Novels That May Never Be Finished: Part 2

To Entice a Lord:  Part 1

Annabelle Bellmarsh was cursed by the men in her life.  First her father up and died on the family several years back, leaving them to sink into genteel poverty, the estate cut back to just the manor house and the outlying gardens.  Then her brother Sir Percy Bellmarsh came up from town, where who knows what he was up to, and declared he was following his muse to the new world.

What new world was that, Annabelle was anxious to know.  “Don’t you see,” he began to explain.  “My name.  Percy.  It’s the same as Shelley’s.  I’m feeling the call of the exotic.”

“Are you not feeling the call of the Bellmarsh estate?” she asked rather anxiously.  “After all, you are a baronet.”

Percy waved his hand in a languid fashion, probably wishing there was a handkerchief in it.  “What matter is this little piece of England, when the world awaits?”

“This little piece of England is where your sisters and your mother reside,” Annabelle reminded him, trying to keep the distress out of her voice.

At that, Percy, who was ever so much taller than she was, placed a hand on her shoulder and said, “It is a curse indeed to be a woman and not be able to seek out the adventures that await such as I.  My duty is to my soul.  Your duty—“  He gave a weak little smile.  “To marry well,” he concluded.

“And how do you suggest I do that with a dowery even the local deacon would sniff at, and you gone so that I shall have to manage the estate on my own?”  Her face was flush now.  She felt like tearing her unmanageable curly hair out of its imprisoning bun.

“You can always depend on our mother.”

For what, Annabelle wondered.  Their mother’s favorite line when their father was alive was, “Whatever you say, dear.”  Now she was using the same phrase with the same resignation whenever Annabelle made suggestions about managing the estate.

“Is there nothing I can say to persuade you to stay?” Annnabelle wondered, despairingly.

“I shall return a much happier man, a man who will be spiritually enriched.”

“Dare I hope that somewhere on your travels you’ll become financially enriched also?”

Once again Annabelle got a pitying look from her brother.  Then he turned away from her, his eyes misting over with a future that beckoned him on a journey that would not be refused.

———-

“Oh, Bella Bella darling, do not worry so.  It’ll add frown lines around your eyes, and your eyes are one of your best features.  If only you’d use a bit of lemon to lighten your hair.”

The family of women were in the sitting room having tea. Mary Bellmarsh was in her widows weeds, looking pensively at the fireplace.  Annabelle was also looking at the fireplace and wondering when the time would come where she herself would have to chop her own logs and haul them indoors.

Her mother had once told her it was unseemly for a woman to be worried about money.  But with Percy gone—not that he was ever overly worried about the estate and how it was managed—who was left to worry if not she?

Annabelle brought her attention back to her sister Charity.  Three years younger than Annabelle, Charity was what men would call a diamond of the first water.  She was small and delicate, with perfect rosebud lips and a natural blush on her cheeks.  Her hair was lustrous with a hint of strawberry coloring.  Surely any man, any rich man, would see his way to fall in love with the peerless Charity, even without a dowery to mach her beauty.

“Bella Bella,” Charity began again.

“Please desist from calling me Bella Bella.”

“But I always call you Bella Bella.”

“When you couldn’t pronounce my name. I believe that was when you were in leading strings. Since you are eighteen years of age, I would assume you could give full vent to ‘Annabelle.’”

“But I like Bella Bella better.  Don’t you want to make me happy?”

Annabelle allowed her posture to falter as she fell backward into the cushions of her favorite chair.  “What are we to do?” she moaned.

“You should both marry rich men,” their mother said.  “When I was your age, that was the done thing.” 

“Mother, I believe you had a respectable dowery.  Can either Charity or I claim the same?” Annabelle asked with some asperity.

At this Mary Bellmarsh eyes watered.  She delicately raised her handkerchief to her eyes.

Annabelle knew she should apologize.  But it was so easy to cry, to bemoan their situation, but what was needed was action.  Marrying rich would be perfect, if there were anyone rich enough in the county who wasn’t attached already.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Charity said to her sister.  “Who exactly can we drudge up in a county such as ours?”  She gave her tinkle of a laugh.  “But I have already decided to set my cap on someone very local.”

Annabelle’s eyebrows raised enough to take away the worry lines around her eyes.  “And who might that be and what are his prospects?”

“The vicar.”

“Mr. Crammer!  Dear Charity, he is well and truly married.  And his wife is not ailing.  Far from it.”

Folding her hands prettily in her lap, Charity looked at her elder sister with something like pity.  “If you spent less time worrying and more time out and about the neighborhood, for example shopping for ribbons, instead of eggs and bacon, you’d know that Mr. Crammer has been reassigned up north, so that Mr. James Forthwith could take his place.

Annabelle frowned, bringing back her wrinkles.  “Forthwith.  Forthwith.  For some reason that name sounds familiar.”

Mary, who had taken up her embroidery, leaned forward to say, “Isn’t that Lord Babbington’s family name?”

“Of course,” Annabelle recalled now.  A very unladylike sigh escaped her.  She knew little about Lord Babbington other than that he was bringing new meaning to the term landed gentry.  Especially in this county, where he seemed to be buying up pieces of land to establish the largest estate in the region.

No one really knew who Jeremy Forthwith, Lord Babbington was exactly.  Not that the gentry tired of trying to find out. Annabelle wasn’t as immune to gossip as her sister seemed to think.  The green grocers was as good a place to hear gossip as the milliners, so she knew that Jeremy Forthwith was the first in his family to be ennobled, elevated to baron for services to the Regent.  One could only hope it wasn’t for procurement, she thought bleakly.  But everyone thought bleakly of the soon to be George IV.   Still she supposed she would need to huzzah with the rest of the country when he finally became king.

But the future king wasn’t her immediate concern.  Charity’s intrigues were.

“Annabelle,” Charity said a bit sharply.  “Are you listening?”

“Of course.  Don’t I always?  James Forthwith.  To be our new vicar.  Brother of the mysterious Lord Babbington.”

“Who I hear has no wife, no children and no one to inherit, except the man I’ve come to call Dear James—in my heart at least.”  Charity smirked.

“Have you even met this paragon, whom you’ve set your, dare I say, heart on?”

“Not yet.  But I will.  We all will.  Come Friday eve when Squire Malacott is holding a welcoming reception for James, to which, if you ever read anything besides the bills, you’d know we’re all invited.

Such an invitation should excite Annabelle, but all she could think of was how to turn her blue gown into something that looked like it hadn’t been worn a million times.

“Perhaps his brother shall also be there and we’ll get a look at this Lord Babbington,” Mary Bellmarsh remarked.

“Well, I’ve already entwined my fate with James Forthwith, so dear Bella Bella, it’s up to you to entice a lord.”  At that Charity smirked.  Appealingly.