A Courtship to Remember: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  “I expect that we will see her after dinner,” Elizabeth finally said.

  “I believe so. At least he is also of landed gentry. Anything less than that would gain an immediate objection from your father.”

  Elizabeth was aware of that. Her father was a man with set views that adhered to the division of England's social classes. There were no grey areas in his manner of thinking, which made him a simple man. She certainly loved her father, but his lack of creativity made for stilted conversations.

  “The Hawkins family will be leaving for London soon, I am sure. The season will be due to start in just a few weeks.”

  "Yes," her mother agreed. "Julia has come of age to enter into her first season. She is a lovely girl although rather dim-witted. However, that may just be the very thing that secures her a marriage."

  This information startled Elizabeth. She had not attended a season in the past three years, more so as there were ample suitors who lived close to their estate. Her mother hosted a dinner party at least once a month, which is where Cecilia had met Percival and instantly fell head over heels for him. He had not been the first young man, but he certainly seemed to be the one who could control Cecilia's flighty ways. The only highlight of those dinner parties for Elizabeth was the opportunity to showcase her skills at the pianoforte in front of an audience. She always received an encore, for which she would play something that the young people and married couples could dance to. This ensured that she would not be asked to dance. Why would being dim-witted secure a marriage for Julia?

  “Surely she would repel suitors?”

  Her mother laughed. “Oh, dear! Do you not know your own countrymen? They are afraid of intelligent women. Men are looking for women who will be obedient, demure, submissive and pretty. Heaven forbid they should marry an intelligent woman.”

  “But you are intelligent, Mama, and yet Papa married you.”

  Her mother's laughter died. "Well, I did not know your father, and neither did he know me well enough. Our parents arranged our marriage for us. Of course, he had seen me once before, but I had been too preoccupied with my music to notice. Being married had been the last thing on my mind."

  How horrid! An arranged marriage? Elizabeth could not imagine a worse fate. It was no wonder that her parents did not show any affection towards each other. Ghastly, really. I pray that I do not fall victim to such a fate.

  “Was there a courtship at least?”

  “If a week could be called a courtship.” Her mother shrugged her shoulders. “I quickly understood that I had a duty to my parents and to the husband that I would marry. The day before I married, I was given advice by my soon to be mother-in-law.”

  “Grandmother Ramsbury?”

  She nodded. “I was advised to put away childish fantasies and embrace my new life as a respectful wife. It was not easy, but I was never one to back away from responsibility. I have two beautiful daughters and a wonderful home as a reward for my sacrifice.”

  Elizabeth had never heard her mother speak so openly about this topic. It was almost as though she was offloading what had been on her chest for years.

  “I am sorry, Mama. No one should have to give up on their dreams. If men are allowed to pursue careers, then so should women.”

  Her mother shook her head. “You have your head in the clouds, dear. That may be my mistake, as I have not truly taught you the way of the world. Your whole life has been your music, as it was mine. But one decision can take that all away. That is why I wish to help you before an inescapable decision is made.”

  Elizabeth could have sworn that she heard rattling chains about the room. Inescapable decision? Did her mother know something that she was not telling her? Perhaps it is best to change the subject before I hear something that will provide me with sleepless nights.

  “Cecilia, I expect, will embrace marriage with open arms.”

  “She is quite different from us, is she not?” asked her mother. “I saw from early on in her life that she held specific interests. I did try to introduce her to the pianoforte, harpsichord, and the harp, but she did not take to any of them. She preferred my beauty creams and evening dresses to music.”

  Elizabeth laughed, remembering how her sister, at the age of five, had taken their mother's simple wedding dress from the armoire and worn it about the estate. No one had taken any notice until her mother spied her through the parlour window. Amazingly enough, her mother had not been overly concerned about the sullied dress, even giving her daughter the dress and having it tailored to fit her. Much of the dress material had been cut out, with the scraps turned into doll's clothes by their housekeeper, who was an accomplished seamstress. Most women cherished the dress that they wore on their wedding day, but her mother apparently had not. Elizabeth now knew the reason why.

  “She certainly did take to fashion at an early age. She is a wonderful dancer, far better than I am. To compare us would be to compare a lamp to the sun, or perhaps a great African hippopotamus to a gazelle.”

  Elizabeth had once seen pictures in a book of a hippopotamus lurking beneath the waters of an African river. It had looked decidedly tame in comparison to crocodiles and lions. But the text below the picture had stated that they were known to overturn boats and chomp on people who they believed were threatening.

  "Well, she did take lessons, which you refused. Your father was none too pleased, but I reminded him of your stellar abilities on the pianoforte, which seemed to appease him. You sing beautifully as well," she added as an afterthought.

