Charming Ophelia

by Rachael Miles

  Ophelia felt Sidney’s presence beside her acutely.

  The silence grew between them, until Sidney, clearing his throat, spoke, “So, the fragrance is simply rosewater, rosemary, and orris root. I was certain there were other elements.”

  “Oh, yes. Let’s see.” The old perfumer took another long breath. “A touch of fennel; surprising. That’s the crisp note. A bit of columbine and a hint of daisy. Your friend has a talent with her ingredients. Some of her choices could easily overwhelm the mixture, but she’s found just the right proportion.”

  “Are you certain there’s no pansy in it?” Sidney questioned.

  “Pansy, violet,” The old man waved his hand. “They are the same family. Orris root stands for both. Now I must make something to counteract that lovely fragrance.” The old man chose several from his range of ingredients and mixed them in his pestle.

  “And no rue for my sunny Ophelia.” Sidney began to laugh. “I can see why Judith never told you her ingredients.”

  “She had me wear several versions before she settled on this one.” Ophelia felt an uncomfortable mix of confusion and suspicion.

  “A fragrance blooms differently, depending on the wearer,” Sidney’s grandfather interjected.

  “Think, Ophelia,” Sidney prodded. “Rosemary is for remembrance, pansies for thoughts, violet for faithfulness.”

  “Judith, that devil,” Ophelia growled.

  “Tell your friend Judith of the discriminating nose that she is welcome here any time.” Sidney’s grandfather held out a vial and a cloth. “Here is the antidote to your fragrance. Apply it to your clothes, and it will counteract the other.”

  * * * *

  The carriage ride from the perfumer to their destination was short.

  “Ah, we have arrived just in time,” Sidney said. “Tuck into that seat there, by that half-wall, the one with the doorway at its back. It will hide you from our prey, but give us an easy escape when you wish to go.”

  “Prey?”

  “Well, this feels a bit like hunting to me, trying to catch each suitor in his natural habitat to glean some new information about his character.”

  “Men feel their self-interest justifies any lie, so women must also resort to subterfuge to protect themselves.”

  “That’s a skeptical perspective.”

  “But a necessary one.”

  “Ah, the debates are about to begin.” Sidney pointed her attention to the front of the room, where an elderly gentleman in ancient robes held a gavel.

  “Debates?”

  “We practice our arguments here. I have arranged for the question tonight to be one which I believe you will find interesting.”

  “Do you already know what they are going to say?”

  “Having spent many evenings here in the past, I can anticipate the general direction of the arguments. But I am not certain what position your suitor will argue.”

  “Hear, hear.” At the front of the room, the gentleman tapped his gavel on the table. “The question tonight begins with the law, but proceeds with a twist.”

  “The twist is mine,” Sidney whispered.

  The room quieted. “Here is the situation. A cottager is plagued by rabbits consuming his crops. The produce for the year is already lean, his obligation to his landlord already high. His children are hungry. To preserve his crops and feed his children, he kills a rabbit. His landlord calls for the magistrate to take the cottager in for prosecution. What say you?”

  “Why do you even trouble us with this question?” Lord Pendelton, an old friend of Ophelia’s aunt, held up his mug for another beer. “The law is clear. The rabbit is part of the land. The landlord owns the land and the rabbit. The cottager has poached the rabbit, stealing his landlord’s property. The penalty is death or transportation.”

  “The law’s punishment for stealing is clear, but a rabbit isn’t a silver candlestick taken from the manor house,” a man she couldn’t see objected. “The landlord has done nothing to raise the rabbit; it is a wild thing living on the land with no concern for where it travels. If the rabbit crosses to his neighbor’s land, it suddenly belongs to the neighbor. But we do not accuse the neighbor with theft.”

  “True, true, Lord Broud. But here is tonight’s complication: You are the neighbor. Your fellow landlord is unaware that the rabbit has been killed, and the cottager has sought refuge on your land. Do you turn him in to the magistrate, when no one but you is aware that a crime has been committed?”

