All is well,” Jane said as she whisked through the door of her private sitting room. “Apparently David fussed a bit when his nurse put him to bed, but he’s sleeping now.”
“So you’ll sleep well tonight, too,” I said, smiling at my sister.
“Yes. But I am at his beck and call. You’ll understand, someday.”
“Not according to Lydia. Or my own mother.” My smile faltered at that thought.
“Do not set store by their opinions, Mary. They are the last two who should be giving you advice.” An embarrassed looked washed over her face. “I do love them, of course—”
“Naturally. Nobody would ever think otherwise.” I held a hand up to stay further guilty declarations. “You wished to speak to me?”
“Yes, about Mr. Walsh.”
My heart plunged. Had I said or done something improper?
“Let’s sit by the fire.” Jane insisted I take the chair. She lowered herself to the small footstool directly in front of me. “It’s just that, well, Charles and I have noticed Henry Walsh seems to be enjoying your company.”
I stared at the guttering flames while I decided how to respond. “Perhaps,” I said noncommittally. “But I’m sure you have also noticed he enjoys Kitty’s company as well.”
“Because she invites his attentions! Did you not see the way she looked at him before the dancing tonight? To choose you instead of her would have humiliated her. He was trapped.”
“I don’t know, Jane. He’s very kind to me and we have had some interesting conversations, but that’s the extent of it.”
“My dear Mary, any fool can see he is smitten with you. Surely you’re aware of the way he singles you out. And I’ve seen him watching you.”
“Yes, all right, at times I believe he shows a preference for me, but I think it is only kindness on his part. I’m not the sort of girl men love.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! Do you return his feelings, Mary?”
I looked down and ran my hand along the rich silk fabric of the chair. “Yes. No! I don’t know. If I don’t believe his to be genuine, how can I return them?”
“Why do you think he would play you false?”
“Because he was meant to be Kitty’s beau! She wants to marry him. And our parents—Mama, to be sure—expect it.”
“That does not mean he wishes it! And Mama would welcome the news of another daughter wed—it doesn’t matter which one.” She drew in an exasperated breath. “Kitty misinterpreted his courteous and gentlemanly behavior toward her as something more, and then foolishly told Mama he was paying his addresses to her. Remember my warning to her on the trip to High Tor?”
“But she will be exceedingly disappointed, not to mention angry with me. She’s been glowering at me for days.”
“All because she misjudged the situation. If she’s angry with you, it is because she perceives the truth and is hurt by it.”
“So I am to be the cause of my sister’s unhappiness?” I stood so rapidly, spots danced before my eyes. I was suddenly intolerably warm and moved toward the windows.
“Has Mr. Walsh indicated with words, as well as actions, his fondness for you?”
“Yes,” I said softly, “he asked me to stand up with him at the Pennington ball. The first set and one other. And he said . . .” But I could not tell Jane. His words still whispered to me. I wished to keep them for myself.
“Never mind. You don’t need to tell me.” From the faraway look in Jane’s eyes, I sensed she was remembering something, perhaps sentiments expressed between her and Charles when they were courting. “I urge you, Mary, to encourage his suit,” Jane said, “if indeed you do feel affection for him. He’s a fine man, all that a gentleman should be.”
“But Kitty will hate me forever.”
“Hang Kitty!”
“Jane! She’s our sister.”
“And she’ll find another beau, one more suited to her. In many ways, she is still a silly girl. You must do what’s best for you—and Mr. Walsh. I’m convinced he and Kitty would not get on well together; they’re too dissimilar. In fact, a union between them could well be a disaster.”
I sighed. “Enough on this subject for tonight. I’m taking my poor, befuddled brain to bed.” I kissed Jane’s cheek and walked down the hall to my chamber. Once in my bed, I lay awake for hours, my mind alive with opposing thoughts. When I finally drifted off to sleep, Henry Walsh haunted my dreams, with his piercing blue eyes and sweetly tender voice.
I slept so poorly, Jane asked me at breakfast if I was feeling well. “You have dark shadows beneath your eyes.”
“I’m fine, thank you. My only complaint is a poor night’s sleep.”
She gave me a kindhearted smile, acknowledging her understanding of the reason for my wakefulness. Kitty seemed distracted and made no comment, but when we rose from the table, she asked if she might accompany me on my morning walk. Surprised, I agreed, and after fetching bonnets and pelisses, we set off. The air had turned cooler and carried the promise of a rain shower. I hoped it would wait until after our walk.
