by CE Murphy
“Not at all, sir,” Elsa said in surprise. “I am only Miss Elsabeth, and cannot imagine why you thought me to be Rosamund.”
“Oh,” Hartnell replied, and for a moment, they were subjected to the proper method of introductions before he explained himself by saying, “Forgive me, Miss Elsabeth, but I have been told quite extensively already that Miss Dover is considered the fairest of the Dover daughters, and I could not imagine a creature more lovely than the one who graced the doorway when I spoke.”
Sophia breathed, “Oh, my,” in amusement and released Elsabeth to embrace Mrs Dover and show concern for Leopoldina, whose gaze fell unforgiving on Elsabeth for a moment. She, amused, did not notice, instead assuring Captain Hartnell that Rosamund was considerably fairer than she, though she thanked him for his generosity and for his gallantry. “I am given to understand that, without you, I might be in mourning for a beloved sister now. We cannot thank you enough, Captain Hartnell.”
“You need not. Any man confident of his swimming might have done the same; I was only the first one on hand.”
“I belong to him now,” Dina murmured dreamily. “Is that not true? When a life is saved, it belongs to the one who saved it? I could not have been so lucky to have been saved by anyone else so worthy of holding my life in his hands.”
“It is a curious notion,” Ruth put forth. “Surely our lives belong to the Almighty, who sees fit to arrange them as they are most needed. One human being cannot hold another’s life in his hands. Think of all the lives a doctor would own, then. Would that not be akin to slavery, if a saved life belongs to the saviour? If the one saved must do with her life as her saviour commands?”
“I should gladly do anything Captain Hartnell commands!” cried Dina, at which statement Mr Dover felt it necessary to engage in the conversation before it grew dangerously out of hand. “Surely, in the case of young, foolish daughters, it is not the young lady whose life is her saviour’s to command, but her father’s. Our gratitude knows no bounds, Captain Hartnell, and I hope I might welcome you to my home as a son.”
“You are all too, too kind.” Hartnell beamed around at the gathered family, including Sophia Enton in his compassion. “Truly, I have done nothing more than my duty, and am only glad to have been of service. I must return to my regiment now that I am certain all is well with Miss Leopoldina, as Colonel White will be wondering what has become of me.”
“Oh! You are of the Colonel’s regiment! Nothing could be better!” For a young lady so nearly drowned, Dina showed no sign of her spirits being diminished. “We shall have a ball very soon, Captain Hartnell, and all the regiment must come! You must come, and I must dance with you at least twice! I could do nothing less for the officer who saved my life!”
Hartnell placed a hand over his heart. “I can think of nothing I would like more. Only name the day and we shall attend. I must away now,” he announced again, regretfully, and caught Elsabeth’s gaze with his own. “Perhaps I might return in a day or two to attend the ladies of the house and perhaps walk in the garden if it is fine and everyone is well?”
“Tomorrow,” Mrs Dover said instantly. “I am sure Dina will be entirely well by then—”
“I am well now! I can walk now!”
“But Captain Hartnell cannot,” Elsabeth said gently to her sister. “He must return to his duties, Dina.”
“Fie upon his duties! Am I not—” Leopoldina’s eyes widened as Mr Dover turned a sharp gaze upon her. She sank into the lounge with a shiver, whispering, “Perhaps I am not so well after all,” and commenced to swoon. Both Mrs Dover and Tildy shrieked while Ruth looked increasingly prim and the remaining participants in the scene, Sophia and Hartnell included, exchanged faintly embarrassed, wry smiles at the performance being put on for their sakes. Elsabeth opened the door, permitting Captain Hartnell to pass, although he objected that she should open it for him and not the other way around; Mr Dover solved the problem by putting a hand on the door himself and allowing them both to exit.
“Forgive Dina,” Elsabeth implored as, with Mr Dover trailing behind, she showed Captain Hartnell to the door. “She is young and impulsive and often acts without thinking.”
“I am tremendously glad she did today,” Hartnell announced. “It permitted me to meet you, Miss Elsabeth, and I can think of no more delightful acquaintance to make early in my assignment to Bodton. I hope it was not forward of me to invite myself to visit again. I should like to make certain your sister is well and to renew our acquaintance.”
