Born of Persuasion (14 page)

Stirred from my stupor, I took up the mysterious parcel. For half a second, hope flared that Edward had come to his senses, but then I realized he’d have been more discreet. As the knot in the string was tight, I signalled for Mrs. Windham’s housewife. Aware of my greater wish, Mrs. Windham retrieved only the scissors.

One thought beset all others as I severed the twine. My time had ended, and I’d failed. The week’s end would find me in
Scotland. There hadn’t been time for Lady Foxmore to find me a husband.

“Open it already,” Elizabeth demanded.

A single sheet of parchment waited within, and to my amazement, a hundred-pound note fluttered to the table. Scrawled in a masculine hand, the letter read:

Provisions for your upcoming trip to Scotland. Purchase your needs for the next two years.

Your Guardian

While Mrs. Windham reached for the money, I crumpled the letter. Elizabeth’s face scrunched. “Who on earth sent you money?”

Stunned, I stared at the amount, then recovered enough to say, “It doesn’t say.”

“Well, her guardian, obviously,” Mrs. Windham said. “And I call it positively providential too. In another month, I might have had to sacrifice one of your gowns and dye it black for her.”

My heart fluttered as it always did when I lied. “Now that I think upon it, it was mentioned he might send money for my wardrobe.”

Elizabeth frowned, then half rose from her chair to squint at the address on the brown wrapping. “That doesn’t match the handwriting from our correspondence with that Simmons person.”

“It was Simon,” Mrs. Windham corrected. “Of all the nonsense! Who cares if the handwriting matches?”

Elizabeth’s eyes screwed. “If you ask me—ooohhh!”

“What?” Mrs. Windham gripped the arms of her chair.

“It’s Greenham!” Elizabeth snatched the brown wrapping. “Mama, it’s Mr. Greenham. I’m convinced of it.” And then the story tumbled out of how he’d joined us while Lady Foxmore outlined her prerequisites, including my finding a new wardrobe.
When she finished, Elizabeth triumphantly handed the wrapping to her mother.

My face burned as Mrs. Windham unfolded spectacles and silently studied the handwriting. Elizabeth hovered over her chair, gripping its backrest, clearly waiting for the censure that was to follow. Though I knew Mr. Greenham innocent, I preferred to keep speculation on him and away from my guardian.

“Mr. Greenham in love with our Julia?” Wonderment filled Mrs. Windham’s voice. “Just think, Elizabeth, how this could elevate us, too.”

“Mama!”

Mrs. Windham slapped the parchment on her lap. “Mr. Greenham madly in love with our Julia. Oh, we must make haste. Oh dear, oh my! I am quite convinced he is most anxious to wed. Why else risk advancing her money? I always said he was a pernickety dresser and would someday require the same of his wife, did I not, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “No, you did not. This is ludicrous. He is not in love with Julia. He’s scarcely acquainted with her.”

“Yes, yes, quite right.” Mrs. Windham bit her thumbnail. “We must take careful pains never to let him see her true personality. Julia, on all accounts, you must not speak with him. Let him discover afterwards what he has married.”

“Mama, that’s not what I meant.”

“This has the power to advance us all.” Mrs. Windham waved the banknote high. “Elizabeth, on my troth, this will secure you someone far better than Mr. Henry Auburn.”

“Oh, honestly, Mama!”

“By George, I will not tolerate languishing about for mere Auburns when within months we’ll be traversing the highest circles.”

Elizabeth ripped the money from her hands. “Julia is not going to accept this. Even you must acknowledge the
impropriety. She can no more accept this than she can abandon mourning. She’d be shunned—”

“I acknowledge no such thing!” Mrs. Windham said. “There’s nothing improper, so long as Mr. Greenham eventually weds her.” She faced me. “Julia, you must take careful pains to submit to some of his caresses, but not all. Entice him, only be sure—”

“Mama!”

“Well, we must make some grains of allowance, considering the difference in station.” Mrs. Windham removed her spectacles. “A man of his status rarely takes notice of an inferior, unless—” here she gave an uncomfortable bob—“but so long as you withhold—” she bobbed her head twice—“it will force him to wed you. Trust me.”

Elizabeth’s hands flew to shield either side of her face. “Mama, for shame! Fie, fie. Oh, imagine if Mrs. Elliston were here to hear you.”

“Nonsense! Lucy would agree.”

My cheeks burning, I shifted in my seat, thankful the money had not, in fact, been advanced by the man in question, and glad that I had refused his similar offer yesterday. Unease pricked me as I recalled her ladyship’s statement that we’d be working outside society’s confines. For the first time I considered the darker gossip whispered about how Lady Foxmore’s matches were achieved.

In the foolishness of youth, I suddenly grew angry at everyone else for placing me in such a precarious situation.

“Julia.” Elizabeth tugged on my skirt, breaking my thoughts. From her expectant expression, I gathered she’d been speaking.

“No, leave her be.” Mrs. Windham pulled me from my chair and then escorted me to the door. “Have your lady’s maid make a list. Not to mince the matter, but such an offer will never come along again. Accordingly, we shall make the most of it. What would you like for breakfast tomorrow? I daresay you haven’t
touched a bite of food all afternoon. Think up tomorrow’s menu. Have whatever you like.”

It was several minutes before I managed to stumble from the room, escaping them. I felt as out of sorts as when I made the decision to conceal Mama’s suicide. If Mrs. Windham, who cared about me, encouraged such behavior, then what would Lady Foxmore expect?

