mama wasn’t giving up. “What? She can’t do that—she doesn’t have the luxury of marrying for love. Society won’t let her.”

  Papa scowled. “Yer getting a little above yerself now, Bridey.”

  “I am not,” Mama said indignantly. “This has nothing to do with my social aspirations. I just want what’s best for my girls, and I know a ruined reputation isn’t it.”

  “But it’s yer precious society who would condemn her,” Papa reminded her. “Marriage isn’t the only solution. There are other options.”

  “Such as what?” Mama asked. “If she stays in town, everyone will remember her disgrace and she’ll ruin Charisma and Grace’s chances of finding good husbands.”

  Papa sighed. “Finding a husband is not the be-all and end-all of existence—”

  “No, Papa,” Belle interrupted. “Mama is right.” Chagrined that she hadn’t realize how her actions might hurt her sisters. Belle knew she had to do something that wouldn’t jeopardize their chances for happiness. “I don’t want to hurt Charisma and Grace.”

  Mama’s face brightened. “Then you’ll marry him?”

  “No. But Papa’s suggestion is good—I’ll just have to go away for a while.” Maybe a little time away would be good for her, give her a new perspective on life.

  “But where?” Mama asked in bewilderment, obviously not quite ready to give up her hopes of having Kit Stanhope as a son-in-law.

  “Me sister would be glad to have her,” Patrick said slowly.

  Belle beamed at him. Just the thing—she would love to visit Boston and see the place where her parents had grown up. There would be no memories of Kit there to haunt her, either.

  “No,” Mama said, shaking her head. “That won’t do. It’s too far away, and too expensive. She’ll just have to visit Margaret. I never wanted any of us to have to go back to that awful place, but you leave us no choice, Belle.”

  Fussy old Aunt Margaret, Mama’s best friend, back in Leadville? Oh, no. “But Aunt Margaret doesn’t even like me,” Belle protested. She didn’t like any of the girls. In fact, Belle didn’t think the old fussbudget liked people at all. Life there would be horrible.

  “Nonsense,” Mama said briskly. “She’s practically family—she has to love you.” She paused and a militant light came into her eye. “It’s your choice, Belle. Either you announce your engagement to Lord Stanhope, or you visit my sister in Leadville.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, girl,” Mama said firmly. “You’ve made your bed and now you have to lie in it.”

  Belle scowled. “What if I don’t choose?” she asked belligerently.

  “Ye must,” Papa said gently. “Ye can’t have it both ways, lass. Ye said it yerself. Ye must choose.”

  Mama nodded. “Yes. And you have until this evening to do so. Think carefully, Belle, for what you decide now will have consequences for the rest of your life.”

  What a choice. Either way, she was being punished for the crime of loving a man who didn’t love her back. It was too much to bear. Belle burst into tears and ran back to the comfort of her room.

  Several hours later, Belle was no closer to an answer than she was before, despite the fact that she’d done nothing else but think about it. The same thoughts kept going round and round in her head. No matter what she chose, she’d be miserable.

  Belle heard someone outside her door and raised her head with a meager hope that one of her sisters had come to commiserate with her . . . but it was Mama who opened the door.

  “You have a visitor, Belle. Come downstairs.”

  She wasn’t in the mood. “I’m not really up for visitors. Can you ask her to go away and come back another time?”

  “Not this visitor,” Mama insisted. “It’s Lord Stanhope. Maybe he can talk some sense into you.”

  Despite herself, Belle’s hopes rose. Though she knew she was probably just letting herself in for more heartache, she had to see him . . . just on the off chance that he had come to declare his undying love. Quickly, she checked her
appearance in the mirror, then tried to repair the ravages of her tears, but Mama was too impatient.

  “Don’t keep Lord Stanhope waiting. You look fine. Now, come on downstairs.”

  Feeling like a frump, Belle followed her mother downstairs to the back parlor.

  At the entrance to the parlor, Mama said, “The damage has already been done, so I’ll leave you two alone. Maybe he can talk some sense into your head.” Her face turned stern. “Listen to what he has to say, Belle. And if you need your father or me, we’ll both be in the library.” She gave her daughter an admonishing glance. “And we’ll be expecting to hear some good news.”

