by Abby Ayles
“Who else would you like to consider?” Lady Byrd asked.
Antoinette felt slightly disappointed. Not this again. She knew of countless eligible young men, and other than Duke Godwin, none stood out from the rest whatsoever. How could she select a few from that vast group? She shook her head. “Whoever you believe is a good prospect,” she replied. “I trust you, as my parents, to know what is best for me.”
Lady Byrd nodded. “We shall make a selection, to ensure that you are not too restricted in your choices. But if you wish, we can focus our attention largely on Duke Godwin.”
Antoinette nodded back eagerly. “Nothing would make me happier.”
“Then it is decided,” Lord Byrd said, “I shall write to Duke Godwin immediately to inform him of our interest.”
Antoinette felt her heart soar. This was precisely what she had wanted for the past couple of years. For her parents to take her interest in marriage more seriously, for them to provide the support and assistance she so desperately needed to make the right decision when it came to finding a husband.
After breakfast, Lord Byrd retired to his study to compose the letter, and Antoinette requested leave from Lady Byrd to go and tell her cousin, Mary, the good news.
“Antoinette, I believe you are forgetting something,” Lady Byrd replied as she sorted some cut flowers, ready to spend the afternoon building an artistic arrangement.
“Ah, yes...” Antoinette suddenly realized. Mary had only married the day before. Not only would she not be home with her parents, but she would probably not be at Duke Haskett's local manor either. She sat down heavily in a chair and sighed dejectedly. “But I wish to speak with someone of the good news.”
“Father Howe, perhaps?” Lady Byrd suggested, raising an eyebrow at her daughter's dramatics.
“The vicar?” Antoinette cringed slightly.
“Do not speak of him in that tone. He is a good man and a vital part of our community,” Lady Byrd replied sternly.
Antoinette shook her head. “It is not that... I simply do not believe it is a conversation men could understand.”
Lady Byrd hesitated. “Perhaps not. You could go to see Eleanor.”
Antoinette shook her head again. “Eleanor and all her sisters are away with their parents, attending some charity events to raise money for London hospitals and poorhouses this Christmas. I would not even know where to write them right now.”
“Perhaps you should write a letter to Lucy, then, it has been some time since you had correspondence with her,” Lady Byrd replied. “She is still at boarding school?”
Antoinette stared at her feet. “You are right, I have not spoken to her for a month or more. I hope that she is doing well. Last I heard, she said her stay in boarding school would be coming to a close next year, and she was coming home. Yes, I shall write her a letter.”
As Antoinette stood up, she noticed her mother shake her head with a slight smile before beginning her arrangement.
Antoinette did not wholly understand her parents' aversion to her nature. Sure, she was a little excitable, and perhaps a bit loud and forward. But it was nothing that would interfere with her ability to be a good lady, wife, and mother. If anything, from her experience volunteering at Sunday school and local orphanages, she found that her slightly less stern demeanour made her more endearing to children than some of the less excitable women were. And that closeness with children was something she treasured. She had a natural affinity for them and did not understand how some governesses and teachers would be so strict with the poor little things. She felt confident that she would make an excellent mother someday, not despite her slightly boisterous and rebellious nature, but because of it.
But she was also coming to see that, even though she did not entirely understand the rigid social expectations which surrounded her, she had to conform to them. If she wanted to marry and marry well, it was necessary to act more like a Lady, to be more controlled, demure, and conforming. Once she wed, she would be in a better position to relax and be her true self. But until then, she significantly improved her prospects by hiding some parts of her personality.
Sitting at her dresser, she nudged her toiletries to one side with her arm before setting up a writing pad, some paper, and a quill.
“Dearest Lucy,
I am terribly sorry that I have not written sooner. There is no excuse for my silence. However, if it is of any reassurance, I have been incredibly busy, and there is much to tell you.
My brother, as you know, has departed on yet another Mission to India. It is hard work for him, but in his last letter he intimated that he is genuinely satisfied with the good being done, and suggested he may be away some time.
You may recall that my cousin, Mary Elridge, was available for marriage and seeing some very eligible suitors. Yesterday she was finally wed to Duke Haskett, Duke of York. Despite the trials which fate cast in their way, they have seen the value in one another, and are now united in Holy Matrimony, and very much in love.
Which leads to my present circumstances. My parents have, after much deliberation, decided it is time for me to consider marriage in earnest. And not a moment too soon! Yesterday afternoon, at Mary's wedding breakfast, I met the man who is sure to become my husband. I will not reveal too much as of yet, for fear that I am wrong. But I shall hopefully see him soon, and I eagerly anticipate that day.
I hope that you are well, and would love for you to be home for Christmas.
Yours dearly,
Antoinette”
Sealing the envelope, Antoinette decided she would post it by hand. That way at least she would get some fresh air. She desperately needed to cool off, as all the thrills of the morning had made her blood run hot, and her dress itched uncomfortably. Yet another thing she could not comprehend about the rules society imposed on her. She knew she needed to dress modestly, but many city girls whom she knew dressed much more lightly, almost in the fashion of Ancient Greek statues, with one or two flowing layers. Meanwhile, in the villages the fashion was moving, but still leaned towards bigger and heavier.
