At least there wouldn’t be dancing, so everyone’s toes would be safe.
Ida pointed at the bottom of the letter. “You can see the barest outline of the letters, as though someone wrote on top of the paper. Haltwhistle. I’m sure Della didn’t mean to send us a clue. It must be a town, although I’ve never heard of it.”
“It is so clever of you to have seen it,” Pearl said in an admiring tone. Ida squirmed in her chair, unused to praise that wasn’t delivered grudgingly. As though it were her fault she was so intelligent.
Well, perhaps that wasn’t her fault, but she did acknowledge that she didn’t try to hide her intelligence, as many other people did.
Lectures about gas lighting innovation, for example, even though she’d done that for a distraction. But her ruse had worked, so everyone now thought she was even worse than she actually was.
But if she tried to explain, that would be more of the same, and would damn her in perpetuity.
It was a problem she didn’t think even Sophocles could solve.
But none of that mattered. Not now. “I’ll go to Mr. Beechcroft’s house and consult his atlas tomorrow,” Ida said in a decided tone. “He’s got much better atlases in his library than we do.” That her father, the duke, didn’t see the point of maintaining an excellent library was only one of the many complaints Ida had about him. But possibly the most egregious one.
“I wish she had told us herself,” Pearl said as she scanned the letter. She began to read aloud.
Dear Sisters,
I hope you are well. I see that Olivia has married, I know that you would not allow her to wed if she wasn’t head over ears in love. I am so happy for her.
Little Nora has taken her first steps! I wish you could meet her. Perhaps someday, when all of you are honorably married . . .
Ida raised her eyebrow. “Honorably married? Eleanor married the brother of the man she was supposed to marry, and Olivia married a gentleman whose parents were never married.”
Pearl rolled her eyes. “At least they are both actually married, and happily so. Even if the circumstances were not entirely usual. Della never married Mr. Baxter, and she certainly sounds grateful for that result.”
“That is true,” Ida admitted. Happily married. It sounded like an impossibility, and yet two of her sisters had achieved it. She felt that flutter of longing for the same thing, squashing it as soon as she acknowledged it. Not now, Ida. Maybe never?
She couldn’t pursue that line of thought. Not when she needed all of her focus on the matter at hand.
Pearl continued reading:
Nora is talking up a storm! She reminds me a lot of Ida when she was little.
Pearl grinned. “So she shares an incredible amount of information?”
“That people may or may not want to hear?” Ida finished in a dry tone.
“She sounds delightful,” Pearl said firmly. She shook her head and continued reading.
I wish you could meet her, she would love her aunts.
“Soon, little Nora,” Ida promised. Pearl smiled, patting Ida on the arm. It felt like encouragement for what Ida knew she was going to do. As though Pearl believed in her.
I am sharing a small house with a friend, and we are giving lessons to some of the area’s children. It feels wonderful to be able to provide for my daughter. I know it would shock most people, but I am grateful Mr. Baxter left rather than marry me. I knew it was a mistake nearly as soon as I left, and I miss you all so much.
“Oh Della,” Ida sighed. She looked over at Pearl, whose eyes were moist.
“Once you find precisely where the town is, you’re going after her,” Pearl said. It wasn’t a question. Pearl knew Ida too well for that.
“Of course I am,” Ida replied. Although—if she were being honest—the thought of setting out on her own was a bit frightening, even for someone as fearless as Ida knew herself to be.
She couldn’t take anyone with her; she wouldn’t ask a servant to do something that might end in their termination. Not that there were servants in the duke’s household she’d want on such an adventure anyway.
“And you could go at any time.” Pearl looked at her sister, a knowing grin on her face. “I know you. It’s not like you to wait to check with anybody first.”
“I suppose,” Ida admitted. There was something exhilarating about being thought to be impulsive, she supposed. Although others might call it headstrong and impetuous. And others had, for that matter.
“So as a practical matter, you should be prepared for any and all opportunities. Which means I will help you prepare.”
Pearl got off the bed and opened up a small case on her bureau. “You’re going to need funds. Here,” she said as she dropped a pile of coins in Ida’s hand. “Thankfully I have quite a lot of money. Mother forgot Olivia was with Edward, and accidentally gave me the money for our birthday she would normally have given to both of us.” She shook her head. “I wonder if she remembers there are two of us.”
The problems of being a twin with such a scattered mother. At least there was only one Ida to disappoint the duchess.
“I’ll understand if you have to leave quickly, and can’t let me know. I won’t be frightened for you, I swear. But you have to promise to send regular updates of how you’re doing just as soon as you possibly can.” She wrinkled her nose. “And I’ll have to figure out what to tell the duchess.”
It was surprising that Pearl wasn’t trying to talk her out of it. Even more surprising was that she seemed to be talking her into it. Even funding the trip, for goodness’ sake. Ida took no small measure of pride in that—it meant that Pearl knew not only that Ida wouldn’t be turned away from her resolve, but that Pearl trusted Ida could keep herself safe under any circumstances.
That awareness of her sister’s confidence made Ida start to tear up herself, and she was crying before she realized it, which made Pearl sob and wrap her sister in a tight embrace.
