An Inconvenient Engagement Page 5

  She was aghast! Trapped by pride into being thought to be throwing herself at this young man. She clamped her jaw shut and vowed to say no more. Her uncle seemed to enjoy the debate as it wandered off into more obscure points. When supper was finished, the two of them sat in the front parlor and the backgammon board was brought out. She gathered the mending and sat in her favorite chair near a trio of candles for light. Bessie brought two more, without a word, and set them on her other side. She reached into the basket and lifted out the linen pieces to the apron she had been working on. Silently, quickly, she finished basting them together while the men played with quiet concentration. She looked up once to see Mr. Waddell’s gaze resting approvingly on her and smiled uncertainly.

  “What think you of this business in America, Mr. Waddell?” She was focusing on a particularly furtive stitch and did not see the frank astonishment that transformed his countenance. “We were discussing it at tea this afternoon with Sir William….”

  “I…er…”

  “Sir William and I were of like mind, in regards to the rights of America as a sovereign country. However, Uncle feels we owe more to the consideration of our monarch, well, the Regent I suppose. Though, there are some who feel he should not have taken such steps as to have Parliament declare the King mad.” She looked up then and saw his reddened complexion. “Perhaps you are more of my uncle’s way of thinking?”

  Really, she wondered, what can be ailing him?

  He turned from her and addressed her uncle. “I would be happy to hear your opinion on the subject Mr. Enger.”

  Uncle peered over the board. “I am torn regarding the Regency. Our King has been somewhat erratic of late, and the Prince of Wales is the obvious choice, being as how he is to take on the mantle himself one day. And yet…it is difficult…”

  “Uncle, you cannot have it both ways. He is either at fault for assuming the duties of his father against his wishes or needs of the nation, or he has rescued the nation and is truly fulfilling his destiny.”

  “Miss Denham, if it were permissible to correct a lady, I would suggest it rather unbecoming to take an opposing view to the head of your household.”

  Eliza frowned. “I don’t think my uncle would appreciate it if I merely agreed with him for the sake of someone else’s social convention.”

  “But, to disagree in front of a guest may be disrespectful,” he asserted with an uncertain look at his host.

  Eliza looked to her uncle. “Uncle, do you feel I am disrespectful?”

  Frank astonishment flooded the older gentleman’s face. “What? You? Never!”

  Eliza turned back to Mr. Waddell. “There, Mr. Waddell, you have your answer.”

  “I have an answer, yes.”

  She bit her lip and focused on sewing, trying to hold back the rising irritation with the curate.

  “Miss Denham,” Mr. Waddell said, and she looked up expecting some invitation to the conversation. Instead, he said, “What, may I ask, are you sewing so assiduously?”

  “An apron. My last was ruined a few days ago.”

  “Ah. Such excellent industry.”

  “Oh yes, Eliza is skilled in all manner of handcrafts.” Uncle seemed happy to have peace restored.

  “I enjoy many things…” began Eliza.

  “A woman’s place!” She was interrupted by Waddell’s enthusiastic outburst. “Nothing warms the heart of a man so much as seeing such domestic scenes as this. Truly, such industry frees a lady’s mind to contemplate the finer attributes of the Almighty and how the needs of her home are best met.” His hands encompassed the parlor and its occupants.

  Eliza fought back a quick retort. While she enjoyed many domestic activities, she did not see how the breadth and quality of her brain were in any way affected by the activity of her hands. Such a contrast to the delightful conversation of earlier!

  Soon the little mantel clock chimed, and Mr. Waddell rose to bid good evening. He insisted on taking her hand and lingering over his farewell. But finally, he was gone, and the tedious evening could end. Well! she thought as she gave vent to her frustration with delicate stomps on the stairs.

  “Eliza!” her uncle admonished. “Have a care!”

  “Sorry, Uncle.” She adjusted the tone of her step. “Goodnight.”

