“They are.” He was about to explain that Lenora had put him off yesterday when Catherine ran back to them.
“Could we go for ices today?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“Not on the Sabbath, my dear,” Mrs. Simmons said, then shooed the girl forward.
Catherine frowned, but she turned again and moved forward, waving when she spotted a friend from school and hurrying to catch up with her.
When she was far enough ahead, Mrs. Simmons cleared her throat. “Women are supposed to be the more complex sex, Mr. Asher, but you have surpassed every woman I have ever met. I am completely befuddled.”
So he explained, or tried to, but it sounded even more ridiculous to say out loud what he had lived these last sixteen hours. He suspected she knew the gist of his conversation with Lenora yesterday since she did not show much reaction. “And so I am left with a niece still in need of stability, a woman still willing to accept my suit despite knowing I’m in love with another, and the woman I love telling me not to break the engagement.”
“You will go forward with Miss Keighly?”
“I need to build a future. Hazel is a good woman.” He sounded weak-minded settling for a manager instead of love. “And Lenora will not have me.”
“Lenora does not trust easily,” Mrs. Simmons said. “She was with me for months before she shared personal information with me in conversation, yet I have seen her blossom. Teaching was a great social education for her, ironically. Bath has given her new life, and before these last few weeks, she seemed more at peace than I had ever seen her. I even dared guess you were the reason, though she refused to acknowledge such a thing. Now? Well, she’s back to the girl I knew two years ago. She has locked herself away, and I have not succeeded in drawing her out. She’s running from the merest hint of gossip and embarrassment and judgment.”
“There’s been no gossip for her to run away from,” Aiden said. “I have been very attentive to that possibility, and, after two weeks, I’m quite sure that Mrs. Henry was true to her word and no scandal has resulted from what happened between us, besides comments that I stole away the best music teacher the school has had in nearly five years.”
Mrs. Simmons looked at him. “I agree that there have been no whispers, but that was never what she was truly running from, Mr. Asher. With the engagement in Leagrave, she dared believe in something that was not to be and suffered greatly when it fell apart. She did not love him, which is the only reason I believe she was able to recover.”
“Are you saying that she does love me?” He could not decide if he wanted her to love him or not. To know his feelings were reciprocated made him want to shout in triumph, but if she did love him and still turned him away, there was nothing to rejoice in. Circumstances would remain just as they were.
“She trusted you with something that was not to be, again.”
“By her choice, not mine. She told me not to break the—”
“By her necessity,” Mrs. Simmons cut in. They walked a few steps in silence as she gathered her thoughts. “My late husband was a gambler—not to our ruin, praise the heavens—but when I complained against it, he would tell me that he never risked more than he could afford to lose. Now, he and I would argue about how much that should be, but the sentiment is applicable here. Lenora feels things deeply and wholly, far more than she lets on. If she had not told me herself of your tryst on the riverbank, I’d have never believed it. I still can’t believe she was walking the streets at night all those months.” She shook her head as if remembering her shock. “I believe she feels she risked more than she could afford to lose when she opened her heart to you, Mr. Asher, and it has left her bankrupt. In addition to her difficulties in understanding your feelings for her, and hers for you, for you to break your engagement to Miss Keighly means that she is part of another woman losing more than she can afford as well.”
Aiden considered that for a moment. “Miss Keighly is not so invested as you think,” he said, careful not to sound demeaning. “She believes she is doing me a favor by not allowing me to break the engagement for a temporary infatuation, as she called it. She wants to move forward with our marriage and . . .” He paused, considering carefully whether or not to explain everything about Miss Keighly’s investment. What did he have to lose? “She even offered to add a mistress clause to our marriage agreement so that after Lenora is finished teaching Catherine, she might . . .”
He thought Mrs. Simmons might gasp or stop walking, but she did not, though when he cast a sidelong look at her, he saw that her cheeks were flushed.
“If you do not already know that Lenora would never agree to such a thing, we shall put an end to every connection we have this very minute,” she said firmly.
