Miss Lattimore's Letter

by Suzanne Allain

  “I had a brand-new trousseau made by Madame Devy on Bond Street. You are aware, Miss Lattimore, of how exquisite her designs are! Why, Mama had to sulk for nearly a week to get my father to agree to commission her. He felt that the clothes I’d had made for my come-out were sufficient. Men! But I’ve wandered from the point. The point is, I’ve had no occasion to wear any of my new trousseau since our wedding! At least, not until I came here, to Bath.” She paused to smooth the skirt of her very smart walking dress lovingly before looking inquiringly at Sophie.

  “Beautiful. Very chic,” Sophie murmured, and this seemed to satisfy Priscilla, for she resumed her story.

  “Charles’ idea of a honeymoon was to go to his brother’s hunting lodge; a dreary, dismal, poky little house in the middle of nowhere with absolutely no society.”

  “Perhaps he wanted to spend time with you alone,” Sophie suggested.

  “If that is true, he did not say so. He rarely ever compliments me, Miss Lattimore. I might as well be a dried-up old spinster for all the sweet words I have from him. I do beg your pardon,” she interrupted herself to say to Sophie, who could only infer Priscilla thought she was offended by the words “dried-up old spinster,” which Sophie had not been until Priscilla apologized for saying them. Before Sophie could respond Priscilla continued: “Lord Fitzwalter always noticed whenever I wore a new dress and would even mention the effect wearing a certain color had upon my complexion.”

  “But Mrs. Beswick, you cannot expect marriage to be a constant stream of compliments on your appearance!” Priscilla did not appear to agree with this statement and merely blinked in response. Sophie decided a change of tactics was in order. “What caused you to fall in love with Mr. Beswick in the first place? What did you talk about when you were courting?”

  Priscilla sighed, and her face took on a dreamy expression. Sophie was a little encouraged, feeling this was a positive sign. “He told me that while he was away at school it was like an awkward calf had transformed into a prize South Devon heifer. Because of my hair, you understand,” Priscilla said modestly. And though Sophie realized that the South Devon breed was famous for its copper color and Priscilla’s hair was a similar shade of light reddish-brown, she wondered that Priscilla was lamenting the lack of compliments such as these.

  But Sophie was not about to point out any of Charles’ defects as a suitor. There had to be something that had brought these two together; something that a future relationship could be based upon.

  Something other than Priscilla’s resemblance to Charles’ favorite type of cow.

  7

  Sophie had not forgotten the other duty she had reluctantly agreed to assume, that of finding Sir Edmund a potential bride. She did not know which task was more onerous; assisting Priscilla with her marriage or assisting Sir Edmund into one. But Sophie wished to keep Sir Edmund as a friend, and she very much understood his dilemma and appreciated his sensitivity in not wanting to do to another lady what Sophie had had done to her. So over the next few weeks she began looking in earnest for a likely match for him.

  While doing so she noticed Cecilia eyeing him with interest again. Torn between a brilliant match with the colorless Lord Courtney or the less wealthy and high-ranking but much more attractive Sir Edmund, Cecilia had obviously started reassessing her options. But Sophie really did not feel Sir Edmund and Cecilia would suit and, what is more, she did not think he himself saw Cecilia as a potential bride. He paid her no special attention, only according her the same polite courtesy as he did her mother. He did not even look at her in that appraising manner a man would sometimes use toward a woman when he thought himself unobserved. (Of course, there were some men who did not care whether they were caught openly assessing a lady’s attributes or not, but Sir Edmund was definitely not of that number.) However, Cecilia eventually seemed to reach the same conclusion as Sophie about Sir Edmund’s lack of interest in her, as any overtures she made in an attempt to capture his attention had all come to nothing. He met these with a polite smile, and more often than not he turned to Sophie and addressed her instead.

  Sophie was thankful that Sir Edmund sought her out almost as often as Mr. Maitland did. She found that his presence made Mr. Maitland’s attentions less obvious, and Sophie could relax somewhat and not worry that she would suffer the same ignominious fate she had at eighteen should Mr. Maitland fail to commit himself once again. And she was still unsure what answer she would give should he declare himself, so she truly appreciated that because of Sir Edmund’s unexpected notice of her she was being granted the freedom to make up her mind at her leisure.

  Sophie and the Fosters had been in Bath for nearly a month, and had expanded their acquaintance so much that they were greeted by name nearly everywhere they went. They had formed the habit of going to the Pump Room every morning, and this appeared to be the habit of most of their acquaintance as well. In the evenings there was dancing at the assembly rooms, private dinner parties, or a concert.

  It was at the Pump Room one morning that Sophie was introduced to a likely candidate for Sir Edmund’s hand.

  Miss Emily Woodford was the second-eldest daughter of a gentleman farmer with a large family to settle and so had been sent to live with her grandmother in Bath. She was older than Cecilia but younger than Sophie; Sophie discovered later that she was two-and-twenty. Miss Woodford was not wealthy, and neither was her grandmother; the two women lived very modestly. But Sir Edmund had never mentioned wanting a rich bride, and Sophie did not think, from her and Sir Edmund’s earlier conversation, that wealth (or lack thereof) was even a consideration in his choice.

