To Be Seduced. Stephens Ann Sophia

twisted bitterly. She had no living relatives. If she cast herself onto any of the families in the neighborhood, they would scold her as an undutiful child and pack her right back home. She could not even use her own money to flee. Her father’s London banker kept it in trust, except for a paltry amount designated for her personal use each quarter. The trust would be dissolved only upon her marriage, giving her husband control of her inheritance.

      At length, her mother and Mr. Ilkston agreed to have the documents redrawn, and to sign them next week. Bethany had gained a reprieve.

      She suddenly realized that she would have to join them before their guest departed and that her shoes were across the hall. She skittered along the floor, nearly losing her footing on the polished planks. Hastily slipping her shoes on, she plopped down on a high-backed chair next to a square table, folded her hands in her lap, and gazed serenely out the window, heart pounding. Thankfully, Mother noticed nothing amiss when she appeared and ordered Bethany into the library.

      She entered the room. Three pewter goblets stood on the great rectangular table, along with a matching plate holding some small cakes. A pitcher of mulled cider warmed on the hearth before the crackling fire.

      Mr. Ilkston attempted a weak gallantry. “Mistress Bethany, you look bright as a silver penny this afternoon. I trust you are well?”

      She murmured a polite answer. Her plain bodice and skirt of agate gray wool denoted no special occasion. Nor did the white cotton whisk modestly hiding her shoulders or the muslin cap covering her hair.

      Her mother forced a cheery smile onto a mouth tight with irritation. “We agree ’twould be most suitable for the wedding to be privately done here, dearest. Mr. Hay shall come from Highbury to perform the ceremony.” She gestured for Bethany to offer their guest the plate of cakes. “Do have some Shrewsbury cakes, sir—made with my daughter’s very hands.”

      Carefully selecting one of the sugar-dusted confections, Mr. Ilkston bit into it. Bethany watched his reaction with anticipation. She did enjoy cookery and was thought to have a fine hand with baked goods. He pursed his lips, taking on the appearance of an officious flounder. “Naturally, I do not partake of sweets often,” he said. “One should avoid frivolity in diet as in other aspects of one’s life.”

      Only her betrothed would consider his immortal soul endangered by a few cakes, although she noticed he helped himself to one more. She decided to change the subject.

      “Must we send for Mr. Hay? The Reverend Mr. James could marry us at Saint Matthew’s.” Choosing a cake for herself, she nibbled it, enjoying the horrified expressions of the other two.

      “Bethany! You cannot mean that, you wicked girl! Mr. James was assigned to Stanworth because he has embraced the popery imported from France.” Mistress Dallison looked ready to collapse with an apoplexy. “Whatever will Mr. Ilkston think?”

      With any luck, Bethany thought, Mr. Ilkston would withdraw his suit from so depraved a creature as herself.

      “Mistress Bethany does not grasp the implications of her words,” he stated. “It is not unusual for persons with red hair to lack a sense of proper behavior.” His chill gaze swept over her. “However, I trust that I am capable of enforcing godly conduct within my own home.”

      Gray eyes narrowed and lips thinned, she bit back a retort. Setting his back up further would serve no purpose. To compose herself, she turned her gaze through one of the diamond-paned windows overlooking the front drive. Movement flashed beyond the copse and a moment later Mistress Gloriana Harcourt appeared from behind it. Bethany often found their neighbors’ niece a silly chit, but just now she provided an excuse to abandon Mother and Mr. Ilkston, at least for a short time.

      “Of course you are correct, sir.” She forced a note of contrition into her voice. “I shall amend my actions in the future, and I beg you to forgive my flippancy. Perhaps you would accept fresh cakes as a peace offering?” Without waiting for a reply, she picked up the plate and left the library, pulling the door shut behind her.

      In the hall, she hurried over to a window. Gloriana had just set foot on the doorstep and looked over at once when she heard tapping on the glass. Bethany pointed to the side of the house, relieved when the other girl immediately turned toward the rear door of the house.

      She scurried to the kitchen to meet her. Mistress Magwort, the sour old soul who cooked for them, stood spitting a roast for supper. Bethany set the cake plate down on the scrubbed worktable. “Mistress Harcourt has come from the Rothleys. I am sure only grave necessity would send her out on such a cold day, so I shall go see what help I may provide.” The old woman grunted without looking up.

      As Bethany bundled up in the worn brown wool cloak and matching hood kept on a peg by the rear door, she assured herself that she had not lied to the cook, only speculated. It wouldn’t get her out of trouble with her mother, but her own conscience might let it go.

      Slipping out to the walled garden, she nearly ran into Gloriana, walking head down and clutching the hood of her black cloak to keep the wind out of her face. She reached out to steady the smaller girl. “Thank goodness you’ve come! I have no idea why you’re here, but ’tis marvelous indeed.” Bethany had to raise her voice to be heard above a strong blast of cold air.

      In turn, Gloriana greeted her eagerly. “Aunt Rothley has been making me daft today! I told her I would take a jar of broth to old Mr. Lawton just to get out of the house.” She brushed aside a strand of fair hair as she looked up. As usual, Bethany felt like a giant next to her petite blondeness.

      “She must have been most demanding if you abandoned a warm fire on a day like this.” Bethany eyed the girl curiously, for she knew well Glory’s indolent nature.

      The younger girl’s cheeks reddened with more than the cold, but she nodded vigorously. “Indeed she has! That’s why I came to visit you before going back.”

      “Do you think your aunt might be in a better humor by now? I hoped to return with you—Mr. Ilkston is here, and he and Mother are waiting for me to return to them.”

      She tried not to let her desperation show, but Gloriana’s blue eyes gleamed with laughter. “What? The proper Mistress Bethany deserting her betrothed? I vow ’twill be the subject of gossip for the next month.”

      “He’s not my betrothed yet. No announcement has been made,” she snapped. Really, the girl possessed an impudent tongue for a mere sixteen-year-old. She relented an instant later. “Oh, Glory, do help me. I’ll have to spend more than enough time with Ilkston after we’re married.”

      The other girl grinned and peeped up at her speculatively. “How are we going to get to the road without being seen?”

      “The road? You’re right next to us! We’ll take the bridle path to your uncle’s land.”

      “No, we should take the road,” Gloriana insisted. “Perhaps you’d like to go to the village and—and buy some hair ribbons.” Taking her hand, she tugged Bethany toward the drive.

      “On a day like this? Be sensible, you goose!” Still nervous at the thought of her mother discovering them, she chewed her lip. “If we stay close to the garden wall, I think we can run before they catch sight of us. Once we’re past the copse, we might be safe.”

      The two girls hugged the brick wall of the kitchen garden, then sprinted along the drive, skirts lifted and feet flying across the brown grass. They stopped to gasp for breath once they were out of sight of the house, leaning on one another.

      “We can’t stop here. Mother has surely missed me by now. How I wish I’d thought to grab my gloves.” Bethany looked back over her shoulder. She believed they were invisible from the library windows, but feared they might yet be observed.

      “You could share my muff,” puffed Gloriana. She paused as if reluctant to go on. “Don’t you need to catch your breath?”

      “No, I shall already be punished for leaving. I may as well take what pleasure I can before Mother catches me.” Bethany straightened and walked toward the gate. Turning,