“I absolutely know she would never agree, nor would I ever offer such a thing.” He could not say the words quickly enough. “I was horrified by the suggestion, and I only tell you now to show you how different Miss Keighly’s investment is from what you or Lenora think it is.”
“Yet you will still marry her?”
The question sparked his continued frustration. “Lenora has told me I am a man without honor and she wants no part in a shared future. Miss Keighly is still willing to assume the role of mother to Catherine and is not even swayed by knowing my heart is engaged elsewhere. If I knew there was hope in changing Lenora’s mind, perhaps I would break the engagement, but there would be a scandal, which Lenora would be drawn into.” His shoulders slumped. “And Lenora has told me not to do it. I cannot change her mind.”
“Unless, of course, you can.”
The frustration bubbled up again, and he had to take a calming breath to keep from shouting. “I have explained myself—twice—and she has given absolutely no indication that she has left the door open even a crack for me. How am I to build on that?”
“To start, you have no chance at all to let her see the whole of your good character so long as you are parading your fiancée around town.”
Had she not heard him explain the complexity of the situation?
Mrs. Simmons continued. “So Miss Keighly must be the one to break it, therefore avoiding both the scandal of you having to do so and the ridiculousness of you marrying her.”
He wanted to throw his arms up in the air. Had Mrs. Simmons heard nothing he’d said? Instead, he took a steadying breath and spoke as calmly as he could, though it still came out through his teeth. “I was very clear with Miss Keighly. She has refused to end the engagement.”
Mrs. Simmons gave him a pointed look that he did not understand. Then she smiled and called out, “Catherine, dear.”
Catherine turned and came back to them, having already said good-bye to the friend she’d walked with for a time. Mrs. Simmons put a hand on her shoulder. “Your uncle has just told me the most exciting news. He’s taking you and Miss Keighly to the opera on Wednesday night. Won’t that be wonderful?”
Catherine scrunched up her nose. “I hate the opera.”
“Oh, fiddlesticks,” Mrs. Simmons said, putting her arm through Catherine’s so that she walked between Aiden and his niece. “You have that lovely velvet dress with the French lace your uncle ordered for you, and we shall have Dorothea put up your hair. You can use my ostrich feathers. You will look like a real lady, and won’t Miss Keighly be impressed.”
Aiden knew what she was doing—hoping that Catherine would be the one to dissuade Miss Keighly, but it would not work. Catherine behaved herself around Miss Keighly and seemed to have already chosen her as the woman she would support as Aiden’s future wife. As Catherine was right there, Aiden could not explain this to Mrs. Simmons, nor did he particularly want to. Mrs. Simmons was involving herself in a plan to cause Miss Keighly to cry off the engagement, which gave him just enough hope to . . . hope.
A few minutes later, Miss Keighly was back on Mr. Asher’s arm as the groups parted company. Lenora was too tight and tense and o
verwhelmed to do anything but walk and try to breathe. Aunt Gwen cast furtive glances at Lenora as they headed toward home, but Lenora kept her expression unreadable and gave one-word answers. Finally, Aunt Gwen went silent.
“Did you invite them to dinner?” Lenora asked.
“Invite who?”
“Mr. Asher and Miss Keighly. Did you invite them to dinner?”
“No,” Aunt Gwen said.
Lenora relaxed, but only slightly.
“Perhaps you would like to talk about—”
“I would not,” Lenora interrupted.
“I think that—”
Lenora stopped and did not speak until their eyes met. “I will not discuss it, Aunt Gwen. And I will not tolerate any interference on your part. Am I clear?” Tears welled up in Lenora’s eyes, but she attempted to blink them away.
“Gracious, child,” Aunt Gwen said, placing a hand on Lenora’s arm. She’d never seen Lenora cry, and Lenora did not want today to be any different.
“I must have your word that you will not invite them to dinner. If you do,” Lenora continued, still blinking, “I will leave Bath forever and never look back. That is how strongly I feel about this.” She looked away a moment to compose herself, then back to Aunt Gwen. “Do you understand?”
