Bething's Folly by Bárbara Metzger Page B

sister. His usual communication was through the mails or solicitors, but this time he felt a personal call was in order to discuss some matters with his ward and to find out from his sister if there was any truth to the gossip. Luckily he was already asleep in a guest bedroom when Miss Bethingame arrived home so was saved from a rather terse, unlady-like but unmistakable expression of his ward’s opinion of his arrival, right there in the front hallway.
    “Elizabeth!” cried her aunt, hurrying her upstairs, away from the servants. “He is your uncle and your guardian!”
    “Yes, and he was content to ignore my very existence here for two years until the Folly turned a profit. Never once has he offered to help us in any way, except to find fault!”
    “But he did bring you the kind offer from that gentleman in Lancashire, remember?”
    “Oh, yes, I remember. I remember how my value went up as soon as I reached breeding age! Do you recall how he threatened to cut off my allowance when I refused—an old man I had never seen and would have to give up my home and all I loved to marry. No, Uncle Aubry has never cared for my welfare, you can be sure of that. Just look around you; see all the things we need, and where is the money? My money. He refuses to give me any but an allowance till I am wed, he says. Well, I shall reach twenty-one before that day, and then we’ll see.”
    “Oh, dear, you know it is no great sum of money. Your father simply did not have enough to leave you. He put it all into the horses, you know.”
    “I also know he meant for me to feed those horses without having to beg some solicitor for Uncle Aubry’s consent. Uncle would only love me to fail so he could sell the Folly at a profit, just as he is trying to sell me!”
    “Oh, Elizabeth,” her aunt fretted, “you mustn’t talk like that. You know what Aubry thinks of free-spoken females. I’m sure that if you are pleasant to him and show a little respect, he will be more understanding. Do try not to get so riled up; you know how these scenes are so disturbing to everyone.”
    Elizabeth did know, indeed. Her uncle’s last visit—with his clear intention of seeing her engaged to his widower friend—had gone so badly poor Aunt Claudia had had a headache for three days. This time, Elizabeth vowed as she undressed in her own room, she would prove to her uncle that she was a mature woman, able to conduct her own affairs in a rational, unemotional manner. There would be no raised voices or accusations this time, she swore to herself, only steadfast logic—and a desire to see him gone. She unpinned the violets from her gown and set them in a glass of water next to her bed. With Uncle Aubry settled in her mind, she was able to go to sleep thinking of pleasanter thoughts, like laughing blue eyes.
    When she awoke in the morning, later than usual, the violets were drooping miserably, but Elizabeth’s determination to impress Uncle Aubry with her poise still held firm.
    She called for Bessie and hurriedly dressed in a demure muslin morning gown, then went to the breakfast room, instead of to the stables first, which was her usual custom. Her aunt was dressed and down, also out of the ordinary, for Lady Burke seldom left her rooms before noon, preferring not to know how her niece spent the time. Today, however, she felt her presence was necessary, little though she enjoyed being the buffer between these two rock-hard temperaments, having learnt from experience that is was the soft buffer who inevitably suffered.
    Elizabeth greeted her uncle surprisingly cordially, and enquired of him about her aunt, a devout, disapproving lady, and her dear young cousins, a pack of runny-nosed brats. She even asked about Bething, the family seat, a ramshackle old mansion Elizabeth had had to visit with her father once a year. Uncle Aubry had always lived there, managing the property for his brother even before he came into the title. Elizabeth’s father had bought the