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JANE WOKE TO A MAID opening her shutters and Sarah looking on disapprovingly. When the young girl left she commented. “I don’t know why they have to be so noisy. I told her she cannot stay long if she’s forever making a racket.”
“Oh Sarah, I don’t mind, for I’m to be out at the stables at six to ride and –yawn-.”
“Here, my lady, I brushed your habit last night and it looks very well.”
She looked at her dark green habit and smiled a hazy smile at it. “It does look nice, thank you Sarah.”
“Lucy found this letter under your door this morning.” Sarah handed her a letter with her name printed on it in the tantalizingly anonymous handwriting. Smiling, she opened it while Sarah began on her hair.
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MISS SHAW,
I am currently reading a report on the travels of Captains Lewis and Clarke across the American continent. It is said they kept extensive journals, and I am eager to know their findings. I will lend it to you when I am finished if you would care to read it.
Meanwhile, perhaps I could recommend Washington Irving’s A History of New York, which is satirical and largely humorous. In fact, Sir Walter Scott reportedly laughed heartily as he read it, so I am sure it will keep any monsters at bay.
I also wanted to make mention of my own observations. Nothing I say can excuse some of Lady Harrington’s behavior, but as a friend may I suggest you apply your excellent observational skills to understand some of her motivations in acting so callously. I only mention this because you seem eager to forgive and excuse any untoward behavior; I hopefully have provided such an excuse.
To the best of my knowledge, you are correct on each of your observations, and recently an event occurred to change my mind with regards to Lord Petersham and Miss Makon. As Sir Walter Scott would say, I doff my hat to you, and can only hope you share future observations with -
Your curious friend.
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JANE FOLDED THE LETTER slowly, her image scolding her from the mirror. It seemed she was walking a rather fine line between what was appropriate and blatant ruination. She frowned, spoiling the effect Sarah had created.
“Miss Jane, are you alright?”
“Yes Sarah, I suppose I’m just thinking again.”
“Yes miss, but perhaps it’s not so good if it makes you frown.”
Jane smiled at that simple solution. His letter had subtly invited her to write again, but she could not decide what to do. She shook her head, and began moving towards her door. She stopped abruptly though as she opened the letter to read one line again.
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TO THE BEST OF MY KNOWLEDGE, you are correct on each of your observations.
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THAT MEANT HER FRIEND was most definitely a man, of course, but also well educated. It could be another, but now she felt certain it was Mr. Lawrence. Coupled with his interest in the report of the Americas, and his obvious preference for her...she bit her lip. If only she could prove it somehow. Her head felt fuzzy, and she shook it: a ride would be just the thing to clear her head.
Jane walked out into the morning in her dark green riding habit, feeling ridiculous. Surely an earl wouldn’t really mean for her to accompany him, would he? He probably regretted inviting her or at least wished for his usual interested party. With a scowl on her face she entered the stables to find Lord Harrington standing next to a gorgeous dark brown horse that was massive.
A breath escaped her. “He is...beautiful.”
Lord Harrington gave a snort. “He ought to be at his price.”
“May I?” She lifted her hand to rub his nose.
“Of course.”
“He is 17 hands?”
“Just shy of 18, actually. You are familiar with horses?”
“I suppose I am.” She continued to rub the lovely velvet nose of his horse, who had immediately lowered his head for the privilege. “My uncle has particularly excellent stables. What is his name?” Silence met this and she turned her head to see his face quite red and the groom grinning as he brought forth another handsome horse, this time a mare.
“Oh, she is lovely!” Her attention transferred to the leather brown soft bay mare that was shorter than the other, but still impressive.
“That’s Clover, who is named for her favorite meal.” Lord Harrington smiled while patting her neck.
“She is a dear!” She rubbed her nose, while he looked on. “You did not tell me your mount’s name before.”
“Ah...yes. Such a magnificent steed should surely have a magnificent name. Perhaps you would care to guess?” He looked at her, his eyes smiling.
“Very well. Bucephalus.”
“Ah – an excellent choice and one I had not thought of.”
“What was your choice then?”
“I had chosen Zeus. The king of the gods seemed appropriate in this case.” He paused. “He seems to have taken a liking to you.”
“Zeus. Oh, that is a perfect name for him.” She rubbed his nose which he had lowered, nuzzling for a treat.
“It is unfortunately, not the name I was allowed to give him.”
“I don’t understand.” She looked at him, but he-who-would-be-Zeus didn’t appreciate the distraction and nuzzled her hand again. She laughed. “Oh dear, you are a sweetheart. Perhaps ‘Zeus’ doesn’t quite fit anyhow.”
“His name happens to be Mermaid.”
Her jaw dropped. “You cannot be serious?!”
“Indeed I am. I...lost a wager to George.”
“How...what would that...” At a loss for words, she shook her head.
“We do not gamble with money often. As a result, whenever we attend the races, George and I tend to...compensate with our wagers. I had just bought Mermaid and had offered both his name and his first foal to the winner of a particular race.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I’m afraid I was that cocky. George’s choice was ‘Beau Brummell’, which I thought fit in a way, but after he won he was so giddy that it changed a dozen times before it landed on....” He sighed.
