Mistress of My Fate Read Online Free PDF Page A

might a lady of polite upbringing and no income do? She cannot have a profession, she cannot go to sea; perhaps she might live by her pen, but that never offers any real reward. No, the problem did not lie in the scheme itself, but rather in his lordship’s failure to consider the part his wife would play in it.
    With all due respect, my aunt, Susannah, Lady Stavourley, was no better than a child herself. She had been an heiress and indulged extravagantly throughout her youth. I have heard it said that before she was brought to bed of Lady Catherine, she was merry and impish inher ways. Her cheeks bore a bright flush, and she ate with an appetite so hearty that her bosom swelled against the top of her bodice. But this was not the lady I knew as my aunt. For as long as I remember, Lady Stavourley appeared as if she had been wrung of life. Her eyes were hollow and her face always bereft of its glow. While most women applied powders and creams to achieve such a wan look, my aunt wore it naturally. Her once round frame withered into an assembly of spindles. It was as if in bearing her daughter she had pushed out all of her passion.
    Where once her wealth had provided her with a sense of entitlement, now her delicate constitution justified the gratification of her every whim. She went wherever she could find a warm room and a sofa. She did not ride or exert herself and her pleasures became quiet ones. My uncle commanded that whatever his wife desired be brought to her without question. While he imagined this to be porcelain and hats, it was in fact something far dearer. Chief among her amusements was Lady Catherine, who became as much a fixture at her mother’s side as her two Pekinese. Every morning, her little girl was brought down to her apartments to pass most of the day in her company. While it is no bad thing for a child to be so adored by its mother, the Countess indulged her daughter above her other children. As my aunt entertained guests, Lady Catherine sat upon her lap, making impertinent remarks and tipping over teacups. Her mother laughed and clapped her hands, but her acquaintances smiled weakly. They knew better than to scold. I had heard that one well-meaning friend, who had seen quite enough of Lady Catherine’s behaviour, had written a letter to Lady Stavourley, warning her that if she did not see fit to correct the deficits in her daughter’s character, she would ruin her entirely! Needless to say, Lady Catherine’s mamma terminated that association.
    Not a word could be said to contradict either mother or daughter. My cousin was free to do as she pleased, and sought only to please herself and her mamma. Her lessons were almost entirely neglected. Lady Stavourley taught her to read and figure, and how to write letters in apretty hand. She had no mind for French, but for the odd phrase, and mostly where it related to dancing. She did not attend lessons with me and her two younger brothers in our schoolroom; instead my aunt had the music tutor come especially to her drawing room and instruct Lady Catherine there, upon a specially fashioned white and gold fortepiano. There was nothing my cousin loved more than to play and sing and to be adored.
    As you might imagine, this sort of upbringing did not make for an agreeable young lady. This is not to say that my cousin was never gentle and sweet, but rather that she viewed herself as superior to the others in the nursery. She snapped and shouted and could be capable of great mischief. While my uncle had envisaged us joining hands and frolicking like fairies in the wooded glades of Melmouth Park, a truer scene would be of Lady Catherine with a horsewhip, her eyes glinting like two shards of glass as she hunted down her victims, who sobbed and cowered under their beds. Her moods were treacherous: at one moment she might rage with a red face, clawing and biting anyone who dared approach her, and then at the next ignore us altogether. No one could account for the