by Fanny Finch
“I shall be sure to tell him so when I next see him,” she informed Mr. Carson. “Won’t you please come in and meet the others? I am not sure if you already know some of them.”
She led Mr. Carson away and James prepared himself for another dinner party without Miss Weston’s company.
It was no less than he deserved for his behavior, of course. And Miss Weston could hardly be blamed for it.
She was supposed to be looking for suitors. Her courtship with the letter writer had only barely begun. Why should she not speak with the charming and titled gentleman who seemed so eager to compliment her?
He had only just begun to give sway to such depressing thoughts, however, when Miss Weston returned.
“Another one of my father’s former pupils,” she said. “What an evening it shall be. He will be sad to have missed Mr. Carson. He was one of Father’s favorites. Not that any of them were so dear in his affections as you, of course.”
James bowed politely in acknowledgment of the compliment. “Should you not be entertaining him, then? You have the luck and pleasure of seeing me frequently. I doubt that you have seen him for some time.”
“It has been a year, I should think,” Miss Weston mused. “But no matter. I shall speak with him in due course. First, I must ask some advice from you.”
“Do you ever speak to me for any other reason?” James replied.
“Why, of course I do. I also speak to you in order for you to compliment my choice of dress. And so that you might criticize my life choices and my past times and my thoughts on opera.”
“Ah, and here I thought that you spoke to me so that you might continue to press in vain for me to change my mind on opera. And so that you might criticize my wit and choice of dress at every turn.”
“You wound me so, sir. I have nothing but the highest opinion of your wit.” Miss Weston gave a falsely put-upon sigh. “If only your compassion for my poor nerves was as great.”
“Your nerves, I have come to believe, Miss Weston, are made of steel.”
She smiled fondly at him. “I am pleased to hear you say so. I shall remember that the next time you accuse me of being too dramatic.”
“But what is it that you must consult me on?”
His heart hammered in his chest as he asked the question. Could it be that she was going to confide in him about the letter writer? Would he have to deflect or find some way to lie convincingly?
Perhaps she was having second thoughts about the whole thing and wished to know if he thought she ought to back out. That was the sort of thing that you asked a man you considered to be a brother, was it not?
To his surprise, however, Miss Weston replied:
“I was hoping that I might pick your brain, a little, on what it is like to be a man inheriting a title. What is your estate like?”
“Those are rather businesslike questions for a young lady to be asking,” James replied. “You are lucky that we are so close in our friendship. And that I have such a respect for your intellect.”
“I knew that you would not object,” Miss Weston replied knowingly. “And besides, it is only so that I will be prepared. You know that I must choose a husband. If I am to pick a titled man I should wish to know what I am getting into.”
“You could very well ask your dear friend Miss Reginald. She helped her brother the duke to run his estate until his marriage.”
“But she is far away and a letter would take some time. I wish to hear it from you.”
Miss Weston smiled at him prettily, and James was helpless to resist her. He supposed that it was his own fault that he could not seem to say no to her on anything.
He sighed. “Very well. You may ask away.”
Miss Weston immediately began to pepper him with questions. He answered them readily and as best he could.
It did not fail to escape his notice that they were still talking alone. Not that there was anything improper in that. It was only that Miss Weston ought to have been talking to all of her guests.
He could not help but hope that perhaps it meant that she did care for him a bit more than for the others?
She is literally pumping you for information, good God man, he thought to himself. There is nothing special in it.
Others would come up and speak to them from time to time. He could see Mr. Carson watching them from the sidelines.
He hoped that Mr. Carson did not think that James had been lying when he had said there was no man that Miss Weston favored.
Miss Weston was plainly speaking to him only for the information that he could provide. And of course because she trusted him. He would not underestimate that and was grateful for it.
But Mr. Carson might not see it that way. He might even think that James had lied in order to see Mr. Carson make a fool of himself.
He hoped that Mr. Carson would not think so. But to be certain, he would have to compliment the man or instruct Miss Weston to let Mr. Carson sit next to her at dinner or something of that manner.
It grated at him to give the man another shot at wooing Miss Weston. But if the man was determined, there was little that James could do to stop him. And besides, a little kindness could go a long way.
Above all, he did not want to be seen as a liar or someone who set up a cruel jest.
And besides, it was not ultimately his choice who Miss Weston married. Nor was it Mr. Carson’s choice. It was nobody’s choice except for Miss Weston’s.
She plied him for quite some time about his business. All while they were waiting for dinner, in fact.
James could not help but worry that this was because she was looking for a titled man to marry and wanted to be prepared. He knew that it would make her father happy.
And Miss Weston, although she pretended otherwise, wanted quite a lot to make her parents happy.
