by Laura Briggs
"A touch of scent, be it a fresh blossom from the field or a hint of sweet soap and fragrant vinegar, may linger in a man's thoughts with regards to a fair young lady's memory," she read aloud.
She flipped a few pages ahead in the volume. "A lady must always modulate her voice. Avoid the squawking of a bird, the chatter of a hen, or the timid whisper of a mouse. What man can possibly converse with a lady whom he can neither understand nor hear?"
If she organized them into a list, it would be helpful. A list of rules, in order of importance. Only the ones she deemed most important; after all, she was not in search of a proposal herself, so surely all of the book's advice was not necessary.
Drawing a blank page from her journal, she reached for her pen. Tapping the nub quickly against the inkwell's rim, she placed it to the paper surface and began writing.
Rule number one: Take care in one's dress at all times. Rule number two: Avoid flaunting one's appearance like a peacock.
She continued on. Rule number seven: Avoid petty insults, quarrels, and open displays of childishness, which suggest immaturity and smallness of mind.
Rule number eleven: Write nothing inappropriate in one's correspondence, be it letters or notes, to avoid revealing one's feelings or faults by accident, should they be read by a third party.
Rule number twelve: The dance is perhaps the most important display of one's charms!
Folding the list, she tucked it inside the little book and slipped it into her dresser drawer, where she turned the key in the lock. Aunt Charlotte would see that it was possible to be a charming young woman who had not the least intention of securing a proposal. And Hetta Harwick should most certainly discover that any woman could rival a great beauty's charms, given only a little practice and knowledge.
But the most important thing was, Roger would be saved from an imprudent attachment or an unfortunate heartache, without ever knowing of the danger in which he lay. That much she felt certain was possible, if she were both careful and clever.
Chapter Nine
The entrance to Landly was more formidable by daylight as Flora approached its doors. Calling upon the Eastons following their dinner party was an invitation not be refused, since it had come expressly at the wish of Lucy Easton.
Whether it was merely for a girlish exchange or the politeness of friendship, Flora was always eager for the company of her younger companion. But the current situation regarding the young lady's brother left Flora taking no chances in terms of her impression.
She carried with her the list of rules, held open inside her own little book's black cover as a means of hiding it. A quick refresher now and then would do her good, she reasoned, in order that she remember herself. She had already given more thought than usual to her dress and hair, tucking a small amber cross around her neck to accent the gown's yellow and brown fabric.
An inquiry must be made into her family's household expenses to see if she could procure something better than her current afternoon dress. Which had the appearance of being "made over" at least once.
The servant admitted her and escorted her into Lady Easton's morning room. Where Lucy Easton was occupied at the pianoforte with an open book of music and a female companion turning the pages for her.
The young lady's glance took Flora's appearance in with a slow smile, revealing the flawless features of Miss Hetta Harwick.
"Flora, dear," said Lady Easton, rising from her seat. "How damp you look! Pray, have a seat near the fire. To walk on such a cool day could bring a chill, my child–I would have sent my carriage had I known you would attempt such a thing."
"Walking is of no consequence to me, Ma'am," answered Flora. "For I like just as well to be alone with my thoughts upon foot as I do on a cushioned seat." She did, however, accept the offer of a chair near the small fire.
Lady Easton lifted her fancy work and returned to her needle. "Lucy is quite wild about her latest piece of music. Roger selected it especially for her upon his return journey. She was hoping perhaps to persuade you to study it and make a duet."
"I would be honored," said Flora. A quick glance proved that Lucy Easton was occupied once again with the chords of her song; Miss Harwick had wondered away for a moment, gazing out the windows at the garden beyond them.
"I highly suspect I know what you carry," said Lady Easton, with a sly glance at the little book which was outlined by the fabric of her drawstring purse. "It is the Advice for Young Ladies which my own daughter is quite fascinated by, I'm sure."