“It is not forward at all,” Elsabeth said warmly. “You may have to return once or twice to see me again, though, as I am attending my older sister in her illness at Newsbury Manor, and do not expect to be back for another day or two.”
“What a dreadful thing to face, many visits with your charming family,” Hartnell said so solemnly that Elsabeth laughed. “There! I shall leave with that memory, of your laughter, and nothing could make me happier. Good afternoon, Miss Elsabeth. I shall hope for your sister’s swift recovery and that we shall see one another again soon.”
Archer had certainly been right, Elsabeth concluded as Hartnell departed: the captain was strikingly charming, and warmed all their hearts. Archer had not seemed to approve of that, but despite Mr Webber’s easy manners, it did not appear that Archer approved much at all of charm in general; it was no surprise that he seemed disinclined to like Hartnell, although it was something of a mystery that the gentleman knew the soldier at all.
Mr Dover waited for Elsa with a genial smile as she turned away from the door. “I believe you have a conquest there, my dear.”
“I believe Leopoldina may be upset with me if that’s true,” Elsa replied.
“Yes, but she is still only a child, and you would be a far more suitable match for a young man of his age. Now—” Mr Dover tucked his arm through Elsa’s and escorted her back to the drawing room, where he lifted his voice to be heard above the furor. “Since we are already in a flutter, I may as well add a little to the pot. On Sunday, Mrs Dover, I hope that you will have an especially fine dinner for us, as we will have a guest: Mr Reginald Cox, who has lately written me a very pretty letter and will come to visit.”
Silence met this remark before Mrs Dover’s shrieking protest broke it: “Mr Reginald Cox, that dreadful man who will inherit Oakden when you are dead? The beast who can turn us out at any moment once the estate is his? No! I will not have it! I will not have him in this house!”
Even as she protested, Dina recovered from her swoon to gaze with at her father with interest. “Another gentleman at Oakden?”
“He is a pastor, Dina,” Ruth said quickly. “You could not possibly be interested in such a dull fellow.”
“There is no knowing that he is dull,” protested Tildy. “Why, I have heard sermons that must allow a fiery heart in the speaker! Perhaps he will be splendid.”
“He cannot possibly be splendid!” cried Mrs Dover. “He is to inherit Oakden, and can be seen only as a cruel interloper!”
“My dear Mrs Dover,” said her husband, “I cannot see how you, who bemoan the presence of five daughters and a dearth of eligible men for them almost as constantly as you breathe, can regard this as anything less than an opportunity. If he is suitable, then perhaps a happy match shall be made, and if he is not—”
“If he is not, then I will spend my last days in desperation and fear of being cast out of the home I love so dearly, a widow with no hearth or husband to warm her, and the looming shadow of he who stole it all from us betwixt myself and the sun! No! Eligible or not, I shall not have him here!”
“You will.” Mr Dover spoke implacably to his wife, but his regard was for the one woman in his family who had not commented on the topic of Mr Cox or his eligibility, and found in Elsabeth’s eyes a soft concern, and spoke to that. “You will, for he is already invited, and though I have no reason to expect that I should be supplanted sooner rather than later, I am most curious to see what manner of man shall follow in my place
.”
(17)
Mrs Dover’s distress at the impending arrival of one Mr Reginald Cox caused her to forget herself, which in turn permitted Elsabeth to make use of the Dover carriage for her return to Newsbury, a use for which Miss Sophia Enton was particularly grateful. It was not that Sophia lacked the strength or stamina to make the walk, but rather that she was already far too aware that she lacked beauty and did not want to compound her plainness by arriving at Newsbury Manor flushed and damp from a vigourous walk. Elsabeth, who on this one topic was very like her sister Rosamund, could never be convinced of Sophia’s plainness, and tished at her friend’s concerns, but neither was she dismayed to have the use of the carriage for their return. Among other things, the driver’s presence made inappropriate discussing Leopoldina’s wild behaviour and, as Elsabeth was not yet prepared to consider, much less face, the consequences of her youngest sister’s actions, this was a great relief to her.
