Flirtation & Folly

by Elizabeth Rasche

“It keeps my pugs from mischief,” Lady Sweetser said. Upon meeting her, Marianne could suddenly understand why Lady Lucy faded into the background and why Miss Emily raved about Lady Sweetser in all her particulars. The woman carried herself as if she were part duchess, part overbearing washwoman. Her face gleamed like glazed pottery: creamy, but with a slight glisten. Her figure was upright and tall, but the more formidable and inescapable aspects of her appearance were her sizeable, voluptuous curves, and her bold, commanding tone. Lady Sweetser seemed confident that her every pronouncement was not only correct, but indisputable to any person with a smattering of reason. For Lady Sweetser, any debate resulted in her inevitable victory. Or perhaps not victory—since that would imply a meaningful opponent—but rather complacent supremacy.

  “Do they cause mischief often?” Marianne asked, after more formal introductions were complete.

  “No, indeed. I do not allow it. But it takes consideration, Miss Mowbrey. If you plan ahead, you can keep them in their places well enough. On the whole, Sultana is mild-mannered enough, but Sultan drives her into as much mischief as himself if I let him.” Sultan’s black eyes appealed to the jury of women in innocent protest, but soon lost interest when they provided neither pettings nor tidbits.

  “They are very large for pugs, are they not?” Marianne asked.

  Belinda laughed. “Enormous, I should think! But Sultana has an excuse; she is going to have a litter soon. Is she not, Lady Sweetser?”

  Lady Sweetser looked the sort of woman who might dislike any criticism of her dogs, but Belinda’s charm won out. “Indeed she is, Miss Belinda. You cannot imagine how many people are begging me for a pup. I tell them I cannot promise anything until Sultana is finished with the business and I have named all the pups.”

  “Should not the new owners name their own puppies?” Marianne asked.

  “No, I will name them when they are all born, and then I can settle who shall have whom.” Lady Sweetser seemed to have no notion that she was in any way impinging upon the right of any future owner. It seemed a matter of course to her that she should decide the puppies’ destiny in every aspect. Marianne felt a new sympathy for Lady Lucy. Lady Sweetser engaged them in a quick review of the guests, pausing to comment on one with a keen wit, then moving on to applaud another.

  Throughout all her charm, her cheerful dictatorial nature threaded. Marianne felt herself both admiring the woman and grateful when she proposed to move on. “Must not stop here too long, you know. The rulers get restless.” Lady Sweetser grinned at her own joke. She took great pleasure in calling her dogs Sultan and Sultana and talking of them as authorities—probably because she felt herself such a power in her realm. The contrast was keen enough to tickle her more than it would another woman. “Come and have a glass of punch with me, Miss Adams. I hear you have an ear where coins clink.”

  Once Aunt Harriet, Lady Sweetser, and her canine entourage were gone, Belinda turned her angelic smile on Marianne. “What a pretty ball you gave, Marianne!”

  A twinge of guilt nettled Marianne. “I am sorry that—ˮ

  “Oh, I understand all that,” her sister said quickly, and Marianne realised Belinda meant to spare her. She gave her a grateful smile, which Belinda took as her due. “But why did you not come to the opera with us the other night?”

  “You forget I was not permitted to go—ˮ

  “La, permitted! Aunt Harriet would not permit a fiddlestick.” Belinda shook her head. “You get exactly as much freedom in life as you insist upon, Marianne. To think you have not learned that yet! Why, if you had ever told Mama what you wanted and held firm, you would not have been stuck in the rectory all those years. Some people let everyone trample upon them.”

  “The household requires responsibilities. Of all of us.” Marianne thought she might bring in a useful homily on overspending, but Belinda’s mind had passed on to other things.

  “Speaking of responsibilities, I must tell you all about Harry. You have not heard, have you?”

  “Heard what?”

  Belinda dropped her voice, even though the buzz of voices all around them would have covered her words from most anyway. “He’s rejected the curacy Papa found for him. It’s worse than that, though. He says he shall not preach in the Church at all, because he’s turned Methodist.” Belinda’s hushed, awed tone expressed both a horror for the consequence and a delight in the shock. “Mama wrote to me and told me all about it. She’s heartbroken, of course. And Papa says he will not have a heathen for a son, though I do not see what he can do about it.”

