Karen Harbaugh (6 page)

He eyed me warily.
“You
haven’t thought that I—”

“No, I have not!” I interrupted crossly. I sighed and sipped my tea, thinking of my plans for Mama, which were getting more tangled by the minute. “How things do get complicated!” I exclaimed. “Instead of getting Mama interested in her own marriage, she is now thinking of mine!”

“Is your mama to be married? I don’t think I have read anything in the
Gazette
of it.”

“And you are not like to. Sir Jeremy has asked her to marry him, but she has refused him.”

“Well! Never thought it of him—he’s been a confirmed bachelor as far as the ton is concerned these last ten years. Except to his female relatives, of course. Something about female relatives—keep egging a man on to marriage, will he, nil he! I mean, look at me! Only three-and-twenty and m’mater’s already baiting the parson’s mousetrap!”

I grinned at this but sympathized, for I fully understood the pressures one’s mother could put on one. I said: “Yes, Miss Angstead at the seminary seemed very determined that Sir Jeremy marry, although I suppose at forty he has less of an excuse than you do for being a bachelor.”

He smiled back. “Angstead! Met her once at Mater’s. A bit on the eccentric side, running a school when she could just as well be living in Town. She has an eye, though, that can cut you in half at twenty paces. Remarkable woman, but I’m glad she’s not
my
aunt!” he said carelessly.

“Aunt!” I squeaked, indignant. “Do you mean to tell me she is Sir Jeremy’s
aunt?”

“Well, yes! Everyone knows that! She’s been scheming with her sisters for ages, trying to get Sir Jeremy leg-shackled.”

Well! I thought to myself. And I thought I was devious with all my schemes for getting home! But I reflected on Lord Ashcombe’s words and thought perhaps Miss Angstead had been feeling as desperate to get Sir Jeremy married as I was for Mama. Why else would she resort to using a mere schoolgirl like myself?

“Mere” was in the right of it, too! I had been home for months now, but I was still no closer to making Mama accept Sir Jeremy’s offer of marriage. To be sure, I would from time to time wistfully mention in Mama’s presence how nice it would be to have a papa, but she would only look at me sadly and murmur that she had done the best she could. I could not continue my complaints then, for I knew how difficult her life had been in the past, and guilt overcame my ambitions.

I made the mistake once of voicing my wish to Mama in the hearing of Sir Jeremy. I suppose—no, I know—I was too bold; I was becoming frustrated at how stagnant my plans for Mama and Sir Jeremy had become, and I resorted to unfair tactics. Sir Jeremy and I had become friends after our first altercation, and I forgot at times that he was older than I; you may take from this that I had concluded he was well enough to be Mama’s husband and my new father. I would be pert to him in a funning sort of way, but I suppose I would sometimes overstep what was proper. Mama was quick to take me up on it, for she often exclaimed that no daughter of hers was going to give cause for scandal—although how a bit of pertness would cause
that
was quite beyond my imagination.

I must admit I had not been in a very good mood that day, for I had been brooding about the tangled web of my plans. Sir Jeremy was in a teasing mood with Mama, twitting her on her new hat, which sported an alarming number of papier-mâché cherries on it.

“You will set a new fashion, Celia. Yours will be the only bonnet with sparrows on it,” he said.

“What can you be talking of? This hat has cherries, not birds!” exclaimed Mama. She was wearing a charming robe-dress with cerise piping that exactly matched the hat. She held out the hat for him to see.

Sir Jeremy looked at her solemnly and tapped a false cherry with his finger. “Once you step outside, birds from all around London will spy your bonnet, and think it a feast laid out for their benefit.”

“Nonsense!”

“Not at all. I can see it clearly: hundreds of sparrows upon your hat, and you so covered with their wings, you will seem an angel.” His face was still serious, but the glance he cast at me twinkled.

“I would be overwhelmed with their weight, rather, and sustain a serious injury!” Mama replied tartly, but the corners of her mouth quivered upward briefly.

“No, no!” said Sir Jeremy. “Each one would seize an ornament and try to fly off with it. You would need to keep your bonnet firmly tied, of course, but you would feel as light as a ... er, feather.”