  She curled gratefully into her bed and stared out the window where the curtains did not close all the way. She could see the branches from the tree waving gently across the glass and she thought over the evening. A heavy sigh escaped her as she contrasted the two men she had visited with that day. Sir William, warm and manly, encouraging her in her own opinions. She shut her eyes against further thoughts that intruded against her will. He is engaged! Engaged! Something clutched at her heart, and she closed her eyes. Sleep was a long time coming.

  Chapter Five

  “What are your plans for today?” Uncle wiped his mouth and set his napkin down. Breakfast was done, and he had finished reading the morning post.

  “I have no fixed engagements for the day. However, I thought I might call on Aunt Wetherby, and Alice of course.”

  “Excellent. Please pass on my regards to Mrs. Wetherby. I am taking the morning coach to Stanton to meet with a bookseller there. He may have the copy of An Essay towards solving a Problem in the Doctrine of Chances by Thomas Bayes that I have been looking for!” He looked up smiling from his catalogue and added, “Perhaps it will help me with my backgammon game!”

  Eliza smiled. Her uncle’s delight in books was engaging. His own little room was a makeshift library, and she had spent many long hours curled up on the window seat reading from amongst his many books. “Well, here’s hoping!” she said, lifting a pudding.

  He frowned and looked up. “I hope you don’t think I will be spending unnecessarily. The coach fare is not inconsequential, and there will be a significant cost for such a rare book. Well, rare for the likes of Lytchley at least. By his letter, though, it sounded as if the book had some tears to its cover. If so, then I can certainly bargain him down from its current cost. If I am lucky, there may even be some water damage which would bring the value down even more!”

  “Well, Uncle, I have heard you mention this book often. Surely you should not pass up the opportunity whatever its cost. Personally, I hope there is no water damage.”

  “The cost would certainly be more.”

  “But imagine how much easier the reading!”

  He smiled a little worriedly. “It is just that Bessie informs me your dress is in a bad way after rescuing that poor dog. It occurred to me that the money might be better spent on a new dress for you.”

  A new dress! Oh, felicity! Her mind went quickly through the bolts of fabric she had seen at Dimmits, one in particular...but no. She could not bear the look of impending disappointment on his face. She pushed all thoughts of a new dress from her mind. “No Uncle! I assure you I am well supplied. My cousin, Henrietta, gave me three of her older gowns to alter for my own use. Please, go get your book. I have been no less anxious to read it!”

  He smiled then, happy, and patted her hand. “I will, then. Must run to the coach!”

  She waved him on and turned to her own plans as she finished breakfast. She took a last bite of her buttered pudding and sipped her tea. Not for the first time she thought about her limited wardrobe. She sighed and pushed back from the table.

  She checked her workbag, removing one project and making sure she had everything she needed for the one remaining. She took down the two hanks of yarn she had dyed with madder rose, twisted them into skeins and put them in the basket with the shortbread Cook had made for her to take. Then, bonnet tied on, and cloak about her shoulders, she set off for the Wetherby farm.

  The day was dry and sunny, with barely a breeze. She walked contentedly along the dusty road. The farm was almost two miles away down the road that led to Stanton, and much of the forested land to her left belonged to it. To her right were open, windblown fields enclosed by dry stone walls. Sheep dotted the rolling land
scape, here and there some cows. She had not gone far down the road when she saw the Stanton coach go by. She waved at it, but her uncle was engrossed in conversation with someone else and did not see her. She smiled to herself and swung the basket lightly as she walked.

  She knew her uncle worried about money and tried to make little economies in order to provide her with all the things a young woman might need. She suspected that his avid introduction of the new curate was his attempt to find her a husband to provide for her. She knew she must marry but knew also that it would be a difficult endeavor. Her heart must be engaged. She must marry for love, and how to find a man who would take her for so little, and yet that she could respect and love as she knew she must? Her social status alone made the scope of eligible gentlemen small. As she pondered, the image of Sir William came to mind, and she had to struggle to push it away. If I was Henrietta, she thought, there would be no problem. But she was not Henrietta, and the baronet would certainly never think of someone like her. Her chest contracted at the thought, and she breathed out a sigh.

