An Inconvenient Engagement Page 4

  Eliza sank down onto the couch and Bessie peeked in after a safe interval. Eliza raised her hand. “No, don’t speak. Just give me a few minutes silence. Thank you, Bessie!” She closed her eyes and waited for the words to stop echoing in her brain. A deep breath, and still her ears rang. She needed to walk and let the fresh air cleanse her mind!

  She ran upstairs to change into an indifferent day dress and older boots. Her dresses were too few to risk her favorite one on a long walk along dirty lanes and fields, and luckily she would be unlikely to meet anyone. An apron, too, just in case there was something worth collecting. Flowers, perhaps some plants for dying such as madder, nuts or berries, but no basket to be tied to. Maybe a bun to nibble on….

  Eliza stepped out of the house, bun in hand. She took a bite and skipped a few steps toward the lane. There was a bass rumbling coming toward her, and she looked up. The lane suddenly filled with sheep, and she found herself surrounded, holding her bun up out of the reach of nibbling mouths.

  “Halloo, there, Miss Eliza!” called a chipper voice. She grinned and looked up at a young man coming her way, brandishing a stick. He whistled just then to a dog who suddenly changed directions and went around the back of the flock.

  “Hello, cousin! How are you? Is that Fly or Ben working today?”

  “It’s Fly – Ben is still tied by the leg. Getting better, though, day-by-day. All thanks to you to hear Gower tell it.”

  She delicately swept the notion away. “It was Sir William as much as anyone.”

  “Aye, I heard that as well. I wondered at you wandering the hills with ‘is Lordship.”

  “He’s not a lord…”

  Jamie grinned and tapped a sheep on its back with his stick, then called to the dog again. The dog came round, nipped at the air behind one of the sheep. “No, but neither is he married yet…”

  “Engaged.”

  “Aye I know.”

  Blushing somewhat, she asked, “How is my aunt and my cousin, Alice?”

  “Mum is well, Alice is…well, Alice. I’ll tell her you asked. It will please her.”

  Eliza doubted it, but said, “Please do. And tell my aunt that I will come visit soon.”

  Jamie’s grin spread even wider at that. “She will be happy to see you! Must get these sheep on now…” He broke off and called to the dog again. Fly switched directions and the sheep scooted past Eliza and on down the lane with Jamie following in time.

  She finished her bun and walked for some time without thinking. When she looked up, it was to see the wooden bridge that crossed the river and led to the moors. From her position, Tredwell Abbey was just over the hills about a mile or so on, and she thought it odd that her feet had carried her there. With a last look in the direction of the Abbey, she turned and made her way home.

  Chapter Four

  Days eased by. Fall was well and truly underway, and the house was closed against the impending chill. Eliza had plain linen spread out on the floor of her bedroom, scissors in hand. She needed a new apron since shredding hers for Ben. She sat back on her heels, remembering. A smile played about her lips as she recalled looking into Sir William’s eyes and the way his shoulders had bunched when he picked up the injured dog.

  With a shake, she brought herself back to the present and set to cutting the linen. The scissors were dull, though, barely cutting the crisp fabric even though she labored for a few minutes. One cut frayed the edge, and she made a rude sound before standing up and walking downstairs.

  “Bessie? Bessie where is the whetstone?”

  “Bessie’s out. Stone is in carriage ‘ouse.” Mrs. Jones called from the kitchen.

  “Erumph.” Eliza sighed in vexation. Nothing was ever conveniently placed. She went out the back door and onto the stone patio. As she came to where her uncle was sitting with a book in the morning sunshine, she put her hand on his shoulder.

  “Ah, my dear,” he said without looking up, “such interesting things this Hutton proposes. Revolutionary, even. Can you believe, and he provides much evidence in support of this idea, that geologic processes take much longer than we have thought.”

  Eliza paused and tried to smile. “Indeed? How much longer does he speculate.”