  “A Methodist is hardly a heathen,” Marianne said.

  “Nearly so! La, Marianne, I would have expected you to look more stricken. I dare not tell anyone I have a Methodist in my family. Nobody but Mr Cox would have me then.” Belinda simpered a little at the untruth.

  “You know most gentlemen do not care two straws for all that.”

  “Mr Nabbles would not. He’s delightfully practical. He would say Harry will find his own level, rummaging about low places taking tithes from scullery maids and grooms, and we need not have anything to do with him unless we like. And I daresay that is true.” Belinda sniffed. “Imagine having to rant at innkeepers and the like about hellfire! I cannot imagine why he wants to do it.”

  “I think I can,” Marianne said, tilting her head. Harry had always loved those low places. She was surprised he had found a way to reconcile that with his faith and avoid the prim, slavishly obedient duties of a curate. Another man would have simply gone to the dogs and fallen into vice and squalor.

  Belinda giggled. “Well, don’t you turn Methodist, too. Papa would have apoplexy.” She tossed her head a little as she added, with an unusual degree of sententiousness, “Edward has tried to remonstrate with him, but Harry will not budge. Poor Edward! He is as much disgraced as Papa. All of us in the family are quite upset.”

  “I am not upset, and I do not think Papa and Edward are disgraced at all. I would not like to be a Methodist myself, but I can see how it would suit Harry.”

  Marianne was beginning to understand why the topic pleased Belinda so. For once, her mother had confided their family troubles to Belinda, not Marianne. It was Belinda entrusted with the details and the appeals for consolation, not Marianne. Her mother had likely assumed—as Marianne herself had—that Belinda was too self-centred to be a worthy confidante in a crisis, however charming she was. It had been their instinct to shield and pet Belinda. Now that there was more distance between Marianne and her mother, and because her mother had the habit of writing habitually to and of Belinda, her mother’s reliance had shifted.

  And I am glad. The thought was somewhat forced, but Marianne managed it. She did not want all the burdens of being the responsible eldest sister, and she certainly did not want to commiserate over Harry breaking free of his upbringing to do what he valued. It stung a little to cede any power to Belinda, but Belinda appeared delighted to have it, and Marianne preferred the opportunity to be more self-interested. She needed her focus to figure out where to go and what to do, now that her dreams of reigning in the ton had deflated. And what was so bad about Harry choosing his own path?

  Captain Pulteney had completed his dance with Lady Angela, graciously relinquishing the older woman to a new beau, and now approached Belinda with a light of mischief in his eyes. Even now, sure as Marianne was that the man was a sad flirt, the amusement brightening his face made her catch her breath. She could not help feeling a trifle envious as the captain made an insouciant bow to Belinda.

  “And now I can be in my proper place, worshiping at the idol I choose.” He laughed, Belinda’s smile his reward.

  “Lady Angela appeared to enjoy herself, dancing with you,” Marianne said. She felt as if she ought to warn Belinda, or perhaps it was she who needed a reminder of his insincerity. The captain was far too fickle.

  “Oh, we had an excellent time.” Captain Pulteney tucked Belinda’s hand into the crook of his arm as if he only had eyes for her.

>   “I suppose you shall be frightfully dull while we dance, Captain,” Belinda said, her smile coquettish. “I do not have acres of rubies to dazzle your eyes, you know.”

  “You have no need of them,” the captain said. “Besides, I am no child. I do not need baubles dangled in front of me to be entertained.” Although he said nothing more in Marianne’s hearing, she felt that the smile he gave Belinda expressed too much, too intimately. Belinda returned his quips as they sailed off to take their place in the dance.

  Marianne had seen Belinda preen under the admiration of several youths at Wrumpton, but never had she seemed so delighted with a fellow as with Captain Pulteney. Marianne could understand why all too well. Not only was he handsome, charming, and able to make her laugh, but the fact that so many of London’s female arbiters of taste desired him factored heavily with Belinda. The envy of others was a garnish that always made things taste sweeter to Belinda.