“It’s very brave, what you’re going to do.” Pearl patted Ida’s back as she spoke.
“What if it doesn’t work? What if I can’t find this Haltwhistle?”
“You will find it and her. I have no doubt of it.” Pearl’s confident tone stiffened Ida’s resolve. She would find Della.
She would find her, and bring her and her daughter home, where they should be.
This would be her adventure. Her escape, for the time being, at least.
She glanced at the clock, her heart sinking as she realized what time it was. “I have to get dressed for dinner.” Pearl looked up also, nodding in agreement.
“You don’t suppose Lord Bradford is still here, is he?” Ida continued.
Pearl shrugged. “He can’t step on anybody’s toes if he’s seated at the dinner table.” She grinned. “And he might share his opinion on whether he prefers dogs or cats.”
Ida laughed, kissing Pearl’s cheek. “Cats, of course,” she said, dismissing the alternative. “Thank you, dear sister, for your confidence in me.”
Pearl kissed Ida back. “You are welcome. We all want Della home where she belongs.”
Everyone but their parents, Ida thought as she walked down the hallway to her own room. But she couldn’t back down, no matter what consequences there were.
And if the duke and duchess refused to acknowledge their disgraceful daughter?
Well, Ida would deal with that when it happened. She had no doubt that her intellect could come up with some compromise that would result in honor on both sides. Even though at the moment she had no clue what that compromise might be.
But before all that, she had to actually figure out where Haltwhistle was, travel there safely, persuade Della to return to London, and then get the three of them safely back to London.
All without causing a scandal. Or too much of one, at least.
She didn’t think she’d ever been presented with a more difficult problem. But instead of being daunted, she felt—vibrant. Alive with the exhilaration of it, of the adventu
re facing her.
And the end result would be Della back where she belonged. And then—then she could plan her own future. Her own escape.
She got dressed, putting Pearl’s money into the pocket of the gown she was planning to wear tomorrow to go to Mr. Beechcroft’s library—gray, not white, and what she thought of as her library clothing. A gown that didn’t define her merely as a potential bride, but as someone who was her own person.
“As if a gown can define you,” she murmured as she drew out the white gown she would wear at dinner.
“Pardon?” the maid who’d come to assist her into the gown commented.
“Nothing, never mind,” Ida said in embarrassment.
Ida’s mouth twisted as the dinner gong sounded as the maid finished the buttons. Not only could she not plan her own future or her own escape, she was obliged to eat precisely when she was told to. Not even considering if she was hungry or it was convenient.
Although she was hungry, and it wasn’t as though she were doing anything else at the moment.
Hmph.
“Ida!” Ida froze at the sound of her mother’s voice coming from the second floor. It was the day after the letter arrived, and far too early for the duchess even to be awake; Ida had counted on being able to go to Mr. Beechcroft’s house to consult his atlas without anyone noticing she was gone.
Drat.
She regretted not having already left, in fact; Pearl’s money was safely in the pocket of her library gown, she was feeling more and more eager to get going, and she did not want to have to talk to her mother at the moment.
Granted, that last bit was always true. Still, she could not remember a time when she had less wanted to speak to the duchess.
She turned around slowly, raising her gaze to where her mother stood on the landing, her hair curling around her head, still in her dressing gown. The gown was another catastrophe of confusion, with flowers and leaves set amid a backdrop of plaid.
Some sort of nature-loving Scot, she presumed? At least it wasn’t white, Ida thought wryly.
“What is it, Mother?” Ida gestured to where their butler stood, holding her cloak. “As you see, I was just going out.”
“You’re going to have to wait. Come up here,” the duchess replied, whirling around to stalk back toward her bedroom.
“I shouldn’t be long, you can just keep my cloak nearby,” Ida said to the butler with a smile. He nodded as she followed her mother’s path.
Ida strode up the stairs, not wasting any of her intelligence trying to figure out what her mother might possibly want. She’d given up long ago trying to make sense of that woman, whose feelings and opinions seemed to change with the wind.
Ida could usually analyze any kind of logical piece of information, but her mother would baffle even the most intelligent of scientists. Especially when presented with the evidence of the multitude of porcelain shepherdesses.
Linnaeus might even be forced to come up with a new species name for her: perhaps Duchessum Irrationalis or Domina Confusus.
Ida chuckled to herself, applying her fancy to herself. Maybe Ida Adstutus or Cognitionum Idatum.
She settled her face into its usual expression before walking into her mother’s chamber, prepared for whatever the duchess might have to say.
Her mother was seated at her dressing table holding a piece of paper with a list of something written on it.
Notes on how Ida was the least malleable daughter? Or perhaps just a list of topics Ida would be allowed to discuss.
Sophocles, gas lighting innovation, Linnaeus, and the vital necessity of colored clothing were likely not there.
The room was overwhelmingly overwhelming. Which is to say there were things everywhere, although the room was not untidy; just that wherever there was a surface there were things resting on top. Porcelain shepherdesses, jewelry, gloves, scarves, boxes of what Ida presumed was candy, pictures, and more.
