Proper Secrets (4 page)

“If a husband were a woman’s sole aim,” said Anne.

“That is how a female gains security, is it not?”
 
Emily felt the heat of offense rolling off Anne.
 

“Assuming the right man may be chosen.
 
Security is not better than love, is it Olive?” said Mary.

“I suppose for certain families it is of no consequence if their daughters marry.
 
Excuse me, I’ve promised the next dance,” said Miss Morley.
 
Anne and Emily reeled from the impolitic manner of the girl.
 

“Forgive me,” said Mary, coloring from chin to hairline and exiting the circle.

“Well, Mr. Wingrave, what brings you to Tripton?” inquired Anne to break the tension.

“I needed someplace quiet to settle.
 
Reddester Hall pleases me more as the days pass,” he answered.

“It’s been vacant so long, we were afraid it would fall into disrepair,” said Anne.

“I saw that the garden was already overgrown from the road, a great shame.
 
I’ve always wanted to take a turn through there,” said Emily.
 
Mr. Wingrave smiled.

“The gardener has been at them for several days now.
 
Hopefully the gardens will be fit for a walk from Miss Worthing soon,” he said.
 

Anne was taken aback by Mr. Wingrave’s obvious preference for her friend and gave Emily an expressive look to the meaning of, “The rumors are true.”
 
Emily did not acknowledge Miss Barham’s warning.
 
She found it easier to laugh around Mr. Wingrave when another person was present.
 
The three of them chatted on about the area for a bit, then the various residents.

“Miss Barham, have you any other siblings?
 
I believe you have a younger sister?” asked Mr. Wingrave.

“Aye, and two older brothers.
 
George and William left for the border as Swordtenants just a few months ago.”

“Two brothers gone at once?
 
That must be difficult.”

“’Tis.
 
Mama has turned her focus to my sister and me.
 
She plans marriage, and will not be denied,” said Anne.

“You certainly do go about denying her anyway,” said Emily.

“Of course, I would not break our pact.”

“You have a pact?
 
Of what sort?” asked Mr. Wingrave, mystified by the inner workings of the feminine sex.
 
Emily bit her lip at how their independence would come across in conversation.

“A pact against marriage, good sir.
 
We shall not be traded about like possessions,” said Anne.

“And what if one of you were to enter an equal partnership?”

“Equal?
 
How is it possible for us to be equal under the standards of society?” Anne inquired.

“How indeed, when women do not wage war or own land?” said Emily.

“I do not think war should be waged by either sex.
 
But of land, I see the difference.
 
Would either of you choose a man that might leave you without the means to support yourself?”

“It matters not, for we will not choose men, is that not so Emily?”
 
At this, Emily could only nod her adherence.
 
She quickly changed the subject to the upcoming feast Mr. Worthing had planned for the evening.

“What can he mean by it, Mama?” said Emily.
 
The last dance went on in the ball room as Emily visited with her mother.
 
Mrs. Worthing held up tolerably well, but would take dinner in her room instead of with the party.

“I cannot say, love.”
 
Mr. Wingrave had engaged Emily for two more dances in between standing up with his sister and her friend.
 
When they were not dancing, he kept close to her conversations, even if he did not join them.

“He displays a familiarity we do not possess.
 
I fear the censure this will induce.”

“Indeed I have not heard one word of censure.
 
You may be more sensitive to it than the rest of us,” said Mrs. Worthing, “Besides, what if he prefers your company?
 
Do you not like him?”

“Talking with him is not unenjoyable.”

“But…?”

“But two unmarried people are always assumed to be developing a romance,” said Emily.
 
She looked down at her hands, imagining Mr. Wingrave’s fingers wrapped around her own.
 
He had promised to be honest when he spoke with her, but she had discerned that he was not as he seemed.
 
His hands were not the hands of a young gentleman.
 
They were rougher, stronger, as if he had labored for years.
 

“Oh Emily, you are silly.
 
If it is love, it is love.
 
If it is friendship, it is friendship.
 
You have the free will to shape your situation.
 
Now stop this melancholy worrying and play me a song before I go upstairs.”
 
Emily obeyed, picking one of her mother’s favorite songs.
 
Though the room had emptied in preparation for dinner, guests came in to hear as Emily tapped the first few notes.
   

“On the hills and the glen,

I cannot remember when,

Last I saw my darling love,

From the sky and above,

Stars they fall in a line,

Signaling it is our time,

Leave me now and love me then,

I cannot remember when,

Last I saw my darling love.”
 

The music brought Emily alive, eyes sparkling and cheeks rosy.
 
She prepared to sing the second verse, meant for a man’s voice, when Mr. Wingrave sat beside her and played the complementary piece.
 
His voice made her heart flutter and pound simultaneously, his clear tone obviously a result of practice.

“On the road I travel now,

Though I cannot tell you how,

Fate took me from truest love,

From the sky and above,

Stars they fall in a line,

Signaling it is our time,

Wait for me and love me now,

Though I cannot tell you how,

Fate took me from truest love.”
 
With a hope that her blushing could be passed off as exertion, Emily continued into the third and final verse, which they sang together.

“’Cross the room I see you here,

For us, my love, I shed a tear,

We were only kept apart,

By a lie, a friendless art,

Stars they fall in a line,

Signaling it is our time,

Love me once and for all,

Answer my love’s call,
 

And forever be mine.”
 