Her father had taught the sons of titled men. He had been a surrogate father to many of them. It made sense that she would want to make him happy by marrying one of them. Giving her father the pride that he had to swallow when he had been tutoring them.
James was aware that not all boys were gracious about being sent away from home to live in a smaller house with fewer servants. To be taught by a man who was below them in station.
Mr. Weston had borne it all with a patient and understanding air. To give him a chance to finally stand tall among them and say that his daughter was a titled lady… James could understand Miss Weston wanting to give her father that.
Some might call it mercenary. But James thought that it was only fair. Men sought to be the most successful in business and to possibly even gain a knighthood. Why should a lady not try and be successful at her own career, such as it were?
Well, that already put Mr. Carson in the running. He had a title, and a better one than what James stood to inherit.
He was also much more at ease and better able to compliment and charm. James could tell already that he stood no chance against the other gentleman. At least, not in person.
He must do better in complimenting Miss Weston in his letters. It was only that he did not wish to appear too flowery or to cross any boundaries.
But if he was to have competition, then he had to raise the level of his wooing.
When dinner was finally called, Miss Weston thanked him for the information.
“I would not repeat it to anyone,” he told her. “Many people would think it improper that a lady is showing such an interest.”
“How fortunate then, that you are not one of those people.”
“Quite fortunate for you. But you must assure me that you will not go around spouting off your newfound knowledge. Especially to gentlemen. They will be insulted and think that you are being impertinent.”
“I am always impertinent,” Miss Weston replied. She smiled at him cheekily.
“I mean in a way that is not viewed as endearing,” he replied, making his voice grave so that she might understand. “Sometimes I wonder if you truly understand all the rules that you skir
t.”
“I do not need to know them, do I?” Miss Weston asked. “Not when I have you here to constantly remind me.”
James swallowed down the urge to beg her to trust him more. To trust him with her heart as well as her reputation. She leaned on him for everything. And she seemed completely unaware of it.
It was frustrating, to say the least. To know that she was trusting him and turning to him. Wishing that he could give her more. Knowing that he could if she asked. Wondering if she would want that.
“You are fortunate then,” he replied instead. “I am a patient person, though goodness knows why. Perhaps it is that after so many years I have built up a tolerance for you.”
Miss Weston laughed. She doubtless would have said more, but then they were all going in to dinner and she needed to lead the others in.
Mr. Carson had a seat near her, James saw. He was near Mrs. Weston again. The evening was pleasant enough. But he could not help but see how Mr. Carson was charming Miss Weston.
James reminded himself to keep his cool. He could not control either Miss Weston or Mr. Carson. He would simply have to court her on his own merit.
When he received her letter he would be sure to write one in return that was so full of affection she could not help but feel flattered. He would find a way to be charming. She would forget all about Mr. Carson and indeed any other possible suitor in the wake of such a letter. He would make sure of it.
James was aware that he was now resolved to do the very thing that he had recently sworn he would cease doing. But he could not find it in him, not yet, to court Miss Weston in person.
Until then he would have to do what he could. Otherwise he was certain that Mr. Carson or some other man would come along and snatch her straightaway from under his nose.
He could not bear it.
Not while he still had a chance. If he fought valiantly for her and he lost her then he supposed he could content himself with that. Knowing that he had done all that he could had to be some kind of balm, mustn’t it?
But having to say that he had sat by and done nothing. That he had not even availed himself of the slight chance he had made for himself. That he had not taken advantage of the letters, as unconventional and cowardly as they might be…
He could not live with himself that way.
The dinner otherwise passed by in a blur. It was pleasant. But he felt as though all he could hear were the times that Mr. Carson made Miss Weston laugh.
All that he could see was her pleased smile. The pretty pink blush that spread through her cheeks. The way that Mr. Carson took care to be near her at all times.
Even after dinner when they were playing cards Mr. Carson made sure to be a part of Miss Weston’s set of bridge.
“Be careful,” Mrs. Weston said quietly as he became her bridge partner. “Green is not a good color on you, Mr. Norwich.”
“Am I quite so obvious?” he asked, keeping his voice just as quiet.
“I confess that I was not certain if you held any affection for her of a romantic nature,” Mrs. Weston said.
“Yet you told me that I was your favorite to win her hand.”
“My favorite does not mean that the favorite sees himself as part of the race. I can place a bet upon a horse but that does not mean that horse feels like running on that day.”
“Mrs. Weston. Do not tell me that you have dared to place a bet.”
“I would never tell you of such a thing if I had done it.” Mrs. Weston winked at him. “I am a lady, after all.”
“And you wonder where your daughter gets her streak of nonchalant rebellion,” James replied philosophically.
“In any case, I suppose then that I am right? And you do harbor feelings for her?”
James sighed. “You have always been far too observant for the good of anybody around you. Yes, I confess that I would… that I would be happy to make her my wife. If she would have me.”
