Forsaking Hope

by Beverley Oakley

  He gave a nervous laugh. “Me? Why, I’m hardly the greatest catch in this room. Granted, there are many mamas who would have welcomed me as a suitor in the local district but you, Annabelle, could have done so much better.”

  “I knew from the moment I turned twelve years old that I wanted only you, Felix. And now my patience has paid off.”

  He repressed a shudder as she went on, “I remember the first local ball I attended. I hadn’t come out yet, but Mama let me go so I could get my feet wet, as they say.” She smiled. “You were the very first gentleman who asked me to dance, and when you put your hands on my waist and twirled me round the room, I knew I need look no further for my husband. I’d known you since I was a little girl, Felix, but here you were, a handsome, grown-up gentleman, down from Cambridge, and my Prince Charming. You danced with me three times that night, and when I got home, I told Mama I would save them the expense of a London season because the husband I wanted lived in the large house on top the hill.”

  “Waiting patiently for me to settle down, eh, and realise at last that I needed a wife?”

  She put her head on one side, paused, then said under her breath, “Yes, once you’d got over your obsession with Hope Merriweather.”

  He felt her words like a knife and winced.

  Perhaps she didn’t notice for she went on, “That wild girl was the despair of her mama and papa. Her behaviour was scandalous—”

  “Was it? I don’t recall that.” Nor did he. Yes, Hope was spirited and loved to ride fast and to run about the neighbourhood without restraint, but was that really wild? He’d done the same when he was a lad.

  Annabelle’s nostrils flared. She glanced about the room then back at Felix. “I know the local ladies decided she should not be invited to the local entertainments because she was a corrupting influence on the rest of us.”

  “Poor Miss Merriweather. That must have been hard.”

  “And wasn’t that confirmed when she rode so boldly right into the Hunt! The ladies were scandalised. Her mama was mortified, but Hope wouldn’t listen to anyone, and she rode with the rest of them as if she were…one of the men!”

  Felix stared through the girl speaking as he remembered his impressions of Hope joining them so confidently, horses and hounds making way for the fine figure she cut. So young. So defiant. The gentlemen hadn’t seemed to mind. In fact, some of them had applauded her for her spirit.

  And she certainly hadn’t seemed like one of the men when she’d fallen from her horse, and he’d nearly kissed her. But Annabelle would remember that.

  “You rode too, Annabelle, if you recall. You joined us just after Hope fell from her horse.”

  Annabelle sent him a suspicious glance. “I went for a gentle canter. I did not join the Hunt, but I came upon the two of you, as you no doubt recall.”

  Felix nodded. “You seemed very concerned about Hope’s well-being. I remember being a little surprised when you dismounted and rushed towards us, crying out to know if she were hurt.”

  Annabelle nodded. “Of course. We might not have been bosom friends, but Mama was on friendly terms with Hope’s mama, or should I say stepmama, so we were together a bit.”

  “I hadn’t known Mrs Merriweather was not her real mother. Hope must have been distraught when her father died so suddenly, just after she’d left for Germany.”

  Annabelle gave a somewhat frustrated sigh. “And now she’s to marry the nephew of Mama’s friend in Leipzig. She has been away a long time, Felix, and she’s not once written to ask after any of us.” She paused, adding firmly, “Hope’s never coming back to England.”

  Felix nodded slowly. “Never coming back to England,” he repeated softly, frowning as he asked, “I believe you farewelled her at the station on the day she left. Was she sad to leave? She’d promised to say goodbye to me but she didn’t.”

  He saw her guarded look. “There wasn’t time. You remember the snowfall we’d had the night before. Mr Merriweather couldn’t get his carriage out from his stable, so he sent a message round and Wilfred and I picked Hope up on the road. But that’s a long time ago. Hope’s gone to another country now and you are marrying me. Please let’s not talk about her. I’ve waited so long to be reassured that your heart belongs only to me. Perhaps you loved Hope once, but she didn’t return your feelings otherwise she’d have waited. Or come home. Or sent you a message.”

  But Felix’s thoughts were stuck in the past. Though no words of commitment had been spoken, he’d have staked his life on the fact Hope wanted to meet him at the church before she left for Germany.