  Growing dissatisfied with her lonely place, Marianne weaved among the groups chatting and observing the dancers to search for someone she knew. Sir William was already engrossed in conversation with Lady Lucy, whose good-natured smile followed his every remark, whether sensible or not. Mr Cox was escorting an unknown woman to the supper room. But there—packed in by guests milling near an open window—that was Mr Hearn. Marianne used all the bullying politeness she possessed to force her way past the idle guests into the breath of night air.

  She had intended to come up with an interesting conversational opening, but after propelling herself through the crowd, she found her energies depleted. “How are you liking the gala, Mr Hearn?”

  “Well enough.”

  She could neither read his face, nor his tone. “The—er, decorations are very pleasing, are they not?”

  “Are they?” He watched Mr Lowes lead a lady to the floor.

  “I suppose you got hot and sought out the window for some air.”

  “This heat is nothing to India’s swelter, I assure you.”

  Marianne had to smile in spite of herself. India had not felt real to her until she met Mr Hearn. It had been a faraway place in a book, the site of adventures she was never likely to see. Mr Hearn’s commonplaces about it made India seem a strange convergence of exotic mystery and practical annoyance. “Oh, do please talk to me properly, Mr Hearn. I have been so dull.”

  He did look at her now. “Dull, at a ball? I thought balls made young ladies livelier.”

  “Perhaps they usually do. It’s just this ball.”

  “Because Miss Stokes is ignoring you and Miss Belinda is the honoured guest, I suppose.”

  Marianne blinked at him in surprise. “Ignoring me? No, I am sure she is not. Just a little distant, to spare my feelings. And I do not mind about Belinda, either.”

  “Why would distance spare your feelings? I cannot say I ever thought Miss Stokes very interested in sparing feelings before.”

  “She knows that I will not be in London that much longer, and of course it is painful to say goodbye,” Marianne said.

  “Are you leaving soon?” She could not complain that he was not paying attention now. His dark eyes bored into hers.

  “I am.” Somehow, that recollection made Miss Emily’s behaviour and the unaccountable ennui of the gala drift into unimportance. She supposed she would not see Mr Hearn many more times. What would happen to him? If he failed to acquire Hearn Hall, where would he go?

  “I wish I could be sure you will be all right, Mr Hearn.” It was impertinent and interfering, but Marianne could not help herself. “I wish I could make Mr Lowes give you the Hall, or else make you see that—ˮ

  “I only want what is mine.”

  “I know that you think so, but…ˮ Perhaps it was worse than useless to argue, if they indeed had little time left together. “I wish I had known your parents. Maybe then I would understand.”

  “If you saw Hearn Hall, you would understand,” Mr Hearn said. The intensity in his tone had vanished, and he was cool and polite again.

  “I have seen a great many country houses in Wrumpton, and they are all of them dull,” Marianne said with a wry smile, and they both laughed.

  “Then I suppose you will have to go on not understanding,” Mr Hearn said, his lips still curved in a smile.

  “It is just like Harry, really,” she said. Without intending it, she found herself explaining her brother’s situation to Mr Hearn. He listened with the same idle, amused look, and only interrupted to gather a few particulars. “I would hate going about as a Methodist myself, but I suppose it suits him. I must tell myself that a country life will suit you.”

  “I do not suppose anything could tempt you—to like something of that sort—ˮ Mr Hearn cleared his throat, smoothing his waistcoat. “I mean, would anything reconcile you to living in the country? In Wrumpton, with your family, or…”

  Laughter from a nearby couple rang in Marianne’s ears. The burble of conversation rose and ebbed, and the sweet chords of strings from the orchestra sang out. However disappointing the gala had been in particulars, there was still something rushing and alive in the mix of people. She did not know why she could not feel it before.

  “I am afraid I should pine away in Wrumpton, Mr Hearn.” The statement felt proud and true in her heart. Wrumpton was not who she was, not any longer. She was more wild and free within than she or anyone else had realised. She could cherish that wildness in London, but never holed away in Wrumpton. I really am different. I am sure of it!