“Mermaid.”
“Indeed. Perhaps we could talk of something else.”
“Wagers you have won, for example?” She gave him a side smile, which he returned.
“In all fairness, I do seem to win most of our wagers and he does suffer quite cruelly for his losses. George’s favorite, Rascal, has recently sired a foal, and I did win the naming of him, so I am sure to get my revenge.” He continued smiling, then turned to face her. “Come, let us continue this conversation on four legs instead of two.”
She grinned back at him. “I should like that very much.”
After they passed the trees and reached the knoll, they slowed, trotting around it in favor of an easier path. Jane looked sideways at Lord Harrington who spoke first.
“That is an excellent color on you, Miss Shaw. It makes your eyes appear very green.”
She laughed. “Thank you.”
He smiled. “Is there a story behind that laugh?”
“Only the silly conversation where the dressmaker swore that emerald green was ‘de trope’ this season, not this darker shade, and was most distressed she could not persuade me to change my mind.”
“Ah, another reason to be thankful I am not a woman plagued by the life-altering choices in apparel.” They laughed together.
Jane looked over at Lord Harrington. “It would seem you are very close to both your siblings.”
“I am. I have been lucky in that.”
“You have indeed. Were you always such friends?”
He adjusted his reins before answering. “Yes. We are an interesting match of personalities. You see, George is friendly perhaps to the point of being brash, while I am more cautious in my conversation. We are just enough different to be the best of friends. Meg followed us around much like a puppy, and most of the time we were reasonable about it.”
“My father was similar to Lord Petersham. He was so very good at conversing with other people. He was so friendly, in fact, he was forever being found wanting by my mother.” Jane’s grip tightened and Clover gave a snort.
“He sounds very amiable.”
“He was. I never met anybody who did not like him, even if they disapproved his forward methods.”
“How old were you when he died?”
“16. My mother had the audacity to claim it was perfect timing, for I could still have my season in a year.”
Lord Harrington’s eyes widened and there was a pause before he said, “My father died when I was 19.”
She glanced at him. “How did you bear it?”
“I found solace in my family. Indeed, I feel quite lucky, for my siblings and I grew closer as a result.”
“All my older siblings died in birth or as children, so I was an only child most of my life. My mother would not show her grief. I begged her to express it, for I truly believe grieving is a part of being human, and I would not want her to feel she never had the opportunity to mourn.”
Lord Harrington’s smile was commiserative. “My mother was similar. I believe my father softened her, for he was quiet and easy by nature. After his death, she became what she is now; a rather formidable Countess.”
“Perhaps she can be softened again?” Jane shifted on the saddle.
“I hope for that, yes. In particular, when Meg starts her family, I believe that will go quite a ways with my mother. At least it would soften....” His voice had dropped to a whisper than disappeared and he seemed lost in thoughts that made him frown. She rode next to him in silence waiting for him to finish his thoughts until he turned to look at her.
“I beg your pardon. I’ve become rather morose lately in trying to fill a role I had hoped not to come into for many years.”
“You do not need to explain, my lord.” He was quiet in a different way now, watching her as Mermaid continued at his sedate pace.
“I must tell you, Miss Shaw, I am very pleased with your friendship with Meg.”
She laughed. “And I with her. She is sunshine wherever she goes.”
“I quite agree. However, she is sunshine untamed, and your presence reminds her to think before she acts. Her compulsions can be...” He paused looking for the right word.
“If you will excuse my opinion, my lord, 17 is a little young to settle down. Her childhood dreams are not so far in her past.”
“Perhaps you’re right. I confess George and I have not been the best of influences on her. We spoil her ridiculously and as a child encouraged her wild ideas with abandon. She only just had her birthday, so wasn’t able to have a season this year, but our mother took her to town anyway for a new set of gowns.” He shook his head.
They turned a bend and she noticed the lovely view. “This is a beautiful ride.”
“I started riding quite early soon after my father’s passing and it has now become a hobby of mine.”
“I have never been very good with early morning hours and quite enjoy a habit of chocolate delivered to my room before rising.” She smiled.
“I would think being raised in the country conditioned you for early mornings.” He gave a quick laugh. “When Meg was younger she used to rise at four o’clock to get everything done she declared was needed. Everyone, including the servants, was quite horrified at the thought of anyone having breakfast in bed at four o’clock in the morning. She would finish her rather impressive lists before eight o’clock and mother would find her fast asleep in her tea most days.”
Jane laughed appreciatively. “She does not still do that, I think?”
“No, she rises at six o’clock much to the relief of the servants, and consumes her breakfast with abandon instead of sleeping in it.”
She laughed and shook her head as she pictured Meg doing just that. “I’m afraid I rather enjoy the night. It too began when my father died. I found myself entirely awake in the middle of the night. This evolved into opportunities to write letters or go for a walk near the house or read for a while. As a result, I have grown accustomed to rising quite late despite my country upbringing.”
“And do you still find yourself awake in the middle of the night?”
“Sometimes. Particularly when something is on my mind.”
