Proper secrets, p.3
Proper Secrets, page 3
“Miss Barham, have you any other siblings? I believe you have a younger sister?” asked Mr. Wingrave.
“Aye, and two older brothers. George and William left for the border as Swordtenants just a few months ago.”
“Two brothers gone at once? That must be difficult.”
“’Tis. Mama has turned her focus to my sister and me. She plans marriage, and will not be denied,” said Anne.
“You certainly do go about denying her anyway,” said Emily.
“Of course, I would not break our pact.”
“You have a pact? Of what sort?” asked Mr. Wingrave, mystified by the inner workings of the feminine sex. Emily bit her lip at how their independence would come across in conversation.
“A pact against marriage, good sir. We shall not be traded about like possessions,” said Anne.
“And what if one of you were to enter an equal partnership?”
“Equal? How is it possible for us to be equal under the standards of society?” Anne inquired.
“How indeed, when women do not wage war or own land?” said Emily.
“I do not think war should be waged by either sex. But of land, I see the difference. Would either of you choose a man that might leave you without the means to support yourself?”
“It matters not, for we will not choose men, is that not so Emily?” At this, Emily could only nod her adherence. She quickly changed the subject to the upcoming feast Mr. Worthing had planned for the evening.
“What can he mean by it, Mama?” said Emily. The last dance went on in the ball room as Emily visited with her mother. Mrs. Worthing held up tolerably well, but would take dinner in her room instead of with the party.
“I cannot say, love.” Mr. Wingrave had engaged Emily for two more dances in between standing up with his sister and her friend. When they were not dancing, he kept close to her conversations, even if he did not join them.
“He displays a familiarity we do not possess. I fear the censure this will induce.”
“Indeed I have not heard one word of censure. You may be more sensitive to it than the rest of us,” said Mrs. Worthing, “Besides, what if he prefers your company? Do you not like him?”
“Talking with him is not unenjoyable.”
“But…?”
“But two unmarried people are always assumed to be developing a romance,” said Emily. She looked down at her hands, imagining Mr. Wingrave’s fingers wrapped around her own. He had promised to be honest when he spoke with her, but she had discerned that he was not as he seemed. His hands were not the hands of a young gentleman. They were rougher, stronger, as if he had labored for years.
“Oh Emily, you are silly. If it is love, it is love. If it is friendship, it is friendship. You have the free will to shape your situation. Now stop this melancholy worrying and play me a song before I go upstairs.” Emily obeyed, picking one of her mother’s favorite songs. Though the room had emptied in preparation for dinner, guests came in to hear as Emily tapped the first few notes.
“On the hills and the glen,
I cannot remember when,
Last I saw my darling love,
From the sky and above,
Stars they fall in a line,
Signaling it is our time,
Leave me now and love me then,
I cannot remember when,
Last I saw my darling love.”
The music brought Emily alive, eyes sparkling and cheeks rosy. She prepared to sing the second verse, meant for a man’s voice, when Mr. Wingrave sat beside her and played the complementary piece. His voice made her heart flutter and pound simultaneously, his clear tone obviously a result of practice.
“On the road I travel now,
Though I cannot tell you how,
Fate took me from truest love,
From the sky and above,
Stars they fall in a line,
Signaling it is our time,
Wait for me and love me now,
Though I cannot tell you how,
Fate took me from truest love.” With a hope that her blushing could be passed off as exertion, Emily continued into the third and final verse, which they sang together.
“’Cross the room I see you here,
For us, my love, I shed a tear,
We were only kept apart,
By a lie, a friendless art,
Stars they fall in a line,
Signaling it is our time,
Love me once and for all,
Answer my love’s call,
And forever be mine.” A large audience had gathered for the exhibition, and when the last merry note hung in the air, they applauded with enthusiasm.
“I did not know you were musical, Mr. Wingrave,” said Emily.
“There are many things you do not know about me, Miss Worthing.” He excused himself and left the room after accepting congratulations on the fine performance, leaving Emily to escort her mother to bed.