Her own parents were a bit lenient about conformity in this respect. Antoinette wore dresses which were much lighter and sleeker than most of the girls in the village. But they were still heavy and uncomfortable in comparison to the latest city fashions. She simply could not fathom why clothing which was modest enough for the city was not modest enough for the country. Especially when the city clothes were so much more comfortable.
“I wish to post my letter to Lucy,” Antoinette said, peering into the front room, where her mother was still working on her flower arrangement.
“Could you not send it with a messenger? Or perhaps wait for the postman so that someone can hand it over?” her mother asked.
“I would like to walk a little, the exercise will do me good,” Antoinette replied.
“Very well,” Lady Byrd said. “But make sure to ask a maid to escort you.”
“Of course, mother,” she answered.
Her parents were so peculiar with what social norms they adhered to and which they did not. They were not happy with her adopting city fashions, or walking down the road unescorted to post a letter. Yet they were perfectly happy for her to make major decisions about her suitors. But then, they did not believe she was mature enough to marry until recently, despite giving her so much freedom. It made no sense to her.
She was sure, the more she thought about it, that her parents were simply going along with whatever fads and trends their friends were following. They had no consistency, no pattern to their behaviour. It was simply as close to average as they could get. Antoinette could be more fashionable than the other young women in the village, but she had to be more conventional than city girls. She was expected not only to observe potential suitors and create a list of those she deemed reasonable but also to behave like a traditional lady in every other aspect. She had to go out and lead an active life, but always with someone at her side. Their insistence on staying in the
grey area was confusing and frustrating to her.
As she walked down the lane and entered the village, she was so caught up in her own thoughts she almost missed the two figures standing down another lane, talking in front of a pie shop. But a second glance revealed that it was, in fact, her father and another man, talking.
She paused briefly and watched them for a second.
“Is anything the matter, mistress?” the maid asked.
Antoinette shook her head a little. “Who is that speaking to father?” she replied.
“I do not know, mistress. His face seems familiar, but I know not from where.”
Antoinette pondered waving and shouting, then realized it would be too unladylike. She also considered going over to see them, but perhaps that would be rude? She sighed. Why did this all have to be so complicated? Was she really hurting anyone when she was forward and loud? It seemed more designed to inconvenience her than anything else.
As she wondered what to do, her father and the man shook hands and parted ways. The man began walking towards the road, whereas her father walked in the opposite direction and disappeared around a corner. With no opportunity of finding out who this man was, all Antoinette could do was scrutinize him. He was reasonably tall, and only a few years older than her. His tidy blonde hair was well-kept, but his clothes suggested he was a little less wealthy than the people her father usually associated with. Still, he carried himself with the dignity and confidence of a man who could not possibly be of weak character or morals. He seemed quite the enigma.
He glanced over at her, doubtlessly sensing her eyes upon him, and she looked at her letter instead, as though making sure the address was spelled correctly. Glancing back up, she saw he had continued down the road. Who was he? Why was her father speaking to him? And, most of all, why could she not get this perfect stranger off her mind all of a sudden? She would have to ask her father about this strange man later. Something about him was…peculiar.
Chapter 3
When Antoinette got home, her father was not yet back from his errands. She knew that when he was about town, he could be gone for hours, possibly until the evening. But still, she felt her curiosity mounting. It was just too much to bear.
Catching herself thinking about her father and the strange man yet again as she read a book, she wondered why she could not get this subject off her mind. She had always been nosey, but this was far too much. She closed her book, unable to focus, and looked out the window. She knew that a lady ought not gossip or get excited about secrets and other people's lives. She also knew full well that most ladies did. Why should she correct herself and fight her own thoughts when nobody else would, or even could? No, she was sure that curiosity was natural and healthy. Though, of course, she could never say so in polite company.
The sun was already setting and she knew he had to be home soon. He never stayed away the night. Still, despite knowing it was coming, hearing the door downstairs close brought on a surge of excitement. She took a deep breath. She ought not look too energetic or curious in front of her parents, or they would decide she was being childish and possibly stop taking her suitors seriously until she behaved herself again.
Making sure she looked neat and tidy, she headed downstairs to where her parents were talking in the front room. She could smell that dinner was being served in the dining room, and she knew that it would be best to ask her father before or after he ate, not over a meal.
She waited patiently in the doorway as her parents talked. They truly were her role models. A loving, trusting couple in a good, Christian marriage, who still showed each other respect and affection after two and a half decades of marriage and three children. She sighed.
“Antoinette, I did not see you there, come on in, honey,” her mother called.
She nodded and walked into the room. She made eye contact with her father and wondered how to introduce and phrase the question.
“Well, what is it?” her father asked, an eyebrow rose in suspicion.