Aunt Gwen nodded but said nothing.
Lenora extracted her arm and took a step back. “I think I shall skip our walk today, Aunt, and take a shorter route home. I am not fit for company.”
“Certainly, my dear. Have Cook make you a tonic and perhaps lie down. I shall check in on you in time for tea.”
Lenora nodded and hurried off in the direction of Gay Street. Anger and humiliation and heavy, heavy regret made her feet slow and her chin tremble. She put her head down in hopes no one would stop her and counted her steps until she reached the terrace house where she could finally hide.
Lenora spent Sunday afternoon in her room. After leaving her aunt and walking home alone, she’d come back to the terrace house and cried as she had not cried in the weeks since she’d received Aiden’s letter of explanation.
Miss Keighly was confident and composed, interested in Catherine’s education, and as well-mannered as any woman ever was. Had Lenora not already made her decision about Mr. Asher’s attention—that she would not receive it—meeting his fiancée would have convinced her that she hadn’t a chance. Miss Keighly was everything Lenora was not, and she would have everything Lenora never would. Eventually, Lenora fell asleep, only to be awakened by tapping at her door when it was time for tea.
“I’m afraid I have a terrible headache,” Lenora said, her head feeling twice its size and pounding like a drum. She had planned to rest and then drown her sorrows upon the keys of the pianoforte, perhaps indulging in some obscure Zumsteeg pieces. Instead, she’d indulged in self-pity.
It was not Aunt Gwen at the door; instead, it was Dorthea with some rum, which Lenora drank. She coughed and sputtered, then she burrowed back under the covers and stared at the pattern of stripes and roses on the papered wall, exhausted despite having slept.
The more she tried not to think of Mr. Asher, the more clearly his face showed in her mind. The more she tried to ignore her interview with Miss Keighly—and it was very much an interview—the smaller she felt in comparison to the woman Mr. Asher would marry.
When dinnertime arrived, she begged off again and spent the rest of the evening preparing for her Monday lessons with Catherine. Miss Keighly’s questions regarding Lenora’s teaching methods made her want to improve her plans, though she could not think of a single reason why she should want to impress this woman. Never mind that this could very well be her last week of teaching—come Friday, her two-week commitment to Aunt Gwen would be fulfilled. She could stop if she chose. Whether or not she would, however, she did not know. There had been undeniable improvement between her and Catherine. The teacher in Lenora was eager to see if this week might show similar improvement. Every other part of her wanted to flee to Mary’s house and a new, unknown future as soon as she possibly could.
Lenora took breakfast in the morning room the next day, and then moved to the pianoforte, allowing the music to center her while she waited for Catherine to arrive. When she did, Lenora smiled and nodded, but finished playing through the Playel concerto. She let her hands rest on the keys so that the very last bits of the music would find their way inside of her.
“Shall we remove to the schoolroom?” she asked as she stood.
Catherine shrugged in resignation, but followed Lenora to the second level. They took their respective seats at the desk, and Lenora was grateful for the excitement she felt. The extra time she’d given to planning this week’s lessons, and reviewing last week’s lessons, had helped her identify which styles of teaching Catherine responded to best and which subjects needed to be taken in smaller portions.
“Today we will address the O-U sound, which is a hard ‘oh’, an ‘oo,’ and an ‘ow’ sound, depending on which word it appears in. Your memorization skills will be an asset with this combination, I think, as the rules don’t always apply.”
Catherine let out a burdened breath but listened as Lenora explained the lesson. Lenora wiped off the slate so that Catherine could write the words you, thou, our, out, and about, looking at the list in the primer to make sure she spelled them correctly. She looked back and forth several times, which made Lenora smile because it showed that Catherine wanted to do well. They sounded through the words a few times before Catherine suddenly crossed her arms on the table and gave Lenora a hard look.
“Are you very angry with Uncle Aiden?”
