In Pursuit of Miriam

1813, Derbyshire, England

The Honourable Miss Miriam Knightly sat in her bedroom, head in hands in despair. She was twenty years old and completely at the mercy of her cousin, Percival, and his mother, her aunt Beatrice. Miriam's father, Viscount Knightly, had passed away twelve months earlier, and although he had been ill for some months, his actual death had been a great shock to her, coming as it had so suddenly when he'd choked while eating his dinner.

The old viscount had ensured that Miriam was well provided for financially following his death, but their home, Charlwood House and the Charlwood Estate, was entailed to her cousin, Percival Knightly, and nothing could be done to change it. That being the case, Percival, the new Viscount Knightly and his mother, Beatrice, had moved in shortly after Miriam's father's death and they had both made it quite clear to Miriam that, as Percival was soon to be married, Miriam could not remain as a permanent house guest. “Nor would I wish to live with them,” grumbled Miriam to herself, although it pained her deeply to know that she would have to leave the only home she had ever known.

Miriam and her father had been extremely close. When Miriam had just turned three, the carriage that she, her mother and her older brother had been in lost a wheel and overturned into a ditch, trapping the occupants underneath it. Both her mother and brother had been killed, and Miriam had survived, but not without serious injury. Although she'd been too young at the time to remember the accident, she was told that both her legs had been crushed and she'd been close to death for many weeks. As a result of the accident Miriam was now a cripple; her left leg was slightly shorter than her right and the muscles in both legs were weak and had a tendency to fail to bear her weight when she was tired. She was, however, able to walk short distances and could move around the house quite confidently. Outdoors she could walk a little distance if she had someone to assist her, but for longer distances she suffered the humiliation of being pushed by her maid in a bath chair.

Until the age of fourteen Miriam had ridden a small pony called Caesar, but when she outgrew him, and at the same time began developing into a woman, it was considered unsuitable for her to ride astride a horse. Frustratingly, all her attempts to ride side-saddle failed. Her father, understanding her frustration, had bought her a horse and trap so she could travel around the estate independently.

For all her physical limitations Miriam had not had an unhappy childhood. Her father had doted on her. She had been educated at home and had a far wider range of reading material at her disposal than most girls. Her father's library was open to her and she was an avid reader, escaping into the romances, adventures and travels of her favourite authors such as Charlotte Smith, Lord Byron and Johan Wolfgang Von Goethe. Her governess had schooled Miriam in all the desired accomplishments for a young lady; she could sew and embroider, she played the piano quite well and her singing was passable. She also had dancing lessons and knew all the dance steps, but physically she could not make it through a whole dance, and when she did dance, could hardly be considered elegant.

Miriam was eighteen when her father first became ill and the doctors said his heart was failing. He was gradually able to do less and less for himself and eventually became virtually bedridden. A nurse provided his physical care, but it was Miriam who ran the household, kept him company and gave him all the latest news and gossip from the estate and local Derbyshire area. Arrangements for Miriam to stay with Aunt Beatrice in London for her coming out in society were put on hold when her father became ill. At this time Knightly, in an effort to secure Miriam's future protection and security, had thought a good solution was for her to wed her cousin Percival. Miriam cringed as she recalled Percival's response when her father broached the subject to him.

“Sir,” he had retorted pompously, his slightly bulging eyes affecting a look of bored disdain, “I inherit Charlwood by right and I will choose my own bride. Miriam with her—” Percival paused, apparently searching for the right word “—imperfections would not be suitable. I will, however, ensure your daughter is well provided for, as it is unlikely she will be able to attract a suitable husband.”

Knightly had glared at Percival and replied coldly, “I can assure you that I have made adequate financial provision for my daughter. My proposition was made in order to provide her with the security of a husband and home. I see now that you are not an appropriate candidate for that position.”

Percival and his mother had gasped at the cutting words, but Miriam could not be sorry for her father's spirited response. She had no desire to marry Percival and would have argued against such a union should Percival have acquiesced to her father's request.

The fact that she was in the room when Percival had said those unkind words was a testament to his character, and the fact that Aunt Beatrice did not reprimand him was a testament to hers. Until that moment Miriam had not fully realized the impact her deformity would have on her future. Although she still harboured the same romantic notions and feelings as any young lady, she now knew that she was unlikely to attract any suitors other than those in need of her fortune.

Despite her handicap Miriam did not consider herself unattractive, and she always tried to present herself at her best. In fact, she knew that until she got up out of her chair, she could be compared quite favourably with other young women of her age. She had long, fair hair that fell naturally into golden curls, and bright blue eyes framed by long, dark lashes. Her complexion was clear and unmarred, although when she was tired or in pain, it became very pale. She was just a couple of inches over five feet and had a slender yet shapely figure. The current fashion for empire-waisted dresses suited her, therefore, and these floor-length garments hid her thin legs and the built-up boots she usually wore. She did like satin dance pumps and had a pair of these for attending balls, but sturdy boots offered the needed support for everyday wear.

But now, not only had she been told that she could not remain in her home—or Percival's home, as her Aunt Beatrice was quick to remind her—it had been decided that the best solution for her was to find a husband.

“You have turned twenty and are in danger of becoming a spinster,” her aunt had pointed out bluntly without any regard for Miriam's feelings. “I am sure,” she continued, “that given your considerable fortune, there will be any number of gentlemen willing to overlook your unfortunate deformity. I, myself, will bring you out into society.”

Although Miriam was well aware that all genteel young ladies were expected to secure a husband and maintain his household, she was reluctant to be paraded in front of the highest bidder to achieve this.

“Dear Aunt, it is most generous of you to offer, but I have no desire to go to London for the season,” Miriam said.

