Chapter 37

Bernadette, Lady Norwood, forced a pleasant smile as her coach came to a halt before Lord Westbrook's townhouse. It had been almost a month since Victoria had left, and since then, Bernadette's life had not improved quite as much as she had hoped.

She had promptly arrived at Morgan's firm the morning after Victoria left. The solicitor had looked startled, and Bernadette had silently enjoyed seeing that obnoxious man caught unaware. It had been a wonderful and victorious moment that was promptly shattered.

Bernadette had handed Morgan the letter where Victoria relinquished her inheritance to her stepmother, fully anticipating that the solicitor would comply and give her the money that was rightfully hers. Instead, Morgan informed her that a letter allegedly written by Victoria was insufficient. Not only that, but Lord Bedford's solicitor wanted to contest the will, and it appeared that the chancery courts might become involved.

The coach door opened, and the footman bowed lowly. "We have arrived, Lady Norwood."

As she stepped lightly from the coach, her eyes fixed on the lavish townhouse. It was larger than the one Lord Norwood had left behind. Bernadette grimaced. Even if she had not yet received the fortune that should be rightfully hers, she would soon. As detestable as he was, Morgan was a good solicitor. Lord Norwood would not have kept him employed otherwise.

He would ensure that she received her rightful money, and then, she could be rid of him and everyone else who displeased her. She could live surrounded by the best of everything for the rest of her life. Bernadette would be beholden to no husband and responsible for no stepdaughter.

Spirits raised a little with the thought of her inevitably wonderful future, she entered the townhouse. "Welcome, My Lady," the butler greeted, bowing.

Bernadette hummed. This was how she was meant to live and what she was meant to do. She was supposed to be a lady who attended lively balls and dressed in the best fashions. The ballroom was beautifully decorated with flowers and crystals draped on every surface, so they caught the flickering candlelight.

Lord Ardenridge saw her at once. He politely excused himself from a conversation with their host and cut a quick path through the crowd towards her. Bernadette had anticipated that this confrontation might happen, and she had prepared for it.

"My Lady," Lord Ardenridge said, bowing.

"My Lord," she replied, curtseying.

"I do not see Lady Victoria with you," he said.

Bernadette shook her head. "She is not here," she said. "It is most regrettable, but Victoria has taken terribly ill. I do not imagine that she will be present at any of the events for the rest of the Season."

Lord Ardenridge frowned. "Oh. Would she like me to visit her?"

Bernadette shook her head. "I admire your compassion, but I am afraid that my Victoria is insistent that she receive no visitors. She barely tolerates my presence, but I understand, of course. Victoria is quite ill."

"I suppose it must have been sudden," Lord Ardenridge said.

"Indeed. Nearly a month ago."

Bernadette had not quite decided what she would say about Victoria's continued absence. An unexpected illness was only a temporary solution. Perhaps Victoria's illness would progress, and she would need to retire to the country for the rest of her life. Or maybe Bernadette could invent some distant relative for Victoria to live with. She would think of something, regardless.

"I am sorry to hear that," Lord Ardenridge said. "Please, pass along my sympathy to Lady Victoria. Even if she does not wish to have visitors, I will feel better if she knows that she is missed. Pass along my mother's sympathies, too. I am sure that she will be distraught to learn of Lady Victoria's illness."

Lord Ardenridge's mother certainly had reason to be dismayed. As far as that woman knew, Victoria would inherit a substantial amount of money. If Victoria was too ill to wed Lord Ardenridge, however, that was certainly not Bernadette's fault. After Lord Ardenridge excused himself, Bernadette felt a strong sense of relief. All was well. Even if her conversation with that awful solicitor had not gone as planned, everything else was fine.

She would have that money soon. Victoria was gone, and Lord Bedford had not even made an appearance. It seemed as though he had also decided to disappear from the ton once his lies were revealed. And all of Bernadette's lies seemed to be working. No one had any reason to doubt that Victoria was truly ill.

"Bernadette!"

Margaret, the Countess of Hart and Bernadette's long-time friend waved at her. Bernadette smiled and joined her friend at the edge of the ballroom. With a smile, Margaret offered her a glass of wine. "How are you?"

"I am well," Bernadette said. "How are you?"

"The same," Margaret replied. "I see that you do not have Victoria to tend to tonight. That must be a relief."

"It is." Bernadette paused, her gaze sweeping over the dancing couples. "And I see that you do not have your lord to tend to tonight."

"No, thankfully," Margaret said. "Mind you, I am sure that is because he is spending the evening with his mistress. My lord was not nearly as faithful as yours."

Lord Norwood had been faithful, besotted even. It was a pity that his faithfulness had not extended to his will. He had been willing to leave her without any concrete future.

"At least you are welcome to enjoy your evening," Bernadette said. "You may dance and speak with whoever you like without having to worry about his eye on you."