I pulled my shawl tighter as I ducked into my chamber.

Alone, I sank to the hearthstone and turned my gaze outdoors. Yet why did I care? What were morals except what society made them? Had not my father railed against this very thing? Was I not free?

Languish about for an Auburn, indeed,
I thought, clutching Mama’s locket. My entire life had been spent hoping someone would pull me from my fate. And where had it gotten me?

I knew, in that moment, I’d reached an epoch. Mrs. Windham was right. No more would I try to be biddable, sweet, and compliant, as young ladies ought. If I truly believed myself free with an unhappy fate awaiting me, then I would fight back at all costs.

I kept isolated the remainder of the day, not wanting to know whether Elizabeth had tattled the day’s events to Henry. Later I learned she had not. Unaware that Edward had cut our ties, she deemed he’d never forgive such a step on my part and kept the news to herself.

When dusk trickled into darkness, Nancy came to undress me. I carefully studied her face as she extracted my hairpins and unbuttoned the back of my gown. I wanted to gauge the servants’ opinion on the matter. Nancy, however, carried out her duties with a blank expression, as if unconscious I’d planned my own social demise.

It wasn’t until she slid my nightgown over my head that she finally spoke of the matter.

“Ye must not allow Mrs. Windham to oversee thy new wardrobe. She buys from th’ Mallory sisters. I knows a needlewoman that will sew thy gowns for half th’ price an’ finish ’em right early too.”

I gave a skeptical laugh. “How could your needlewoman possibly finish a gown in less time than someone in the trade?”

“’Cause many are starving here, so she’ll hire out to have th’ gowns before th’ Mallory sisters can.”

I lifted my hair as she buttoned me up. “Then why don’t the Mallory sisters just hire out?”

“’Cause th’ cottagers won’t work for ’em.”

Surprised at the vehemence in Nancy’s voice, I turned. Generally, her expressions were bossy or full of self-assurance, but now something far stronger evidenced itself. “Why?”

A sullen look crossed her face, as if she debated telling me. “’Cause they obey Lady Foxmore’s orders on th’ doings of th’ village. ’Tis better to starve than work with some.”

“I rather disagree with that.” I rubbed my arms against the chill as I considered Scotland. “You are aware, aren’t you, of my association with her ladyship?”

The corner of her mouth lifted, as if she thought me a fool. “Aye.”

I waited as she shook out my dress, but no further explanation came. “Well, then? Why speak ill of her to me?”

She looked at me as if I were daft. “Someone gats to warn thee.”

“You forget—” I started brushing my hair—“I’ve already met her, which is warning enough.”

Wondering how I’d gotten into a discussion with this maid to begin with, I turned, intending to order her to silence, when she did something extraordinary.

Instead of just shoving my dress into the closet, she opened the shutters and hung it in the light of the moon. She set a fluttering candle on the window ledge, then squatted before my
gown, lifted its hem to her nose, and proceeded to squint over every inch, slowly working her way around and up. She rubbed a damp rag over places in which nothing appeared wrong. She sprinkled powder, which she’d kept tucked in her apron, to deodorize and then effectively removed all traces of it. Equal attention was paid to my shoes. The scent of sweet oil and vinegar filled the room as she rubbed her homemade potion where my toe had stretched the material white.

These are simple, everyday household duties, but what made it extraordinary was that none of this was required of Nancy. To her, I was an additional burden—one for which she received no compensation. No one would have blamed her if she’d just hung my dress and raced downstairs to enjoy the only hour of freedom servants are given.

It touched me. For the first time since Mama died, someone took pains over me. Inwardly, a rush of emotions threatened to unmake me, like a brook gurgling to be free beneath its sheet of winter ice. It affected me so greatly, my mouth trembled as she pulled a bottle of blacking and incorporated it into the worn areas of my shoes.

I watched motionless, feeling the cool evening air drift through the room as I realized that since my arrival, she’d re-dyed my faded dresses, making the patches less noticeable, and had even remade one of my bonnets.

Until now, I’d just assumed she’d been ordered to, perhaps by the housekeeper.

“Nancy,” I said, then stopped for my voice shook.

She’d been so absorbed in her work, she blinked as though waking from a deep slumber before looking at me.

I turned my gaze to the fire, for I did not wish her to know that she’d touched me. “Be truthful. If I allowed your help in commissioning a new wardrobe, would you honestly know what you were doing?”

“Aye.” Her voice contained her smile. “I knows th’ merchants better than th’ missus, and where th’ best bits and bats are.”

I stared harder at the flames devouring the coals. “All right, then; tomorrow I’ll arrange for you to assist with my wardrobe. Now I want silence. My head hurts.”

I averted my eyes, not watching as she made haste to finish, for I could not afford to feel again. There was still much to do to secure my future.

As Nancy promised, within a fortnight, an entire wardrobe miraculously had been completed and was cabbaged in my room. Nancy surpassed my skill with her choices of color, trim, and accessories. The necklines she insisted upon revealed more, yet gave me a thin, delicate appearance. High waistlines accentuated my slender figure. Thick, pleated brocade skirts expanded in full circles to the floor, making me feel prominent and lovely all at once.

Every morning, however, I clad myself in crepe. Nancy silently protested by styling my hair into a simple chignon, making me look as haggard as my clothing. Mrs. Windham was worse.

From dawn till dusk, she followed me, fussing that I still dressed in rags. She’d scold, asking what Mr. Greenham would think. She’d chide me for not taking her nerves into consideration.