Miss Fellingham's Rebellion Read Free

to deny the logic of this statement, her ladyship could not, and she expelled a loud sigh before confessing, “Money problems. Your father—”
    “Damn me, m’dear,” interrupted Sir Vincent, “but this is your sin, not mine. Acquit me of any wrongdoing.”
    “How can I?” she cried. “Your wretched gambling has gotten us into this straitened circumstance in the first place.”
    “Your mother has been selling commissions in the king’s army for a price,” Sir Vincent declared, heedless of his wife’s feelings.
    “Fellingham!” Liza exclaimed in outrage. “To come out with it like that!” She stole a peek at her daughter. “He makes it sound so sordid, Catherine, and really it wasn’t anything of the sort. These boys wanted to advance their careers, and my dear friend Arabella wanted to help them and me. You know what it’s like.…” Lady Fellingham trailed off as she watched her daughter leave the room. “Catherine, dear, where are you going? Frederick, where can your sister be going?”
    Catherine wasn’t going anywhere, although she was not inclined to tell her mother that, for she was far too angry to speak. After she shut the drawing room door behind her, she escaped into one of the large leather wingback chairs in her father’s study. Since none of her relations involved themselves much in the more serious pursuits of life, Catherine often spent many hours alone in the quiet room, hiding from her family and reading the latest novel from the lending library.
    Safely ensconced in the comfortable chair, Catherine told herself to calm down. A small part of her wondered why she was so upset. Her mother was always getting into scrapes, and this one was probably no worse. But that kind of cool logic didn’t fly with her this morning, for she knew better. Even if her family didn’t understand the ramifications of her mother’s most recent transgression, she, at least, did. Something like this was worse than a scandal; it was a crime. Imagine! Meddling with commissions! My God, she thought, her head pounding as the reality of the situation set in, her mother was a national security risk. Surely the 10th Hussars would march in there at any second in their sparkling blue uniforms and take her away. And where would they take her? Where do prisoners of the Crown go? Newgate? Certainly that was worse than the debtors’ prison her father seemed determined to send them all to.
    Her mother was right, of course: The true cause of the problem was Sir Vincent and his careless ways. Even if they squeaked through this jam with only a few scratches, there would always be another one, for her father could not be stopped from depleting the family’s coffers and her mother could not be stopped from trying to avert the coffers’ depletion. What was she to do? Things could not go on like this for very much longer. Either her mother would do something even more extraordinary to put them beyond the pale or her father would have them rusticating permanently in Dorset.
    Or would he? The truth of the matter was that Catherine had no idea of the true state of the family’s finances. She knew they were fixed well enough but just how well was a mystery. Her mother refused to speak of money with her, claiming the discussion of all things material other than clothes and hats was unbred. She herself had never made a push to understand the nature of things. She knew they had enough money to send Freddy to Oxford and to buy Evelyn crepe dresses. Beyond that, she never gave it much thought. Were they dangerously close to Dun territory or was it all in her mother’s head?
    The only thing to do, she realized, in the absence of complete information was to gather more. To do that, she would have to convince her mother to share the ledgers. Then, when she had a proper understanding of how matters actually stood, she could settle on the best way to proceed. If the situation wasn’t as dire as Lady Fellingham thought, she would ease her