Rules for Engagements

by Laura Briggs

  “I’ve heard nothing of it,” answered Mrs. Harwick. “We have been away, as you know.”

  This led to another silence, in which no one felt inclined to speak. As this was a call made only for propriety’s sake, Flora could hardly rouse herself to entertain her guests with any interesting remarks.

  “The weather has been remarkably dull, as of late,” she said. “You are fortunate to have fair weather upon your return. A sort of welcoming gift.”

  “The roads have been in a terrible state also,” recounted Miss Barton. “For I attended my cousin’s wedding–you know the Havishams of Southampton?–and declare that I never saw more mud in my life on the journey.”

  Mrs. Fitzwilliam laughed. “A travesty I am certain none but the guests would notice; the fortunate couple would feel only relief that their dance of courtship concluded with a partner for life.”

  “Oh, but we must remember; it was only a month before that Jane declared she would have no one at all, not even the man who is now her husband. And how Colonel Havisham pleaded with her to change her mind!” said Miss Catherine.

  Flora tilted her head slightly in order to observe Hetta’s face during this exchange. If the subject of broken engagements was uncomfortable for her, she betrayed no sign. With a placid expression, she tucked a stray lock of gold into her elegant hairstyle again.

  Changing the subject, Flora turned towards Hetta with a smile. “I suppose you are pleased to be in England again during the season,” she said.

  The girl rose from the sofa. “The London season holds few charms for me, Miss Stuart,” she answered. “I’m afraid the continent has spoiled me for rather tiresome dinner parties and simple balls.” She strolled about the room with languid steps, forcing Flora to turn if she wished to continue the conversation.

  Flora did her best to form a charming smile again as she faced her visitor. “Surely the promise of a ball does not fail to excite you? The chance to display one’s most elegant finery and mingle with one’s friends?”

  Her visitor laughed. “Unless something happens to amuse me, Miss Stuart, I am ever bored by convention.” Her fingers trailed across the strings of Flora’s instrument, producing a faint vibration from the harp.

  “As I recall, you were well amused when you were younger, Miss Harwick,” Mrs. Fitzwilliam said. “I believe you once played a rather precocious trick on your governess–a mouse in her bed, wasn’t it? A pretty nursery tale or two was told of you, you may be sure,” she chuckled.

  “They could be told of all of us,” said Miss Catherine. “I believe I once played a silly trick on my nursemaid, a little pinch of salt in her tea. I was quite the handful, but dear Eliza was always good.”

  Both of the Miss Bartons were good, insofar as Flora could recall. But the subject of governesses and their stories was not one which she desired to discuss. Especially with Miss Harwick present.

  “I believe my governess found employment–and no doubt ample material for stories–at another residence in London,” said Miss Harwick. “I cannot recall her name. Was it Banner? Barrie? Or was it–”

  “It was Bryce,” Flora said. “A respectable woman who no doubt found my education a most trying experience.” Her smile became quite rigid as she spoke.

  Miss Harwick returned to her seat on the sofa. “She was quite a bore, as I recall. But then, my father wished to engage a governess who had more suitable references from one of the great houses.”

  “Shall I ring the bell for tea?” asked Flora. Whose voice was perfectly even, despite the flush creeping from her neck. Was it to be endured much longer, sitting here and being insulted in her own home by a guest?

  “We cannot stay long,” Mrs. Harwick responded. “We must pay another call this morning. One is quite burdened with engagements upon return to London, as you no doubt know.”

  “Of course,” Flora answered. As her visitors rose, she offered them a stiff curtsey. Mrs. Harwick’s skirts rustled against her daughter’s as they exited together.

  A few minutes later, the front door closed, followed shortly by the sound of a carriage rolling away. Mrs. Fitzwilliam released a long breath at this signal of the Harwicks's departure.

  “Well, did you ever see such manners?” she declared. “I was not surprised that Mrs. Harwick should hold me in such limited esteem; but her daughter has grown quite bold from her finishing tour of the so-called continent.”

