Karen Harbaugh (15 page)

I spread apart the ivory sticks. Their bases were intricately carved, and a loop of tasseled silk was strung from them. The nine Muses were painted on the fan on a sylvan background. At one end of the row of Muses was Apollo playing his harp and Euterpe singing with it; on the other end was the god Pan playing his pipes with Terpsichore dancing gaily to its melody. Between them all were the rest of the Muses acting out their various chosen interests. I laid out the fan on my lap and stroked it outward, the better to see the whole. I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up.

“It is very beautiful,” said Mama. She raised her eyebrows in inquiry.

I looked away. “It is from Luc—Lord Ashcombe. I think it is beautiful, too,” I said as matter-of-factly as I could.

“He must quite like you,” Mama said carefully. I gave her a questioning glance. “He seems to have looked for a fan with great care and found one whose subject suits a learned young lady as yourself.”

“We are all good friends,” I said dully, still stroking the fan. Somehow, I did not want to think about anything right then. I folded it up again and put it back in the black box with the tissue. “I should write thank-you letters to all of them.” I shifted in the bed and let my legs hang from the side of it, then slid off the bed. I padded to my writing desk, pulled out some letter paper, and started to trim my pen. After I had done my first letter to Sir Daniel, I stretched and looked around. Mama had left so quietly, I did not notice she was gone.

* * * *

As I said, I had visitors after the possibility of infection from influenza passed. I was allowed to leave my bedroom and go downstairs in the sitting room or parlour as long as I kept to the chaise longue and laid a shawl on my lap. Some of my visitors were Mama’s acquaintances, but to my surprise most were people I had met at the Ashcombes’. Among them was Sir Daniel, and I took the opportunity to thank him again for the roses.

“They were quite lovely,” I said. He sat negligently on a footstool next to me.

“Not as lovely as their recipient,” he returned, taking in my dishabille with a gleaming eye.

I blushed but said with spirit, “How can you say so, sir? The roses were a deep pink, and I am quite pale after my illness.”

“A delicate sylph, touched with stars and moonlight,” he replied soulfully. This was a bit much, I thought. As I was accustomed to robust good health and a certain roundedness to my figure, I had difficulty seeing myself in this light and raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Quite,” I said in a damping voice, and ignored Mama’s frown. I turned the conversation—neatly, I thought, so Mama need not continue frowning—to other things, among them Samantha’s party. We discussed the people there, and Sir Daniel related what he knew of them in his humorous way. The half hour went quickly, and then he began to take his leave. I petitioned him to call on Samantha to see how she did; though she had visited, I had been asleep and could not see her.

The response was quick; Samantha called on me two days after Sir Daniel did. “Samantha!” I cried as she was announced. I rang for refreshment, as Mama was not in the parlour with me. Sir Jeremy and I had argued with her vigorously, claiming I was quite well enough for her to leave my side so that he could show both Mama and his new phaeton off to the rest of London. After I assured Mama that I would leave a (very short) list of people who were allowed to call with the butler so that I would not become overtired with visitors, she agreed.

“Oh, Georgia, I am so sorry!” cried Samantha. She almost ran to where I reclined.

“Why?” I asked, bewildered.

“It is all my fault!” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “I ordered the wrong carriage! I forgot that it was not wholly repaired—I thought the door was already mended.”

“Please don’t cry, Samantha! You could not have known! I seem to remember Lucas saying it was the wrong one, though. Did he scold you terribly for it?”

“Oh, no!” said Samantha. “That was what was so horrid. He was perfectly gentlemanly about it, and told me I couldn’t have known, and that it really wasn’t my fault at all! I felt such a wretch. I would much rather he had raked me over the coals! Oh, do say you forgive me, Georgia!”

I took her hands in mine. “Of course I shall! But you needn’t be sorry. Lucas was quite right. You could not have known, and it is not your fault. It was just chance, I know.” I smiled at her. “Besides, you must know how glad I am you came! You don’t know how terribly bored I have been!”

Samantha smiled back, relieved. “What, with
Pride and Prejudice
to occupy you? I am surprised; I thought you would like that book.”

“Oh, no, the book is wonderful. But that is
all
I have to do! Mama will not even let me do any mending.”