  “My skill keeps me firmly off the dance floor, which suits me just fine. Cecilia's skill keeps her on the dance floor, which suits her just fine. I believe that we are both doing what we were meant to do.”

  “I suppose that is one way of looking at it. Or we could say that Cecilia is looking for marriage while you are not. If I were any other type of mother, I would be crying from the shame of it.” She took on a mock look of horror. “My eldest daughter does not wish to marry? Oh, I shall not live another day!”

  She closed her act with a hand to her brow and a theatrical fainting spell. Elizabeth laughed, clapping her hands. Her mother truly was a different sort of woman, certainly not as strict or stubborn as most mothers.

  “You do a wonderful impression of Mrs Walters, Mama. She does love to faint.”

  Her mother rolled her eyes and sat up straight. “That woman simply needs to grow a backbone and stop being so melodramatic. The next time she faints I shall not use smelling salts, but a jug of water.”

  Elizabeth clapped her hands over her mouth, her giggles escaping nevertheless.

  "Mama!" she playfully scolded. "That would be rather cruel of you!"

  “Ha! As cruel as having to catch a large woman several times a day? She does smell rather ripe – a regular wash would do her well.”

  “She does have a sweating problem, poor woman.”

  Her mother raised an eyebrow. “Poor woman? If she would refrain from wearing dresses that push her ample bosom to the air all the while constricting her air passages, perhaps then I might feel some sympathy for her.”

  Mrs Walters’ heaving bosom was legendary. Modesty did not seem to apply to her.

  “Each to their own,” she commented.

  "Perhaps a husband would convince her to cover up," her mother suggested.

  “Another husband? But she has had four already!”

  “Yes, and they are all dead. A fifth one should hardly matter much. Perhaps he will stir a feeling in her heart that would change her for the better.” She looked at Elizabeth, a teasing gleam to her eyes. “I am sure that a man could never stir in our hearts the depth of feeling that music can.”

  “I second that notion. If – heaven forbid – I should ever marry, he will need to have a love of music that matches my own as well as allow me to pursue my dreams.”

  “Oh, Elizabeth, that sort of man simply does not exist.”

  “It is just as well that I do not plan on marrying.”

>   Both their attention turned to the door as her father stepped inside. He did not come in any further but stood just before the door. Her mother immediately got up and went to him.

  “Miles, is there something that I can get you?”

  “Yes, Edith. I should like a moment with you.”

  “Of course. Shall we go to your study?”

  Her father nodded, looking at Elizabeth. “Are you still at the pianoforte, Elizabeth?”

  She smiled. “As always, Papa. Perfection does not happen on its own.”

  “Mmm,” he replied and left the room.

  Elizabeth watched with sadness as her mother followed quickly behind him, ever the docile and respectful wife. Elizabeth noticed how her parents never smiled when they were together. To other people yes, but never to each other.

  “This is why I should never be married. Who would wish to live their life with another person whom they do not love? It seems like a fate worse than death.”

  She returned to the pianoforte with a sad melody in her heart.

  *

  Edith followed her husband to his study, wondering at his brisk walk. He only walks like this when he has much on his mind, she thought. What has happened now? He entered the study, holding the door open for her. He may not have any true affection for her, but he was polite to a fault. Not once had he ever raised his voice to her, nor his hand for that matter.

  Miles was a mild-tempered man, one who always did what was right. It was something that she respected, although she did wish to shake him until his teeth rattled at times. A shout here and there would have been welcome in an otherwise dead marriage. Edith had thought of leaving him on several occasions but had chickened out. No one would accept a divorced woman, and while Miles would be looked upon with sympathy, she would be ostracised by society and her own family.

  Father made it clear the day that I married that I should stand by my husband's side no matter what may come to pass. She had never understood what he had meant until she had suspected her husband of cheating. It had been a heavy blow to her, as she had been with child at the time. In a fit of hysterics, she had lashed out at him, accusing him of adultery. Miles had taken one look at her, his eyebrows raised in amusement. Edith would never forget what he said.

  “Edith, control yourself. Should I take a harlot to my bed when I have one already?”

  He spoke of her brief love affair with a viscount during the early years of their marriage. She had never betrayed him physically, but emotionally she had. Charles had been a source of comfort to her, a man who was content to simply hold her hand or kiss her forehead. Guilt had made her reveal the nature of their relationship to Miles, confessing that she had acted inappropriately with a man who was not her husband. Miles had not raised his voice, not even then. He had merely asked if the affair was over, to which she had replied yes. She had already informed Charles that she could never be with him, and he had left England. Edith had often thought of him, wondering where he was. Within the depths of her soul she knew she had loved him like she had never loved her own husband.

  Miles pulled her chair out, waiting for her to take her seat before going to his.

  “Is there something on your mind, Miles? You seem troubled.”

  “A man with daughters will always be troubled.”