Kitty didn’t speak at first, although I noticed her gaze fixed on me when she thought I wasn’t paying attention. Then, in a hurried outburst, she said, “I know I have been less than kind to you on occasion, Mary. I am sincerely sorry if I have caused you pain.”
I didn’t believe for a minute she had asked to walk with me to apologize for all the years she’d treated me so ill. When she resumed her speech, the nature of the apology soon became clear.
“Mr. Walsh is courting me, not you. It’s me he admires.”
I looked down, exhaling an impatient breath. “If that is the case, you can have nothing to worry about.”
“If you left High Tor, it would show him you have no regard for him.”
I’d spent half the night agonizing over whether to flee from Henry or to encourage his suit. To embrace the chance for personal happiness or simply leave it to Kitty to find hers. I’d been leaning toward the latter course of action, because vying with my sister for the same man left a bad taste in my mouth. Not to mention my own worries about my suitability as a wife and the wishes of my parents. But now that Kitty was demanding it, resistance rose in my chest until I felt it would burn a hole through my dress.
“But I do have regard for him, and, in any case, I cannot make him like you if he does not.”
Her face flooded with color. “But he does!” Indignantly, she said, “Speaking plainly, Mary, gentlemen do not care for girls who read and study and are as serious as you. He may admire you now, but it won’t last. Those qualities are not what men want in a wife.”
How dare she? “What you say may be true of many, perhaps even most men, but it is not a fair description of Henry Walsh.”
“Only think, Mary. Where are your looks? Your fashion?”
My temper yearned to break free, but I managed to keep it in check. “In one breath you apologize to me for treating me unkindly, and in the next you deliberately insult me. I’m not inclined to agree to your demands in the circumstances.”
I increased my pace so Kitty would have to hurry to keep up, but suddenly she stopped, so abruptly I had to turn back to hear what she was saying. “I have tried to be a better girl, so as not to end up like Lydia.” Tears welled up in her eyes and trickled down her face. “I have changed. I’m not so silly as I used to be. I’ve learned something about how to be in company from Jane and Lizzy.”
“You seem unwilling to show off your newly acquired manners here. You flirt with John Ashton, spend your time in foolish pursuits, and brazenly treat Mr. Walsh as though he were already your betrothed.”
Her crying increased to full-scale sobs, interspersed with little hiccups. My mind roiled. What should I do? We walked on for some moments in silence, me a little ahead of Kitty, who continued her weeping. “Please, Mary,” she said as we reached the turning onto the avenue. “It may be my last chance to get a husband.” Her voice was a pitiful rasp.
While I didn’t believe that, I could not be so coldhearted as to ignore her pain. Did she truly care for Henry Walsh? I decided to ask her what I’d been wondering about all along. Something Papa had questioned in that conversation I’d overheard between him and my mother. “Can you describe to me, Kitty, the nature of your feelings for Mr. Walsh? What do you admire in him?” I stood watching her, my arms folded in front of my chest.
She was still whimpering when she said, “Whatever do you mean?”
“It is not so difficult a question, is it? What makes you want to marry him?”
“You’re being mean, Mary!”
“Indulge me. I’m trying to understand your feelings so I can decide what to do about my own.”
She glared at me with reddened eyes. “He is quite handsome.” A little smile curved her mouth. “While not as wealthy as Charles or Mr. Darcy, he’s comfortably well-off, and his home is lovely. He would make any girl a good husband.”
“What can you tell me of his character?”
She stamped her foot. “You’re tormenting me! What do you care?”
“I think if you are to marry him, you must know something of his interests, his likes and dislikes, his tastes, morals, and judgment.”
Petulantly, she said, “He likes to shoot and ride.” Jane told us that. “He has excellent taste, as anyone could see who has been to his home. It’s fitted up beautifully.” His mother’s design. “And those other things I guess I’ll learn about in time. They’re not that important, anyway.”
Everything superficial and nothing to do with the Henry Walsh I’d come to know. The one who loved music, read books, and thought deeply about character. Nothing she had learned from the man himself. But I knew this was the best I would have from Kitty. Perhaps she could learn more in time.
“Does it not . . . have you not questioned why he singles me out for conversation?”
“Yes! I wish he would not.” She swiped at her tears and gave me a venomous look. “But it’s me he dances with, and flirts with, and—”
“Yes, point taken,” I said.
“And I’m a good talker. It’s not my fault he doesn’t want to talk to me. It’s yours, because you always try to keep him for yourself.”
It was hard not to laugh at that pronouncement.
“Show him,” I said. “Prove to him that you would make him a wife to admire and love.”