“The nurse can do this, Emily,” said Mrs. Worthing.
“I do not mind, I need space clear of people,” said Emily. She took her mother’s arm and they made a slow progression up the stairs.
“You look and sing well together,” said Mrs. Worthing.
“He sings well.” Gritting her teeth would give Emily a headache if she were not more careful.
“His regard for you blossoms. You should have seen how he watched you before joining in.”
“Mama, please. We’ve known each other for exactly two days. He will recover from his fancy in due time when I become no friendlier than I was at the first.” Mrs. Worthing’s room was prepared for the night, so Emily bid her a good sleep and went to the dining room. Most everyone enjoyed the meal. Pleased to see she and her sisters were set close to each other, and that Mr. Wingrave’s party had their own table, Emily took her place.
“Is mother settled in?” Bridget asked.
“Yes, ready for food and sleep. She did wonderfully tonight, don’t you think?” said Emily.
“I visited her many times and she was always alert and attentive. I hope she is better for good,” said Genevieve.
“Don’t we all. I may have been too busy watching Emily dance to note anything else. I think this is the most you’ve danced in months,” said Bridget. When Emily made no reply, Bridget went on, “Peter seems quite enamored of the Wingraves as well, one of them, at least.” Ignoring the planted barb, Emily sought her brother sitting at the right hand of Mary Wingrave. He perked up whenever she addressed him. Emily insisted on no more talk of the Wingraves so that she could eat her dinner in peace, much to the upset of her two sisters who desperately wanted to know what Mr. Wingrave had said and how he said it.
After dinner when the guests fell to talking, Mr. Sheridan proved he had imbibed too much drink by stumbling toward groups of women. He spotted Emily and lumbered over to her, missing his mark entirely. When Mr. Sheridan attempted to recover and halt his progress, he lost the contents of his cup--maroon liquid splashed up and out. Emily’s luck held as it narrowly flew past her and soiled Miss Morley’s gown instead.
“Mr. Sheridan, you drunken dolt! How dare you ruin my gown?” Miss Morley rebuked him far more than was necessary for the droplets that colored her skirt. He straightened up, ashamed.
“Take it in grace, Miss Morley. Mr. Sheridan did not mean to offend you,” said Bridget. Miss Morley stormed off to seek a wet cloth.
“That’s quite right, Miss Bridget, no offense meant!” he said.
“I learned from my sister. Even doused in stormwater she would not behave so,” said Bridget. Emily gave her a warm smile.
“Stormwater nor Hell’s beasts could make Miss Worthing so… disagreeable, that’s the word. Wingrave chose the right lady,” said Mr. Sheridan. Not a soul in the room of over a hundred people missed the remark, so loudly given, though he certainly meant “right lady to splash.”
“Come Sheridan, your tongue ails you. Lie down on a sofa until the party is over,” said Mr. Wingrave.
“Wingrave, there you are! I was just telling these ladies…” Mr. Sheridan said as he was led away. The gathered crowd may as well have shouted their speculation at Emily, so crudely did they whisper their suspicions.
“How unfair! She doesn’t even want to be married.”
“I say by this time next year. What a match!” The endless variations burned the pit of Emily’s stomach into an ashy hole. How could she have let this happen?
Until the last carriage was sent off, Emily avoided being alone with Mr. Wingrave, disappointing many gossip mongers in the crowd who had watched them after their song together. She wondered what made everyone lose their heads when even the illusion of romance presented it self.
“Good night, Miss Worthing,” said Mr. Wingrave with a bow.
“Good night, Mr. Wingrave,” she replied.
“I daresay I hope to see you again soon, miss,” said Mr. Sheridan, still drunk and unstable.
“Yes, soon,” said Emily. As their carriage faded into the darkness, Bridget gave Emily a wry smile.
“Not a word more,” Emily warned her.