  “Well beyond thousands and tens of thousands of years. Possibly millions or longer.”

  She frowned in disbelief. “Longer? Heavens….how is such a span of time even to be imagined?”

  “It is beyond me, but when one thinks of how slowly these changes occur, and then how many little changes are needed to make the whole change, then it seems inevitable that some immense span of time has passed.”

  She waited a moment in case he cared to continue, but he was swept away in his reading within moments. She stepped lightly around him, past the garden gate and on to the derelict carriage house where she sorted through the implements on the bench. “Lord, I must get out here and organize this. How is one to ever find anything?”

  There, her hand touched the rough edge of the whetstone. Finding what she was looking for, she set to sharpening both cutting edges on the scissors. She looked up at the sound of hoofbeats to see Sir William riding by. She smiled and raised a hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, he reined his horse over. He stopped near the archway of the carriage house and leaned forward on his saddle, smiling.

  “You have a rather unsavory look about you?”

  She frowned in confusion, then looked down and saw the scissors agape in one hand and the stone clenched in the other. She laughed shortly. “Nothing is going smoothly today. I start one project only to find that I must do something else first.”

  “Ah. I am having one of those days as well. What are you doing?”

  “Making an apron to replace the one I ruined for Ben. Well, but first sharpening the scissors I need to cut the fabric. And you?”

  “Trying to transport a horse to one of the farms, but his shoe is loose and both farriers are busy. I’ve just come back from leaving word for one of them.”

  “Surely you have others to run such errands?” she asked.

  “The simple truth is that every one of them has important work to be doing…except me. Besides, I enjoy riding – as you seem to enjoy walking.”

  She laughed. “Yes. No walking today, though.” She paused, then said a little diffidently, “Would you come and meet my Uncle?”

  He was taken aback but slid down and tethered his horse. “I should be happy to.”

  She led him to the back garden where her uncle sat reading. Uncle stood, awkwardly, at the sight of their guest. “Uncle Enger, this is Sir William Strathom. Sir William, Alastair Enger.”

  Both gentlemen bowed to one another, and Uncle motioned for the baronet to sit in one of the garden chairs. Eliza disappeared to tell Cook to make some tea. When she came back, they were discussing the worsening relations between England and America. Eventually, Cook brought the tray, and Eliza poured the tea and handed it round, still without being called on to speak.

  “Perhaps I am old-fashioned,” Uncle was saying, “But I remember when the Colonies were just that – colonies of England. Established by English sweat and blood and through trial and expense. It is wrong, indeed, that the fruits of that labor should be stolen from us.”

  “But Uncle, King George has been erratic for some time. His own son has now been appointed Regent to rule in his stead. An argument can be made that it was his fault – his poor handling of the delicate political situation that lost us those colonies.”

  “The very least they could do is refrain from interfering in our relations with the French.”

  “I suppose it is hard for one country to feel they owe obedience to another. It would not be my inclination,” Sir William interjected thoughtfully.

  “Nor mine,” said Eliza. “And you know, just because our King says no one must trade with France does not mean all other countries will obey.”

  “And yet, out of sheer respect for the honor of our nation…” Uncle tapped his knee with his lightly clenc
hed fist.

  “Uncle, you can hardly expect America to respect the nation it so recently freed itself from!”

  “And why not? Perhaps even more so!” Uncle’s face flushed and the crease between his brows deepened.

  “It would certainly behoove America to stay out of the middle of our conflict.” Sir William interposed.

  “Exactly! Look at the Little Belt Affair!” Uncle referred to the attack of the USS President upon the British sloop-of-war Little Belt. Less than half the size of the USS President, the smaller ship had lost several of its sailors in the conflict.

  “There, I grant you, the Americans were excessive in their actions,” Sir William conceded.

  Eliza added, “If we can believe the accounts of the English sailors…”

  “Eliza, I am surprised indeed at you! Doubting the word of an Englishman?”