A large audience had gathered for the exhibition, and when the last merry note hung in the air, they applauded with enthusiasm.

“I did not know you were musical, Mr. Wingrave,” said Emily.

“There are many things you do not know about me, Miss Worthing.”
 
He excused himself and left the room after accepting congratulations on the fine performance, leaving Emily to escort her mother to bed.
 

“The nurse can do this, Emily,” said Mrs. Worthing.

“I do not mind, I need space clear of people,” said Emily.
 
She took her mother’s arm and they made a slow progression up the stairs.

“You look and sing well together,” said Mrs. Worthing.

“He sings well.”
 
Gritting her teeth would give Emily a headache if she were not more careful.
 

“His regard for you blossoms.
 
You should have seen how he watched you before joining in.”

“Mama, please.
 
We’ve known each other for exactly two days.
 
He will recover from his fancy in due time when I become no friendlier than I was at the first.”
 
Mrs. Worthing’s room was prepared for the night, so Emily bid her a good sleep and went to the dining room.
 
Most everyone enjoyed the meal.
 
Pleased to see she and her sisters were set close to each other, and that Mr. Wingrave’s party had their own table, Emily took her place.

“Is mother settled in?” Bridget asked.
 

“Yes, ready for food and sleep.
 
She did wonderfully tonight, don’t you think?” said Emily.

“I visited her many times and she was always alert and attentive.
 
I hope she is better for good,” said Genevieve.

“Don’t we all.
 
I may have been too busy watching Emily dance to note anything else.
 
I think this is the most you’ve danced in months,” said Bridget.
 
When Emily made no reply, Bridget went on, “Peter seems quite enamored of the Wingraves as well, one of them, at least.”
 
Ignoring the planted barb, Emily sought her brother sitting at the right hand of Mary Wingrave.
 
He perked up whenever she addressed him.
 
Emily insisted on no more talk of the Wingraves so that she could eat her dinner in peace, much to the upset of her two sisters who desperately wanted to know what Mr. Wingrave had said and how he said it.

After dinner when the guests fell to talking, Mr. Sheridan proved he had imbibed too much drink by stumbling toward groups of women.
 
He spotted Emily and lumbered over to her, missing his mark entirely.
 
When Mr. Sheridan attempted to recover and halt his progress, he lost the contents of his cup--maroon liquid splashed up and out.
 
Emily’s luck held as it narrowly flew past her and soiled Miss Morley’s gown instead.

“Mr. Sheridan, you drunken dolt!
 
How dare you ruin my gown?”
 
Miss Morley rebuked him far more than was necessary for the droplets that colored her skirt.
 
He straightened up, ashamed.

“Take it in grace, Miss Morley.
 
Mr. Sheridan did not mean to offend you,” said Bridget.
 
Miss Morley stormed off to seek a wet cloth.

“That’s quite right, Miss Bridget, no offense meant!” he said.

“I learned from my sister.
 
Even doused in stormwater she would not behave so,” said Bridget.
 
Emily gave her a warm smile.

“Stormwater nor Hell’s beasts could make Miss Worthing so… disagreeable, that’s the word.
 
Wingrave chose the right lady,” said Mr. Sheridan.
 
Not a soul in the room of over a hundred people missed the remark, so loudly given, though he certainly meant “right lady to splash.”
 

“Come Sheridan, your tongue ails you.
 
Lie down on a sofa until the party is over,” said Mr. Wingrave.

“Wingrave, there you are!
 
I was just telling these ladies…” Mr. Sheridan said as he was led away.
 
The gathered crowd may as well have shouted their speculation at Emily, so crudely did they whisper their suspicions.

“How unfair!
 
She doesn’t even want to be married.”

“I say by this time next year.
 
What a match!”
 
The endless variations burned the pit of Emily’s stomach into an ashy hole.
 
How could she have let this happen?

Until the last carriage was sent off, Emily avoided being alone with Mr. Wingrave, disappointing many gossip mongers in the crowd who had watched them after their song together.
 
She wondered what made everyone lose their heads when even the illusion of romance presented it self.

“Good night, Miss Worthing,” said Mr. Wingrave with a bow.

“Good night, Mr. Wingrave,” she replied.

“I daresay I hope to see you again soon, miss,” said Mr. Sheridan, still drunk and unstable.

“Yes, soon,” said Emily.
 
As their carriage faded into the darkness, Bridget gave Emily a wry smile.

“Not a word more,” Emily warned her.

Three days after the ball, and Emily had not heard the end of it.
 
Peter, at least, was away on business.
 
Genevieve and Mrs. Worthing knew better than to push Emily too much for fear of hardening her heart, but Bridget cared not for her sister’s qualms.
 
An envelope appeared at their breakfast table which cinched Emily’s status as nearly engaged to be married in Bridget’s eyes.

“Who is it from, Papa?” said Emily.

“Miss Mary Wingrave.
 
She invites us to dinner on Friday,” he said.
 
Bridget laughed to herself despite Emily’s scowling.

“Thank them for my part of the invitation, but I shall decline,” said Emily.

“What?
 
Why?” inquired her father.

“I do not wish to leave Mama alone.”

“Nonsense.
 
Your mother has always insisted that we go out and live our lives while she is incapacitated.
 
You will go.”

“Is that an order?” said Emily.