  Flora bit her lip rather than respond to her aunt’s rather improper statements. Feeling it would be unseemly to express her relief before their remaining guests.

  “Isn’t Miss Harwick changed?” asked Miss Barton. “She seems so fashionable and elegant now that I quite wonder at it. I mean, she was always pretty, but not quite so–”

  “Foreign,” finished Mrs. Fitzwilliam. “I find those Paris fashions rather outlandish in London. I wonder if they will insist upon wearing them all this season.” She tugged her bonnet into place by its ribbons. “Miss Harwick seems pleased enough after breaking her attachment a mere three months ago.”

  “They have not changed so very much,” replied Flora. “Only the opinions we have always held of them are made all the stronger by their appearance.” She rang the bell for Madge.

  “What a clever observation! I would never have thought of it myself,” sighed Miss Catherine.

  *****

  It is wrong, wrong, WRONG, and yet I cannot help it. I intensely dislike Hetta Harwick. Not because of her Paris fashions or her proud disposition. But because of what I know her to be, after all the seasons we have moved in the same circles and endured the same experiences.

  I little care that her father is willing to spend money he doesn’t have and keep a carriage he cannot afford; nor do I care that he would consider my father beneath him. In terms of station, we are equal, but I would hope I possess enough decency to show deference to a woman of my aunt’s age and status and show kindness and courtesy to the likes of the timid Miss Bartons!

  Hetta is deceitful, willfully cruel to others around her, and has no regard for honor. Her greatest fault, however, combines these with another error. For I know full well that Hetta Harwick is one of society's most eager fortune hunters.

  Having broken the heart of young Lord Nighton with so little feeling, she no doubt believes better things lay in store for her and will behave accordingly at all the balls and parties.

  This season in London will be about one thing and one thing only for Miss Harwick: securing a proposal from a wealthy and titled gentleman.

  Perhaps Flora might have taken her own advice on hastily-penned words if she had been writing in anything but her own journal. As it was, her pen hesitated for the briefest moment after the words “fortune hunter”.

  “But why should I hesitate to write so?” she asked herself. “Isn’t it true enough?” Hetta’s broken attachment had been the subject of gossip for several weeks prior to her departure for France. Even now, the sight of her broken-hearted lover inspired whispers of pity between others.

  Still, she felt the pangs of guilt over what her Heavenly Father's opinion might be of such words. Uncharitable and unkind perhaps; feeling guilty, she laid her journal aside.

  Perhaps Hetta's case deserved more pity than she allowed. Eyes closed, she prayed that on the subject of love and money, she would take care to avoid taking a page from Miss Hetta Harwick’s life.

  Chapter Five

  The rivalry between Miss Harwick and Miss Stuart was not a new one; on the contrary, theirs was a foundation of petty childhood insults grown stronger by a more painful incident later in life. Outwardly, they had every appearance of polite acquaintances; in terms of friendship, however, both avoided the company of the other whenever possible to avoid unpleasant feelings.

  They were thrown together as companions often, since they both resided in London. They were similar in age, although their fortunes were somewhat different. Mr. Charles Harwick had risen from a family of merchants into the genteel class; Sir Edward Stuart was a
gentleman by birth whose fortunes were dwindling.

  Their first significant contact was their governess. An elderly woman known as Miss Bryce, who left the Harwick household following a spirited incident with the precocious young Miss Hetta. She expected a somewhat more dutiful pupil from the Stuarts, but was mistaken.

  "No, no, Miss Flora," complained Miss Bryce. "How many times must I tell you–pay attention to your lessons!" She snatched away the book in Flora's hand and turned its pages to the side.

  "These pages are meant for study, not for drawing. Is this your lesson in crayon?" On the margin of the page was a sketch of bunnies crouched behind tall grass.

  "Can you explain to me the connection between these bunnies and the sum of twelve and eighteen?" she asked. Little Flora wet her lips before parting them in a meek smile that only inspired further exasperation.

