Forced Offer by Gloria Gay

heart.
    "We must find Berrington, and see if he knows what's become of Belinda," Presleigh stated loudly.
    "No," said Mrs. Presleigh. "You must get dressed first and wake Lord Lennington."
    "Lord Lennington? But is that really necessary? Why not find Berrington instead?"
    "Presleigh, are you going to stand there dawdling while our Belinda has gone to who knows where?"
    Presleigh rushed to his room to do as his wife asked and returned shortly, fully dressed if in a haphazard way.

    * * * * *

    Belinda was awakened from a nightmare by some noises and a terror greater than that of speaking to Lord Berrington made her dash over to where he was, still asleep in an uneasy slumber. She shook his shoulder and he woke up startled. He stood up. "What is it?" he asked in a groggy voice.
    They were standing side by side now as they heard the heavy door pushed open and looked up. The landing at the top of the stairs seemed suddenly filled with people, the faces illuminated by a single candle someone held.
    Lord Berrington, obviously drunk, stared at the tableau of staring silent faces. His hair was mussed, and his neck cloth, which he had undone during the night, hung loose, while his coat was dusty from having served as Belinda's pillow. And as he and Belinda stood side by side looking up, they could not have looked guiltier than if they had been making love all night.
    Then old Viscount Clariston's voice rang out loudly,
    "I say, Berrington, this is highly irregular!"

    * * * * *

    The Lennington Hall guests hung around in small, silent groups, or whispered among themselves. Everyone seemed to be waiting in suspense. And a house party that had seemed little more than tedious before was now charged with high drama.
    No one in the large group would have missed it for the world. They each practiced in their minds how they would relate the  on-dit  of the Season to their friends back in London. But each also waited for the end of the story, for by now everyone knew that Lord Berrington had charged out of the cellar, past the group of people at the top of the stairs, and out the back door toward the stables without uttering a single word.
    On being applied to, the grooms quickly related to those who rushed over to ask that Lord Berrington had gone riding on his horse, which he had brought with him to this party.
    The Presleighs had trays sent to their rooms, unable, was the general belief, to face the scandal. After the luncheon hour passed and still Berrington did not return, the guests asked tentative questions of each other, which grew bolder in the re-asking.
    Would Lord Berrington, having compromised that—that—most of the ladies had no word that would adequately describe Belinda. Would he be forced to  offer  for her? The idea was outlandish.
    They had ignored Belinda before, as being little more than an antidote, and now that they were forced to think of her as the heroine of this drama they resented it. Had it been one among them—one of their daughters or friends, it would have been a lot easier to digest. But the Presleigh chit and Berrington? It boggled the mind.
    Eventually, it occurred to one of them—Lady Celeste, to be exact—that the mother, that obnoxious, managing female, must be at the root of this business, for no one could imagine Lord Berrington looking twice in Belinda's direction. Once this idea was passed around, it was declared as the most logical.
    The day wore on, the air charged with expectation.
    Lady Lennington found a few moments to speak aside to her husband over a cup of tea.
    "This business would have been avoided if you had not invited the Presleighs at the last moment, without any need to consult me," she said resentfully, and added, "What you find in that mushroom, Presleigh—"
    "Presleigh a mushroom?" asked the Earl of Lennington of his wife. "My dear, his maternal grandfather was an earl—"
    "An impoverished earl," interrupted Lady Lennington.
    "An earl is an earl," said the earl. "And Mrs.