She laughed and sat on a chair near me. “Poor honey! You
are
bored! I cannot imagine any other reason you would want to take on a task as horrid as mending!”

“Yes, and you should have seen Mama’s face when I asked her for some!” I giggled. “She instantly ordered some cold cloths in case I should have been fevered!”

Samantha snuggled deeper in her chair. “Are you feeling better? You were asleep and quite poorly when last Lucas and I came calling.”

“Oh, much! But Mama insists on keeping me in cotton-wool. It is always so when I am ill, even though the doctor says I have a very strong constitution.” I paused, thinking. “I suppose it is because I am the only relation Mama has left, really. She would be very lonely without me.”

“Not if she married again, as you are planning,” she replied.

I looked down at my clasped hands on my lap. I felt a little uncomfortable—because I had not made much headway in that direction, I told myself—but nodded. “Yes, that’s true. And perhaps she wouldn’t be cosseting me so much if that happened.”

“And then you could be free to do whatever it is you want to do with your life,” she said cheerily. “Schoolteaching, painting, or, or—” She leaned forward on her chair and frowned briefly, chin in hand. “Whatever was it that we decided on for you, Georgia?”

For some reason I felt she was watching me carefully, but when I looked at her, she seemed all intent puzzlement. “I think it was painting,” I said vaguely.

She smiled. “That’s it.” She sat back on the chair, and this time she did give me an intent glance. “If you don’t become married, that is.”

“Oh, well, one cannot always depend on getting married, you know.” Even to my own ears my voice sounded dull. Samantha looked concerned and came over to me to lay a hand on my forehead.

“You don’t feel feverish. Are you sure you are feeling better?” Her brow creased anxiously.

“Now don’t
you
try to put me in cotton-wool!” I exclaimed, and grinned.

She smiled back. “I promise I won’t!”

We talked, then, of outings we would have when I was fully recovered, and I assured her I would be ready to go out in a few days. “It’s a pity, but our coachman will have to drive us about.” Samantha sighed after a pause. “I do like to watch Lucas drive, but it cannot be for a while.”

I glanced at her quickly and looked down at my hands. “Oh, is—is Lucas not here, then?”

“No, he is not, confound him!” An indignant frown crossed her face. “Off to the country to see to some matters there, he says! Just when we were starting to have some fun!” She shrugged her shoulders then and sat back on the chair. “Oh, I suppose it’s unavoidable. I think I heard something about our new bailiff cheating our tenants. Lucas mumbled something about estate matters when he was on the way out, but I did not hear what it was.”

An icicle seemed to be forming at the pit of my stomach, and the room seemed to go out of kilter. I closed my eyes and drew my shawl closer to me.

“You
are
ill!” cried Samantha.

The room stilled, and I opened my eyes and saw she was at my side, patting and stroking my hand. I smiled weakly. “No, I’m well, truly. Just a small dizzy spell. I used to get them all the time right after my illness, but now they only come once in a great while. I’m well, really.”

“Nevertheless, I am calling Miss Grimley. She did say you weren’t to be having visitors for long, and I can see she was right. You should have told me you were feeling tired! I am not such a poor friend as to go boring on when you are ill! Now don’t argue!” she said when I opened my mouth to protest. She summoned a maid to fetch Grimley.

“Doing more than she should, I’ll be bound,” Grimley remarked to no one in particular as she shut the door behind her. She glanced at the watch pinned at her bosom. “As I thought, miss. Two hours past luncheon and I do not think you have had your nap.”

“I don’t need a nap!” I said, indignant at being made to feel as if I were a child. I gazed at Samantha in appeal, but she only grinned.

“It’s not that
I
would dictate to
you,
miss,” Grimley said sternly, “but it’s what the mistress ordered, and I have never done differently than what Miss Celia has said, though many’s the time I’ve
thought
differently,
if I
may say so, miss.”

Grimley was clearly determined to do Mama’s bidding, and so, it seemed, was Samantha, for she pulled my shawl more closely around me and patted me on the back. “Now, Georgia, I see I have stayed much longer than I should have; I shall go now. Take care of yourself, and I shall call on you again later, when you are feeling more the thing.”

“I
am
more the thing!” I said stubbornly, but was forestalled by Grimley, who pierced me with a gimlet eye.