  "I declare, you shall have an empty head indeed if this continues, Miss Flora," Bryce continued. "Are you aware that my former pupil Miss Harwick can read little volumes written both in French and Italian? And here you are, a little girl yet unable to study a lesson without marring your book."

  "No, ma'am," Flora answered. In her head, however, she imagined the perfect Miss Harwick plagued by a frog under her pillow and a salamander hidden in her shoe. For Hetta was often admired for her golden ringlets and porcelain skin, in comparison to Flora's summer tan and plain red braid.

  Flora was considered the more clever of the two, and often the more popular among their youthful playmates. Hetta, on the other hand, was favored by adults and charming enough to secure certain privileges and treats which the others were often refused. Hetta had been known to tell lies to avoid punishments. Flora possessed a fierce sense of honesty in childhood that made her resent another's carefree disregard of Scriptural commands.

  Their mutual dislike continued up to their presentation at court, where Hetta bested Flora in terms of both train and feathers with her elegant appearance before the royal receiving line.

  Their lasting bitterness, however, was born out of quite a different event, a misunderstanding which resulted in a vengeful act on the part of Miss Harwick. A deed which Flora was unable to truly forgive, as she knew Hetta was not sorry for her actions at all.

  *****

  Beneath the shelter of her umbrella, Flora peered through the windows of the bookshop. She could see only one, perhaps two customers, so she ventured inside. Past a gentleman studying a volume of Shakespeare, a young clerk replacing a volume of poetry on a high shelf.

  She waited a moment before entering to make her request. "Do you have the little volume for sale? Advice for Young Ladies on the Subject of Proposals?"

  The clerk peered down from his place on the ladder. "Oh, no, miss. We've no copies today, we've sold them all. Try tomorrow and we'll have somethin' in."

  "Thank you," Flora answered. Her heart was fluttering in her chest as she turned to go. She passed two young women just outside the shop, sharing an umbrella.

  "Have you read the whole thing?" one was whispering. "I wish I were so brave as to try such things. And the bit about wearing perfume–"

  "I know! Such a scandal. Even my brother has read it, although he claims not to," the other one giggled. With a smile, Flora slipped past them and strolled towards Bond Street.

  The Royal Academy was hosting its yearly art exhibit, which Flora planned to attend for a little culture and society at little cost to herself. Familiar faces were always present at these events. Including her family's oldest friends, the Eastons.

  Miss Lucy Easton's arm was linked with her mother's, until she spotted Flora. She flew towards her with a bright smile that was met with Flora's own.

  "Flora!" she said, clasping hands with her, "I was so hoping you would be here. I have not seen you in a fortnight–no, I daresay it has been almost a month!"

  "Too long, at any rate," Flora answered, giving her friend's fingers an affectionate squeeze. "I have been neglecting my acquaintances lately, have I not?" She turned towards Lady Easton and held out her hand to her friend's mother as well. The years of affection between the Stuarts and Eastons had resulted in Flora being treated as a daughter by the generous Lady Easton.

  "Oh, there is Kitty," said Lucy. "I simply must have her join us, Flora." She swept across the floor with the playfulness of youth. Lady Easton tucked Flora's arm beneath her own as they followed.

  "You cannot imagine how happy I am," Lady Easton declared. "To have Roger home again is a delight after so many years."

  "It is hard on a mother to lose her son to the world," Flora answered. "My mother was pained also when her son was sent away to school. But," she added, in a teasing whisper "as your ladyship has Lucy, she also had a daughter to console her for the loss."

  "You children are quite severe upon your mothers, Miss Stuart," answered Lady Easton. "Now, what do you think of this one?" she asked, pausing before one of Constable's landscapes. The rustle of fabric behind them heralded the approach of Lucy in the company of Miss Catherine or "Kitty" Phillips, who was newly "out" despite the unmarried state of her elder sisters.

  "Miss Stuart," she said, with a low curtsey. "Lucy should very much like if you would take a turn about the room with us; for we are all quite taken with the Turner on display."

