Allison Lane Read Free Page A

spirit that might have survived five-and-twenty years under his thumb.
    Cecilia silently closed the door to the morning room.  “How can he accept Sir Lewis without even consulting me?” she hissed.
    “A rather silly question, don’t you think?”  Elizabeth paced the floor.  “He wants us off his hands and out of his purse as quickly as possible.  Sir Lewis is available and genuinely cares for you.  You are unlikely to find another suitor.  You heard Fosdale.  He will never take us to Town.”
    “I cannot wed Sir Lewis!”
    “Why?  You get along well with him.”
    “Don’t you understand?”  Her voice was rising, but a gesture dropped it back to a fierce whisper.  “I will die if I stay in this godforsaken valley.  I must see London.  I must!  I need Society’s excitement, its vivacity, its approval.  I need to be with people of my own class.  But Sir Lewis leaves his estate only to visit his mother in Carlisle.  How can I survive even one more year of stultifying boredom, let alone a lifetime?  Look at how we pass our days – skulking about the house with nothing to do, or drinking tea with village women who barely qualify as gentry.  Even their conversation is boring, for they repeat the same stories over and over again.  Merciful heavens!  They still chatter about Peter Finchley eloping with Flora Matthews, and that happened two years ago!”
    Elizabeth had read enough London newspapers to know that visiting and gossip were the mainstay of Society everywhere.  “London is no different,” she pointed out, hoping Cecilia would listen this time.  Her complaints were old ones, but escaping the valley would change nothing.  “From what I have read, ladies gossip in Town as well.”
    “Fustian!  Who would waste time telling trite tales when there is so much to do?  I must escape, Elizabeth.  My beauty is wasted here.  What good does it do to play the harpsichord like an angel or paint delightful watercolors when there is no one capable of appreciating my skill?  In London, I would be a diamond, with gentlemen falling at my feet in droves.  They would write poetry in my honor, overwhelm me with gifts, vie day and night for my favors.  I would have at least three escorts to every party, dance until dawn in luxurious ballrooms, attend the races, ascend in balloons, drive with royalty.  I would wed a handsome prince and live happily ever after, dashing the hopes of hundreds of beaux.”
    Her eyes had taken on a faraway expression that was all too familiar. 
    Elizabeth bit back exasperation.  She had heard this recital too often, but nothing could convince Cecilia that it was naught but imagination embroidering wishful thinking.  “Pull your head out of the clouds, Cecilia.  Reality rarely matches expectations, as you should know merely from watching Mother.  She was just as beautiful as you, and her accomplishments were quite as spectacular.  But like us, she lacked money and prestige.  Has she ever attained a single dream?”
    Cecilia glared, unwilling to admit the truth, so Elizabeth did it for her.
    “Of course not.  Nor will you if you do not pursue more realistic goals.  London’s standards of behavior are far more rigid than we adhere to in the country.  You would never be allowed to attend a race or risk your life in a balloon.  Not that it matters.  Fosdale will never take us to London, and if he has already accepted Sir Lewis’s offer, you will have no choice.  Unless you agree, you will have to endure his wrath for the rest of your life.”
    She shuddered as she said the words, for it was precisely what she feared for her own future.  So far, she had avoided a forced marriage.  It had not been difficult, for poverty tied them to Ravenswood, and she had discouraged every eligible male in the area.  No one was willing to put up with her.
    “Lewis hasn’t signed anything,” Cecilia reminded her, rebellion sparking in her eyes.  “And Mama is right.  I