  Belle sighed and entered the parlor as Mama closed the door behind her. Kit awaited her inside, looking splendidly handsome in a well-tailored suit She blushed as she remembered what he looked like without it . . . and exactly what he had done to her when unclothed.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to be reliving the same experience. In fact, the forbidding expression on his face didn’t bode well for their conversation. He bowed slightly, saying in a formal tone, “Good afternoon, Miss Sullivan. How are you?”

  Miserable—especially since he still seemed so distant and cold. Impatiently, she wondered how they had been reduced to this after everything they had done to each other. Belle murmured, “I’m fine. And you?” Were they just going to mouth pleasantries at each other now, for heaven’s sake?

  “I’m fine,” Kit said, then seemed to lose patience. “But I’ll ask you once more. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Belle studied his demeanor, searching for some sign of caring or fondness, but found none. He was totally unapproachable—a sure sign that he was asking only because it was the expected tiling to do. “No,” she said baldly, not caring how rude she sounded. Perhaps some of Charisma’s bluntness had rubbed off on her.

  He didn’t look surprised. “May I inquire as to a reason?”

  Belle shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “There is no need to play the gallant gentleman,” she said, then belatedly added the formula she’d been taught. “But I am very conscious of the honor you do me, and I thank you for the offer.”

  Kit ran a hand through his hair, looking impatient. “Honor? But it’s your honor I’m trying to save. You must marry me.”

  “I don’t care about my honor,” Belle said belligerently. Why was he prattling on so about such a stuffy subject anyway, when she longed to hear how much he cared?

  “You may not, but I do,” Kit said. “I care.”

  Belle’s heart leaped with hope. “What-what do you mean?” she asked. Could he mean what she thought?

  “What if a child results from . . . what we did last night?”

  She shrugged. “If that happens. I’ll deal with it then.” But the thought of having Kit’s babe was somehow comforting, no matter how much society might despise her.

  “I don’t want it said that I dishonored a young lady. Not again.”

  Again? What does he mean, again? Then, suddenly, it all made sense. “So that’s why you left England—they think you dishonored a girl.”

  Kit looked annoyed that he had revealed so much, but said, “Yes. Now you know. And surely you must realize why I can’t let it happen again.”

  That explained why he had asked her to marry him, but not why she should agree. “It isn’t a problem,” she said softly. “No one will know.” She had hurt enough people by her rash actions—she didn’t want to hurt him as well.

  He shook his head ruefully. “I am afraid that is wishful thinking. The word will get out.”

  “Not if we both deny it.”

  Kit considered for a moment. “It would be nice to think so, but while I trust myself and you not to reveal what happened, I am not so sanguine about Miss Mattingly . . . or your mother.”

  Belle sighed. He was right. “Still, I’m sure we will both do fine. I can live with people thinking I’ve been compromised.”

  “No matter how you sugarcoat what happened, Belle, the fact is, I did more than compromise you—I ruined you. What if you are pregnant?”

  Ruined her? What an awful way to put the most important experience of her life. She shook her head wordlessly and lowered her head, not wanting him to see the sheen of tears she was sure showed in her eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Kit signed in exasperation. “You’re a sensible person, Belle. Surely you know this is the best thing to do. What’s the real reason you are refusing me?”

  Because I love you and you don’t love me, she cried silently. Then sought for an explanation he would believe. “You—you didn’t believe me when I toldyou I didn’t come to your room for revenge,” she said quietly, then raised her head to see his reaction.

  He raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

  “Really, I didn’t,” she assured him, desperately wanting him to believe her. “I didn’t plan on Mama and Papa finding us. It’s all Miss Mattingly’s fault. She saw that we were both missing and decided to start some trouble. I think she’s still mad at me for making her look bad after the concert.”

  Kit said nothing—he just stared at her with a considering expression as if wondering whether or not to believe her.

  “It’s the truth,” Belle said bitterly. Did anyone imagine she wanted this to happen? “I—I learned my lesson after the concert, when I saw how badly I hurt George.”

