Edward's Letter

Drake smiled to find his lord working in the study again. It was another step, Drake thought. The Earl had stopped pacing around at night, too--at least most nights. And he had spent more time with his son, making the nurse breech him so he could be "a little man". Working in his study, which he had done when the Countess was alive, was just another step.
"The post, sir. A letter from a Mr. Farrier in Bath."

"Edward? What does he want? I thought they only planned to be in Bath a week."

"I don't know, my lord." Drake went over to the bookshelf and swiped it for dust. Behind him he could hear the Earl searching for the letter opener, then finding it, and the the slicing of the paper. The Earl was unfolding the paper now, and from the sound of it he was tapping the letter opener on the desk, which was bad for the wood...
Suddenly the tapping stopped.
"My lord?"

"Good God."
There was a definitive silence which Drake seriously hoped could be acounted for solely by one of the Earl's excessive bouts of melodrama. He rather felt he shouldn't ask, however.
"Poor Edward..."
"Is the Gentlemen alright?"
"He's--engaged."
"You don't seem pleased."
"Only worried, Drake. He's engaged to Davina."

"Mrs. Wells?"
"Precisely. It appears they met in Bath."
"She's a bit old for marriage, wouldn't you say, my lord?"
"41. Two years younger than him. But they're both old. I--I suppose he'll lend her his purse, and she'll leave him to his books, and it will be a marriage of the utmost convenience."
"Surely it could be something more..."
"You have not seen the lady, Drake. She's formidable. Edward was probably just crushed by the weight of her presence and proposed as a defence mechanism..."
Drake realized the Earl had indeed gone off on a fit of melodrama after all, and turned to see if the books themselves needed dusting.

"They've invited me to their wedding in the spring. In London. Imagine it!--with Davina's taste it will be an atrocity, no doubt."
Drake wondered if the Earl would really go. "What will you do, my lord?"

"Do? I'll dance at their wedding!Press my best cravat!"

The Churching

Grace had long ago learned how to wake up without moving and without opening her eyes. She would pretend to be asleep and cherish a few precious moments in bed, warm and alone. Harold had woken up an hour or two ago, probably. His side of the bed was alredy cold.
She cherished these last few moments in particular, however, for she knew that today was the last day for a while that she could wake up so late. After her churching she would be expected to get up as early as before.
After a moment she decided to make the best of her churching, too. She would cherish every moment. Then, sleepy-eyed and reluctant, she rolled up and opened her eyes.

She joined her husband and son at the breakfast table. It was very quiet, as usual. Then suddenly Harry asked, "Did mama have another baby?"

"Another?" asked Grace, bewildered. "Isn't Percival enough babies for a few months?"

"Yes," her son admitted readily. I was just wondering why we're going to church today. We went to church when Percy was born, see..."
"You and I did, and Britany, but your mother didn't. Don't you remember?" His father said. "So your mother goes now."
"Why?" Harry inquired.
His father nodded sagely. "Because that's what Father Bede and the Bible tell her to do."

Grace said nothing, but she thought, No, Because I want to! And God...
And standing in Front of Father Zachary an hour later, she still could not help but feel that it was her ritual. Her chuching. All her women freinds were there, from Maria Bede to Lady Arnold, and though her husband and Father Bede were there, she thought perhaps they didn't really understand what they were there for.

"O almighty God, which hast delivered this woman thy servant from the great pain and peril of childbirth: Grant, we beseech thee (most merciful father), that she through thy help... "
What did they know about the pain of childbirth? she thought. It was an evil, bitter thought, she knew, and at first she tried to bury it, but at last she just kept it contained in her slight smile.

"Amen."
She smiled and turned to take from Maria's hands the little lacy cap that Percival had first worn. It was then, as she placed it on the alter, that she was truly thankful--so many women offered up caps of babies that had never opened their eyes to wear them.
Then it was over, and she went to greet the many women who had not seen her for months before her confinement.
"It's nice to see you again, Mrs. Pershing," Lady Arnold offered.

"And you." said Grace. There was a silence and then Lady Arnold said, "He's a beautiful baby."
"Thank you."
"I've never seen a boy who looked more like his father at 40 days old."

"They all do," sighed Grace. "My son asked me how come my belly grows so huge if the babies come out looking like Father." They both giggled a little at that.

Grace realized Harry was asking a lot of questions about babies lately, and perhaps her husband had better give him a little lecture soon.
At present, her husband was up near the alter talking to Father Bede.
"I've unwrapped this little man so you might give him and extra blessing, Father."

