Waltzing with the Wallflower(23)

“Nor do I,” her aunt agreed, clicking her tongue and then heaved a sigh of resignation. “I shall do as you ask… out of the goodness of my heart.” She rose from her chair and approached Sara, making Sara’s mouth go suddenly dry. “My husband is a Viscount. Unlike your mother, I married within my station, and it suits me well. I shall sponsor your first and only season in London. I shall expect nothing but good manners and graciousness from you. Do you understand, young lady?”

What was she supposed to do? Sit there and nod like a puppet? Sara cleared her throat to protest, but her aunt put a gloved finger in front of her lips.

“Tsk, tsk. You will not be speaking at all until we arrive in London. I have a head ailment which prevents me from listening to whiny, ugly girls for extended periods of time.”

Sara was tired of being insulted. She should be accustomed to it though; it was a daily occurrence, but now it rattled her nerves.

Aunt Tilda shook her head once more. “I don’t know, I just don’t know. I mean, look at her skin. It’s so, so—” Her hand waved in the air as if she would somehow pull the perfect word out of the sky.

“It’s brown, dear,” came Mother’s annoyed voice. “She has straight white teeth though.”

“Ah! Let me see!” Aunt Tilda grabbed Saras chin and forced open her mouth making her feel like a horse being inspected by a famer. “Oh, yes. I do see. Oh good, very good. We shall have her smile often.”

“And her bosom!” Mother half-jumped out of her seat in a frenzy. “If you’ll just pull back her dress here.” The dress tightened around Sara’s chest furthering her embarrassment. “You see? She really does have a lot to work with.”

Aunt Tilda walked away for a minute, not facing any of the party in the receiving room. “She’ll have to eat much more than you’ve been feeding her.”

Sara took another deep breath; it was like getting sold to the butcher. She closed her eyes, so she could think about her latest book rather than the embarrassing things being said about her.

“She does eat!” her mother bellowed again, hazardously close to Sara’s left ear. She wouldn’t be surprised if she were close to being deaf in both ears. Years of living with her mother had not been good for her health. She winced as her mother yelled again “I know! We’ll just give her more meals and have her eat before bed! If she lies down, it is bound to stay in her belly and make her softer!”

Sara wanted to scream, but she had always been even tempered, always. But even those who are even tempered can be pushed beyond the brink of sanity. If only her sisters hadn’t eloped, leaving their family in utter ruin! What respectable girls elope with twin brothers to Gretna Green? They weren’t even titled for crying out loud! It meant her family had nothing, absolutely nothing. Her two sisters were the only hope for riches, and now they were gone, along with their measly dowries. Nobody would want them now, even if they could get the marriages annulled.

Her thoughts had gotten away with her somehow. Before she knew it, her aunt kissed her mother goodbye, and pushed Sara into a black plush carriage waiting outside.

“Oh, and Sara,” her mother ran toward her, “Aunt Tilda will explain what needs to be done to secure a husband; you listen to everything she says. Do not embarrass us! Your father has, well, he has some debts, dear, and you’re our only hope of securing a man rich enough to take care of us. Do you understand?”

Was that a rhetorical question?

Her mother droned on, “And, dear, I know you are…well, you’re wicked-looking, but if you could please swallow your pride and do whatever it takes, we would be grateful. After all, this is your one and only chance for any sort of affection from another person. And we all desire affection. Even ugly children desire acceptance.”

Hearing enough, she bit her lip to keep from talking. Sara nodded her head and closed the door to the carriage. Her body felt numb. She knew all about emotional rejection; it was her cross to bear, but to be reminded by one’s own mother time and time again was the worst pain imaginable. Turning her head toward the window, she pulled her knees up to her chest and sighed. Aunt Tilda reached across and patted her hand much like a stranger would do to comfort a small child.

“No fear, my girl, I have a grand plan. A plan even you can’t ruin.” She smiled cheerfully before putting a covering over her eyes and going silent, most likely to sleep.

It’s an adventure, it’s an adventure, Sara kept repeating over and over again in her head to keep herself from crying. Being mortified in front of her family because of her looks she could handle, but being humiliated in front of the ton was quite another. “Dear God, if you can do miracles, I ask for one right now. Make me pretty; make me loveable. I don’t care if I let my family down, I just don’t want to feel this way ever again.” The stress of the day overwhelming her, she drifted off to sleep.





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Prologue





Rome, 1836





“Your Holiness, there has been a development at the Saint Hippolytus catacomb site.” The young man had entered the room quietly, though his message seemed urgent. Pope Gregory XVI lifted an ancient hand to silence him as he finished his reading then raised his eyes to the messenger.