“We shall have to tell Rosamund,” Elsabeth concluded after an unusually grim and silent journey. “I am loath to do so for fear of forcing her into relapse, but how much worse if she should hear it from someone else. Surely, Mr Archer will have had the good sense to hold his tongue”—which was a comment made more in hope than confidence.
“Mr Archer will have said no more than that he has invited another to dinner,” Sophia said with such stout conviction that Elsabeth felt inclined to believe her. “I am very nervous, Elsa,” Sophia confessed more quietly and quite suddenly. “What if Miss Webber has not a dress she is willing to lend? I will be dreadfully out of place and an embarrassment to you and Rosamund. I wish that I did not tower over the rest of you so; I should have been more confident in one of your gowns, Elsabeth.”
“And we should all have been scandalised at the sight of your ankles. Sophia, you could never embarrass either of us, and Mr Webber is himself the absolute soul of kindness. Even if Miss Webber has not seen fit to have a dress prepared, Mr Webber will make you feel like the finest lady at the ball; I am certain of this.”
Sophia still entered Newsbury Manor with the air of a supplicant, too afeared to present herself in any other way. She was, however, greeted handsomely by both Webber and Archer, and when Miss Webber appeared, it was with a sudden stop and a long gaze for Sophia, who fought to keep her hands from twisting in her skirts. “Well,” Miss Webber announced after their introduction, “I can see that I have chosen entirely the wrong colour for our guest. Miss Enton, please ignore the gown that has already been sent to Miss Dover’s room. I shall have another, more suitable one sent immediately.”
Elsabeth, suspecting a jape, bristled beneath but kept a smile in place while Sophia blushed uncertainly and thanked Miss Webber with a humbleness that would please even the most discerning audience. “I must see Rosamund,” Elsa said after these offers and thanks were done, and together the young ladies went to the eldest Miss Dover’s room.
Rosamund was awake and examining not one but two gowns sent by Miss Webber. One was softly pink and entirely appropriate for Rosa herself; the other was of strong marigold and perhaps the most dreadful choice for Sophia’s skin tones that could be made without deliberately intending to present her at her worst. Elsa said, “Oh, no,” in honest dismay. Even as she spoke, a knock sounded at the door and a maid entered bearing a satin gown of puce with expensively dyed blue lace as trim. It was as perfectly suited to Sophia as the other was badly; for a moment, all three young ladies simply gazed at it, until Sophia echoed Elsa’s words: “Oh, no. No, I couldn’t...I’m sure I couldn’t...”
“But you must,” Elsabeth said joyfully, “for you would hardly wish to insult our hostess. Oh, and you must wear the pink, Rosa; it is far more suitable than anything I have brought.”
“You,” Rosa opined, “should wear the marigold, Elsabeth; it is also no doubt more suitable than anything you brought, and while the colour would do Sophia no favours, I believe it would be very kind to you.”
“Not at all. I shall be the wallflower, the better to compare two such fetching ladies as yourselves to.” And so saying, Elsabeth chose her own gown, a simple and pretty thing of white with deftly made trim, and allowed the maid to pin up her hair in a simple fashion no doubt more suitable to a country dinner than a manor house meal. She was not an embarrassment; that was sufficient, when Rosamund glowed healthily in the pink and looked large-eyed and lovely from under a cascade of gold curls that fell beautifully around her cheeks. Sophia’s hair was done more extravagantly, as suited the gown; once its stubborn straightness had been teased into curls, it was adorned with a headdress of feathers that sent her already remarkable height to a soaring presence.
Rosamund, in smiling admiration, murmured, “Sophia, I have never seen you look so well,” and Elsabeth, who could never see Sophia’s plainness for herself, could do no less than agree. The puce gown sank recklessly low over Sophia’s shoulders, exposing an unexpectedly attractive width to them, and cupped lower than that across her bosom, until the eye could not help but be enticed by its rise and fall. The skirt had not been let out; instead, Miss Webber had provided a petticoat in the same blue as the gown’s lace, and it gave length to the ensemble as well as bringing the colours together. Gloves of the same hue rose high on Sophia’s arms, but were not gartered: her arms were too well-formed to deny the gloves their chance to slip a little and expose their flesh to the interested eye.