2. Dinner at Reddester
Three days after the ball, and Emily had not heard the end of it. Peter, at least, was away on business. Genevieve and Mrs. Worthing knew better than to push Emily too much for fear of hardening her heart, but Bridget cared not for her sister’s qualms. An envelope appeared at their breakfast table which cinched Emily’s status as nearly engaged to be married in Bridget’s eyes.
“Who is it from, Papa?” said Emily.
“Miss Mary Wingrave. She invites us to dinner on Friday,” he said. Bridget laughed to herself despite Emily’s scowling.
“Thank them for my part of the invitation, but I shall decline,” said Emily.
“What? Why?” inquired her father.
“I do not wish to leave Mama alone.”
“Nonsense. Your mother has always insisted that we go out and live our lives while she is incapacitated. You will go.”
“Is that an order?” said Emily.
“It is a firm suggestion to a stubborn young lady. Besides it would hurt your mother to hear you stayed for her.”
“Yes, Papa,” said Emily. She would not challenge him if he expressly wished it. He’d given her much independence as a daughter.
“May I go, Papa?” asked Genevieve.
“The invitation expressly states that everyone is invited, with pardons for Mrs. Worthing’s well-being.” Genevieve smiled, her joy warming the hearts of her family.
“Does it say if Emily should come ready to hear an offer?” said Bridget.
“Bridget Worthing, don’t be ridiculous!” Emily said, too loudly for the table.
“If you two do not stop quarreling over Mr. Wingrave, I shall have your pocket money for the week. Must I bend to childish consequences? Or do my daughters possess enough presence of mind to behave in accordance with their age?” said Mr. Worthing. They bowed their heads in submission.
“Good. I have business out of doors today. Genevieve, to Ms. Pierce when you are finished with breakfast. Girls, tell your mother about our invitation and do not trouble her by carrying on your argument in her bedroom.” Mr. Worthing pushed his chair in and left. The sisters finished breakfast, each giving Genevieve a kiss on the forehead before taking to the stairs.
“Why are you being so strange about Mr. Wingrave?” inquired Bridget.
“I’m not,” said Emily. Bridget stepped in her way and faced her sister. She required a better answer, this time without humor.
“If you seriously desire an answer that is not for your own amusement, let us talk of this in our room instead of here in the hall where everyone is privy to the discussion,” Emily hissed through her teeth.
“Now, what is different about this man? I have teased you countless times before, and I’ve never garnered this much reaction,” said Bridget when Emily had closed the door. With a heavy heart and an even heavier sigh, Emily took a seat on their vanity stool.
“Most men are easily dissuaded, but even I cannot doubt Mr. Wingrave has an unusual regard for me. The escalation of this situation, if he is encouraged, can only mean embarrassment for both our families.”
“Why must it mean embarrassment? Do you have no feeling for him whatsoever?”
“My feelings are unimportant. I will not allow myself to enter into a situation like marriage,” said Emily.
“You mean, you are serious about your assertions? About never marrying?”
“Why should I marry? Why should I pledge to bow to a man?” Bridget stared open-mouthed.
“What kind of man would you choose that would make you bow? I do not see it in Mr. Wingrave.”
“What about Mama?” said Emily, “I cannot leave while she is ill.” Bridget paced in upset.
“You must know Mama may never get well,” she whispered.
“I won’t leave you all here while I set up a house of my own. Genevieve needs a mother, I can at least play at that until she gets older.” Emily and Bridget allowed the discussion to trail off, neither sure of what path could be taken.
The view of Reddester from the carriage left nothing to be desired. Knots of trees and bushes with freshly trimmed paths made up the private grounds of the property, followed by a view of the farms on the horizon that had been in limbo without an owner to oversee the land. A lake came up beside the road, siphoned off from the Tripton Valley River that cut through the heart of the countryside.
“Mr. Wingrave must get people on those farms or he’ll miss the best of the harvest,” said Mr. Worthing. Charlton itself had many farms over which he presided. It made Emily proud to see her father so involved in the day to day work that supported his family, unlike some gentlemen that hired out the difficult work for a penny wage. It was beneath no one, she decided, to be able to perform the tasks they asked of the people who served them. Her father’s loyal tenants and constant prosperity had driven off the criticism that came with such a revolutionary viewpoint, but that only relegated it to the mumbles of the arrogant landed behind the doors of their parlors.