"It is," Flora answered. She felt a surge of guilt at the notion of carrying her own book with her.
"I suppose there is no harm in it, since Heaven knows the subject crosses a young lady's mind and lips more than once this season," her companion laughed. "But for all our sakes, please do not bring it up at tea. I feel that Roger has grown quite weary of his sister's eloquence on the subject."
"Lord Easton is at home?" she asked, innocently. "I supposed him to be away on business, now that the merriment of the dinner party has passed."
"He is merely meeting with your father and our solicitor today," explained Lady Easton. "He assured me that he will return in time to greet our friends."
"How kind," Flora murmured. In reality, her heart was hammering within her chest. Was she quite ready for such a challenge? Her eyes wandered towards Hetta, who was positioned with confidence alongside the pianoforte, displaying the grace of a Grecian statue in her pale lavender gown.
It was not finery that would counter the charms of Hetta, but conversation. In that, she might be her equal.
"Flora, you simply must take a part in this," pleaded Lucy, "for it is far too grand for a humble pianoforte performance alone and I have not the skill to make it come out right." She thrust a piece of music in Flora's hands.
"Nonsense," Flora smiled. She studied the pages in hand. A light, dainty air that was hardly grand at all, but a French melody which she had never heard before.
"Miss Harwick says that she heard this song played at a ball in Paris; and they danced a waltz on such an occasion," whispered Lucy. Over her shoulder, Flora saw Miss Harwick approach from the windows.
"I think that such an occasion will not be repeated here in England," she whispered. She watched as Hetta seated herself on the nearby sofa, offering her a faint smile.
"There is no use in trying to persuade me to join your plans, Miss Easton," she said. "I have none of the patience nor the inclination required for duets." She stretched her arms languidly for a moment, then leaned against the sofa's arm in careful repose.
"I would have supposed you a great musician, Miss Harwick," Flora said. "I believe I heard something to that effect from Miss Russell, who heard you play at a party last winter."
"Oh, I sometimes perform if the mood suits me," Hetta answered, "or if the company is good."
Lucy sighed and placed the music on the table. "You will be persuaded, will you not?" she asked Flora.
"You could persuade me to almost any scheme," said Flora. "I sometimes think you are almost as skilled as my own sister at wheedling such favors out of me."
A pleased smile dawned across Lucy's face. "Then we shall begin now," she declared. Catching her friend's hand and snatching up her music, she half-pulled Flora to the pianoforte, where she propped the music in place.
It was a long hour in which Flora was instructed in the music's finer points. Her own fingers were not skilled with the pianoforte, making her notes hesitant. Her instructor was determined, however, and chatted eagerly the whole time about the music's virtues.
Try as she might, however, Flora had an ear more inclined to the conversation. Lady Easton and Miss Harwick were chatting together behind her. She was beginning to realize that the great lady felt some interest with regards to the pretty young girl's social connections. The general murmur of the discussion was about Miss Harwick's education and her subsequent season in Europe.
Distracted, Flora fumbled again, striking a sour chord. She heard the s
ound of a merry laugh behind her.
"I believe that we should be better served if Miss Easton were to take the song again," said Hetta. "I confess, I can hear none of the melody in this new arrangement."
Flora refused to turn around, aware that her cheeks had crimsoned deeply. "I have not yet begun to play," she answered. "Rather, I am engaged in amusing my hostess with such nonsense as strikes me at the moment." She let her fingers fall where they would on the keys. In protest, Lucy giggled and withdrew the sheet of music.
"I shall try singing it aloud to help you learn it," Lucy suggested. She joined Flora on the bench, clearing her throat before beginning the first notes.
Flora reached up and tugged softly on the cross around her neck, refraining to suffer disappointment over her error before Miss Harwick. Such a mistake could influence the rest of her encounter, if she did not take care to compose herself.
Perhaps there was something after all in Mrs. Fitzwilliam's criticism of her musical talents.