  “Doubting the word of any man whose fate depends upon the story he stands by!” she responded.

  “You are something of a cynic, Miss Denham.” Sir William smiled at her.

  “I do not know, I am sure. I do feel that the truth often lies between both versions of a story.”

  “I, too. Unless one of the versions is mine.” His smile widened and she laughed.

  “That, I think, is everyone’s inclination!”

  “Regardless of who was at fault, it would be hard indeed to force them, and us, to go through yet another war based on such untrustworthy information,” Sir William continued.

  “I would certainly hope our new Regent would employ skilled diplomacy in this case,” Uncle stated.

  Sir William frowned. “If we do come to war with America again, I would have to agree that much of the blame must be laid at the feet of our former monarch. If something on my estate fails, the fault is mine. Either because of my poor decisions or because of my poor management.”

  Uncle shook his head slowly. “I am too strong an old Tory and, as such, must support our monarch in all his decisions.”

  “But Uncle, surely that is not the desire of any monarch? That would be like saying a husband demands his wife to be completely subservient in even her mind – to never question any decision.”

  William said gravely, “Alas, some do. And I think many of our monarchs would agree with your uncle.”

  “Their opinion would be self-serving and flawed as a result,” she said.

  “I must agree with you. No man should wish another person to subjugate their own mind to another’s.” He glanced at his pocket watch and set his cup and saucer back on the tray. “I, however, must subjugate my time to the demands of my estate. I must take my leave, but I thank you for your hospitality!”

  Uncle rose and bowed, and Eliza walked William to the carriage house where his horse waited. She watched him mount in one smooth motion, then curtseyed her farewell.

  He grinned at her and raised his hand, “I look forward to our next debate. Until next time!” Then he reined the horse aside and spurred her into a gentle canter. It was only then that she realized she had picked up and was holding the scissors.

  She walked slowly back to the house, considering the ease with which he had accepted her opinion, even welcomed it. She smiled to herself, feeling lighter and happier of a sudden. The clock chimed the hour before supper, and she clicked her tongue. Delightful hour spent, but her apron was no closer to being done.

  Eliza went to the stairs but was forestalled by Bessie. “Eh Miss! We will have a guest tonight. It’s Tuesday.” Then she was gone into the back of the house, and Eliza frowned and climbed the stairs to her room.

  Guest?

  Realization dawned on her – Tuesday, of course. Her uncle had written her about the new curate coming to play backgammon every other Tuesday. One or two such meetings had been cancelled for one reason or another but apparently were about to start up again. She supposed it had evolved into supper as well. Deftly, she finished cutting out the pieces of the apron, then carried them down to her workbasket in the parlor. She had a good hour to spend basting the pieces together before she would have to get ready for the evening. As she worked, she looked out the window, watching the branches dance and bob in the intermittent breeze. The clock chimed, and she put her work away and rose to go and change for the evening.

  She washed and changed into her rose evening gown. Hopefully, the candlelight would hide the numerous little repairs and the fraying of the hem. After taking her hair down and reassembling it, she pinned it up in a simple style and slipped her one pair of earrings on. She looked herself over in the mirror and had to admit that she looked well – well enough to welcome the baronet if he came riding by again. If life was going to be this social, she would need more clothes!

  She was downstairs in time for their guest’s arrival. The doorbell rang, and Bessie went to answer it. Eliza and her uncle stood ready to welcome him.

  “Jonathon Waddell,” Bessie announced

  He was a tall, rather gangly young man with a thin face and an imperious nose. Eliza had seen him from a distance in her pew on Sunday. Keen eyes set rather close together, a rather unruly shock of dark hair and a beautifully tied cravat set above the usual black attire. His eyes were trained intently upon her as her uncle proffered her for the introduction.

  “Jonathon! Allow me to introduce my niece, Eliza Denham.”