“I have had, Miss Georgia, your bed prepared these two hours, as your mama wished,” she said. “Far be it from me to disagree with you, miss, but it would break my heart to tell your mama—”

“For goodness’ sakes, Grimley, leave be! I am
going,”
I grumbled. I looked at Samantha, who was drawing on her gloves. “You shall visit again, soon, won’t you?”

“Of course, silly!” Her grin turned mischievous as she went for the door. “
If
you promise to take your nap!”

“Why you—!” I threw a pillow at the closing door, while Grimley shook her head and clicked her tongue, herding me to my bedroom.

I was still grinning by the time I came to my room. I liked Samantha, but such a tease! Lucas could be like that, too. ... An unfortunate thought. The grin was wiped from my mouth, for I felt the cold at the pit of my stomach again. I didn’t want to think of him, and I had been successful so far, but I wasn’t used to not thinking.

Stop thinking, stop thinking! I cried to myself. I pressed the palms of my hands to my eyes, as if I could blot out his image. But, of course, I could not. As I curled up on my bed and closed my eyes, his face came to me and I helplessly saw again his intelligent deep blue, black-fringed eyes, now laughing, now serious, now filled with that expression I did not know how to interpret. Last, but not least, I remembered the softness of his lips on mine and how I had let—no, wanted—him to kiss me in the carriage.

Shameless! My hands rose to cool my fiery cheeks at this thought, but some deep need fought my will and won the right to wander over that moment again. I searched for any tidbit of information that could tell me something, anything . . . anything about what I should do. My hand clenched into a fist and hit the pillows, and the rest of me followed soon after as I burst into tears.

Why couldn’t things be the way they were before, with Samantha, Lucas, and me so comfortably friendly? Why did Lucas have to kiss me?
Why did you let him? said
a voice inside of me I couldn’t ignore.

Perhaps,
said the mocking little voice,
perhaps you are in love with him.

This threw me into fresh tears; I realized it was more than “perhaps.” I was not sure when it began;

I saw I had not wanted to know, for it marked the ruin of all I had known before, all that was comfortable and sure. For despite my scheming and planning, I was no closer to having Mama married than when first I came to London: both she and Sir Jeremy seemed as uncompromising as ever.
And you cannot leave her alone by herself,
cried another internal voice, though whether it was the voice of fear or love, I did not know. I only knew it sang a familiar refrain and meant no frightening changes—and thus was safe.

And Lucas, what of him? I was not so besotted or so stupid as to think that love on one side meant love on the other. Were not Mama’s novels full of such examples of unrequited love?
But he kissed you!
reminded another voice within.
Could not that mean—?
But that comforting voice was cut off by the memory of Mama’s unfortunate experience with a man who wanted to take advantage of her. He had even promised her marriage—but it was for naught; she discovered he was married already. She was lucky, she told me, that she had found out in time, before she had been totally compromised.

So what of Lucas? For all I knew, the kiss that turned my world top over tails meant nothing to him—perhaps he did not even care for it. Or if he did, my reaction to it in the carriage put paid to that. How could I have pushed him away from me as if he were odious? I cringed at what pain I might have inflicted on him—if he had cared for me. I thought, then, of the fan he gave me—surely that meant something? But again I recalled that Mama had received gifts long ago from that man who had not cared one whit for her. I wished there were a way I could know for sure—perhaps I dared ask him?

It struck me then that he was not present to ask. He had left London. “Off to the country to see to some matters there, he says!” Samantha had said, her voice as I remembered it tinged with skepticism. Perhaps, I reflected, he didn’t want to be asked any such thing. Perhaps he didn’t want to be bothered with any such awkward matters right now. Perhaps he didn’t want to be bothered with
me.

What conclusion did I come to? The safest, of course. Above all things, I had always been proud of my mind and the force of will behind it, and I took refuge there once again. I resolutely wiped away my tears. The thing I must remember, I told myself sensibly, is that he had in no way made his intentions clear; whether he meant marriage or a carte blanche, as I remember it was called, I did not know. What was my station, after all? Lady Ashcombe might countenance me as a friend of her daughter’s, but as a daughter-in-law? I did not know. Where was the line drawn? And would he not adopt the same attitudes as his mother? I argued to myself.