*****
Flora took a dainty sip from her cup of tea and placed it onto her saucer again. Despite Lady Easton's pleadings, Lucy had been reading aloud passages of Advice for Young Ladies for the tea time conversation.
"I do wish that there was something more in here about what one must do to accept the right proposal," she said. "Do you suppose that Anonymous will write another volume on that subject?"
"And risk spoiling the advice of the first? Never," declared Flora. "There are some things which even a knowledgeable author cannot know. Including the character and heart of its readers."
Lady Easton spoke up. "I think that a wise and well-raised young lady will know the answer to that, if she only gives it thought beforehand. Any subject as serious as marriage can only be made with prayer for guidance." She poured a cup of tea for Miss Harwick.
"Am I to suppose that this subject is not the result of a request for my sister's hand?" Roger Easton stood in the doorway of the room. "For I must meet the gentleman before giving my consent."
The sound of his voice attracted the attention of all the ladies present in the room, not excepting Flora. Who could not control the blush she felt creeping across her cheeks at the thought of the list of rules for attracting a young man's notice.
"We were talking of nothing serious; merely coquetry, courtship, and other tedious subjects which bore you, Lord Easton," replied Hetta.
“Then perhaps I should go away again,” he said, with a smile. His mother’s scolding and pleading in jest, however, persuaded him to be seated.
“And now we shall talk of something else, now that you are here,” said Flora. She placed her tea cup in its saucer as she addressed him in warm tones. “Perhaps you might tell us a little bit about West India, for instance. The spices and tea, the wind in the sails of the ship.”
Rule number five: Talk of subjects the gentleman finds interesting, in order to secure his conversation.
“There is nothing I remember so well,” he laughed. “The sound of the canvas unfurling on the open seas, the sight of nothing but water as far as one’s gaze could reach. To this day, I think I could not describe it in such a way as to give another the proper feeling.”
“I can imagine that the scent of sand in a bottle or the roar of a shell is but a poor imitation,” said Flora. “The thrill and fear of seeing a waterspout descend from the clouds. I recall you once described one to Lady Easton in one of your letters. I confess that we all trembled for you for weeks afterwards.”
It was her advantage, but she resisted the smile of triumph playing around her lips. She had known all too well that the subject of the seas had fascinated Roger since childhood, when he spent hours lying on the floor of Donnelly Hall’s library beside Flora, studying the pictures of great sailing ships in its books.
“It was but a little storm,” Roger protested. “So far away that we felt nothing but the wind of the cyclone from the decks. We were barely induced to change our course, so we arrived at port scarcely a day later than planned.” He accepted the cup of tea from his mother’s hand.
Miss Harwick smiled. “Then we are indeed fortunate that the experience was nothing more than an anecdote in your letter.”
“You misunderstand, Miss Harwick,” said Roger. “The experience was much more than that. I do not mean to say that I felt danger; but I was never more keenly aware of nature’s powers than that moment. And never more grateful for my faith to sustain me in the face of such dangers.”
He offered the young lady a smile, but did not receive one in return. The brief look that flickered across Hetta's face was proof that she felt affronted by his gentle check.
“There is nothing quite like the feeling of His hand saving you from danger,” Flora began. “I remember once, when I tumbled into the old well in Colonel Miles’s fields. Do you remember that day? For hours afterwards I cried; and yet, I had never felt such strength as when I cried for His help and that farmhand appeared to pull me back over the edge.”
“You both are fortunate,” said Lady Easton. “God has preserved all of us at one time, I think, from dangers we might have faced.” She reached over and patted the hand of her son, who sat closest to her.
“If things had ended differently, I should not have a brother,“ ventured Lucy Easton in a meek whisper. “Nor perhaps a dear friend like Miss Stuart to guide me.”
Flora laughed. “And we should have been deprived of many years of your company, so I think He has given us all the best possible outcome,” she answered.