  All the times she had felt she was merely play-acting at being a heroine now felt real and solidified, and she knew it had something to do with Mr Hearn, with a friend seeing her for who she was, and acknowledging it. He had helped her realise a vision of herself, and she could not turn her back on that vision. It was true that she would not be the queen of fashion she had longed to be, but some other version of that heroine must remain. The wildness and novelty were not all gone.

  Mr Hearn said nothing for a moment, but he seemed to gather himself when he saw Sir William heading in their direction. When the older man joined them, Mr Hearn bowed as far as the crowd would allow before leaving Marianne to wonder if she had somehow offended him.

  “Let us go outside a moment, Miss Mowbrey,” Sir William said, bracing her with his arm as they moved through the sifting mass of guests. His quiet authority made it impossible for Marianne to question him, but she was perplexed as to why he thought it necessary to go outside. Perhaps he thought she looked faint?

  She could feel the night air on her skin, like the lightest of warm touches. In the moonlight, a few idle couples ranged through the shrubs and potted plants and melted into the shadows further from the house. The glare of the ballroom flooded through the windows onto the patio stones, making a mockery of any privacy one might seek that close to the gala. Sir William appeared indifferent to the figure he and Marianne cut in the light.

  “Miss Mowbrey, I have long wished to speak to you in private,” he said. Sir William seemed perfectly collected and cool, and oblivious to any spectators from the ballroom.

  “To me?” A suspicion passed through Marianne, quick as lightning. She hesitated to believe it; still less did she know how to react to it.

  “I do not have the honour of knowing your parents, but I have obtained your aunt’s permission to address you.” He smiled gently. “My home in Kent is a lonely one, and I have long sought companionship and friendship. Indeed, I came to London with no other view than of seeking a suitable partner. Miss Mowbrey, despite some youthful spirits, I believe you are a worthy woman of good sense and good family.”

  It was true, then. Sir William was making her an offer! Marianne could have a home of her own—and never return to the rectory. Only…would it truly be that different a life? She would be mistress of her own home, but she would be immured in the countryside again, and with an older man who would expect her pleasure-seeking to be done with.

  Sir William went on, saying all that was proper and respectful, but Marianne’s mi
nd could hardly comprehend him. If it had been Mr Hearn asking her to wed and settle in the country—that at least would have sparked a yearning of some kind. She could admit that, now that she was posed with another gentleman. What an ill-timed moment Sir William had chosen for his address! If she had not just spoken so decidedly of her aversion to the country and of her new-found certainty in herself—then she could have fooled herself. She could have clung to the chance of a different life, even if not as different from the rectory as she had hoped for.

  But at this moment, the proposal felt impossible. Even knowing Sir William was too respectable to toy with anyone’s feelings, she could hardly believe he was in earnest. They had been acquainted for so short a time, and spoken so little! But she supposed it was not any shorter than Miss Stokes had known Mr Wilkes-Sutton. Perhaps in London few people knew their spouses very long before they married.

  “I am terribly sorry, Sir William,” she said, flushing at her own rudeness. But perhaps it would have been ruder to let him continue in ignorance of her feelings. “I cannot accept your proposal. I am fully aware of the honour you bestow upon me, but I must decline.”

  He did not seem surprised. “Perhaps you would like more time to consider the idea. I hope you will not dismiss me out of hand, Miss Mowbrey.”

  “I do not make light of your kindness, I assure you. It is simply that I know my own mind.” But even as she spoke the words, Marianne felt a dread creeping through her. She supposed she did know her own mind, now, and it made things harder, not easier. How could she explain any of this to Aunt Harriet? She had been sent to London to find a husband, and here was a polite, reasonable gentleman, ready to take a girl of small dowry and no special accomplishment. Her mother would be horrified to hear of her refusal. Again, she felt the strange and contrary wish that she had fooled herself into believing she could be happy with Sir William. It would have made so many things so much easier. But that moment of crystal clarity when she stood with Mr Hearn and affirmed her destiny still clung to her.