Her husband always argued about this with Father Zachary when one of his children was churched. Father Zachary said baptism was enough for any child and an extra splash of holy water was a supstitious vanity. But Harold was quite persistant about the blessing, which was a family ritual, and so Father Zachary always gave in, though never before a stern lecture on the evils of superfluous ritual. This time, though, before he could begin his lecture, Maria Bede came over and took young Percival.
"Come, dear. I'll hold this little plumcake for you. There's no harm in a little extra blessing."
And with a quick wink at Grace, she lead her husband, now smiling at his wife's sudden and rare affection, over to the baptismal font.

Ununderstood Smiles

That Wednesday, a chilly one in late October, Maria managed to slip out of the house in time to meet James Menzies after his class ended. She did her best to come at least twice a month, but it was hard, especialy with her Aunt in their house now. That day both her aunt and her son took a nap after luncheon, and so she had managed it.
"Another piece in E minor?"

"I know, I'm too fond of the key..."

He laughed. "I'll take a look. Here's the one you gave me last week."
"What did you think about it?"
"I think it needs a third verse that's slower."

"Why?"
He frowned a little, thinking of how to explain. He was always joking that teaching her made him realize how much he had forgotten since he left school. After a moment he said, "To make it beautiful. It's the little unexpected things that make the song beautiful. That's what makes life beautiful, right?" He said it a little sheepishly, and that made her sheepish, too.

She looked down at his fingers and smiled uncertainly. He had such long fingers, she thought. With such wide, honest nails. They made her feel like tucking her own hands in her pockets. But they also made her feel like smiling at him.
"Don't get me wrong," he said after a moment. "The last few ones have been quite good. The version of Psalm 47, for instance, I think you could publish--if you sent it to London."

"No!" she cried.
He seemed surprised. "Why not?"
Didn't he understand? She had grown spoiled, really, for no one had understood before him.
"It's just--for me only." That sounded selfish. "And you--I mean, and the people during services. But they don't know it's for them."

"Oh." said James carefully after a moment. He seemed to understand more than she had thought. "Right. Let me show you where you could put a third verse. I think you need a silent measure first, or the counting won't work..."
Maria followed him to the table and watched him trace his long fingers over her scratchy handwriting as he talked.

He was so earnest about her little flimsy songs! It made her smile to herself just thinking about it. Even though he didn't understand what they were to her, he still made her smile all the same.

A Storm Breaks Out

Frederick was delighted with the invitation to Hartfestol, for the hunting there was far superior there to his own, and moreover he thought that perhaps Henrietta would find some company and cheer up. Much to his delight, he was right on both accounts, and he soon found himself able to enjoy himself immensely without a worry at all.
About a month into their stay, they woke up to the sound of rain on the outside gutters. Frederick was sure it would cease before noon and they could go fishing, but the rain began to pound harder as they went down to breakfast, and at last he forced to admit there seemed little chance of abatement until at least after tea.
"We won't let the rain dampen our spirits along with everything else!" cried the Earl after breakfast had concluded. "Perhaps you can think of something to do, Miss Farrier?"

Edward Farrier was a freind of the Earl's when they went to school, and Elinor was his sister. Frederick thought it was rather funny, for though Edward was the scholar in title, it was Miss Farrier who was forever rattling of facts and figures to explain the simplest occurences. Henrietta said she was a very accomplished woman, and Frederick did not deny it, but he wished that such a wealth of knowledge did not feel the need to be so charitable all the time.
Miss Farrier replied that perhaps they could spend the morning reading from her latest instuctional novel, but the Earl laughed and assured her that she had no need of such instruction, and ought not to waste it on them.
"Perhaps Lady Arnold has a suggestion," he said.
"Me? I--well, in the nursery, we would always play charades," Henrietta said.

"An excellent idea. Let us begin. Why don't we put the Arnolds on one team, and Edward and myself on another? Elinor with her immense vocabulary can supply the words."
"I'll fetch a dictionary," offered Elinor.

Frederick found himself to be not too fond of Charades, at least not when Miss Farrier managed to find words like "perspicious" to be presented. He began to wish that perhaps they had read from the novel, for at least then he could take a nap.
A ferw rounds in, the butler entered and told the the Earl in a hushed voice that a Mrs. Davina Wells had come to call.

The Earl turned quite pale and after a moment said to Drake that he was not at home for Mrs. Wells. Then he left the room.
The Farriers were arguing about whether or not suspicious rhymed with perspicious, but Henrietta noticed that the Earl was gone and sent him a look.

What? he mouthed.

She sent him another glance in the direction of the doorway and he realized she wanted him to discover the cause of the Earl's unrest. So Frederick, somewhat reluctantly, went to look for the Earl.

