by Nancy Moser
Lucy was taken aback. Was he asking her to marry him?
“Your turn,” he said.
“I . . . I don’t know what to say.”
He turned toward her and got down on one knee. “Say yes. Marry me, Lucia.”
She let out a puff of air.
“Surely you’re not surprised?” he asked.
Was she? Ever since their first meeting she’d known their bond was special, and never had she found her thoughts so consumed by another. The need to see him and be with him completely blanketed her senses, providing warmth, protection, and comfort.
Say yes!
And yet.
And yet.
The old argument against marriage demanded attention. “But my mother and sister . . . they depend on me for everything.”
He rose from his knee but never moved his gaze from her eyes. “They can learn to depend on me.”
Lucy wasn’t sure he understood. “They don’t earn enough between them. They need—”
Dante put his fingers to her lips. “Can you stop being your family’s savior for just one minute?”
If only she could. “But they—”
He covered her words with his lips and murmured his proposal once more. “Marry me, Lucia.”
How could she refuse?
Lucy hurried back to the house. After agreeing to marry, she and Dante had lingered on the Cliff Walk, letting the sun fully rise and the waves gain momentum, applauding their promise to be together, always.
It was still early, not yet half past six, but by this time the house would be buzzing with servants.
Hopefully not Rowena. And not Sofia. Lucy was banking on her little sister’s penchant for being the last one awake.
Once in the house, Lucy removed her hat, slipped the pink rose into the sash of her dress, and lifted her skirts to more ably take the stairs. She passed one of the footmen on his way down. “Eee,” he said as he nearly collided with her. “What you been doing to get yer cheeks all rosy this morning?”
She ignored him and escaped up the stairs to the second floor. But at the sound of voices in the hall, she pulled up short. Hugh was standing outside his bedroom door, fully dressed, but in clothes casual and unkempt. His father stood in the doorway, wearing a morning suit, barring him from entry. They were the epitome of fashion do’s and don’ts.
“You cannot continue to come in at all hours, son. And what are you wearing?”
“I was just going to change,” Hugh said. “If you’ll excuse me, Father . . .”
Mr. Langdon put a hand on his arm, stopping him. “Were you out playing cards with your friends? How much did you lose?”
“Who said I lost anything?”
His father seemed taken aback, then stood his ground again. “Show me your winnings.”
“I don’t have them on me.”
“Because you didn’t win.”
Hugh shrugged and began unrolling his sleeves. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”
But his father wasn’t through with him yet. Mr. Langdon thrust a finger in Hugh’s face. “I’ll suffer much from you, boy, except lying.”
“I’ll remember—”
Hugh spotted Lucy standing on an upper step. Too late, Lucy put her hat behind her back.
“Well, well. It looks like I’m not the only one getting home in the wee hours.”
Lucy raised her chin and strode past them. “I was merely taking a morning constitutional. I enjoy the brisk air.”
“And brisk it is,” Hugh said.
As she passed the two, Lucy nodded at Mr. Langdon. “Good morning, sir.”
“What about me?” Hugh asked. “Don’t I get a good morning?”
“Shush, boy.” His father shoved him into his room. “I’ll expect you down to breakfast at eight.”
Lucy rushed to the door of the dressing room and entered before Mr. Langdon had time to question her. Once inside, she leaned against the door and caught her breath.
“Where have you been?”
Sofia stood in the doorway to their room, buttoning her blouse.
Lucy strode past her.
As soon as their door was closed, Sofia pounced. “Were you out with him?”
How she wanted to throw her engagement in Sofia’s face. But she couldn’t. Not until the time was right.
And that right time would be . . . ?
Lucy busied herself making her bed. “You’re too young, Sofia. You wouldn’t understand.”
Her sister tossed a pillow at Lucy’s face. “I am not too young! I’m grown-up too.”
Lucy threw the pillow back and laughed at Sofia’s petulant words. Which was the wrong thing to do.
Sofia pulled all the sheets off Lucy’s bed, then did the same to her own. Lucy stepped back, crossed her arms in front of her chest, and waited for the tantrum to end.
“Do you feel better now?”
Sofia was out of breath, her hair half covering her face. “Much.”
Lucy checked her own hair in the mirror before heading to the door. “Now you have two beds to make. I need to help Rowena dress. I’ll see you at the workroom later.”
Upon leaving, Lucy heard a pillow graze the back side of the door.
Sofia walked amid the fallen covers, kicking them around, but also getting her legs entangled.
She sat at the foot of her bed to be rid of the burden, then fell back, exhausted. Although her first instinct was to lash out at Lucy, the words that came from her mouth were aimed at herself. “Why do you let yourself do such things?”
There was no answer, or at least none she wanted to hear.
She thrust her arms straight out from her sides, letting them bounce upon the thin mattress. “I hate being young!”
Suddenly, she heard a muffled man’s voice. “You’re not so young,” it said.
Sofia sat upright and held her breath. “Hello?”
There was a tap on the wall. “How are you this morning, Sofia?”
The voice was coming from the next room! She scurried to the wall, pressing her cheek against it. “Hugh?”