Aunt Beatrice, however, was prepared for this response. “I agree,” she answered. “I was thinking that Bath would provide the best opportunities.” Beatrice thought that Miriam would be less conspicuous among the many invalids who went to that city in order to take the restorative waters.

As Miriam considered this idea, her aunt pressed her case. “As it is approaching the end of the London season, I feel that Bath, a city that can provide a second chance for the young women who have not found a suitor in London, would offer you the best opportunities. After all, in Bath, you will not be competing with the most sought-after young ladies.”

“My father left me a good settlement so I would not have to marry unless I chose to,” Miriam retorted. Now, however, she was no longer quite so sure of her father's motives for settling a large sum on her. Did he intend for it to be an incentive for a man to marry her? Miriam found the idea distressing.

Miriam had never been to Bath or to London and had never held any real desire to go to either city. She loved being at home on her father's estate, enjoying the respect of the people who lived and worked there. The local Derbyshire society accepted her and she had a number of friends who lived nearby. Miriam and her friends often visited Matlock Bath to take the waters there and discuss the latest news and gossip in the tea room. Now she felt she had little choice in the matter; she would have to accompany her aunt to Bath.

Having made this decision, she raised her head from her hands, squared her shoulders and reminded herself that her father would not have encouraged her to indulge in self-pity.

 

And so the time had come. Miriam, Aunt Beatrice, two footmen and two maids departed early on a June morning to travel by horse-drawn carriage to Bath. Trunks of clothing and other essential items had been sent on ahead. In spite of her misgivings, Miriam did feel a little flutter of excitement as they set off. The journey was to take three days and meals had been arranged at inns along the route. The first night was to be spent in Warwick and the second night in Gloucester.

Miriam found the first leg of the journey tedious as her aunt complained about every bump and jolt in the road. Around lunchtime they arrived at the George Inn where the horses were rested and they were provided with a cooked meal. They sat and chatted to some of the other travellers who were eating in the dining room. A religious gentleman, the Reverend Golightly, engaged Aunt Beatrice in theological discussions for which Miriam was grateful. It saved her the effort of having to make conversation with her aunt.

Following lunch, they climbed back into the carriage for the next stage of their journey. The weather was fine and Miriam enjoyed watching the scenery as they passed through the countryside. Aunt Beatrice, having declared she could get no rest because of the poor conditions of the roads, promptly fell asleep and began gently snoring.

Aunt Beatrice was much more talkative on the last stage of the journey. She scarcely stopped for breath as she contemplated aloud who may or may not be in Bath this season, what new clothes would be needed and which dances and assemblies they would attend. She declared that her first priority was to ascertain from her friends and acquaintances, which eligible bachelors were in town.

“Perhaps Lady Cavendish will be in town. Her brother is still a bachelor, you know,” Aunt Beatrice trilled, her head bobbing so vigorously that the large hat perched on her head came perilously close to clipping Miriam in the face. “And Lord Frobisher is known to take up residence in Bath and he has sons. I also understand the Earl of Ely has been recently widowed and may by looking for a new wife.”

Miriam merely nodded or said, “Oh, really?” or, “How nice,” at what she hoped were appropriate times. She was not looking forward to being paraded in front of prospective husbands like a cow in a cattle auction, especially knowing she would be the one left at the end whom no one wanted.

As the carriage approached the outskirts of Bath, Miriam began to see and hear the sights and sounds of the city. She craned her neck to look out the window at the hustle and bustle of the elegant city. They had rented a house in the Royal Crescent, where the homes were quite new.

On hearing the carriage and recognizing the Charlwood coat of arms on its side, the housekeeper and the additional maids and footman that her aunt had hired through the letting agent gathered at the front door of the house ready to be inspected and given their orders.

“Tomorrow,” Aunt Beatrice informed Miriam while rubbing her hands together in anticipation, “we will have a formal meeting with the housekeeper to discuss menus and budgets and so forth. I will then determine which dances and assemblies will be suitable for us to attend during our stay here.”

Miriam knew that her aunt planned for them to remain in Bath for eight weeks and return to Charlwood House early in September to assist Cousin Percival with preparations for his wedding. What was left unsaid was that Aunt Beatrice would do everything in her power to ensure that by the time they left Bath, Miriam would have received and accepted a proposal of marriage.

“Miriam, you must attend as many social functions as possible during our short time in Bath
and
you must endeavour to make yourself as agreeable as possible.”

In her mind Miriam finished her aunt's sentence with
to any available unmarried man,
as she knew this is what her aunt had meant. Aloud, however, she meekly responded, “I promise I will do my best, Aunt Beatrice.”

The next morning Aunt Beatrice insisted that Miriam accompany her to the Pump Room to take the water and be seen. They both dressed with care. Miriam wore a chemise gown of dove-grey muslin and Aunt Beatrice was dressed in a deep-green gown with an elegant train.

They found two chairs where they could sit while their maid went to procure them each a glass of the spa water. The room was hot and Miriam, much to her regret, took a large mouthful of the water to refresh herself, only to find it tasted quite foul; it was, she imagined, as stagnant pond water would taste. Really, she should have known better, as the spa water in Derbyshire was just as unpleasant to drink even if it was purported to have health-giving properties. She stifled the reflex to spit the water out, swallowed it, and instructed the maid to fetch her a drink of lemonade instead. Then she settled back to make small talk with her aunt and watch the people in the room.

As she looked around, she realized that it was only the older people and young people with obvious physical ailments who were seated. This was a sharp reminder to her of her own limitations, because other than her weak legs, she did not consider that she suffered from poor health and she was definitely not that old. What she failed to realize was that this very fact drew attention to her.