  “Did Hope ask you to stop at the church when she got into the carriage?”

  Annabelle’s expression was combative as she shook her head. “She was just worried she’d miss her train.”

  Felix couldn’t bear the subterfuge. He gripped Annabelle’s gloved forearm and put his head close to hers, hoping the gesture would be interpreted as loving by onlookers. Really, he’d never felt more angry and hunted in his life. “Tell me what happened inside the carriage, Annabelle,” he muttered. “Something happened. Did she get on that train? Did you see her get on that train?”

  Annabelle swivelled her gaze as she instinctively moved away from Felix’s uncomfortable interrogation. “What an odd question. Well, of course she got on that train. Wilfred took her there. He told me so.”

  “He told you so? Then you didn’t see her actually board.”

  “I was dropped off at my friend’s house in the village,” Annabelle said defensively. “But Wilfred was going directly to the station. Yes.”

  “So, if Hope was full of enthusiasm for her new adventure as you say, what aspect was she particularly excited about? Charlotte tells me she didn’t want to go.”

  “Really, Felix, is this necessary when we are just betrothed? It’s hardly nice to talk about Hope Merriweather to the girl you’re going to marry.”

  “No, but I need to be reassured that Miss Merriweather said nothing about me before she left.” Felix called on all the creative logic at his fingertips, knowing that his response was lame. Nevertheless, he needed something from Annabelle. Something to start working with to put the pieces of the puzzle together. “Please, Annabelle. Think. That’ll help me put the past behind me, once and for all.”

  Annabelle gave a huffy sigh. “She was sleeping. She didn’t say a word.”

  “Sleeping?”

  Felix’s shocked tones took Annabelle by surprise. Colour stole into her cheeks, and she looked like she was giving herself a mental shake as she replied, cagily, “She’d had something to drink which I think might have made her sleep. By accident, though.”

  “By accident? What do you mean?” Alarm was weaving through Felix now at a rapid pace.

  Annabelle frowned as she apparently tried to recall. She seemed uncomfortable in the face of Felix’s intense stare and tossed her head, giving a false little trill for the benefit of the others in the room, though her expression was concerned. “Hope had been waiting at the end of the driveway in the cold for us to arrive, for of course we couldn’t venture to the house in the carriage with the fallen tree blocking the way. After Wilfred helped her into the carriage, I offered her what I thought was the flask containing warm honey and lemon that Mama had sent with us.”

  “What do you mean ‘you thought’.” Felix didn’t care how menacing he sounded even if the consequence was that Annabelle looked frightened.

  In a softer voice, the girl replied, “I accidentally offered her the wrong flask. It was Mama’s, and Hope drank long and deep much more than she should have—and suddenly she was sleeping.”

  “Good Lord, Annabelle! What are you saying?”

  Annabelle looked distressed. “Oh, Felix, if you must know, Hope was a complete fool for drinking so much from Mama’s flask, though I tried to pull it away from her after I realised it was the flask into which I’d added the contents of the laudanum vial I’d purchased earlier from the apothecary. One should only take a couple of d
rops in liquid at a time.”

  “I know,” said Felix, heavily. “So you’re telling me you drugged Hope.”

  “I didn’t drug her,” Annabelle bristled. “Not intentionally, and of course it was hardly going to kill her. Mama takes laudanum all the time. Papa worries, but Mama says she only takes a few drops and her mood is so much sweeter when she does.”

  “So you just left Hope sleeping?” Felix asked.

  “Well, we’d arrived at my friend Jenny’s house, and Jenny was waving to me from the window. Wilfred said he’d ensure Hope was awake to get on the train and that’s how we parted.” Annabelle shot Felix a suspicious glance. “Of course Wilfred would have waited until Hope was well enough to get onto the train. My brother is a gentleman.”

  She said it indignantly as if it were likely that Felix would refute the truth of her statement.

  But Felix wasn’t focused on Annabelle. Rather, he was assimilating how this new evidence from Annabelle accorded with what Charlotte had told him.

  “Felix! Where are you going?”

  But Felix ignored her.