  “So you admit you were trying to get back at him?”

  “Yes, and Harold, too. I wanted to punish them for hurting Charisma and Grace.”

  “And what about me? I can’t believe you simply decided to pass me by when I’m the one who insulted you personally.”

  Belle stared down at the carpet, afraid to meet his eyes. “I didn’t intend to pass you by at first, but you were the only one of the three who apologized.” And I fell in love with you.

  But she couldn’t tell him that. “Even though you said I was plain—”

  “Homely. I believe the word I used was homely,” Kit said, interrupting her.

  Belle winced at the memory. “Yes, but you did everything you could to make me beautiful.”

  He frowned. “So that’s why you were so eager to become the belle of the ball—because you wanted to have all three of us at your feet to punish us?”

  It sounded so bad when he said it aloud. “Yes,” Belle admitted. “At first. But after my two attempts at revenge turned out so badly, I realized true beauty comes from within.” And she was still working on that part.

  “Well, I’m glad you finally realized that,” he said flatly, but there was no forgiveness in his voice.

  “Won’t you believe me?” Belle pleaded. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I just wanted—”

  She broke off, not sure who might be listening at the door.

  “What?” he asked. “What did you want, Belle?”

  She lowered her voice. “I told you last night—I just wanted to make love to you. I didn’t expect—or want—to get caught. Don’t you think I would have made it a little more obvious what we did if that had been my intention?”

  He sighed, and she was glad to see that he had dropped his cold, aloof facade. Perhaps he did believe her.

  He shook his head. “Regardless of your intentions, we must pay the consequences. You must marry me, Belle.”

  Pay the consequences? What a horrible way to put it. Well, if he only saw their lovemaking as a mistake that they had to pay for, their marriage would be a disaster. “No, I don’t have to marry you. My parents told me I have another option.”

  “And that is?”

  “I can go away, visit my Aunt Margaret in Leadville. That way you won’t have to worry about me anymore.”

  ‘You’d rather go away than marry me?” he asked in disbelief.

  Of course not, but that was the only thing she could do to escape a loveless marriage. She said nothing.

  Kit threw up his hands in exasperation. “Well, I know my duty. I won’t give up until we’re married.”

  Duty? T
hat hurt. Belle wanted his love or nothing. And it appeared “nothing” was exactly what she was going to get.

  With a sigh, she realized she had her answer. She would just have to tell Mama and Papa that she had chosen Aunt Margaret.

  On Mount Olympus, the normally graceful Euphrosyne wrung her hands. “Oh, dear. This is a disaster, Aglaia. Is this how you grant Belle’s wish?”

  “Of course not,” Aglaia said defensively. “But I didn’t want to interfere too much.”

  Thalia shook her head. “It’s so obvious those two love each other. They’re the only ones who don’t realize it. Isn’t there something you can do?”

  “No,” Aglaia said with real regret. “This is something they must do for themselves or it won’t mean anything. At least we know Belle isn’t with child.”

  Euphrosyne said, “I suppose. But it’s such a shame you can’t give them a little push, somehow.”

  Aglaia started to shake her head, but then a thought struck her. “I don’t want to do anything directly, but perhaps I can give a tiny push in another direction. . . .”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kit stared at Belle, feeling powerless as she crossed her arms and glared at him with a mulish expression. Not one of his arguments had been persuasive. She didn’t even seem moved by the fact that he had revealed the real reason why he left England.

  How could he make her understand marriage was the best thing—the only thing—she could do? Didn’t she understand she would be thought at fault if she refused him? That their union might result in a child?

  This wasn’t how he had imagined asking his future wife to marry him. He rather thought it would involve a visit to her father to ask for her hand and arrange marriage settlements, then a joyful meeting with his intended when he got down on one knee to propose. Instead, Belle was treating him like an idiot child who didn’t know what he wanted.

  Then again, he wasn’t totally enamored of her actions either. Perhaps she hadn’t intended revenge when her parents burst in upon them, but she still didn’t trust him enough to confide in him. Quite obviously, as husbands went, he was her last choice.