  Of course, he was engaged anyway so none of it mattered.

  The sound of hoofbeats and the rattling of wheels on the road brought her attention up once more. A small carriage was coming toward her, draw by a single chestnut horse. As it neared, she saw that it was actually a shiny gig, with a single gentleman driving it - Sir William.

  He pulled to a stop beside her. “Miss Denham! Out for another solitary walk?”

  “I am visiting my cousins at Wetherby farm.”

  He frowned for a moment. “That is some way off yet.”

  “I will be there soon enough.”

  “I can give you a ride. It will save you near a mile.”

  She looked at the gig, saddle on the seat and said, “There is not room!”

  “We will shift that over.” He reached over and lifted the saddle, placing it so that it straddled the back. “I had to ride the horse into Stanton to pick up the gig for my brother. He was to pick it up himself but was delayed in town. My man, Rivers, fell ill so that left it to me.” He reached down and helped her up, then deftly maneuvered the gig around in the road and set off back in the direction of Stanton.

  She pushed the saddle aside and settled in. The top had been let down and rested in accordion fashion behind the cushioned seat. The seat was slick and the paint shone in the sunlight breaking through the leaves of the trees to their left. She breathed in the smell of leather, paint, and even a hint of axle grease. “This is brand new!”

  “Yes,” he said drily. “Hopefully it remains so for a good while longer!”

  She laughed. “Yes, indeed.” He shot her a glance from under his hat.

  “What have you there?” His chin indicated the basket.

  “Some shortbread and yarn that I spun and dyed for my aunt. She has wanted some to make a shawl.”

  “You made that?” He took a moment to examine the yarn more closely. It was a rich rose color with tonal lights of a slightly lighter shade.

  “Yes, with some wool I was given in trade. It is wondrously soft, and so I thought of Aunt Wetherby’s mother-in-law. Knitted shawls are not the fashion, but Granny gets chilled easily and Aunt thought a knitted shawl would suit her better than a cloth one. In fact, I was supposed to be harvesting madder for the dyeing the day we rescued poor Ben.”

  They were silent – he considering the value of handcrafted gifts and she observing him from the shelter of her bonnet. She noted how well his brown coat fit him and accentuated his shoulders. He wore a hat of the same color and black boots. His waistcoat had tiny stripes of green, plum, and cream running vertically and made his hazel eyes shine more green than hazel. His eyes caught her regard with a sudden sideways glance. He said, “Have you seen the dog that we rescued? How is it doing?”

  “I don’t know. Gower has not been through town that I have seen. He may not trust the other dogs to bring the sheep round without Ben. I am hoping to ask Jamie today, if I see him.”

  “Jamie is the boy who often accompanies…Gower, is it?”

  “Yes. My cousin. He is son to my Aunt Gemma. Well she is actually a cousin, too, but I have always called her ‘aunt.’” She considered the relationship for a moment before adding, “Jamie’s father died some time ago, so Gower helps out with running the farm. Gower was Great-Uncle Wetherby’s friend and has a long history with the family.”

  “I see.” He was silent, and part of the joy in the moment suddenly went out. Cousins? And she was kinswoman to the Darrows as well. The girl was oddly placed in society, and he wondered how she would fare with suitors. Something in him revolted at the thought and he pushed it from his mind. Instead, he was reminded of the difficulty of rising above one’s lowest connexions. His father’s face came before him, and he stiffened his shoulders.

  She sensed the change in him and correctly gauged the reason. Her chin came up a bit. Perhaps she could have hidden her family relations from him, but why should she? She could not help the manner of her birth or the choices made by her ancestors. But she did wonder if her grandmother had known how far-reaching her actions would be, if she would have made the same choices. If her love had truly been so strong that she could not control her actions, or was it just from stubbornness or contrariness that she had run off with the Wetherby boy.

  What would she, herself, have done?

  What would Sir William have done?

  They were nearing the turn-off that led to the farm, and she directed him, though he seemed to know where it was. Their arrival in front of the farmhouse caused quite a commotion as chickens scattered squawking and her aunt and both cousins came out on the front step to watch their final approach.