  Mr. Waddell took her hand and, instead of shaking it, surprised her by raising it to his lips. “Miss Denham, I have heard such tales of your many virtues!”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Waddell.” She pulled her hand back, and he finally relinquished it. She led the way into the dining room where their simple dinner had been laid.

  He sat in the place of honor and arranged himself before turning to her. “Miss Denham, I have you at a disadvantage and I wish to set you more at ease. For, while I know much of your history, you can but know little of mine. Therefore, I will even the playing field, so to speak.” He cleared his throat and began.

  “I hail from the town of Donalton in Leistershire. My father is a respected clergyman, and it was his earnest wish that I follow him in that career. My mother is very active in the parish and, I don’t mind telling you, has set me an excellent example of what to look for in a wife. Her interest and energy make her a welcome helpmeet to my father’s intelligence and wisdom. Originally, I wanted to go into the army, but there were not funds enough to purchase a commission for me. I tell you this, only to underscore the wisdom of my father in encouraging me instead to go into the church. My gifts are much better suited to the study and introspection necessary for a clergyman.”

  He stopped to take a sip or two of water. “After taking orders, I served first in a parish in Stanton. That, however, was not so much to my taste and I was very grateful to have the opportunity to move to Lytchley.” He paused, smiling. “So, I hope any important questions you may have had are answered by this little history. However, I am more than ready to answer any others that may have arisen.”

  Eliza’s eyes were wide. “Oh, no Mr. Waddell. I think you answered them all. Thank you.”

  He bowed his head, appearing a little disappointed, and she saw her uncle smile at her. “It may interest you to know also that I have been in orders this twelvemonth and that I consider myself well-situated here in Lytchley, set as I am to take over the parish upon Mr. Bart’s retirement.”

  She smiled and tried to look politely interested rather than bemused. Her uncle intervened, “Jonathon, you said something of particular interest after the sermon on Sunday.”

  Here, they branched off into theological matters. Her uncle continued to talk, and it became evident that the two men were engaged in some debate about the role of women in the church. Her uncle of the opinion that there was biblical evidence in support of more equality, and the curate of the opinion that Paul’s strictures were meant to be followed to the letter.

  Mr. Waddell pressed his hand onto the table for emphasis as he said,

  “I can only say that some of the situat
ions I, as a clergyman, have been called to are far too ugly and even violent for the eyes of a woman. Women, as I am sure my dear Miss Denham will appreciate, are our first and greatest gift bestowed by God unto Man. It is our responsibility to protect them from the horrors of this earth.”

  Eliza swallowed and frowned. “God himself did not spare women the horrors of this earth given the awful outcome that sometimes accompanies childbirth.”

  “But that is woman’s punishment for tempting Adam with the apple of sin,” Mr. Waddell said between bites.

  Eliza frowned as she cut her meat. “I have never understood why all women must be punished for one woman’s sin.”

  Brandishing his fork, Mr. Waddell said, “Exactly, you cannot understand. Women’s minds – it has been scientifically proven – are incapable of understanding deep and convoluted truths.”

  Eliza’s eyes lit with anger, but her voice was smooth as she soke. “I am afraid we must disagree, there. When I say I do not understand, it simply means that the arguments I have heard up to now are inadequate in their logic and must be rejected. Not that I cannot comprehend them.”

  Uncle grasped onto this and said, “My niece is a great reader. I believe she has read every book in this house!”

  Mr. Waddell’s eyes flew wide. “Mr. Enger! I am shocked that you would encourage this! Women have so many skills and talents to be kindled and developed that extensive reading is unnecessary and may even stunt their abilities! My own mother rarely touches a book, save for her prayer book. Your niece will marry one day, and it is to be hoped will be well prepared to meet the needs of her husband’s home.”

  “Mr. Waddell, I am perfectly capable of cooking, cleaning, sewing, spinning, laundering, and anything else my future home might require,” said Eliza in a clipped tone.

  He gave her a roguish look, “Now, Miss Denham, you will make me think you are recommending yourself to my notice.”