Page 26 of The Lady Was Lying (Greydon #3)

Chapter Eleven

B elinda stopped short in the doorway, not wanting to enter but unable to walk away.

The woman perched on the settee had not changed since they’d last seen each other.

As lovely as ever, she was draped in yellow silk and lace, her golden hair expertly styled to emphasize her doe eyes and high cheekbones.

She was the definition of beauty and sophistication, and Belinda couldn’t help admiring her any more than she could help hating her.

It was bad luck that she was the only one home to receive the former Countess of Greydon, the current Mrs. Lancaster, and most significantly, her mother.

The rest of the family had just left for a garden party, and after all the socializing she had been doing, Belinda had decided to remain at home so she could enjoy the peace and quiet.

Regrettably, her mother’s presence assured she’d experience neither.

Gliding into the sitting room on silent feet, she approached swiftly, her voice lacking warmth when she said, “Mother.”

“Vivienne,” her mother corrected before gracefully rising to her feet, taking Belinda’s hands, and brushing a kiss over both of Belinda’s cheeks.

It was the exact same greeting she would offer a complete stranger, and Belinda couldn’t help wishing she could view her mother with the same level of detachment that her mother viewed her.

“Mother,” Belinda repeated. “Whatever are you doing here?”

Sinking back onto the settee, her mother smiled faintly. “Charles has business in London, and I had a free afternoon, so I decided to call. It’s been an age since I stopped by.”

Years. It had been years .

“Does Sebastian know you are in town?”

“I couldn’t say.” She shrugged elegantly. “Charles may have informed him of our plans to travel to London, but I certainly didn’t. I haven’t heard from your brother lately. It seems that he’s too busy to correspond with his mother.”

Belinda gritted her teeth. Nothing had changed in the years her mother had been gone.

She and her siblings remained nothing but an afterthought, and yet their mother still wanted their attention when it suited her.

“You should return with Charles when the rest of the family is home. I’m sure they would like to see you.

” It was a bit of a lie. They probably wouldn’t be any more excited about their mother’s impromptu visit than Belinda was, but being forced to socialize would be far less awkward if her siblings were around to soften the blow.

“Perhaps I will visit again,” her mother responded, patting the space next to her on the settee. “Won’t you join me? I’d love to chat a bit.”

Belinda frowned, annoyed that her mother seemed to view their separation as a mutual decision rather than the abandonment it had been.

Early one morning, not long after Sebastian married Emmeline, their mother had departed Greydon Hall to marry Charles Lancaster with very little fanfare, and Belinda hadn’t heard directly from her since.

The parting had been uneventful, but the subsequent years had not, and her mother had not shown the least interest in Belinda or her well-being.

“I’m afraid I’m quite busy today,” Belinda said, staying on her feet.

Laughter filled the space between them.

“Nonsense. What do you have to do?” More laughter spilled from her mother’s lips. “You have ample time to join me for tea.” She patted the spot on the settee again. “As I understand, you still lack a husband. It’s as if I taught you nothing about ensnaring a man.”

“You taught me plenty.” Belinda scoffed and then mimicked her mother’s languorous tone. “‘Marry a man who makes your blood boil. Who makes you forget your own name. Don’t settle for anything less than worship.’”

“It is sound advice. I can’t think why you won’t take it.” After a beat of silence, her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Was that…mockery?”

“Of course not,” Belinda lied, her hands finding her hips. “For years, I’ve followed your advice to the letter.”

“But you have not yet married.”

“Hmm.” Belinda tapped her chin. “I wonder why?”

“I’m afraid I’m not following whatever you’re trying to insinuate.

You could have any man you desire. You’re even more stunning today than you were when I last saw you.

You’ve settled into womanhood and have become temptation personified.

I refuse to believe you have a difficult time attracting a man. ” She smiled wickedly. “Or ten.”

Beauty did not bequeath passion.

Belinda tried to explain. “I kissed a man in a bookshop the day after Jane’s debut. He invited me to join him in a more private place, but I declined and left him there, aching and wanting.”

“As I thought.” Her mother completely missed the point she’d been trying to make. “You can tempt any man.”

“It doesn’t matter that I can tempt them.”

“It’s a gift,” her mother added, still not listening.

“No, it isn’t.”

Confusion clouded her mother’s gaze. “Whyever not?”