  There it was once again. Her failure to have produced a son, an heir. When she was with child for the second time, Edith had been convinced that the baby would be a boy. Perhaps she had just convinced herself as her second pregnancy had been so different to the first. When Cecilia was born, Miles had not looked at her for weeks. At her wit's end, she had forced baby Cecilia into his arms and stalked off. When she returned, a different Miles had awaited her. It was amazing what such a small thing as a baby holding onto an adult's thumb could do. Miles had softened towards his daughter, but not towards her. Edith had simply accepted it, glad that he had taken to his child. At his comment she looked down, knowing not to reply.

  "Edith, I find myself in a situation that must be concluded today."

  “And what would that situation be?”

  “Marriage for both our daughters.”

  Chapter 2

  Cecilia arrived well after dinner, personally escorted by Percival's spinster aunt, Miss Simms. Mrs Potts, their housekeeper, ushered them into the drawing room, much to everyone's surprise.

  “Miss Simms, how lovely to see you!” her mother exclaimed. “I was not aware that you attended the picnic today.”

  “Oh n-no,” the woman stuttered. “I was not in attendance, Mrs Ramsbury. Picnics are f-far too frivolous for a woman of faith s-such as myself.”

  Poor woman. She had been dealt a heavy blow at birth with both her appearance and a speech impediment. The woman was plain-looking, certainly not ugly, but nothing about her physical features were particularly remarkable. And if that was not enough, she spoke with a stutter that many men found off-putting. It was indeed a shame as she was a lovely woman, perhaps a tad too virtuous for the social circles that she found herself in. It was no wonder that she preferred to stay at her brother-in-law's house, rather than to accompany them to social events. Elizabeth watched the woman wring her hands, clearly uncomfortable to be the centre of attention.

  She watched as her father's forehead creased. He was a mild man, one who rarely showed emotion. However, Elizabeth could sense the beginning of a potential scolding. It will not be a true scolding, for Papa does not like to raise his voice.

  “How did you come to bring my daughter home?” he asked carefully.

  Elizabeth watched as a blush suffused her sister's already rosy cheeks.

  “Oh, Papa, I was with Percy's family.”

  “That is highly irregular, Cecilia!” he said. “Why were we not informed of this before?”

  “Oh, p-please do not scold her so,” Miss Simms spoke. “My s-sister does so love to have Miss Cecilia with us and invited her. I b-bring her apologies for n-not having s-sent word earlier.”

  Elizabeth saw that her father could not stand the stuttering speech of the poor woman. Her mother must have as well, because she quickly stood and went to the woman.

  “Thank you, Miss Simms, for bringing our daughter safely home. I am sure that my husband accepts your sincere apology. Come, let me escort you to your carriage.”

  Her mother took Miss Simms by the arm, propelling the woman forward. When they were out of earshot, her father turned to Cecilia, impaling her with a stern gaze.

  "What is the meaning of this, young lady? Do you think it acceptable to frolic about the town without a word to me or your mother?"

  “Papa, I am sorry, but I could not deny Mrs Hawkins. She was most insistent. However, I assure you that I was in good hands.”

  He twirled his moustache, something that Elizabeth recognised as a physical indication of his agitation. Elizabeth could tell that Cecilia also recognised the signs for, as if on command, her tears began falling down her cheeks. Her sister ran to her father, kneeling at his feet. I knew that the water works would start soon, thought Elizabeth. She watched as her sister began to beg their father for forgiveness, her voice seemingly full of regret.

  "Papa, I implore you – please forgive my foolishness! I did not mean to disrespect you and Mama. You know that I hold the both of you in the highest esteem. I simply thought that I should represent our family to the Hawkins by being kind and obliging. I assure you that that was all it was. Please forgive me, Papa."

  Had it been acceptable, Elizabeth would have stood up and applauded her sister for her stellar acting abilities. She knew full well that Cecilia was not in the least apologetic for her changed plans. Instead, she was sorry for the scolding she was currently receiving. One word from her father could spell the end of her regular outings. Cecilia took her act a step further and took her father's hand, placing it upon her head in submission. Oh, that was a wise move, thought Elizabeth. Cecilia does know how to manipulate people. She loved her sister, but she did not approve of her antics.
Her father's hand remained stiff upon her sister's head for but a second before it relaxed. And there it was.

  “I shall allow this to pass, Cecilia. But do not let it happen again.”

  Cecilia leapt up from her position and planted a kiss on her father's forehead. “Oh, thank you, Papa. You are indeed the kindest father. May I retire to my room now?”

  Her father waved his hand. “Yes, yes, go on.”

  Cecilia skipped out of the room, her face once more a picture of youthful gaiety. Elizabeth immediately returned to her novel, one of young love and hardships.