“Father, I wanted to ask...” she began. She paused, unsure how to continue. “Well, the matter is... I saw you were talking to a man in town earlier and...” A wave of inspiration hit her. “You see, the maid who was with me said she knew him from somewhere and I was wondering who it was, is all.”
Her father shook his head. “Perhaps she knows him from somewhere else. He has not been here before.”
“Oh... Who is he?” Antoinette pressed.
“Nobody of much importance,” her father replied. “Stop being so nosey, you will know what you need to know, when you need to know it.”
Antoinette was highly suspicious. But what could she say? Her father was right, after all. She was trying to find out about something which she had no part in. But she couldn't see what was so wrong about asking him the question.
That night she could not rest. It was so frustrating, not to be able to say what she thought or talk about whatever she wished to. It was just as frustrating knowing that Duke Godwin would be responding, possibly as soon as tomorrow, and she would have to wait. Everything seemed to revolve around waiting for the right time, the right place, and the right person.
But she did not want to wait. She ached to actually do something.
Two days later, Antoinette was anxious about the lack of a reply from Duke Godwin. He was not so far away that she could expect the post to take so long. Of course, he would probably be very busy with important affairs related to his Duchy. She could not begin to imagine how busy a Duke's schedule must be. And yet... if in two days he had not composed a reply, how important could she be to him?
One would expect, at the very least, that if he were to find himself too busy to consider her parents' proposition, he would have had the decency to send a letter explaining the delay. But nothing was happening, and Antoinette was increasingly concerned that he was not going to reply at all.
Hearing the post announced, she rushed downstairs, only slowing down when she spotted her father accepting the letters and beginning to leaf through them.
“Ah, Antoinette, here,” her father said, passing her an envelope, “this one is for you.”
She took it and inspected it. It was Lucy's handwriting. She felt a little surge of joy, but then focused once again on her father's hands as he shuffled the letters. They seemed to receive a lot more post than before, and none of it ever seemed to be of any importance. Antoinette had wondered whether her parents were socializing more at first, but it did not seem to be the case. And still, their letters mounted up.
“Any news from Duke Godwin?” Antoinette asked as her father opened and peeked into the last letter.
“None as of yet. He is a busy man. Be patient,” her father replied absent-mindedly. “Now run along, I need to attend to these.” And with that he marched off to his study.
Antoinette found herself scowling. First they expected her to act like a lady, now they treated her like a child again. They ought to make up their minds already. Still, at least she had Lucy's letter.
Lucy's letter was not a disappointment. Far from it, Antoinette was glad to hear from her dear friend. But even as she opened it, she could not help but wonder where Duke Godwin's reply was. As she waited for breakfast in the drawing room, she opened Lucy's letter.
“My dearest Antoinette,
It was so lovely to hear from you again! And please do tell me of your suitor. You simply cannot tease me so, and then leave the matter unresolved. Whether he is your husband to be or just a daydream, I would love to hear all about him.
I ought to be home well in time for Christmas, thank goodness! Life in the school is dreadfully dull as usual. It is fine for girls, but no place for a young lady. Who knows? Perhaps in a few months I will be seeing a few suitors of my own. I hope courtship is all our favourite love stories make it out to be.
Yours dearly,
LF”
After reading the letter she felt Duke Godwin's silence far more acutely. He had to be avoiding her. There was sim
ply no other explanation. Something she had said or done at the wedding had offended him, he had been too polite to say anything at the time, but when he had received her father's letter he had used it for kindling and gone about his daily routine, hoping to never hear from her again.
During breakfast Antoinette could barely eat. She felt saddened and sickened by her own actions. Her parents were probably right. She was too loud, too forward, too boisterous to be a young lady. She may have thought she was speeding matters along by dancing and talking with so many men, and introducing them to her parents. But she must have come across as too desperate, or too infantile, for any man to be interested in her.
She nudged her eggs around on her plate and sighed.
And, if that were the case, then perhaps she was not ready to marry after all? If what men wanted from marriage was something she could not offer, then-
Footsteps sounded in the doorway, and the footman walked in carrying an envelope.
“Someone was just here to deliver a message from Duke Godwin, sir,” the footman said, handing the envelope to Lord Byrd.
Antoinette's confidence soared, then crashed again. Everything depended on this letter. If he wished to see her, then all was well and she could continue being herself. But if he had rejected her... then everything she was doing could potentially be wrong, and need correcting before she saw another suitor.
Antoinette's heart fluttered as her parents read the letter. She needed to see it herself. “What does it say?” she asked, tapping her foot on the carpet again.
Her mother beamed. “Read it yourself,” she said, passing it to Antoinette.
“My esteemed Baron and Baroness Byrd,
Thank you for considering me, and my sincerest apologies for my lack of a reply. It seems your letter was lost among some household papers. I did not intend to cause yourselves, or your daughter, any undue distress.
As for the matter of courtship, I found your daughter quite charming at my friend, Duke Haskett's, wedding. I would very much like to see more of her, and therefore agree to court her.
