Page 45 of The Wallflower Ruse

“Unfair indeed,” he murmured.

“If I am ruined because I am outspoken, or because I discuss forbidden topics, or because I choose to behave badly, so be it. But not because of my mother’s foolish ambition!”

“My dear Miss Belair, how very difficult this must be. But surely your father...?”

“He died last year. He was the only one who could control her. The thing is, Mr. Pearce...”

“Yes?”

“I had to stop her somehow, and I could only think of one way. I’m very sorry, but...I told her that I am going to marry you.”

His face drained. “You...what?”

She suppressed a giggle at his appalled expression and put up a hand. “Please don’t be vexed with me! I didn’t mean it. I like you very much, Mr. Pearce, but I don’t want to marry you or anyone else. It was just a way to stave her off for a little while.”

“I see,” he said, but clearly, he didn’t. He stood and paced toward the door, then swiveled and returned. “This is...awkward, to say the least. What would you have me do?”

“You need do nothing. I merely wished to warn you that Mother will call on you, or more likely your mother, to say that she forbids the marriage. I fear she will be extremely impolite.”

Unsurprisingly, he gaped. “She would be impolite to my mother?”

“Yes, I’m sorry to say. She doesn’t care whom she offends."

“But, why? My mother will explain that I cannot wed you or anyone else. I can’t afford it.” He paused to control his emotions. “I beg your pardon, but is—is your mother not a lady?”

“By birth, yes. She is quite well connected—one of her cousins is a countess—but she is also...” Lucinda grimaced. “Convinced that what she wants is right and necessary, and determined to have her way regardless of how much she upsets or harms others.”

“How dreadful for you, Miss Belair.”

Lucinda shrugged. “I’m accustomed to her. If she calls, Mrs. Pearce should have the servants refuse her.”

“My mother would never be so impolite!” he cried, plainly anguished at the very thought. “She is the dearest, sweetest, kindest lady in the world. She would be hurt beyond words if your mother were rude or—or accusatory. Or if anyone were unkind!” He looked to be on the verge of tears.

“I’m so sorry,” Lucinda said, “but I can’t control my mother. If she calls and proves offensive, please apologize to Mrs. Pearce on my behalf.” She took a deep breath. “And don’t worry—the danger will be over in a couple of days.”

Ashen-faced now, he said, “Wh-what danger? To my mother?”

“What’s wrong, Mr. Pearce?” she asked. Would he break down and confess?

He didn’t, so she gave him another chance. “You look frightfully upset, but you needn’t be. I wasn’t speaking of your mother, but of myself. What happens to me after the masquerade is nothing to do with you.”

He let out a breath. “But...”

“You needn’t feel responsible in any way.”

His face twisted, almost crumpled. “I—I don’t like to think of you in peril, Miss Belair. To—to what danger do you refer?”

So much for eliciting a confession. “That Mother will find a way to force me to marry Restive, or failing him, someone else. That is why I have made a plan.” She assumed a determined expression. “After the masquerade, I mean to run away to an unknown destination. In other words, to disappear.”

~ * ~

“You told him what?” Restive glared at Lucinda.

She refrained from answering this obviously rhetorical question. He’d heard every word of her explanation. So had Dorothea and Cecil, who exchanged unreadable glances. Only Mr. Davis seemed amused.

“Are you out of your mind?” Restive demanded.

“To which of my actions are you referring? If I hurt your feelings, I’m sorry, but it’s your own fault. After you fed my mother a lot of nonsense about me, what choice did I have? I didn’t really throw you over for a poet.” She bit back a giggle.