He leaned forward adjusting his seat, and changed the subject. “Miss Shaw, when you do not participate in the planned excursions, what do you do with your time?”
She looked over at Lord Harrington who seemed genuinely interested. “I...well, I go for walks in ‘that forest’ as Lady Harrington puts it, and I pound away on the piano in the blue bird room, and I read in the library...and of course I am at Meg’s call when needed.”
“I did not realize you play the piano. We should have you play one night when the other ladies perform.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t. I’m dreadfully nervous about playing for other people, you see.”
“Ah. That is why you do not play for our impromptu dancing in the evenings. I must say though, you do not seem the type of woman to become nervous about anything.”
Jane shivered. “I am not usually.”
He said nothing for a moment, then, “I will not urge you to play.”
“Thank you.”
“Perhaps we could gallop for a while?” His smile contagious, she nodded and they leapt forward. They continued that way for some time until she realized they had circled around to the stables. As they approached, she watched the earl dismount, but take some time to straighten, leaning against Mermaid for support. Not wanting to embarrass him, she dismounted with the help of the groom and waited a moment to thank Clover before turning to him. By then, he was standing straight, if a little stiff.
“Thank you for the ride, Miss Shaw. If you will excuse me, I have some pressing business to attend to immediately.”
“Of course, my lord, I understand.” And with a bow, he departed, his gait somewhat altered from before their ride. Confused at this abrupt change, she returned to the house and her bedroom to change. Her light blue muslin felt cooler as she hurried to the library to leave a response to her mysterious friend.
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DEAR FRIEND,
I have not read anything by Washington Irving, but I shall endeavor to do so, for I enjoy humorous literature. I would also be delighted to borrow your copy of the report from the American captains whenever you are finished. I cannot imagine what it must be like to be the first to forge through unknown lands, and I am full of admiration for their courage. Indeed, whenever I hear tales of other lands I cannot decide whether I should like to experience them first hand or not.
You have asked that I share my observations with you, and I fear I must tell you those that lately have concerned me. Lord Harrington seems a man in excellent health except for a few occasions where he seems in great pain or exhibits a physical weakness that can appear almost suddenly. I may be entirely wrong in my assumptions, but I cannot help but worry, for he seems to hide these moments from everyone, including his family. I tell you these observations only with the intent to help – perhaps a friend such as yourself could alleviate his pain or suggest a course of action others could not.
Forgive my audacity; the anonymity of our friendship seems to call for brashness.
Miss Shaw
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JANE FINISHED HAYDN’S Adagio with a flourish, then smiled and stood. Practicing so consistently was improving her technique while calming her spirits simultaneously. She walked out and noticed a chair to the right that had not been there previously. On its needlepoint cushion was a small square of paper with her name on it. Underneath it was a hand copied sheaf of music that was a sonatina by Ignaz Pleyel. One side of her mouth drew up as she snatched the letter, opening it while she sat on the convenient chair, the music in her lap.
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MISS SHAW,
I have discovered your fondness for playing the pianoforte, and have enjoyed listening. I hope you will perform in the evenings, for your music has an emotion I believe would be enjoyed by all. I have included a sonatina which is from my own collection, for I believe you will do better justice to it than I ever could.
In response to your observations regarding Lord Harrington, I can only tell you to set it out of your mind, at least for the present. I can assure you measures are being taken for his benefit. Meanwhile, do not worry about being audacious, for I am finding anonymity a great proponent of friendship, which I hope is the end result of this correspondence.
If we are to continue in this manner, I thought we could find a place to put our letters so they will not be found accidentally by others. If you are willing, there is a small jade box on the mantle in the library. It is empty, and sits a little behind a large vase. I will hope for your reply there, but understand if you feel it is inappropriate to continue.
Your Friend
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SHE LOOKED AT THE SONATINA, having heard it before but never having had the opportunity to play it. Looking for a name of ownership somewhere on it, she found a small corner torn from the upper left. She sighed at his foresight.
A quarter of an hour later found her in the library pacing. Irritated that he would make the continuance of their friendship her responsibility, she wore a path in front of the desk, trying to decide yay or nay, but frustrated at either outcome. She stopped in front of the desk. Two can play this game. Dipping her quill into the ink, she wrote.
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DEAR FRIEND,
I have considered the appropriateness of continuing this exchange of letters and cannot find a reasonable excuse to end it, for it is entirely anonymous (at least on my part) and your friendship has been so very welcome at this time. I believe if we maintain anonymity, it cannot be wrong. If at any point, however, you feel it necessary to end this correspondence, I will entirely understand.
The last time I played the pianoforte in public was during this past season in London. The evening was a disaster, ending in my favorite dress ripped nearly the entire length down, and a rather large stain on Lady Alistair’s rug. I do not wish to shame myself in a repeat of that night. However, I find I do not like feeling the coward and will try very hard to work up the nerve to do so. To that end, I will practice Pleyel’s sonatina in the hopes of someday performing it for you.
I have thought on your remarks concerning Lord Harrington and can only offer my help should it ever be needed, and of course my secrecy on the matter.
Jane Shaw