The Passionate Friends. Meg Alexander

      It was at this point that Dan excused himself, with a muttered explanation of a forgotten engagement. He had grown so pale that the freckles stood out sharply against his fair skin, and there was a strange, lost look in his blue eyes.

      “Everyone is behaving so strangely today,” Elizabeth complained. “What ails Dan? Have I said something to upset him?”

      “Perhaps he doesn’t care to listen to gossip,” Prudence soothed. “He is still out of things as yet. He doesn’t know the people of whom we speak.”

      “He knows Judith. I should have thought that he’d like to know about the man whom she is to wed. Oh, Prudence, now that he is back, do you think that she will change her mind?”

      “I doubt it. She seemed quite determined.”

      “Then something must have happened to persuade her. I’d lay odds that her frightful stepmother is behind all this. That woman should have been drowned at birth!”

      Prudence felt unable to argue. She was well aware that it was Mrs Aveton’s violet opposition to Dan’s suit which had caused so much unhappiness between the two young lovers all those years ago. The woman had conducted a campaign of hate, telling all her acquaintances that Dan was naught but a penniless foundling, sprung from who knew what vile slum in the industrial north of England.

      Her venomous tongue had done its work. Dan had been cut dead by certain members of the ton on more than one occasion. His friendships fell away, and Prudence had been surprised to find that he was no longer included in the invitations which reached her daily.

      She had made it her business to find out why, and when she had discovered the truth she confronted Mrs Aveton. It had been an unpleasant interview, with protestations of innocence on the lady’s part, and Prudence in such a towering rage that Mrs Aveton was forced to retract her slanderous remarks.

      By then the damage was done, and Judith could bear it no longer. Though it broke her heart to do so, she had sent Dan away, vowing as she did so that no other man for whom she felt the least affection would be subjected to such inhuman treatment.

      Dan had fought her decision with everything in his power, but she would not be swayed. His honour and his good name were at stake.

      She placed no reliance on Mrs Aveton’s promise not to return to the attack. Her stepmother’s machinations might become more subtle, but they would not cease.

      Now, as Judith was borne back to the house which she shared with her two half sisters and their mother, she regretted the impulse which had taken her to Mount Street that day. Prudence and Elizabeth had been shocked by the news of her betrothal. That much was clear. How could she explain the reasons which had led to her decision?

      The news of her inheritance had caused uproar within the Aveton family, though the money was to be held in trust for her unless she married. True, she might use the income from it as she wished, but she might not touch the capital.

      Mrs Aveton had spared no pains to discover if it was possible to break the terms of the old man’s will. When Judith’s lawyers explained that this could not be done, the girl had been subjected to a series of merciless attacks. They had continued until Judith began to fear for her own sanity.

      There was nothing she could do. A woman of her age might not set up her own establishment, even had she the means to do so. The constant quarrelling caused her to retreat even further into her shell. Until today she believed that she’d succeeded in crushing her emotions to the point where nothing mattered any more.

      Yet it wasn’t entirely out of desperation that she’d accepted the Reverend Truscott’s offer for her hand. She’d been moved by his kindly interest in her, and the way he took her part against her stepmother.

      Mrs Aveton had seemed a little afraid of him. Certainly the preacher’s tall cadaverous figure was imposing. Dressed always in funereal black, when he thundered forth his exhortations from the pulpit the deep-set eyes held all the fire of a fanatic.

      Yet, to Judith’s surprise, Mrs Aveton had welcomed his suit. Perhaps she welcomed the opportunity to be rid of a girl who was a constant irritation to her.

      Judith walked across the hall, intending to seek the sanctuary of her own room. Her thoughts were in turmoil. The sight of Dan had brought the agony of her loss flooding back again. She had deceived herself into thinking that she had succeeded in forgetting him. Her present pain was as raw as it had been six years ago.

      A footman stopped her before she reached the staircase.

      “Madam has asked to see you, miss, as soon as you returned.”

      With lagging steps, Judith entered the salon, to find Mrs Aveton at her writing desk.

      “There you are at last.” There was no note of welcome in her stepmother’s voice. “Selfish as always! Had you no thought of helping me to write these invitations?”

      “I’m sorry, ma’am. Had you mentioned it, I would have stayed behind.” Judith glanced at the pile of cards. “So many? I thought we had agreed upon a quiet wedding.”

      “Nonsense! The Reverend Truscott is a man of note. His marriage cannot be seen as some hole-and-corner affair. It is to take place in his own church, and he tells me that you are to be married by the bishop.”

      “He called today?”

      “He did, and he was not best pleased to miss you. One might have thought that you would wait for him. What an oddity you are, to be sure! You take no interest in arrangements for the reception, the food, the musicians, or even in your trousseau.”

      “I shall need very little,” Judith told her quietly. “Ma’am, who is to pay for all this? I would not put you to so much expense.”

      An unbecoming flush stained Mrs Aveton’s cheeks. “The expense must fall upon the bride and her family, naturally. When you are wed, your husband will control your fortune. The creditors will wait until then.”

      “I see.” Judith realised that she herself was to pay. “Shall I finish the invitations for you?”

      “You may continue. Dear me, there is so much to do. My girls, at least, are pleased with their new gowns.”

      Judith was silent, glancing down at the list of names upon the bureau. An exclamation escaped her lips.

      “Well, what is it now?” her stepmother cried impatiently.

      “The Wentworths, ma’am? Lady Wentworth is with child. She won’t be able to accept.”

      “I know that well enough. It need not prevent us sending her an invitation. I detest the woman, and that uppish sister-in-law of hers, but we must not be lacking in our attentions to Lord Wentworth and his family. I have included the Earl and Countess of Brandon, of course. My dear Amelia will be certain to attend.” With this pronouncement she swept from the room.

      As Judith walked upstairs she permitted herself a wry smile, knowing full well that Amelia, Countess of Brandon, would be furious to hear herself described in such familiar terms. Mrs Aveton was her toady, tolerated only for her well-known propensity for gossip.

      Judith sighed. She liked the Earl of Brandon. As head of the Wentworth family and a highly placed member of the Government she knew him only slightly, but he had always treated her with courtesy and kindness. His wife was a cross which he bore with fortitude.

      She removed her coat and bonnet and then returned to the salon. There she sat dreaming for some time, the pile of invitations forgotten. Her life might have been so different had she and Dan been allowed to wed. Now it was all too late.

      “Great heavens, Judith! You have not got on at all.”

      The door opened to admit the Reverend Charles Truscott, with Mrs Aveton by his side.

      “Now, ma’am, you shall not scold my little bride. If I forgive her, I am sure that you may do so too.” The preacher rested a benevolent hand upon Judith’s hair, as if in blessing.