  Lord Hatch spoke up. “We are a people of laws. They lend stability to our relationships and give legitimacy to our commerce. A landlord is morally obligated to care for his tenants, but if he does not, the tenant is not justified in breaking the law. If a neighboring landlord ignores the crime, he undermines the role of the courts in maintaining the common weal.”

  “We can go.” Ophelia tugged at Sidney’s sleeve, tamping down the fury rising in her at Lord Hatch’s merciless response.

  “Wait another moment or two. The situation is rarely so simple.”

  Lord Broud stood to speak again. “I understand that the noble Lord Hatch is arguing as he would in court. But if I recall correctly, Lord Hatch paid for a number of his neighbor’s tenants to relocate to the colonies. Had they been killing rabbits on his neighbor’s land?”

  Hatch’s face was unreadable. “English cottagers are not serfs bound to the land, but free men. I entrusted some business to men who wished to move their families to the American colonies. Sometimes, it is best to intervene before a crime is committed.”

  The room laughed.

  “And the rabbits?”

  “If there were rabbits, they were my own. If I give a man permission to hunt on my lands, he commits no crime if he kills a rabbit.”

  “Or five,” Lord Broud called out, and the room laughed again. “Count on Hatch to redefine the question until no law is broken.”

  Sidney touched her elbow and nodded to the doorway behind them. She rose and followed him out.

  Once in the carriage, Ophelia pulled the bauta and wig from her head and threw them on the opposite seat. “I never wish to see that, that… varmint again.”

  “Are you referring to the wig or to Lord Hatch?”

  “The wig. I’m certain it would breed if you found another like it.”

  “Did this evening’s entertainment help you make a decision?”

  “I’m torn. If Hatch did intervene for the cottager’s sake, I find his action admirable, especially since it cost him money to do it. But he seems not to have used his position in Parliament to argue against a cruel law. He helps an individual man, but leaves a class of men affected by the law unprotected.” As she turned the dilemma over in her mind, a wave of exhaustion washed over her. Ophelia stifled a yawn.

  “It is very late. Perhaps we should consider what you have learned tomorrow.”

  “Yes, please.” Within moments, Ophelia was asleep on Sidney’s shoulder.

  Chapter 4

  The next morning, or rather three hours later, Ophelia’s maid came to waken her with a message that her aunt wished to see her before breakfast. And by that, Millicent meant within the hour.

  By the time Ophelia arrived at Millicent’s dressing room, her aunt was already fully dressed. She stood before her dressing table as if she were a queen. “I’ve heard that you have enlisted Sidney to investigate your remaining suitors.”

  “Perhaps not investigate,” Ophelia said evasively. Did Millicent know about her midnight excursion? “I need more information to choose wisely, and Sidney offered to help discover it.”

  “We can gain information from other sources. If you believe your brother’s efforts insufficient, I can hire someone to make discrete inquiries. Or, if we must, your cousin Judith could advise us whether we should enlist the Duke’s aid.” Her aunt paused for effect. “But leave poor Sidne
y to his own affairs.”

  “I merely accepted his offer. Besides, he’s a perfect gadabout. Few people know the ton as well as Sidney. He should have the information I need in no time.”

  “You are not a cruel girl, but involving Sidney in your decision is. He has adored you for years. Three years ago, he even made a very fine offer for you, but you refused to read it.”

  “Sidney might claim to adore me, but it’s only a game. He declares, I refuse. It’s been this way forever.” Except that once, Ophelia thought, then pushed the memory away. Dwelling on the past was a certain way to end up floating in stagnant water, clinging to posies.

  “Even then, it was a fine proposal. Between his grandfathers’ perfumery and his own industry, his income is quite comfortable. You would be well cared for, your children secure. Instead, you treat him as a playmate. If you are not interested in Sidney, then you must break with him.”