“How? What should I do?” She was blinking rapidly and appeared completely baffled.
“To start, spend time each day reading. You might begin with Shakespeare.”
A look of horror passed over my sister’s face, but her crying ceased.
“Write letters to our parents, and Lydia and Elizabeth. Walk out every day. Pay no more heed to Mr. Ashton, and good heaven, tone down your advances to Mr. Walsh. Allow him to ask you to row on the lake, climb a peak, or dance.”
“But he’s not even here.”
“He will call on us soon enough. If you can do all those things, I believe you’ll stand a better chance of gaining his admiration. Do remember what I said, though. You are the only one who can earn his affection.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Why are you helping me?”
“Out of a misguided sense of sisterly duty, I suppose.” If Kitty caught the sarcasm, she didn’t show it.
“And what about you, Mary? Will you leave High Tor, so—”
“So I will not stand in your way?”
“Precisely!”
“Don’t forget, only a few moments ago you said I had no looks or fashion and wasn’t someone Henry could care for. If you take that view, I rather wonder why my presence here should be of the least concern to you.”
“But—”
An obstinacy I didn’t even know I possessed sprang up. “I will not leave. It’s in Henry Walsh’s hands now. He must choose.”
“He might choose you,” she wailed.
“Perhaps. But he might choose you. And there’s a third possibility we haven’t even considered.”
“What?” she said impatiently.
I moved very close to her and lowered my voice. “He may not decide in favor of either of us. For all we know, there are other ladies in the running.”
She took a step back. “You’re being horrid, Mary.”
“I’m simply being realistic.” I motioned toward the house. “Why don’t you turn back? I think I’d like to walk on by myself.” I strode off down the avenue alone, my heart thudding bleakly in my chest.
“How many letters must I write each day?” Kitty called.
I kept walking.
“How many hours must I read?” she shouted. “Oh, this isn’t fair. I do so dislike reading!”
I called over my shoulder. “You want to marry him, don’t you? You must show Mr. Walsh you are capable of being the wife he deserves.” I squeezed my eyes shut, not caring where I stepped. The gravel crunched; in the wood, chaffinches sang. The pungent smell of newly turned earth drifted toward me. I sped up and, eyes still shut tight, stepped into a small crater and pitched forward onto my hands and knees.
For a long time I stayed that way, my breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. Only after my palms began to sting and my knees grew damp did I sit back on my heels. I had just offered Kitty a way to get Henry Walsh for herself, so it seemed quite at odds for me to hope, indeed pray, she would fail. Because I wanted him to choose me. God help me, I wanted him to choose me.
On my way back to the house, the skies opened and a drenching rain soaked me. It seemed fitting, somehow.
The next several days passed at a wretchedly slow pace. Charles was visiting tenants, checking on spring plantings, needed repairs to cottages and outbuildings, and other such business. Since my nephew had caught a cold, we saw little of Jane, who spent most of her time in the nursery.
Because Mrs. Ashton preferred to keep to her chamber in the morning, Kitty and I sat alone in the salon, reading or writing letters. My sister was making an effort, reading As You Like It and penning missives daily, though I noticed they were about the same length as my father’s letters. Which is to say, very short indeed. Often, I caught her staring aimlessly, but I neither reproached nor chided her. Once she said, “Mr. Shakespeare used a prodigious amount of words to say the simplest things! Why could he not be more direct?”
I couldn’t help smiling. “He wouldn’t be Shakespeare if he wrote like everybody else. It takes time to accustom yourself to his style. Once you’ve done that, the reading will go faster.”
She sighed. “I suppose so.”
I was having a decidedly difficult time concentrating on anything, be it music, reading, or needlework. Always on my mind was the expectation of a visit from Henry and what I would do when that occurred. Just be yourself. There was no reason to try to change, except that Kitty’s comments rankled. Did I indeed have no looks? No fashion? Was I as unattractive as she had implied?
One morning Jane entered the room carrying a letter. “I received another message from Lizzy,” she said. “Still no trace of Wickham or Miss Bradford. Mr. Darcy did interview the officer with whom Lydia had an affair.”
“Oh, do tell us about that!” Kitty begged.
“There is nothing much to tell,” Jane said. “He admitted to it and apologized. He even told Mr. Darcy that he and Wickham still counted themselves as friends. Can you imagine? Any other husband but Wickham would have called him out!”
“Probably not, under the circumstances,” I said.
“Mr. Darcy did uncover one lead. Wickham told more than one person he was traveling to London.”
“To what end, I wonder.”
“Perhaps the lady . . . his lady friend is there.”
