Learning to Waltz (21 page)

The last days in Whately passed quite pleasantly. Thankfully the weather remained fair—Alberta didn’t know how they’d survive another rainy day.

With the exception of Sudbury, who didn’t count, Evan was the only single gentleman remaining, and there were no eligible ladies for him to compromise.

Heaven forbid he should compromise the ineligible Mrs. Moore!

Tensions in the house were somewhat relieved following Blythe’s engagement, though that lady’s emotions were uneven. She would flirt with her betrothed at breakfast in quite her usual manner, and the next time Berta saw her, she was berating him for something or other, or flying from the room in a huff.

One afternoon Berta came across her in the morning room. She was by herself, sitting by the window with her feet curled up beneath her, her dainty kid slippers on the floor beside her chair. She looked up and gave Alberta a smile, but it was a woebegone attempt.

Forgetting the writing paper she’d come for, Alberta approached. “Do I intrude, my dear? If you would rather be alone…”

“No,” Blythe said. “I’m just feeling sorry for myself. I don’t indulge in the exercise very often, I assure you.”

“I know you don’t,” said Alberta as she sat down nearby. “But I’d say you have some cause for preoccupation. You’ll see many changes in the months ahead.”

Wrapping her skirts modestly around them, Blythe brought her knees up and rested her chin on them. “He’s not like
any
of the men I’ve imagined marrying.” She turned her gaze to the expanse of brown grass and bare trees outside the window. “And all this will be Honora’s, while I live in lodgings somewhere, hoping I can scrape together enough pennies to pay my dressmaker.”

“Time will tell. But bitterness and self-pity will not help. You’re an intelligent woman, and the Captain seems to have a good head on his shoulders.” Alberta plucked a loose thread from her gown. “Am I only imagining that he treats you more gently since your betrothal?”

“No, it’s true. It’s rather sweet, is it not? And it could drive me crazy.” She sat up, spreading her arms wide. “I need
life
. I want tearing gallops across the countryside and a good argument now and then.”

She slid her feet into her slippers and stood up, straight and resolute. Then she spoke in quite a different voice, much more like her own. “If nothing else, my bedroom will be a far more exciting place than Honora’s. Frank Latimer might be a viscount, but he’s about as dull as men come. A perfect match for my passionless sister.”

Deborah saw Evan once during that week as she returned home from her errands to the bakery, the greengrocer, and the library. He was riding down the high street with the viscount, Miss Latimer, his sister, and some others she did not recognize. He doffed his hat, and he and Miss Latimer stopped briefly to greet her. The countess directed a cool nod her way. Deborah started to sweat, though she was cold, and dropped a parcel in her nervousness, but they had already turned their horses away.

Except for some of the servants, no one from the Manor attended services the following Sunday, and Deborah heard talk that the party had broken up. She also heard, over the next few days, that two betrothals had been announced. One was Viscount Latimer’s, which of course generated much discussion around the village.

No one seemed sure who was involved in the second.

Evan Haverfield

Whately Manor

January 9, 1817

Dear Elizabeth,

Another year is gone, and I’ve precious little to show for it. I’ve been with Latimer since leaving Yorkshire, but I’d have done better to stay with you despite your appalling winters. I cannot truthfully claim that the company here has been dull. Nevertheless, I am eager to be gone.

No, that’s not right, either; I really cannot claim to be eager for anything. I suppose the truth is that I am dull.

Latimer, at least, is pleased with the year just ended. He has engaged himself to marry Sudbury’s youngest sister. You would not know her; she should have come out last Season but that her grandmother died. You know the older girl, however, who also formed an engagement while she was here. But I’m sure Alberta has written all about that.

I expect she had some choice words to say about me, as well. You hoped that I might find some lovely damsel in attendance at Latimer’s party who would capture my cold heart at last. And indeed, I did meet a woman whom I thought—but she has made it clear she is not interested, so there the matter ends. I mention the lady only because I’m sure Berta did so—disparagingly, no doubt—and I felt you should know that nothing will come of the acquaintance. That will please Alberta, at least.

I leave tomorrow for Northridge, where I expect to stay some weeks. That will please Mother and Father. Do you have any notion what might please me, Lizzy? For I don’t.

I would like to be warm.

Yours,

Evan

Alberta, Lady Witney

At home

January 12

Dear Elizabeth,

We are home from Leicestershire, though briefly. Theo leaves Wednesday to make ready for the new session of Parliament, and I leave for Northridge the following day to remove the children from under Mama and Papa’s feet. Evan will be there as well, he says. Then on to London for the Season.