Mr Archer, Elsabeth concluded with nothing less than delight, would be entirely taken with Sophia’s new presentation. Elsabeth herself might be obliged to revise her opinion of Miss Webber, whom she would not have imagined bedecking a potential rival in such a fetching fashion. “Your mother has been going about presenting you entirely wrongly, Sophia,” Elsabeth announced. “It seems she has been trying to make you smaller and more like her, when she ought to have been celebrating your natural aspects to great advantage. You are positively breathtaking.”
“I almost think I am,” Sophia said in wonder, examining herself in a mirror. “I must thank Miss Webber again.”
“We all must.” Rosamund tucked her arms into Elsabeth’s and Sophia’s. “Let us go do that very thing, for I am sure nothing will give her more joy than seeing us looking so well in her gowns. You ought to have worn the marigold, Elsa.”
“She sent it for Sophia, however mistakenly,” Elsabeth replied placidly. “It would have been bold to take it for myself. I am quite satisfied as I am, and have no doubt Miss Webber will be satisfied with me as well.”
Indeed, it was as well Elsabeth had not taken the marigold, for upon their arrival in the dining hall, it proved that Miss Webber herself had chosen an orange that lay too close to the marigold for comfort; Elsa would have seemed to be competing with her, and the colour suited Miss Webber more than it ever could Elsabeth. For a mean moment, Elsa wondered if Miss Webber had hoped Elsabeth would wear it, then remembered that it had first been meant for Sophia, and was then certain that Miss Webber had intended herself to look finer by far in a similar shade when the unexpected guest came to the table. Why, then, Miss Webber had chosen a new gown for Sophia was beyond Elsa’s estimation, but to her surprise and delight, Miss Webber gave a glad cry upon seeing Sophia and came toward her with hands extended. “Oh, I was right! This is so much more suitable to you, Miss Enton! You would turn every head in London!”
Sophia, blushing with pleasure, accepted Miss Webber’s happy embrace, and Elsabeth saw how well the colours they wore complemented the other: entwined together, they seemed a complex and layered bloom.
“Now,” Miss Webber said, “Archer has quite unbalanced our table, Miss Enton, and so I must beg you to accept my escort to the dining room, as we simply do not have enough gentlemen to go around.”
“Of course,” Sophia said, still blushing, and so, to her own astonishment, Elsabeth found herself on Archer’s arm, and warmed to him momentarily as he murmured, “Miss Enton cuts a striking figure, does she not? I had not imagined she would look so regal.”
&n
bsp; “I have always known Sophia was magnificent,” Elsabeth replied with a certain proprietary pride. “I am pleased you have the eyes to see it, Mr. Archer.”
“Indeed, I think any man should.” Archer brought Elsabeth to her seat and took his own before saying, “But forgive me; I am remiss in asking after your sister’s welfare. I trust she is none the worse for her adventures?”
Rosamund looked toward them, alarmed. “Sister? Adventure? What has Leopoldina done now?”
Dismay replaced Elsabeth’s pleasure as she realised that in the excitement of dressing, they had forgotten entirely to tell Rosamund of Dina’s misadventures. Archer, however, found her insight amusing. “Is it always Miss Leopoldina who has adventures, then?”
“Usually,” Elsa said somewhat more dourly than Archer’s tone called for. “She is quite well, Rosamund; there is no call for worry.”
“But what has happened?” Rosamund’s colour had faded, concern shaking her voice. Wishing she had spoken earlier, Elsa said, “She had a mishap with the river, nothing more. A gallant army captain saved her, and I believe Dina regards the entire escapade as nothing more than the correct amount of excitement in her life. It would not have slipped my mind if she had been in any real danger, Rosa, I promise you.”
The audacity of this falsehood was such that Elsabeth did not dare look at Sophia, but Rosamund’s colour slowly returned, and, after pressing Elsabeth for a detail or two, she was prepared to continue her conversation with Mr Webber. Only then did Elsabeth glance toward Sophia, but Miss Enton was as engaged with her own Webber as was Rosa. Archer, observing this, said, “It appears we shall be forced to converse with one another, Miss Elsabeth, or eat our dinner in flawless silence.”