I groaned and rolled my eyes. Once Mama and Sir Jeremy got started on their nonsense, nothing stopped them. They were as bad as children. At first I was amused by their banter. These days I felt more irritated than not. I wistfully eyed the new book I had laid down on a side table when Bartley had announced Sir Jeremy. Sophocles was more to my mood than their absurdity.

“It is far more likely I should strangle!” retorted Mama.

Sir Jeremy picked up the hat and eyed the long wide ribbon that served as a tie for it. “You are right. It is a dangerous bonnet. Let us discard it.” He tossed it over the back of the sofa.

“Jeremy, you odious, odious man!” cried Mama, belatedly trying to catch it. “My new bonnet! You will ruin it! I cannot buy another such, for it was made to order for me!” She leaned as decorously as she could over the back of the sofa, apparently trying to snag some portion of the bonnet with a finger.

“Marry me, and I will buy you all the bonnets you could wish for, all made to order.” Sir Jeremy caught her other hand and held it firmly. Mama turned to him, blushing, and lightly tapped his restraining grip.

“As if I would marry anyone for such a reason!” she returned.

“And why not, Mama?” I interjected. “Think of all the bonnets you could have. You might as well marry him for that reason as any other.” I started out speaking in a funning manner, but somehow— perhaps it was my discontent revealing itself—that last sentence came out sounding quite sarcastic. Sir Jeremy’s lips twitched appreciatively, but Mama did not find it amusing in the least.

She eyed me with a steely look and indicated that I should step out of the room. She usually only needed to take me out of the room and look at me for a minute for me to apologize. But this time I stared right back at her, wanting, somehow, in my frustration to do battle with something or someone, and since Mama was there, it might just as well be she.

“Well, my dear,” she said coolly. “Liveliness is all very well, but you are getting a bit forward, are you not? I am surprised you have not yet learned that impertinence can only bring disgust into the feelings of a gentleman when he encounters it in a young girl. Perhaps I should send you back to Miss Angstead’s after all.” She looked at me and crossed her arms, tapping her fingers on her cheek in a thoughtful manner.

Fear clutched at me at this certain ruination of my plans, and anger wrestled it. Another stick thrust in my spokes! “Not,” I said flippantly, “that there are any men there to set me straight if that is so.”

Mama’s mouth tightened, but she remarked in an even more cool tone: “And impertinence toward one’s elders is even more disgusting. It seems you have not learned much at all at Miss Angstead’s, have you?”

Wretchedness at Mama’s rebuke combined with self-pitying anger overcame any caution I had. I had always been proud of my learning, and though I had made up with Sir Jeremy, his suggestion that I had not really learned my Plato still rankled. And here was Mama, once proud of my accomplishments, now saying I had learned nothing while at school! I clenched my teeth and glared at Mama. “I have learned—academics! But how do you suppose I am going to learn how to get on with anything else but books! I suppose if I had a
father,
I might have—”

I stopped in horror at what I was saying, for I looked at Mama’s wretched and stricken face, and remorse overcame me at my thoughtless, stupid words; how could I say such things when I knew in my very heart of hearts that whatever Mama had done was done in the best way she could and for my benefit? I clapped my hands over my mouth and turned away, saying: “I am sorry, Mama, very sorry. I did not mean to say that, it was wrong of me. I know you do what’s best for me, it’s just that—that...” I could not reveal my frustrated plans to her; indeed, I felt there was no one I could discuss them with, so I said, “I’ve felt so tired lately and irritable for no reason I can think of. I know that does not excuse me, but sometimes it overcomes me, and I am simply not aware of what I am saying. The most stupid things, too!” I looked up, about to turn around to her again, and caught sight of the door, so very slightly ajar. I could see Sir Jeremy’s profile through the doorway, and though he did not see me, I realized by his arrested expression that he had probably heard what I had said. No doubt my voice had risen as I became excited. I turned quickly back to Mama, leaning against the door so that it shut gently. My red face probably convinced her of my very real remorse, and she extended her hand to mine.

“Apology accepted,” she said, and kissed my cheek. “Perhaps it is your anemia coming back.”

I looked at her and saw that sad look again and wished I had never opened my mouth today, that I could take the words back. But of course what was done was done. I stared at my shoes and at my hands wringing each other.