Lenora did not meet her eye. She wiped off the slate and wished her neck hadn’t flushed hot at the mention of his name. “I would like you to write the words again, Catherine, but without looking at the primer this time. I shall say the word, and you write it.” She pushed the slate to Catherine, who pushed it back to Lenora.
Lenora held her eyes. “This is your first warning.”
Catherine narrowed her eyes. “She’s going to be my mother—that’s what Uncle Aiden says.” There was sarcasm in her tone, but what caught Lenora’s attention was the part about her uncle having told her.
Lenora had gone over the timeline a hundred times. Miss Keighly had been in Bath Saturday, perhaps at the same time Mr. Asher had been in Aunt Gwen’s drawing room making his appeals to Lenora. Did he leave the terrace house and return to Miss Keighly straightaway? Did he take her to the river and kiss her until she could not breathe so as to replace the memory of his kiss with Lenora? Did his fiancée even know about their kiss? What if Lenora had accepted his offer of a second chance instead of putting him off so resolutely? What would he have done then? Flipped a coin, maybe? Kissed them both and chosen his favorite?
Catherine was watching Lenora closely enough that she feared the girl could read her mind. She reminded herself that Mr. Asher was a liar and a cad. She did not want him. Except that some part of her still did. “Every girl should have a mother, Catherine. I wish them happy.” That the words did not choke her felt like a victory.
“I used to like her, but now I think she’s a cow.”
Lenora turned sharp eyes on Catherine. “That is inappropriate, and you are not to talk about anyone in such terms.”
“I have met her before, you know,” Catherine continued. “We had tea with her and once we went on a carriage ride. She was very nice to me, then, but I do not think I like her anymore, and I do not think she likes me either. Yesterday, she would not let me attend tea with her and Uncle Aiden, and then she dismissed me from supper when I used the wrong fork.”
“And I’m sure using the wrong fork was an accident.” Lenora massaged her temple, reminding herself to be cautious and not let her thoughts or her tongue run too free.
“I think she is overparticular and dull,” Catherine said.
“There are worse attri
butes,” Lenora said, thinking of her nerves and inability to interact with the world around her. Could there be a better word to describe Lenora than dull? The thought flattened her already flat mood. She was dull. And boring, and anxious, and untrusting. She was not an interesting person who could hope to keep a man’s attention. Perhaps that was as much a reason for her putting off Mr. Asher as his own displays of poor character. Who would ever choose Lenora? Evan Glenside hadn’t—he’d chosen Cassie’s vibrant demeanor and charm. And Mr. Asher hadn’t—he’d chosen Miss Keighly, who would make a fine wife and mother.
“I do not think there are worse attributes,” Catherine said, sounding thoughtful. “He does not love her, you know.”
“Love is only one part of the equation, Catherine, and engagements are legal contracts, on the man’s part at least. He is doing right by her to continue the engagement, and it is below either of us to question their potential for happiness.”
Catherine rested her chin on her hands, but continued to look at Lenora. “My father did not love my mother either.”
The confession surprised Lenora and tugged at her continued question as to what caused this girl to be so difficult. Could this be a part of the answer? It was a sad thought. “I’m sure that is not true,” Lenora said, her voice sympathetic. “Love grows between husband and wife even when it is not present at the start.”
“It is true,” Catherine said, her voice sad and soft and humble. Lenora had never heard the like of it from this girl. “Aunt Elizabeth told me during one of her rages. She said, ‘You are just like your mother. It is no wonder your father couldn’t stand her any more than I can stand you!’”
Lenora’s heart melted. “Oh, Catherine, please tell me she did not say such a thing.”
Catherine did not nod, but the vulnerability in her eyes confirmed the truth. The girl looked away, her finger tracing the wood grain on the desk, her head still resting on one arm. “And then I heard Mrs. Asher—Uncle Aiden’s aunt—telling her friends that my mother was the most disagreeable hoyden she had ever met, and that if she hadn’t seduced Edwin—that’s my father—he would have never shackled himself to such a woman.”
Miss Wilton's Waltz Page 19
