But six months ago Mrs. Lawrence had realized that her situation might not be so hopeless as she'd thought. She had hit upon a means of escape from her plight—and Alexandra was to be that means. Alexandra, she had decided, was going to snare a husband who could rescue both of them from this impoverished life-style. To that end, Mrs. Lawrence had turned her acquisitive attention to the various families in the neighborhood. Only one of them, the Helmsleys, had enough wealth to suit her, and so she decided upon their son Will—despite the fact that he was a dull, henpecked youth, greatly under the influence of his overpowering parents, who were nearly puritanical in their religious leanings.
"I've asked the squire and his wife to supper," Mrs. Lawrence said to Alex in the mirror. "And Penrose has promised to prepare an excellent meal."
"Penrose is a butler, Mama, he can't be expected to cook for company."
"I am well aware of Penrose's original position in the household, Alexandra. However, he does cook better than Filbert or you, so we will have to make do with his skills this evening. And with fish, of course," she said, and a delicate shudder shook her thin shoulders. "I do wish we didn't have to eat so much fish. I never cared overmuch for it."
Alexandra, who caught the fish and shot whatever game she could find for their table, flushed, as if she was somehow failing in her duty as head of the strange household. "I'm sorry, Mama, but game is scarce just now. Tomorrow, I'll ride out into the countryside and see if I can get something better. Just now, I'm leaving, and I won't be home until late."
"Late?" her mother gasped. "But you must be here tonight, and you must, must, must be on the most excellent behavior. You know what sticklers the squire and his wife are for modesty and decorum in a female, although it galls my soul that that man has left us so low in the world that we must now cater to the preferences of a mere squire."
Alexandra didn't need to ask who "that man" referred to. Her mother always referred to Alex's father either as "that man" or as "your father"—as if Alexandra herself were somehow to blame for choosing him and she, Mrs. Lawrence, were the mere innocent victim of that choice.
"Then you mustn't cater to the squire," Alexandra said with gentle, but unshakable firmness, "for I wouldn't marry Will Helmsley if it would save me from starving—which we are not in the least danger of doing."
"Oh yes, you will," her mother said in a low, angry voice that sprang from a mixture of desperation and terror. "And you must comport yourself like the wellborn young lady you are. No more gallivanting about the countryside. The Helmsleys won't overlook a breath of scandal if it is attached to their future daughter-in-law."
"I am not their future anything!" Alexandra said, hanging on to her shaky composure with an effort. "I loathe Will Helmsley and for your information," she finished, pushed to the point of forgetting about her mother's fragile hold on sanity, "Mary Ellen says Will Helmsley prefers young boys to girls!"
The horror of that statement, which Alex only partially understood herself, sailed right over Mrs. Lawrence's greying head. "Well, of course—most young men prefer other young men as companions. Although," Mrs. Lawrence continued, getting up and beginning to pace with the fevered awkwardness of one who has been an invalid for a long time, "that may be exactly why he hasn't shown a strong reluctance to wed you, Alexandra." Her gaze was riveted up on Alexandra's thin frame clad in threadbare, tight brown breeches, a white, full-sleeved shirt opened at the throat, and brown boots that showed she'd attempted to shine them. She looked much like a once-prosperous young lad whose family had fallen on hard times and who was forced to wear clothes he'd outgrown. "You must begin wearing gowns, even though young Will doesn't seem to object to your breeches."
Hanging on to her temper with an effort, Alex said patiently, "Mama, I do not own a gown that is not inches above my knees."
"I told you to alter one of mine for you."
"But I'm not handy with a needle, and—"
Mrs. Lawrence stopped pacing and glared at her. "I must say you're putting every obstacle you can think of in the way of your betrothal, but I mean to end this mockery of a life we've been living, and Squire Helmsley's son is the only hope we have." She frowned darkly at the stubborn child-woman standing in the doorway, a shadow of bitter regret crossing her pale features. "I realize that we have never been truly close, Alexandra, but it is that man's fault you've grown into the wild, unruly hoyden you are today, gallivanting about the countryside, wearing pants, shooting that rifle, and doing all manner of things you ought not."
Helpless to keep the angry embarrassment from her voice, Alexandra retorted stiffly, "If I were the demure, vapid, helpless creature you seem to want me to be, this household would have starved long ago."
Mrs. Lawrence had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "What you say is true, but we cannot go on this way much longer. Despite your best efforts, we're in debt to everyone. I know I've not been a good mother these three years past, but I've come to my senses at last, and I must take steps to see you safely married."
"But I don't love Will Helmsley," Alexandra burst out desperately.
"Which is all to the good," Mrs. Lawrence said harshly. "Then he can't hurt you as your father hurt me. Will comes from a steady, solid family. You won't find him keeping an extra wife in London and gambling everything away." Alexandra winced at this cruel reminder of her father's perfidy, as her mother continued, "Actually, we're very lucky Squire Helmsley is so very pushing—otherwise, I daresay he wouldn't have you for a daughter."
"Just what is my attraction as a daughter-in-law?"
Mrs. Lawrence looked shocked. "Why, we are connected to an earl, Alexandra, and to a knight of the realm," she said as if that answered everything.
When Mrs. Lawrence fell into a pensive silence, Alexandra shrugged and said, "I'm off to Mary Ellen's. It's her brother's birthday today."
"Perhaps it's better if you aren't present at supper," Mrs. Lawrence said, absently picking up her hairbrush and running it haphazardly through her hair. "I believe the Helmsleys mean to broach the subject of the marriage tonight, and it wouldn't do to have you here frowning and looking mutinous."
"Mama," Alexandra said with a mixture of pity and alarm, "I would rather starve than marry Will."