“Now, now!” said Mama, smiling. “It’s not as bad as all that! Come! Let’s go back to Sir Jeremy, shall we?”

* * * *

Perhaps I was mistaken, but it seemed from then on that Sir Jeremy became more . . . well, “paternal” toward me. He seemed to take more of an interest in my studies, brought me books, admonished me on taking better care of myself, and teased me that I was growing to look just like Mama. I was not sure whether Mama noticed this or not, but it did seem that whenever Sir Jeremy took my attention from her, a look of relief flickered over her face and then was gone. I felt a little hurt but supposed that perhaps since I had been at school for most of the years past. Mama was not used to having me at home at all hours. Indeed, I believe I was rather a burden on Mama, though she would never say so or even think it. After all, it is not an easy thing for a lone woman to raise a child, and to have to deal with a cantankerous and supposedly sickly one is probably worse.

While I was not really sickly, I was certainly at least cantankerous. I was bored when I was not at my studies. A young lady lives a restricted life in London. If I wished to go to the shops, I had to have a maid or a groom go with me, though this was seldom, as we had few servants. I could not go riding in London as freely as I could in the country around Bath for the same reason, and while there were diversions scheduled for the members of Miss Angstead’s Seminary, there were few at home for me. That is not to say that Mama did not do her best to take me out to see the sights in London: she did. But our excursions were more likely than not to be made tedious (for me, at least) by the number of Mama’s acquaintances (mostly male) who would catch sight of her and follow along like so many dogs after a pastry cart.

I think I would have given up all my plans and died from sheer ennui if it had not been for Lord Ashcombe. I
had
given up all efforts to convince Mama that he had no interest in me. Her love and hopes for me were such that they blinded her, I think, to any thought except the one that any young man who came to know me could not help but fall in love with me. While I was gratified that Mama thought so highly of me, I could not help but feel embarrassed that she had “set her cap” in the most obvious way at Lord Ashcombe on my behalf.

I think it would have embarrassed Lord Ashcombe as well if we had not talked of this between us and made it clear that neither one had any interests in the other, much less marriage. “After all,” said his lordship, who appeared at our door one day just after Mama had gone out, “you’re not much more than a schoolgirl, not yet Out, and
I’m
just out—of Oxford, that is. Been on the town in between terms, you know. Bet you a guinea you wouldn’t want to get tied up in a church before you got a little Town bronze, eh?” I had persuaded him to stay for a bit, for I was bored. He had hesitated, but then entered the parlour, careful to keep the door ajar.

“Oh, no!” I exclaimed. “Why, there are all sorts of things I have not seen yet! The Tower of London! The British Exchange! Madame Tussaud’s Waxworks!”

Lord Ashcombe looked taken aback. “Didn’t precisely mean those sorts of things. What I meant was, well, balls, routs, dinners; having an introduction to the ton, learning how to get on, et cetera. Can’t think you’d be getting to know the ton at the British Exchange! Full of cits and mushrooms! Not that that’s bad, but you don’t find people like that at ton parties!”

“Bah! Parties!” I wrinkled my nose. “Mama has them all the time here, or used to. They must be the most tedious things imaginable! And all the work which goes into them! It takes ever so many servants to set one up, and afterward, why, you have to hire even more to clean it up!”

He snorted and tossed a lock of hair from his forehead—just like a horse, I thought. “Which just goes to show what you know about them!” he retorted. “Why, you don’t go gadding about with servants when you are at a party! You don’t even think of them! It’s different when you are invited to one—you dance, talk with people, drink ratafia or champagne, and all that. Servants!” he scoffed. He glanced at me and relented. “Of course, I suppose you can’t help just knowing about servants, since you’re barely out of the schoolroom.”

“Well, why shouldn’t I think of the servants?” I argued, not wanting to be bested. I felt annoyed at still being called a schoolgirl. I
was
seventeen, after all, and Mama had married when she was eighteen. “It
is
a bother to them and having to direct them to do the thing properly! Why should they suffer for the frivolities of others?” I concluded nobly.

He eyed me disgustedly. “Because they are hired to clean up. Besides, if people weren’t so frivolous as to have parties, there wouldn’t be any vails to earn or work for them to do, and if there wasn’t any work to do, they’d be out in the streets starving because they wouldn’t have jobs!”