After that conversation, I couldn’t settle to anything. “I’m in need of some fresh air,” I informed my sisters, hoping neither of them felt the same. On an impulse, I hurried to my chamber and found my reticule. I had an idea to walk to the village to see if the dressmaker had any recent copies of La Belle Assemblée or Ackermann’s Repository she would allow me to peruse. Perhaps I could bone up on my fashion sense and find out how to improve upon my looks. Not that I could ever resemble the ladies pictured in the fashion plates, but Kitty’s comments made me think maybe I ought to try. I borrowed Jane’s cashmere shawl, draped across a bench in the hall, and slipped out the front door.
What a great disappointment to find, when I’d reached the dressmaker’s shop, that they were closed. I lingered a few moments before their window, where a selection of fabrics was on display. A sage-green silk was especially lovely but far beyond my price range. I stood there a bit longer, gazing at my reflection in the glass and thinking about what I might do to enhance my appearance. My hand strayed to my hair, tugging loose some strands around my face. I cocked my head back and forth, studying the effect. After a while, I sighed in frustration and made my way home.
By the time I reached High Tor, I’d been gone nearly two hours. When I returned, things were in a bit of an uproar. I’d barely gotten through the entrance hall before Kitty, hurrying out of the sitting room, nearly knocked into me.
“Mary! Your stupid advice did not work.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“After asking after my health, Mr. Walsh paid me no attention whatsoever. Indeed, he spent the chief of his time talking to Jane, while I sat on the chaise with my embroidery.”
“Mr. Walsh was here? While I was walking?” Blast! I had managed to disappear at the very time he called. Now I most likely wouldn’t see him until the ball.
“Of course. Aren’t you listening?”
I struggled to recall what Kitty had said when I walked through the door. “Did you try to join in the conversation? Did you ask if his mother was well? Or what he’d been doing since we saw him last?”
“Jane did all that, so I had nothing more to add. I’m done reading boring Shakespeare and writing those tedious letters! How you persuaded me such a scheme would work in my favor, I shall never know.”
And with that, she dashed toward the stairs, flushed and angry. “It wasn’t a scheme,” I shouted after her. “And you cannot expect immediate results!”
Jane appeared in the doorway, a suspicious look on her face. “May I speak to you, Mary?” She spun on her heel; I had no choice but to follow. Having faced down the enemy on one side, it seemed I now had to outmaneuver on the other.
Jane didn’t even wait until we were seated. “Would you care to tell me what you’re up to? What is this scheme you cooked up with Kitty?”
“There is no scheme, Jane. I simply gave her some sisterly advice, which, on the whole, I thought would improve her chance to gain Mr. Walsh’s regard.”
“I’ve been wondering why she suddenly took up reading and letter writing. And her new, more decorous manner has been quite impressive. Now I discover this has come about at your urging.”
I settled myself on the chaise and smiled sardonically. “I hope you haven’t become accustomed to her new ways. She just told me she was giving them up.”
Jane rolled her eyes. “You should have heard her railing after Henry left. She was in high temper and sounded very much like Mama. I don’t care what advice you gave her, such behavior will never attract a man like him.” She caught her breath, then said, “Tell me, Mary, have your feelings toward Mr. Walsh changed since we spoke a few nights ago?”
“Not in the least, but—”
“I will tell you then that he could barely contain his feelings the whole time he was here, which was above an hour, far longer than is customary. He asked after you and dearly wanted, I could see, to walk out and find you. Only his good breeding forbade him to do so. He looked at Kitty not at all.”
A deep well of joy settled around my heart. “Honestly?”
“I wouldn’t lie about such a thing!”
“I started to say . . . to tell you that Kitty and I had a talk. Or to be more precise, she had a talk with me. This was the morning after we visited Linden Hall.”
Jane looked at me steadily. “Go on.”
“She asked me to leave High Tor so she might have a clear path toward winning Mr. Walsh. I refused.”
“The nerve of her! Good for you for refusing.” Jane’s look rapidly changed from excited to puzzled. “Then why are you giving her advice?”
I rubbed at a nonexistent spot on my dress. “I merely suggested some changes in her behavior that might make Henry wish to converse with her. A test, perhaps, to see if she were capable of engaging him in other ways besides dancing and flirting. But as she just announced, she’s abandoned them already. I ended up telling Kitty that he may not want either one of us. He gets to choose.” I glanced up at Jane. “It seems rather unfair, doesn’t it? That men always get to choose?”
She gave me an arch look. “But what we women do goes a long way in persuading them to make the correct choice.”