The Earl was in his study, looking out the window. He turned around suddenly when Frederick came in.
"Ah!"

"Sorry, my Lord, I just wondered..."
"What? Damn it, Frederick, she's just a silly old widow searching to snag a richer husband than the last. You know how such women can be."
"I do," said Frederick, who didn't.

"Very determined, though. Good lord."
"Ahm..."
"What is it? What are you trying to say!? Listen--I'm just not--not willing to do it again!"

"Do what?"
"Goddamn it, to get married! It's too much to go through all over again! Marriage never really suited me in the first place."

"Of course," said Frederick, in an attempt to be soothing.
"I'm just not--not ready! Goddamn it!"

Frederick had some idea of what to do when the Earl had tantrums such as these, although this was one of a different kind.

After a moment he came over to the Earl and said, in the most earnest voice he could find,
"You don't have to be, Alexander."

The Earl's Company

"My lord Earl!" Henrietta cried. "You're back from London!"
"I thought if you had any grouse left after Frederick was done with them I might have a turn."

"Oh," she said. "I don't think they've shot very many at all. He and my brother-you haven't met my brother, have you?- they promised we'd have grouse for supper every day and yet I think we've had more vegetables than grouse all week."

"Then I'll have to show them how it's done," grinned Lord Damier. Henrietta sat down, but he decided to stay standing. It had been a long carriage ride.

She smiled at him after a moment, and then, as if she couldn't contain it any longer, she asked, "How is London?"
"The same as always, I suppose," he said carelessly.
Henrietta seemed far from satisfied with that answer, but she said nothing. Lord Damier had no notion of what to say to her, so after a moment he went to the window and peered out under the pretence of looking for Frederick.
"Thank goodness you came down! I think...I think Frederick will be glad of company besides my brother's," Henrietta confided.
"I'm not sure 'goodness' had anything to do with it," he joked. "I was avoiding a dinner engagement, you see, with a certain lady."

Henrietta seemed a little abashed and very curious at the same time.
"You didn't leave London just to avoid her!"
"She seemed to believe two dances at a ball meant a--a strong affection," he said, trying desperately to keep it a joke. I shouldn't have brought this up, he thought.
"Two dances is a lot," Henrietta murmered. She seemed not to think she ought to ask any more.

"And how have you been, Lady Arnold?" he asked after another moment.
Henrietta didn't know how to answer that truthfully, so she did not. "Just fine, thank you."
But the Earl was not fooled. Nor was he thinking about Frederick as he turned to look out the window again.
He was feeling guilty. He really had not been inclined to like Henrietta, though he knew he had no reason. She was a sweet soul and, if he understood what Frederick's last letter had implied, she had not been happy lately. He knew he should not begrudge Frederick's having a wife, and he knew he ought to be generous and understanding when Frederick spent loads of ink telling him his worries about her. Frederick would be so understanding, no doubt. But he had long ago decided Frederick was a better man than he.
Stop it, Alexander! he told himself. You will go treat this sweet young woman better now, no matter how much you ache inside!

And with that he turned around and went to sit by Henrietta. "Lady Arnold, how would you and your husband like to stay at Hartfestol for a while? I was thinking of inviting down some of my freinds from London, and we'll end the summer in good company. How would you like that?"

The look on her face was enough to tell him she would. One of his inner aches lifted a little bit.

Fashionable, Ladylike Boredom

Henrietta stood by her window and looked out across the rolling green hills that met the sky with a bright blue brilliance that was almost blinding. The day was warm and bright and cheerful, and she knew Frederick was right--it was a day for being outside. But Henrietta did not feel like it. She had not really felt enthusiastic about walking--about anything--in a long while.

The problem was, she told herself as she sat on the bed, that she was bored. It was ladylike, she knew, to be bored. Her mother had told her so often. But it hardly set her in a good mood. Besides, she was something more than bored. She was lonely. Few ladies of any sort, fashionably bored or not, had as little company as she did.

It was very ironic, she realized. Last spring--when she had come out--had been the farest thing from boring. It had been exciting and new, even if it had also made her anxious and flustered sometimes. But the entire point of coming out was to find a husband, and Henrietta had. And then she had discovered that being married provided far less entertainment than searching for someone to marry.

She was just considering whether she perhaps was fashionably bored enough to try to hang the drapes in the spare room when someone knocked on the door.
It was only Jean.
"There's a visitor downstairs to see you, my lady." she said.
"A visitor?"
"Yes, a splendid gentleman."

"I'll go right down."
Strange, she thought. Who could it be?