I don’t believe I was ever so pleased to leave a gathering. The betrothals were rather fun, and Amanda Latimer is a pleasure. One cannot call her elegant, but she proved herself a surprisingly good hostess. Her fiancé seems eminently suitable, with country tastes like her own. He should have no regrets in his choice of bride. Whately Manor will have a new mistress by the time Miss Latimer vacates the position; the viscount and Lady Honora plan to marry in April.

I expect we will attend the third ceremony—or rather, the first—as it will take place in London. Lady Blythe insists that a date in mid-February will permit enough time to collect her wedding clothes, and although she clearly feels some trepidation, she professes herself ready for the change. She has abandoned the dream of a grand ceremony at St. George’s. Her status entitles her to the dream, but Captain Westwood’s does not entitle her to the reality, and nor do the sordid circumstances of their engagement. And Blythe was the first to say that it would be muddle-headed to spend a vast sum of money they don’t have on a single day’s excitement. Theo thinks that bodes well for their future, at least insofar as finances are concerned. I myself begin to think the girl is not beyond redemption.

I can’t but wish that Evan’s nuptials were in the offing. I would not have had him marry Blythe, however, and I am more relieved than I can say that his relationship with the widow has evidently come to nothing. He is not happy and is not himself; but the crisis has passed. What it was exactly, I still don’t know. He seems quiet, resigned, somewhat distant. I think it’s rather attractive, this new gravity.

Is there any chance we might see you and Philip in Town? You know you would be welcome at any time.

Fondly,

Alberta

Time seemed frozen like the weather, or her heart. Deborah did her best to maintain a stoic calm and continue with life as usual, and in general succeeded fairly well—she’d had a great deal of practice. But each day seemed grayer than the one before, and those that were not merely miserable were dreadful.

Julian’s birthday was one of the latter. Deborah arrived home from the butcher’s that morning to find chaos in her kitchen. Julian and a little dog chased each other gleefully around the room to the tune of shrieks, barks, and Molly’s laughter as she tripped over them while going about her chores.

Deborah set her parcel down on the table with a smack. “What is this?” she demanded.

“It’s a
dog
, Mama! Mr. Haffield sent him for my birthday.”

And the chase resumed.

“Jack Martin brought him by a little bit ago,” Molly said. “He said this is the dog that saved young Master’s life back in December. Isn’t that the best present you can imagine?”

Good God. Had Mr. Haverfield really tracked the dog down before leaving Whately? What nerve! No doubt he’d provided the big red bow as well.

Deborah exploded. “No! It’s totally unacceptable. I won’t have it! How dare he think he can—”

The dog peered out warily from under the work table while two human faces turned toward her in surprise and consternation. Julian, too astonished to cry, clutched Molly’s skirts.

“Molly, you put that lead back on him and march him right back where he came from.”

“But ma’am,” Molly said, “you
like
dogs.”

Deborah pressed her hands to her temples. It was true. There had always been dogs about the place when she was a child, though she’d had little direct contact with them except for one runt pup. Cook had rescued that one from destruction, and Deborah helped her nurse the little thing—in vain, for it had died after struggling through a couple weeks of life. Now, she was more likely to speak to the village dogs than to the villagers themselves, and though she had denied more than one request for a dog from her son, those refusals had probably sounded more like “Not yet” than “Absolutely not”.

Deborah clenched her teeth and read the short note Mr. Haverfield had sent along for Julian:

I hope you like your birthday present. I thought of sending you a book, but this little fellow seemed far more special; he saved your life, you know. You may call him anything you wish—he has had no other name than “Boy”, and I know you can do better than that! Be sure to use the lead when you go outdoors; he is used to having the freedom of the countryside and just might forget he has a new address. Don’t expect your mama to do all the work. I hope you will write and tell me what name you’ve chosen. Have a wonderful day!

Fondly,

Evan Haverfield

And the still shorter one for herself:

Mrs. Moore—

I hope this is not too great an imposition. He seems a smart little dog, and I’m sure he will readily accustom himself to his new life. He is part of the Martins’ dog herd and can be returned to them if necessary. I think he will do Julian good, however.

I trust you are well—

Evan Haverfield

I am
not
well!
The notes did nothing to appease her anger, and they made it impossible for her to do other than accept the dubious gift.

“He’s not handsome, is he.” She knew she sounded crabby, querulous, but she couldn’t help it.

Julian flew to the defense of his dog, landing on his knees under the table with his arms around the creature’s neck. “Mama, he’s
beautiful
!” The dog wagged his tail uncertainly and gave the boy a lick.

“I do think you be stretchin’ the truth there, Master Julian,” said Molly, “but he’s a real taking little thing, and you can see they’re already the best of friends. I’ll help with him, ma’am.”