“I’m here, beautiful lady.”
Lady, he called me a lady!
Suddenly, as if a lamp had been lit, she realized she was only a child if she chose to be. To Hugh, she was a grown woman, and better than that, a lady.
She touched her forehead to the wall and pressed her hands flat against it. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too. Je t’adore, Sofia.”
She didn’t know exactly what he said, but she understood the meaning. He cared for her, he really, truly cared for her.
“I—”
But before she could finish, he said, “I’ll come see you today. I promise. Until then . . .”
“Until then,” she said.
Sofia lingered against the wall, wishing it would disappear so she could be with Hugh face-to-face.
Until then.
Rowena slipped her arms into the lavender satin dressing sacque that Lucy held for her. She pulled the lace-edged neck ties to the front and made a knot. “It’s a beautiful day today, isn’t it?”
“Extremely,” Lucy said.
That wasn’t enough of an answer. For Rowena had spotted Lucy running back to the house across the lawn at half past six. Where had she been? Who had she been with?
There was only one answer. Dante.
Rowena sat on the bench in front of the dressing table so Lucy could do her hair. Being seated put her in an advantageous position to watch Lucy’s face in the mirror.
“What are your plans today?” she asked.
Lucy pulled the brush through Rowena’s hair, making her head move up and back with the gentle tugging. “I’ll be working on the costumes,” she said. “It’s been four days since the fitting. We’ll need another fitting tomorrow.”
Still nothing.
The thought of Lucy out in the early dawn hours with a man . . . She didn’t want Lucy to get in trouble that way. Lucy seemed to be a good girl, and yet, who really
knew? And what girl was ever wholly immune from temptation?
Rowena. Not that she’d ever been given the chance to test herself.
She noticed Lucy smiling—smiling at nothing at all. Something had happened.
“What are you smiling about?” she asked.
Lucy seemed surprised at the question and checked her reflection in the mirror before relinquishing the smile. “As you said it’s a beautiful day.”
“There’s more to it than that.”
Lucy twisted Rowena’s hair into a high bun and arranged curls around the crown, fastening them with hairpins. “I did see a comical scene this morning.”
“Where was that?”
“Right out in the hall here. It seems your brother was just returning from an all-night card game and got caught by your father.”
That’s all?
“Does your brother make a habit of coming in so late?”
“My brother makes a habit of doing whatever he pleases without care for the wishes of the family or propriety.” She hadn’t meant to be so brusque, but her disappointment in having the conversation turn toward her brother took hold. “If it weren’t for my brother, I could marry anyone I wanted.”
Lucy’s eyebrow rose. “Really? How so?”
Rowena hadn’t meant to open the door, but the gateway to her frustrations had been unlocked and they demanded release. “As the heir, my brother should be concerned with marrying well. But so far he’s only succeeded in causing shame to our family name by his carousing and wild ways. No respectable girl will have him. And so it’s up to me to marry Edward to save our family from full ruination. After all, I’ve already caused shame to my family by my injury, by becoming less-than, so I owe them.”
“I’m sure your family doesn’t think of you as less-than. And your brother’s actions shouldn’t affect your future happiness. That’s not fair.”
Rowena shrugged and held out a palm full of hairpins for Lucy’s use. “In truth I’m not who people think I am.” It was a fact that both calmed and irked her, and as soon as she said it, she wished the words back. She shook her head as if that physical act could negate the moment before.
“Who are you, then?”
Rowena turned the tables. “Who do you think I am?”
“I think you are a good woman who is loyal to a fault. I think you would do anything for anybody, and—”
Rowena slammed her free hand upon the table. “No, no, no! That’s not me at all!” When Lucy took a step back she added, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so adamant.” Rowena pressed her fingers to the space between her eyes. She should never have brought it up. She forced herself to smile. “Never mind me. I simply woke up on the wrong side of the bed. You can go now. I can finish up here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
Lucy deposited the rest of the hairpins into Rowena’s hand and left the room.
As soon as silence seeped into every corner, Rowena turned her hand upside down and let the pins fall to the carpet. She held her open hand in the air a moment, marveling at how her act had caused no sound at all. It was as if she’d done nothing.
The fuller implications rushed forward to crush her. Nothing she did mattered or had an effect. She had the odd notion that if she stood and jumped up and down until the crystals in the chandelier bobbled, no one would hear. No one would come running to see what was the matter.
Her hand found its mate in her lap and she began to cry.
Why was she stuck playing this awful, meaningless part? Why didn’t her image match the woman she felt herself to be? Should they match? Or was there some advantage to being unfathomable?
Yet . . . might she be considered mysterious?
No. That wasn’t it at all. For to be mysterious people had to wonder about her; she needed to possess an aura of something hidden, or better yet, something to be discovered. Everyone felt they knew exactly who she was and what she believed, and could rest assured they could spend their curiosity dissecting someone else’s personality.
She gathered a handkerchief from the table and dabbed her tears away. What good were tears, anyway? The world saw her as a good girl: polite, trustworthy, dependable, loyal, and true. Traits most people would die for.