  Chapter 13

  With a final flourish, Hope arranged the feather in her elaborate coiffure and stepped back to admire the finished ensemble. Madame Chambon had been disappointed Hope’s wealthy admirer had not offered the lavish terms expected during his last visit and Hope was feeling the pressure.

  Daisy, her dresser, clapped her hands. “I reckon Lord Westfall will throw a pearl choker inta the bargain when ‘e sees ya, miss.” She knelt to arrange Hope’s train. “Will ya be sad to leave this place, then, if Lord Westfall makes ya the offa ya’s bin expectin’?”

  “It’ll be nice to have to please only one gentleman,” Hope said, thinking to the future and trying not to think of Felix whose marriage to Miss Annabelle had just been printed in the newspapers.

  “Ya gotta twist him round yer little finger early, miss. When ‘e wants ya real bad. That’s when the gennulmen are most generous.” Daisy fussed about Hope, dishing out advice like a seasoned professional. “An’ ya gotta put some unda a stone fer a rainy day. That’s what me gran always told me. Not that it’s likely I’ll eva ‘ave any spare ta put unda a stone. But ya will, miss. Yer a sharp one. That’s why Lord Westfall likes ya. ‘E likes ‘em with wit ta go with beauty an’ all them other things gennulmen can’t live wivvout. If ya play yer cards right, ‘e might even make ya ‘is wife one day.”

  Hope raised one eyebrow. “Women like me don’t become wives, Daisy.”

  “Jess did.”

  “She married the blacksmith because she was so desperate to be respectably married, and his was the best offer that came her way.” She gave a half smile as she thought of the lengths to which she’d go to be respectably married. Soon, she’d become Lord Westfall’s mistress, she supposed, since there were precious other options that would not see her into an early pauper’s grave.

  As for Felix, she’d heard nothing from him since their tense, impassioned coupling of several days ago. Wilfred would be very careful to ensure Hope posed no danger to his sister’s happiness and position as Felix’s new wife—both before and after Charlotte’s marriage—and Hope could only assume he’d done his worst.

  Whatever Felix’s feelings for her, there’d been no time to explore the intimacy sufficiently for Hope to take the risks she might have done had she known Felix deeper, for longer.

  Adopting a falsely light tone, she said, “No, Daisy, I am irrevocably of the demimondaine class, and the demimondaine exist purely to amuse gentlemen like Lord Westfall. Neither he nor any of his friends would dare upset the natural order of things and outrage society by considering marriage to a woman like me.”

  Daisy sighed. “But them’s the ones what put ya where ya are. It ain’t right an’ it ain’t fair.”

  “Life isn’t fair but we all have to make the most of it. Now, am I ready?” Hope asked, turning the subject briskly. “Lord Westfall has been kept waiting long enough.”

  * * *

  Madame Chambon’s curved staircase was designed for theatrical entrances, and Hope had perfected sweeping down it to a fine art.

  The response from his besotted lordship was predictable and gratifying.

  “Exquisite! You are a diamond of the first water, Miss Hope,” he declared, holding out his hand to assist her from the bottom step. “You do me proud. Are you ready for a night of entertainment?”

  Hope smiled. The idea of being escorted straight to Lord Westfall’s townhouse for an orgy of sex was not appealing, but if she could become mindless after a few champagnes and some exuberant dancing, it would go some way towards dulling the pain that throbbed behind her eyes. Whatever bedroom delights Lord Westfall had in store could then be dealt with more tolerably.

  She gazed at him over the top of her fan, employing the artful trick Madame Chambon taught her girls that suggested barely contained excitement at whatever delights the gentleman at hand might have in store.

  “It sounds too wonderful,” she murmured. “Where are we going?”

  Lord Westfall then proceeded to list an evening beginning with a play in Covent Garden followed by some gambling, and finally dancing at the premises of a popular London demimondaine.

  “It sounds exhausting,” Hope commented, as Lord Westfall helped her into his carriage.

  “Ah, amusement. You’ve proven yourself a young woman of stamina on many an occasion. I’m sure you won’t be too exhausted for the culmination of our evening.”