  Flora smiled. "I should be honored, Kitty," she answered, "if Lady Easton will consent to join our company."

  "Not me, my dear," answered Lady Easton. "For a long stroll about the room is far too great an exertion for someone of my years. I shall merely say a word to an acquaintance who has just entered." As she stepped aside, Lucy claimed her friend's arm and steered her in the direction of Turner's painting.

  With a pang of regret, Flora wished that she possessed the advantages of education which Miss Easton knew, a first-rate governess who had instructed her from the earliest age. She knew it was not entirely Miss Bryce's fault that she struggled to recall names and dates and had little understanding of the Old Masters; for much of it was the fault of her own imagination distracting her from her studies.

  "I have made a little sketch of this one for my own," said Lucy. "I think I shall have it framed for Mama as a present."

  "She is fortunate to have such talent in a daughter," said Flora. "I am afraid I shall never do anything half so good as this." Her own charcoals were languishing in a box in the library at home.

  "But you were meant as a storyteller, not an artist," answered Lucy. "Kitty, you would have been amazed by the stories which Flora would tell us as children, when we were playing in the fields. Which one did you change into a little play, Flora? I only remember that my part was the lion's."

  "A lion?" asked Miss Phillips, plainly bewildered.

  "It was a very tame lion, I assure you," laughed Flora.

  The room was crowded, forcing them to part ways briefly, in order that Lucy might help Miss Phillips find her escort to the tea room. Flora moved among the gentleman and ladies engaged in observation and tete-a-tetes of a public nature. Her steps slowed, however, at the sight of Hetta Harwick in a cluster of fashionable young ladies.

  Her gown clung to her in soft folds of green; her eyes peered from beneath lowered lids, her face framed by an elegant Parisian bonnet. Flora's cheeks grew hot upon considering her own dark blue dress that had served the previous season as well.

  "Miss Stuart," said Hetta. Her mouth formed a smile of politeness. Which Flora returned with a brief bow of acknowledgement.

  "We have been discussing that little book of which you are so fond. The advice for young ladies," Hetta continued. "I have read it upon the recommendation of my friends and must say I found it ... amusing."

  "It's quite an interesting little book," declared one of Hetta's friends. "If the author is as clever as their words allude, then we should all be married by the end of this season." The young ladies tittered at this declaration, excepting Miss Harwick.

  "I hardly saw the need for such nonsense to be published," said Hetta. "What woman needs a little bo
ok of advice to secure a man's attentions? Really, we all know such devices are only for the feeble or stupid. Those who possess no charms, beauty, or talent to recommend them."

  "I think the book is meant to be an instruction guide in the use of those charms," answered Flora. She was uncomfortable standing before them, as if on trial for her book's advice. Although she knew there was no way for them to possibly connect her with the text except as a reader.

  Hetta laughed. "A true lady has ample knowledge with which to apply them without the help of a little book." She glanced at one of her friends, her eyes filled with mirth. "I suppose those who cannot must take what they can get."

  "If we all possessed your charms, we should all have matches made by the end of the season," said Flora. She regretted the words as soon as they were spoken; for the color drained from Hetta's face in response to what seemed an allusion to her unfortunate engagement.

  "I am not so perfect as to deserve such compliments, Miss Stuart," she answered, her voice cold.

  Bowing briefly, Flora turned and made her way through the crowd, reproaching herself for the whole scene. There was no excuse for using her tongue to wound even someone as heartless as Hetta Harwick.

  "We despaired at ever finding you again, Flora." The voice belonged to Lady Easton, who was at her side once again. "Wherever did you go?"

  "No doubt to look up close at the splendid works, Mama," answered Lucy. "For Flora has quite a passion for art."

  "You musn't make such claims about my character," blushed Flora. "I have not the patience for such subjects, as you well remember."

  “I wish I possessed half a degree of understanding equal to yours on most subjects, more than I wish to possess my skill with paints. You know,” Lucy added, “there was talk of a woman who wished to enter the exhibit this year–with an oil painting, mind you!”