"True," Margaret said. "It is a pity that this world belongs to men, is it not? If women were the sex in power, we would not have to consider these matters. Is it better to have a husband who does not accompany you to balls and spends evenings with his mistress or a husband who watches your every move and whose consideration you must always be thinking of?"

Bernadette nodded sympathetically, thinking of that accursed solicitor. He likely appreciated being vexing to her, wielding his meagre knowledge of the law like a sword against her. How different the world would be if women wrote the laws!

"And then," Margaret continued, her voice taking a harsh edge. "We send our daughter to the marriage mart so they can suffer as we have suffered. There is no justice in the world. I thank every day that I bore my lord a son and not a daughter."

Bernadette hummed and took a sip of her wine, savouring its warmth and sweetness. "Assuming we survive the birth," she said. "Many women do not, and I imagine that most men do not think twice about replacing us with a younger lady, a na?ve creature who does not realize what she is being asked to do. And so, she spends all her days trying and failing to match the unsullied perfection of a dead woman."

Margaret beckoned for a passing servant to bring her another glass of wine. "You say that with such vitriol. Was that what marriage to Lord Norwood was like, my friend? You had never given that impression."

Bernadette laughed bitterly. "When would I have been allowed to? I could not speak ill of the man while he was living, and I could not speak ill of him while in mourning. Then, I was forced to be Victoria's mother, and I could hardly complain without it appearing as though I was a wicked stepmother. And for what? For wanting to survive? For wanting the man I married to love me without thinking ceaselessly about his dead wife?"

Margaret's face softened. "Oh, Bernadette. I am so sorry that you have suffered so much."

Bernadette smiled thinly. She thought about saying more—about revealing how little she had wanted to be Victoria's mother and about how her own husband had left her in such a dire situation. Of anyone in the ton, Margaret might understand what it was like to have a man mistreat you and force you into a corner.

"It is what it is," Bernadette said. "At the moment, Victoria has regrettably taken ill, and I do not imagine that she will be present at any of the future events this Season. I will have to think about finding her a husband next Season."

"Unfortunate," Margaret said.

Bernadette shrugged. The dance stopped and began, and she watched the couples exchange pleasantries. Across the ballroom, Lord Ardenridge was speaking to a young woman. He was a dull man but not foolish. It appeared that he had already found a potential replacement for the bride he might have had in Victoria.

"I thought that you said Victoria was ill," Margaret said. "She does not look ill to me."

She does not look ill to me. The words struck Bernadette as if they were a bolt of lightning. Her head snapped towards Margaret. "Excuse me?"

"There she is," Margaret said, gesturing.

Bernadette followed the gesture, and her blood seemed to freeze in her veins. It was impossible. There was no reason for Victoria to be there, but she was. She stood at the entrance of the ballroom, dressed in a white gown. Even across the room, it was obvious that the garment was well-made; it fit Victoria's slender figure well. She smiled at the ton, seeming to appreciate the attention she had gained. Worse, Lord Bedford was her escort. He stood, tall and proud, beside the young woman.

"Oh," Bernadette breathed.

All her lies were unravelling. She knew that she ought to say something, to concoct some lie for why the allegedly ill Victoria was suddenly here. Alas, Bernadette could find no words.

"Bernadette?" Margaret asked.

"I—I do not know why she is here," Bernadette said quickly. "I heard that she was ill. She said that she was very sick. She felt terrible and has scarcely left the bed for the past few days!"

"It seems that she has recovered." Margaret's voice made it apparent that she suspected something amiss, but perhaps she had not puzzled out specifically what was awry. "I suppose I should leave you so you can speak to her."

Bernadette did not imagine that would bode well for her. Talking to Victoria was inevitable, of course, but Bernadette had already spoken of Victoria's alleged illness to two different people. She had no way of knowing how many people Lord Ardenridge had told about Victoria's illness. Worse, Victoria was with Lord Bedford. What had happened?

Was that why Morgan had not simply given her the inheritance that was rightfully hers? Bernadette's throat was dry. She felt as if she might swoon right there, at the edge of the ballroom. Her eyes met Victoria's, and Bernadette found a determination in her stepdaughter's face that she had never seen before.

Bernadette straightened her back and squared her shoulders. She was Victoria's stepmother and her guardian. Victoria could do nothing without her permission. Bernadette had managed difficult situations before, and she would not be bested by this na?ve girl, no matter who was standing at her side. Bernadette clenched her jaw as Victoria murmured something into Lord Bedford's ear. He frowned, glanced at Bernadette, and replied with something that Bernadette could not hear. Victoria responded, and reluctantly, Lord Bedford relinquished her arm.

Victoria smiled and gently lifted her skirts, edging around the ballroom as the next dance began. Bernadette finished her glass of wine and placed it on a nearby table. She tried not to tremble as Victoria approached.

Victoria halted only a few feet away. "Good evening, my stepmother," she said.

Bernadette smiled sharply. "Good evening, stepdaughter. What a pleasant surprise. I thought you resolved to run away."

"And so I had," Victoria replied, "but I have decided to stop running, Stepmother."