Roger glanced in her direction with something in his eyes she could not quite identify. Was it pleasure? Or merely agreement? She was not certain, but it did not matter.
For Hetta’s expression had grown dark indeed.
When the maid arrived to clear away the tea things, Lady Easton claimed Flora’s arm for a turn about the room. Her son was occupied with his sister’s sheet music near the pianoforte; Miss Harwick lingered near him.
Flora hesitated, but there was no refusing her friend’s request. She joined Lady Easton, who leaned closer to her as if to seek her confidence.
“I must confess, Flora,” she began, “that I have a reason for wishing to speak to you at this moment. If you knew the pains of a mother’s heart, then you would easily guess that it is a matter concerning one of my children.” They moved away from the scene at the pianoforte, towards the writing desk where Lady Easton filled her correspondence.
“You may ask me anything you like,” Flora answered. Her friend hesitated before speaking again.
“I wonder how much you know of Miss Harwick,” she said. “I have been greatly taken with her as of late–and so has Lucy.”
Flora pretended to admire the framed watercolor beside the desk, a work of Lucy’s hand at the tender age of fourteen. “I am not certain what you wish to know,” she replied. “We were playmates when we were quite young. Her father is a respectable man, I’m sure.”
“I have wondered–there are such stories and gossip in the city– if you are quite sure she is a fit companion for my daughter?” Lady Easton asked.
How was she to answer? Flora bit her lip as she debated her words carefully. “I believe that you are the best judge of such matters,” she said. “I would hesitate to choose a companion for one such as Lucy. Who is so kind and good that every influence must be of the best.”
“You are kind to say so,” her friend answered. “There was some discussion of a broken attachment. Of some indiscretion on the part of the young lady, although I see no evidence of it in her present character.”
She met Flora’s eyes with an imploring gaze. “But I know that you would not brook such gossip if there was no truth in the story,” she said.
For a moment, Flora was silent. “I cannot tell you if those stories are true,” she said. “Only that I have seen both parties and neither was inclined to share their story. To my knowledge, there was no public engagement. Lord Nighton has not claimed he was subject to a breech of promise on her part.�
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Lady Easton sighed. “If neither has spoken in anger, then the breaking of the attachment may have been mutual. Miss Harwick’s feelings may be perfectly natural in that case. She would have nothing to regret and no reason to withdraw for a long period.”
She squeezed Flora's hand. “When you are a mother, you will understand. Everything depends upon these little things.”
It was misery indeed, being unable to speak openly of Hetta's character, but there was nothing to be said that would not invite gossip, rumors, or personal dislike to appear as evidence. Flora’s eye wandered in the same direction as Lady Easton’s, towards Lucy and Hetta seated at the pianoforte, with Roger smiling as he observed their heads bowed together over a sheet of music.
“We must induce Miss Harwick and Lucy to try their talents at the grand instrument in the drawing room,” Lady Easton commented, “for this little one was really meant for the governess’s pleasure when she was still here.”
“Of course,” Flora replied. Her mouth formed the words, although her heart grew heavy in reply.
It was painful, this request made of her regarding Hetta's character. The only proof she could give of Hetta being an unfit companion was the very secret she had promised herself never to reveal.
Although Miss Harwick would hardly believe such a promise had been made, given the circumstances which led her to despise Flora years before. The revenge Hetta had sought then was bitter; her mischief inspired by a miserable misfortune and the mistaken assumptions which followed.
But Flora could not tell Lady Easton of those circumstances. For the truth behind the misfortune was not hers to reveal.
Chapter Ten
The year Flora was fifteen, the Stuarts made a rare visit to Sir Edward's cousin, the Knight of Maur. He commanded respect among the gentry of Scotland, although the population of the village near his estate was small in comparison to the landholdings of his English counterparts. It was not often that his relatives visited his estate, but the health of Lady Gladys permitted a short one if they were willing to put off their return to Colonel Miles and his lovely Brawley Court for yet another year.