  “I could never cut Sidney.” Ophelia felt her aunt’s words like a stab in her gut. “He is our family friend. You and his mother play whist every Tuesday.”

  “His mother and I are in agreement. We do not mean a cut direct, or even indirect. No, you should simply begin to take a more distanced stance. Stop being at home to him every time he calls. Dance only the more vigorous reels with him, where partners matter little. Refuse his gifts—the length of ribbon, the drawing paper, the novel he claims he has already read. All these are steps you will have to take once married. Begin now.”

  “Sidney brings all three of us gifts. It’s not the same as gifts to me personally. He does it because he is kind.”

  Millicent began to respond, then stopped. She stared intently at Ophelia as if memorizing her features. Then, Millicent gently placed her hand on Ophelia’s cheek, the tenderness of the gesture warming the line of Ophelia’s spine. “I have always believed you a straightforward, thoughtful girl, capable of great responsibility, wise even beyond your years. My only regret has been that before your parents died, you were more carefree and lighthearted. I have allowed your friendship with Sidney because he makes you laugh, and when you laugh, I see that girl again. I have left your decisions to you, forgetting that you might yet be at an age where you do not know your own heart. Perhaps I should have made you read his proposal, but I believed you were sincere in not wishing to accept him.”

  “I was. I mean: I am. I promise you, Aunt Millicent, Sidney’s protestations of devotion are no more real than…” She searched for the appropriate word.

  “Than your desire to marry him?”

  “Yes.”

  Aunt Millicent gave another long pause. “If that is the case, if you and he are merely playing a game, then it must come to an end.”

  At the thought of no longer hearing Sidney’s laughter, Ophelia felt the room grow a little dimmer. But she could do nothing but nod her head to agree.

  “Excellent.” Aunt Millicent turned to go. “I have decided we will have breakfast in the library this morning at half-past ten. I will tell your sisters.”

  * * * *

  When Ophelia arrived for breakfast, the floor of the library was covered with piles of books, and the shelves were almost bare. Ariel and Kate were seated on the floor, happily munching on butter biscuits, while they examined each book.

  “This goes in the pile to your right.” Kate held out a four-volume novel to Ariel.

  “This one too.” Ariel opened the next book to the flyleaf. “No, I am wrong. It belongs in your pile.”

  “What are you doing?” Ophelia surveyed the disaster with surprise and some trepidation.

  “Aunt Millicent has given us the task of reordering the bookcases.”

  “Why? We organized them only last year, and we haven’t bought enough books to start over.”

  “We are to separate out all the books Sidney’s given us,” Kate said, her eyes meeting Ariel’s. “And you are to organize them on those shelves over there.”

  “But why did you take all the books from all the shelves?” Ophelia asked.

  “We started by emptying the shelves where Sidney’s books were to go,” Ariel explained.

  Ophelia assessed the area. “That’s going to be entirely too much space for Sidney’s books.”

  “Actually, it’s going to be too little.” Kate waved her hand over the piles of books behind her. “These behind me all are gifts from Sidney. Those behind Ariel are not.”

  Ophelia looked at the tall piles behind Kate. “I don’t believe that all those are from Sidney.”

  “Then read the inscriptions. Sidney signs every one…to you.” Ariel held out a book.

  Ophelia refused to believe it. “I would have noticed.”

  “If you ever read the inscriptions, you may have. But you always skip straight to the first page and begin reading. This one says, ‘I now understand how a beautiful woman could cause empires to topple.’” Ariel handed the book to Ophelia. “See for yourself.”

  Ophelia, without thinking, turned immediately to the first page of the text. “This is the Iliad. Sidney is referring to Helen of Troy.”

  Kate rolled her eyes. “Ariel and I have separated out Sidney’s books for you. It’s your job to shelve them. We have the rest of the library to put back together.”

  “Does Aunt Millicent prefer I organize them by author, or genre, or some other method?”