“Perhaps he does not know the business of Tripton so well as you do,” said Bridget. To Emily’s puzzle she added another piece--Mr. Wingrave claimed no profession. With the state of his hands, he must have been doing something strenuous. The son of a Lord need not concern himself with hard labor, deepening her suspicions.
“Perhaps,” said Mr. Worthing. Reddester Hall broke through the trees, crowning an expansive lawn. The gardens which had been a month earlier in shambles were now free of overgrowth and forming buds, as gardens should in spring. When the carriage stopped, Emily took a deep breath to prepare for the social onslaught coming forthwith. Mr. Wingrave appeared on the front walk to greet them.
“Welcome Mr. Worthing, Miss Worthing, Miss Bridget, and Miss Genevieve. Your son is still away?” said Mr. Wingrave.
“Aye, Peter sends his regrets that he could not conclude his business before tonight.”
“I understand. Let us join my siblings in the sitting room.” His smile was no less warm than when he asked Emily to dance for the third time, a sign that time had not made him think better of being attentive to her. Emily kept her gaze on the floor.
Years ago, when last the Worthings had been inside Reddester, it had been decorated to the taste of old Mrs. Charles who favored a grand style in all things, even to the detriment of elegance. Whether it was Mr. Wingrave or Mary in charge of the house, Reddester had become a much more beautiful surrounding than Emily remembered. Simple, quality furnishings echoed around intricate focal points, drawing one’s eye to the character of the house.
“My goodness this place has changed. Someone has fine taste,” said Mr. Worthing.
“My sister and I both had a hand in it, though I insisted on many things since this is where I intend to stay,” said Mr. Wingrave. Bridget nudged Emily and gave her a wink. Emily looked away and pretended to admire the art they passed.
“Mr. Worthing, so good to see you again!” said Mary as they entered the sitting room.
“Thank you, Miss Wingrave. You look in fine spirits tonight,” he replied.
“How could I not be? Oh, but where is Mr. Peter?”
“I’ve already accepted his regrets as he’s on business,” said Mr. Wingrave.
“Oh. Well, I shall get to know the Misses Worthing better then,” said Mary.
“That would be an honor,” said Emily, happy to engage the sister and not the brother. Miss Morley hung near the sofa, reluctant to join in.
“Miss Worthing! I’ve heard that I missed your performance at the ball, a great tragedy. May we entice you to play sometime this evening?” asked Mr. Sheridan.
“If my hosts wish it, I cannot refuse,” she answered.
“I would hear everyone with an inclination play tonight,” said Mary.
“Excellent. I’ll begin,” said Miss Morley, marching to the pianoforte. She played softly enough for conversation to continue, so the ladies took seats on the sofa and chairs while the men formed a circle near the fireplace. Genevieve, nervous about embarrassing her family, stayed near Emily and took her cues. Bridget and Mary conversed easily, both disposed to friendliness. Without an objection like Emily’s, it was a mystery why Mary Wingrave had not married. She had the same good looks as her brother, and a charming personality, yet she must have been over five and twenty if not nearing thirty years old. When Emily caught up with their chatter, she found herself the subject.
“Emily has been taking care of us while Mama gets well,” said Bridget.
“You are lucky then, to have such a sister,” said Mary. A flash of sadness stole over her face, then disappeared. Emily glanced around, but no one else had noticed.
“They praise me in company, at least. When I’m doing the taking care of you would think I’d asked them to build me a pyramid,” said Emily to good-natured laughter.
“A fair task master, then. My brother Jonah complains in the same way when I make him practice civility. He cannot always be hiding in corners waiting for someone to come talk with him,” said Mary, casting a sly look toward the gentlemen. Jonah took notice of his name and colored most brilliantly. With trepidation, he approached them as if his feet stuck to the floor with each step.
