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.