“Because I tried to want more, and I…couldn’t.” It was liberating to admit aloud.

“Was he ugly?”

“No.”

“Balding?”

“No.”

“Hmm. Attractive with a full head of hair has always worked for me.” She rubbed her forehead and murmured, “You haven’t married…” Suddenly, she stiffened. “Are you suggesting that you haven’t found a man whom you desire more than air?”

“Precisely.” It hurt to admit, but satisfaction tugged at Belinda’s lips when her mother released a dramatic gasp, her fingers flying to her lips.

“Do you think you are”—her mother’s voice dropped to a whisper—“frigid?”

Belinda didn’t flinch, but the satisfaction swiftly died. It was hard to hold onto her composure in the face of her mother’s horror. How was it that her mother always made her feel like less?

“It appears so,” she responded tightly.

“No. It cannot be. I refuse to believe it. You are my daughter .”

Trying to look as if she wasn’t upset by her mother’s reaction was the hardest thing Belinda had ever done.

The urge to scream and yell and rant about the injustice of finally telling the truth only to have her mother reject it almost overwhelmed her.

She locked her hands in her lap, straightened her shoulders, and promised herself that she would explain whether her mother believed her or not.

If she didn’t claim this part of herself, how would she ever overcome it?

As usual, Vivienne was too caught up in her own thoughts to notice Belinda’s struggle.

“I’ve never felt even a sliver of desire when I’ve kissed a man.”

A dramatic gasp filled the room. “Never? But…but…you are uncommonly beautiful. And incredibly poised.” Her mother’s hands fell into her lap.

“The way you carry yourself. Confidence practically bleeds from your pores. There is fire in you. Passion too. I’ve seen it displayed countless times.

” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “How could you be frigid? I refuse to believe it.”

The fire that resided inside her was not driven by lust. Instead, it was fueled mostly by frustration and dissatisfaction.

If she could have harnessed those feelings into passion, she would have done so.

“I’ve kissed countless men. Lords and misters.

Burly and skinny. Dark-haired and light-haired.

Blindingly handsome and merely attractive.

It doesn’t matter. I never feel anything.

Not even an inkling of the desperation you seem to experience with ease. ”

“It does not make sense that you feel nothing. It does not make sense .”

Belinda sucked in a breath. Speaking her darkest secret aloud had never been easy, and having her mother doubt her assertion made her spiral. “You don’t believe me?”

“Of course I believe you.” Her mother’s expression suddenly turned pensive. “Perhaps you haven’t found the one.”

“You don’t believe in one ,” Belinda scoffed.

Her mother had gone through countless men between when her husband died and when she had married Charles, sampling them and discarding them like old, tattered shoes.

“For myself, no. But it is a mistake to believe everyone is the same. You are my daughter, and therefore I made assumptions.” She paused, tipping her head to the side and turning her gaze to the windows that overlooked the garden.

“Incorrect assumptions, apparently. For me, attraction inspires passion. I’ve never kissed a man and not felt fire in my veins.

Sometimes that fire burns out quickly”—she shrugged—“but occasionally it flares brighter with every touch. When that happens, I know that love is imminent, so I cling to it, keeping it close and fanning the flames for as long as I can. Your father’s death extinguished the bonds between us, but I found the fire again with Charles.

“Maybe for you, passion is not the beginning. Maybe it comes last. After love. Or maybe it isn’t even part of your journey.

” Shrugging again, her mother laughed softly.

“If everyone felt passion the way I do, I wouldn’t be a scandal, your father and I wouldn’t have attracted so much attention, and Sebastian wouldn’t have married a woman he hardly knew because she was sensible.

” She laughed again. “Just imagine, if everyone were more like me, passion would not be hidden, and love would abound. The world would be a happier place, I suspect.”

Belinda tried to ignore a flicker of hope as she considered her mother’s interpretation of the world. Had she misinterpreted everything her mother had taught her? Had attempting to follow in her mother’s footsteps been a costly mistake?

Regret mingled with hope.

“You encouraged me to sample as many men as I could. When I debuted, you told me to be bold and fearless in my quest for passion. Why would you tell me that if there was any possibility I might not experience desire as you do?”

Blindly following what was expected of her was not in her nature. Why had she done it?

She hated being told what to do. She didn’t even like her mother, and yet she’d allowed her mother’s example to guide her.