Then why did the listing cause her pain? Why did she want to rush to the banister and scream for all to hear, “You don’t know me!”
She looked at her reflection and repeated the phrase for her ears alone.
“You don’t know me.”
Being polite, her reflection nodded affirmation.
Hugh came in to breakfast after the serving began. He kissed their mother on the cheek. “ ’Morning, Mother.”
“One more minute and I would be forced to consider you tardy.” She looked at her husband. “Although I did hear you’ve earned that designation in other ways this morning.”
Rowena’s brother took a seat and grabbed a scone from the tray in the same movement. He took a piece of bacon, then added, “The bacon being cold is my full punishment for any and all transgressions of time.”
“Oh you,” Mother said with a shake of her head.
Rowena looked to her father, waiting for his reaction. “So, wife. What do you have planned for the day?”
Rowena was appalled. That was it? Once again Hugh caused offense but got off with nary a word?
“Perhaps I should be tardy too,” she said as she poured cream into her coffee.
“Pardon?” Father said.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mother said.
Hugh winked at her from across the table. “You couldn’t do it, sister dear. It’s not in your nature.”
And that was that. The conversation moved on. The very notion that Rowena would break a rule or offend was discounted as impossible.
She fumed—but of course kept silent.
After all, it was the proper thing to do.
“Come now, Rowena. Try the bicycle. It’s not that difficult.”
Rowena looked aghast at her friend. “I can’t, Millicent. You know that.”
“You won’t have a problem. Trust me.”
As Rowena looked around she spotted acquaintances riding sidesaddle on horseback, another two carrying rackets for tennis, and one other accompanying Millicent on her own bicycle. The latter two were wearing absurd-looking bloomers, cuffed at the calf. The outfits looked ridiculous coupled with a ruffled shirt and a short jacket with voluminous sleeves. It was as though a perfectly presentable outing ensemble had been bastardized into a bizarre costume more fitting for a theatrical escapade than proper society.
The recreational options for young females had expanded dramatically the past few years, with golf, swimming, fencing, and yachting also the rage. Rowena was in the minority who chose to abstain. Although she felt she could do these things in spite of her infirmity, being even the least bit unsure caused her to decline the experience rather than risk possible humiliation. Besides, although bicycling was acceptable, Rowena remembered when women had first started participating in the sport they were called . . . whores. The connotation was too awful to contemplate or risk.
Millicent rolled her eyes at Rowena’s rejection, said something to the other woman on the bicycle, and walked alongside her own machine, giving Rowena company as the other girl rode off alone.
“Aren’t you bored to death spending your afternoons strolling about?” she asked.
“Not when I have good company.”
Millicent did a double take. “I assume that’s a compliment.”
“Of course.” Though actually . . . Millicent was not Rowena’s favorite person. She was far too brusque and refused to talk of anything beyond rumor-filled tittle-tattle.
They walked to the corner and waited for some carriages to pass before proceeding. “I heard your brother was down on the docks early this morning, dressed like a ragamuffin.”
That didn’t make sense. Hadn’t Hugh been playing cards somewhere until late? “I’m sure what you hea
rd was exaggerated.”
“I don’t think so. Audrey’s cousin was on their yacht anchored nearby and saw him talking to harbor workers.”
Harbor workers? “Perhaps he was up early making some repairs to his sailboat. He loves that boat.”
Millicent shrugged. “At dawn? Of course knowing your brother, he’d probably been up all night. Maybe he was paying the workmen to cover up some mischief he’d done.”
Rowena hated to admit she’d considered the same thing. And yet, to have Hugh’s reputation besmirched by others, in gossip . . .
She came to his defense. “I saw him at breakfast with my parents and he was happy and jovial.”
“Of course he was. Your brother seems to thrive on being happy with trouble. It’s quite a feat that he can keep up a good front to your parents. Though parents are always the last to know.”
Rowena wondered what else her parents didn’t know. “I love him dearly, but I do wish he’d behave himself.”
“So does Sarah Billings. Just this morning she intimated she will have nothing more to do with Hugh—that her parents will order her to have nothing more to do with him—unless he changes his wild ways. The whole town has heard about that maid of yours. No girl will want him, Rowena. No respectable girl, at least.”
Which left the burden of marrying well on Rowena’s shoulders. It was not new news.
As if reading her mind, Millicent asked, “Where is your Edward today? Why isn’t he strolling with you?”
“We don’t see each other every day,” Rowena said.
It was Millicent’s turn to stop walking. “Whyever not? If he were my intended, I’d demand his full attention. You’re much too compliant, Rowena. You need to insist on your due.”
Tears filled Rowena’s eyes, which caused Millicent to lean the bicycle against her hip and quickly retrieve a handkerchief from her sleeve. “Now, now. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
Rowena turned toward her friend, trying to assemble a modicum of privacy from people walking by. She dabbed at her eyes. “I don’t know how to insist on my due. I don’t know how to make Edward want to see me or spend time with me. It seems every time we’re together we’re with a crowd. I’ve yet to spend time alone with him.”