“I would be appalled if she would not.”
“I have been as a brother to her, madam. I would not be surprised if that was the only light in which she was able to see me.”
“You are being unfair to yourself, I feel. How long have these feelings persisted?”
He cleared this throat. “Years, madam.”
“And you have done nothing about it this entire time? Said nothing?” Mrs. Weston clucked her tongue. “And here I thought you to be a man of action. A proper English gentleman.”
“I thought that it was the English way to never speak of one’s emotions.”
“It is even more the English way to act upon them and to seize what one wants.”
“You know as well as I do how stubborn your daughter is.”
“And you cannot possibly be happy sitting there turning as green as an unripe tomato watching her with Mr. Carson. Follow the advice that I gave you the other night, my boy. How can you know how she feels if you do not ask her? She might not even be aware that such feelings lie within her. Or at least the capability to harbor such feelings.”
“I am not certain that you are so old that you may go around calling me ‘boy’.”
“I am an old and sickly woman and I shall do what I please and call you what I please, Mr. Norwich. Now be so kind as to deal the hand.”
He hoped that his envy was not obvious to those around him. He certainly hoped that it was not obvious to Miss Weston or Mr. Carson. Envy never looked good on anybody.
He also hoped that he was not too stiff in bidding Miss Weston goodnight at the end of the evening. It was not her fault that she was charmed by Mr. Carson. How could she help it? It was nobody’s fault. Nobody was to blame for anything.
Yet he could not stop the twisting, hot snakes that resided in his stomach. The mix of envy and jealousy that surged up inside of him.
When he got home, however… there was a letter waiting for him.
His heart soared.
He knew that it was ridiculous and possibly even stupid. But he couldn’t help but think…
He was not the most charming person at the dinner table. He could not flatter her and sweep her off her feet the way that someone such as Mr. Carson could.
But he had her writing letters to him. Even if it was only for the pleasure of the mystery of his identity. She was writing letters to him.
He had her in that manner, at least. She was writing to him and she would continue to do so, so long as he held her attention.
And he would write her letters—such glorious letters. The sort of letters where she would understand his heart and she would be enraptured.
He was filled with a new determination. He almost wanted, in an odd way, to thank Mr. Carson. The man had filled James with a new sense of purpose and energy about the entire affair.
Without further ado, he sat down and read the letter. He was eager to see what she said, so that he might compose a proper reply.
He wanted her to be swept off her feet. To feel as though she was in a romantic play. He wanted her to feel special and honored and respected.
He wanted her to feel loved.
Miss Weston’s letter was exuberant. He could fairly feel the energy rising up off the page as she plied him with questions.
It was rather a good thing that she was constantly asking him questions in person. He was quite used to her method of bombarding a person with long lists of questions, the answers to which only led to her asking even more questions.
The questions were, he saw with a twinge of amusement, aimed at trying to find out his identity. She asked him about certain books that he specifically remembered her father tutoring him on.
In fact, all that she asked him about were from the books that he had been taught about by her father.
Clever girl, he thought to himself. It was quite a sneaky way of going about it.
She knew that the reason he had written her a letter was that he was too nervous to speak to her in person. She knew that he did not want her to know his identity just yet so that he could come to
know her and she know him without the trappings of their past experiences together.
And therefore, she had realized that simply asking him who he was would not work. That he would not respond to that question.
She must have realized that if he had known her for years as he said and he had called them friends that he must be one of her father’s former pupils. What other men had she known for so long and to whom she had been so close?
And so she had put together a list of the books her father had used for his curriculum and had asked for his thoughts on them.
She probably even remembered all the books and had not even needed to look them up or consult with her father about them.
To James’s surprise, however, there were little details in there that he did not think she intended to let slip.
At several points she mentioned that she was certain he would think her opinions were childish and ridiculous.
I am rather given to flights of fancy, she wrote. Doubtless you will not wish to indulge me in them. However…
James frowned down at the paper before him.
He had always thought that Miss Weston was a woman of supreme self-confidence. That she had no doubts about herself. Especially in regards to her intelligence and wit.
She always behaved as one who had not a care. Who thought first about what would please her and then secondly about what would please others.
Yet, in this letter he seemed to be finding signs of the opposite. A lack of the self-confidence that he had so expected from her.
The letter was full of phrases such as:
I hope that you will excuse my thought…
Perhaps this is childish to think—however…
You will doubtless refute this in a suitably intelligent manner but…
It filled James with a kind of heavy sadness. Frustration, as well. How could she not value herself?
The whole world was eager to praise her. She was usually the most popular girl in the room. She never had to sit down at balls for want of a dance partner.
How could she not see how he or anyone else saw her? Even those who were not in love with her admired her. She had many friends.