  He helped her down, then touched his hat to her aunt and cousin. With a final smile at herself, he turned the gig around and left.

  Her aunt waited until the gig was out of sight before bursting out, “What are you doing riding aloft with Sir William? How came he to give you the ride?”

  She explained about his mission to get the gig and happening to see her walking.

  “’Tis not the first time he has happened upon you, so I hear,” Jamie said smiling while Alice glanced cuttingly at her and smoothed her black hair back. Striking, with black eyes and black hair set against a clear pale skin. Her dress was well made and appeared at first superior to Eliza’s. But the fabric was much inferior, and the bodice was strained and cut rather low. Alice wore no chemisette, and the result was rather revealing.

  Eliza blushed at the reference to Sir William. Of course, Jamie would know about their rescuing of Ben and surely told his family the story. “Sir William seems to ride about the countryside frequently.”

  Alice remarked in a drawling voice, “Well how lovely to have nothing better to do, than ride or walk about the country.”

  Eliza’s chin came up. “I would not know. When I walk, it is usually because I am going somewhere.” She handed the basket to her aunt, who exclaimed over the color of the yarn.

  “Oh Eliza,” she said fingering it. “Are you sure?”

  Eliza gave her a little kiss. “Of course, Aunt! I thought only of you as I spun it!”

  “This will make a warm shawl for Mother, indeed.” They settled in her parlor. Jamie reached in and picked out at piece of the shortbread.

  “Jamie, how is Ben?” Eliza asked.

  “Gower has him bundled by the fire. There is a bowl of water, and one that contains all the best bits from Gower’s own plate. If I were Ben, I would take my time healing!”

  The women laughed, and he continued, “It has been a nuisance, though, since Nan can’t handle the flocks alone and Gower’s Jim and Fly are still so young. We need Ben to get strong again. I was hoping he would be better for shearing, but I think not.”

  With that, he tipped his hat and went whistling out the door. His dog, Nan, met him and trotted at his heels.

  Aunt Gemma picked up some sewing while Eliza readied her knitting needles to work on the stockings. Alice leaned
back in her seat, embroidery lying unattended on her lap. The women chatted a while.

  “Alice, what are you working on?” Eliza asked.

  “Nothing, at present.” Alice stared out the window.

  “It’s just that I see some embroidery there…” Eliza waited.

  “Something of no importance to one as talented as you.”

  “Alice.” Aunt Gemma’s tone held a warning.

  “I was admiring your dress,” Eliza tried again.

  “Thank you.”

  “How did you accomplish that neckline?”

  Alice did not answer.

  “I heard your dress was ruined in that dreadful incident with Gower’s dog,” Aunt Gemma stated.

  “Such the heroine!” was Alice’s sotto response.

  “No,” Eliza answered. “Bessie managed to get the blood out and I was able to repair one or two little tears. It was nothing. But the apron was ruined.”

  “And we can’t be without an apron!”

  “Alice!” There was silence for a time. Eventually, Aunt Gemma said, “Will you be attending the Loughton’s Ball?”

  “Yes. Miss Darrow luckily gave me three older gowns to make over and wear.”

  “Well, that was very kind of her.”

  Alice stood and tossed the embroidery aside before stalking off.

  “I am so sorry,” Eliza said as Alice’s steps disappeared outside.

  “It isn’t your fault. I know you have tried. She has just always been jealous of you for some reason.”

  “I know, and I don’t understand it. There is really nothing to be jealous of.”

  “Now that isn’t true. The Loughtons take some notice of you, and that is something she has always wished for. She has never set foot in Hadring Hall.”

  “I have only been there once or twice. Lady Loughton does not approve of me.”

  “No, she is a haughty one, at that. But, still, you went to school. In Bath! Which means you got out of Lytchley.”

  “True.”

  Aunt Gemma continued gently, “She has always been rather restless. I don’t condone her rudeness, but I understand what she might be feeling.”