  “I await it with pleasure.” Hope fanned herself vigorously, careful to ensure her eyes sparkled at him from above the ivory points. Fortunately, Lord Westfall would be easy to manage and was among the more desirable of protectors, given that she needed to look to the future.

  The future. She tried not to allow herself to be cast down by despair as the image flashed into her mind once more of the printed notice in The Times announcing Felix and Annabelle’s betrothal.

  Tomorrow, Hope’s own sister would be making a match to a man every bit Lord Westfall’s equal. Their mama had done well to pay for the accoutrements that would be required to fit Charlotte out as a contender for a gentleman of such address. Perhaps she’d remarried. Hope had heard nothing in two years about her family other than the news of Charlotte’s impending nuptials. She’d only learnt of the death of her father from Wilfred two weeks after the event which, perhaps, explained why the two letters she’d sent had gone astray or been ignored. Either was possible, though she presumed the latter to be the case. After Papa had died, Mama must have washed her hands of Hope.

  Hope had never known another mother—her own mama’s name had never been mentioned—and she’d been eight when she’d deduced through something a visitor had said that Mama was not in fact her real mother. When she’d questioned her father, he’d said the matter was not to be spoken of again. Hope and Charlotte were equal in both their parents’ eyes.

  But that had not been the case. Hope knew that.

  * * *

  The play was entertaining, the gambling not so much. Lord Westfall drank too much, and persisted at the gaming table long after his luck had run out. Until, seizing Hope by the waist, he insisted she throw the dice, after which he was on a winning streak, and his jovial spirits had returned.

  At last, Hope persuaded him it was time to move onto Skittles Parlour and was glad at the opportunity to converse with some of her friends there. Several of the lavishly bejewelled courtesans clinging to the arms of their respective aristocrats were graduates of Madame Chambon’s.

  When a lively waltz began to play, Lord Westfall took Hope onto the dance floor where he proceeded to display his expertise as a dancer.

  Hope was sorry when the polka that followed it sapped his lordship of his remaining energy, and she was suddenly alert with fear and acute feeling when his place was taken by a newcomer desiring to partner Hope.

  The two men greeted each other affably, Lord Westfall surrendering his soon-to-be mistress saying, “Be my gue
st. Hope has more stamina than I do. I’m sure she’ll lead you a lively dance.” He thought he was being funny with the double entendre which Hope ignored, but which caused Wilfred to laugh more loudly than was warranted. He, too, looked as if he’d had too much to drink.

  “You’re looking as beautiful as ever, my lovely Hope,” Wilfred remarked, as he twirled her into the centre of the dance floor. It was a slower waltz, to Hope’s annoyance, so conversation was possible. The last man she wished to converse with was Wilfred Hunt.

  She stared stonily over his shoulder. “I saw your sister’s engagement notice in The Times. You must be pleased.”

  “I am pleased that my sister is happy. And my parents. It’s a fine match.” Wilfred’s smile was as artless as if he were discussing the marriage of a couple of acquaintances.

  “So, you have achieved your aim.” Hope was silent as she went through the elaborate lengths to which Wilfred was determined to damn her in Felix’s eyes.

  Wilfred merely inclined his head.

  “Then perhaps, since you had already achieved your aim, you then felt it was not necessary to give Felix the promissory note I took from him?” She smiled sweetly as she caught his eye, and pushed her point in case he’d been too obtuse to understand to what she was alluding. “In view of the fact that it would be a small kindness to atone, in part, for what you have done to me.”

  Wilfred’s mouth turned up at the corners. It was one of those small, self-satisfied, gloating smiles that made her vision go black, for that’s how he’d always smiled at her when he knew he had the upper hand. How he did love to trade on his superior position. He had Hope exactly where he wanted her.

  “Of course I gave it to him. And of course he was distraught. Understandably so.”

  The music trailed off, and Wilfred led her off the dance floor. Seeing Lord Westfall occupied, he caged her hand on his arm and continued walking her through the merry throng.

  A large withdrawing room just beyond where the dancing was taking place was empty. Leisurely, Wilfred closed the door behind them, muting the noise as they gazed down onto the gaslit street.