  “She stipulated that you must base your organization in the content of the inscriptions. We’ve left you the library table in the corner.” Kate rose, straightening her skirts. “ And she wants all the books back on the shelves by dinner.”

  “Here’s another one. It’s from your birthday last year, and the inscription is an acrostic that spells your name!” Ariel handed Ophelia the book.

  Ophelia refused to look while Ariel and Kate were watching. Instead, she put the book on top of a large stack, and with Kate’s help, moved all Sidney’s books to the table.

  Even in the early years of their acquaintance, when his funds had been less robust, Sidney had given her books on special occasions. More recently, as his pocketbook had grown more flush, the books numbered one a month or a week. But there was no theme to Sidney’s choices, except that they all related in some way to something she had found interesting. From the start, Sidney had dated each book, allowing her to trace the thread of their conversations all the way back to their unfortunate first meeting, when she’d written in her diary: “Today, I earned my namesake.”

  Some of the inscriptions were quite short, but always pithy or thoughtful. Sidney was not one to purchase a book of inscriptions and repeat one as his own. In her birthday copy of Comedy of Errors, he’d written, “May all Ophelia’s tragedies end as comedies, especially those that fall on her birthday.” Only in the chemistry books, which no one but she read, were his sentiments more open. In Mrs. Marcet’s Conversations on Chemistry, he’d written, “To light a room, Humphry Davy needed charcoal rods and a surge of electricity. Ophelia gives the same light, merely by entering.” She read each one, noticing when he was witty, when he was tender, and with every inscription, she hoped the next would give her something more. In the end, she organized the books by date, wanting some indication that his deep affection might—could—turn to something richer, deeper. But Sidney’s clever words always darted around such a declaration.

  * * * *

  When Ophelia returned to her bedroom after shelving all of Sidney’s books, she wished only for a nap. She felt petulant, tired, and altogether out of sorts.

  On her dressing table, Ophelia found a note from her aunt on top of a document in heavy paper, folded to look like a thin book.

  My dear,

  Given that you wish to make your decisions based on the available evidence, I’ve provided with the preliminary marriage settlement Sidney sent me several years ago. As you were uninterested, I never pursued negotiations which would of course have resulted in a con
tract more advantageous to you. You may read it or not as you wish.

  MM

  She set down her aunt’s letter, but made no move to pick up Sidney’s offer. On the front, carefully lettered, were the words: Marriage Contract for Ophelia Gardiner and Sidney Mason.

  She didn’t want to read it. She didn’t want to see in black and white what pity might have brought her. And she certainly didn’t want to know why her aunt would have had to press for better terms.

  If she read it, she would only compound her hurt and longing. But she had given herself no option. If she didn’t read it, then she didn’t care for gathering evidence.

  She opened the contract’s accordion folds and began to read.

  The very first provision made anger rise in her throat: No expectation of a dowry. Did he think she was a pauper to come to the marriage with no funds? Her dowry might not be large but neither was it insignificant.

  She refolded the paper and flung it on her desk, causing both it and her aunt’s letter to fall to the floor. She would have to return it to her aunt. She bent to pick up the two documents and saw that her aunt had written on the back of her note. Sidney would forego your dowry in order to enlarge Kate and Ariel’s portion of your inheritance pool.

  She ignored the relief and anger competing for dominance in her stomach, and sat down to read anew. In the end, Sidney’s offer was better than any of her other suitors. His only disadvantage was that he had no home of his own, as his mother and siblings having moved into his London house when his father died. Yet another way that Sidney was her best, and worst, choice.

  The next night, though she would have preferred to continue her investigations with Sidney, Ophelia and her family were to attend a party at the home of one of Aunt Millicent’s friends. With their cousins in town, the family was too large for Aunt Millicent’s carriage, so Judith volunteered to carry Ophelia, Tom, and Aidan in hers.

  When Judith arrived, however, neither Tom nor Aidan were with her. “Aidan convinced Tom that they would prefer a ride to Tom’s estate.”