It was like looking directly into her mother’s mind, chockablock filled with things, with no rhyme or reason to the organization.
“Ida,” her mother began, only to stop and make a face as she saw Ida standing behind her, catching her gaze in the glass. “For goodness’ sake, sit down. We are having a conversation. I cannot have you hovering over me.” She punctuated her words by waving her hands in the air, like a bird trying to fly.
Not yet having a conversation, since I haven’t spoken, but then that is your idea of a conversation. At least I’m not having to read the list aloud.
Ida repressed a sigh as she sat herself on a low settee in front of the fireplace, moving a shawl to one side.
She couldn’t let her mother become aware of how urgently Ida wished to leave, or she would take twice as long to say whatever it was she was going to say.
The Duchess Paradox, or some other intriguing name for how frustrating her mother could be.
“Ida,” her mother began, swiveling around on her bench to look at her daughter, “it is time for you to consider marriage.”
Ida’s mouth dropped open. Well. Her mother had wasted no time in saying that.
“To get married,” the duchess clarified, because apparently it looked as though Ida had lost the ability to understand anything.
Mostly because she had.
“I had thought that you might attract somebody.” Her mother made it sound as if it were so easy. Or wanted, for that matter. “Although you have made it difficult, what with your refusal to behave like the usual sort of young lady.”
Thank God, Ida wished she could say. The last thing she wanted was to be the usual sort of young lady. Puella Superficialis, for example.
“What kind of girl doesn’t want to dance or attend parties?” the duchess continued.
The kind of girl who is me. But you wouldn’t know that, since you haven’t the faintest idea of who I am. The pillar knows me better.
Perhaps she could marry the pillar? The downside would be many stony silences. The upside? That the pillar wouldn’t try to control her.
And how sad was it that her most likely suitor was an inanimate object?
Her sisters, at least, knew her, a fact for which she was eternally grateful. Without them, without their love and support and yes, their uncanny ability to take her down a peg when she was being Ida the Insufferable, she would be lost.
“But never mind that,” her mother said. Dismissing her daughter’s own wishes as though they were meaningless. “If you will not take up the cause, I will have to. I have. It will be difficult, but I have managed to marry two off already,” she continued.
Ida refrained from pointing out that neither of her sisters had married the men, or rather man, her parents had chosen for Eleanor and Olivia.
“Your father and I have reviewed a list of potential husbands,” the duchess said, waving the paper. “And I am pleased to say that one of them, Lord Bradford, is coming to call. You’ll need to be at home to wait for him.”
Lord Bradford, the sweet but not so bright toe-stepper?
Oh, dear.
Lord Bradford who had once referred to foals as “horse kittens”?
Oh no.
“I . . . wasn’t aware that Lord Bradford had a marked interest in me.”
Her mother looked pleased as she shook her head. “No, he doesn’t, and with any luck he won’t get to know you until you’re safely married. I’ve planned it all, you see.”
Ida leapt off her chair, unable to sit any longer. “I don’t see, Mother. How can you already be planning my marriage to someone who barely knows me? Whom I barely know?”
Because if she were to be married off to a stranger, she might like to marry Kierkegaard, John Stuart Mill, or Charles Darwin. Maybe even Linnaeus, even though she knew him to be dead.
Not that she knew if any of those men were unmarried, but at least she knew they were intelligent. If not necessarily living.
“The best marriages are between people who barely know one another. Look at me and your father!” her mother
said, making Ida’s heart sink. She’d seen what kind of marriage they had. “You will be here today at five o’clock for tea, and you will not speak.”
Never mind five o’clock, Ida couldn’t speak now. She felt her cheeks start to burn as her emotions whirled inside her brain.
That piece of paper was far more dangerous than just proscribing Ida’s behavior—it was a list that would determine her future.
She felt her stomach bottom out in real fear. What her mother lacked in common sense she more than made up for in determination.
If Ida didn’t do something, she might very well end up accidentally married to Lord ToeStepper.
“You look delighted!” her mother observed, as if Ida’s face turning bright red—as she presumed it had—was a good thing. “Just try to maintain that color. You are altogether too black and white. It is unfortunate you aren’t less . . . stark,” she said, her mouth turning down in disapproval.
“May I be excused?” Ida said quietly. Not wanting to engage her mother on how even her coloring—which wasn’t under her control—was lacking.
Her mother smiled. “Of course, you will want to rest before meeting any potential husbands.”
Ida curtseyed and fled, rushing downstairs to gather her cloak and head to Mr. Beechcroft’s in a hackney as she’d originally intended. She would not wait while a carriage was summoned, and she would definitely not be resting.
A good researcher couldn’t allow distracting news—news that your toes were going to be in permanent danger, for example, and that one’s entire self was supposed to marry a gentle idiot—to keep one from an adventure.
She imagined Captain Cook, Henry Hudson, or even Lady Hester Stanhope had never had to evade marriage in pursuit of their true calling. Then again, none of those people had the duchess for their mother.
“Lady Ida,” the butler said, bowing. “Mr. Beechcroft had led me to understand you would be visiting. May I take your cloak?”
The Lady Is Daring Page 3