  Emily Woodford was not nearly as beautiful as Priscilla Beswick, but she presented a very attractive appearance with her honey-colored hair and dark eyes. And while her clothing was not expensive, it displayed obvious good taste and was well chosen to complement her full figure. Her grandmother, too, seemed a very elegant, pleasant woman, and Sophie felt greatly that these two women possessed far more nobility than Lady Smallpeace or Lady Mary, in spite of the latter pair’s rank and titles.

  It was Lady Smallpeace who actually introduced Sophie to the Woodfords one morning in the Pump Room. Mrs. and Miss Woodford had nodded at Lady Smallpeace as they walked by but were not stopping to talk until Lady Smallpeace called out to them.

  “Wait a moment, Mrs.—” She paused and said in a very audible aside to Lady Mary: “What’s her name?” And upon Lady Mary whispering “Woodford,” she proceeded to say, just as audibly: “That’s it, I remember now. Very rustic,” before calling out again: “Mrs. Woodford, Miss Woodford, allow me to introduce you to Miss Lattimore and the Fosters.”

  Sophie was very surprised by this unexpected bit of condescension on Lady Smallpeace’s part, thinking at first it was a kind gesture prompted by a desire to provide Sophie with an amiable acquaintance, but she soon realized it was not meant as a mark of favor but as a way of putting Sophie in her place.

  “Miss Lattimore, you will find a lot in common with Miss Woodford. Her father is a country squire, and she, too, is acting as a companion to a female relation,” Lady Smallpeace said, introducing the ladies to each other before explaining to the Woodfords that Sophie’s aunt Foster “had very generously taken Miss Lattimore into her home.” As Lady Mary was once again speaking at the same time as her mother, offering a commentary on how there had been a marked turn in the weather and that morning had been quite unseasonably cool, Lady Smallpeace was almost shouting when she announced that Sophie had been left “with very little income, and had much to be grateful for.”

  At this point Sophie happened to meet Miss Woodford’s eyes, and noticed that she seemed torn between irritation and laughter at Lady Smallpeace and her daughter’s antics. There also appeared to be some sympathy in her gaze, as if she understood how it felt always to be labeled “the poor relation.” So when Lady Smallpeace just as quickly dismissed the Woodfords after forcing them to stop in the fi
rst place, Sophie asked Miss Woodford if she could walk with her.

  Miss Woodford’s grandmother decided she had walked enough, and a chair was found for her; Miss Woodford offering to bring her a glass of water before heading to the pump with Sophie.

  The two young ladies began by exchanging inconsequential but sincere compliments on each other’s attire before graduating to a more substantial conversation about Miss Lattimore’s impressions of Bath. Mrs. Woodford had been a resident of Bath for many years, so Miss Woodford had frequently come to Bath on visits and was very familiar with the city. She offered to show Miss Lattimore some of her favorite walks, an invitation Sophie readily accepted.

  By the end of the morning, a morning spent in traversing the room back and forth in earnest conversation, the two young ladies were quite pleased at having made the acquaintance of someone who seemed destined to become a friend. They even had that most important characteristic of all in common: they counted the same books among their favorites. And when they discovered they were both to attend the Upper Assembly Rooms that evening they promised to look for each other there.

  * * *

  However, a different young lady was the first to find Sophie upon her party’s arrival. Priscilla Beswick approached them with quite a few besotted young gentlemen in her wake, whom she graciously introduced to Cecilia before taking Sophie’s arm and asking her to walk with her to the tea room.

  Sophie, who had hoped to take tea with Miss Woodford, really had no choice in the matter, as Priscilla had turned in that direction before Sophie had even had a chance to respond and was pulling Sophie along with her.

  They sat down at a table and Priscilla turned eagerly to Sophie. “Miss Lattimore, have you given any more thought to my situation?”

  Sophie had thought about it but was sure Priscilla wouldn’t be happy with the conclusion she’d reached. “I really feel, Mrs. Beswick, that I should not involve myself in your private affairs any further.”

  “Call me Priscilla, please. And may I call you Sophia?” Priscilla asked.

  “My name is Sophronia.” Priscilla wrinkled her perfect little nose in obvious distaste. Sophie sighed. “But call me Sophie, please.”

  “I knew, after we exchanged confidences the other morning, that we would soon be calling each other by our Christian names!” Priscilla said, a pleased smile on her face. She looked around her, as if to verify there was no one within earshot, before lowering her voice, apparently intent on sharing further secrets. “Sophie, I have thought of something you might do. To help, that is. Since it is your fault I am in this unhappy situation.”

  Before Sophie could reply she heard her name being called. Looking up, she saw Lady Mary approaching, and Sophie, for the first time since making Lady Mary’s acquaintance, was delighted to see her. She listened happily to her unceasing recital about the temperature of the tea water and felt not the slightest desire to interrupt. “It’s tepid, or perhaps you drink it that way, Miss Lattimore,” Lady Mary droned on. “Mrs. Beswick, do you prefer a warmer temperature? Or perhaps that would be dangerous. Oh, my, I would hate to think of you scalding yourself. I’m sure that is why the water is not at all hot; it is for our protection. I should not complain if it is not entirely to my taste, because the alternative, well, it does not bear thinking upon, does it, Miss Lattimore?”

  Finally, after spending a minute or two blinking in wonder at Lady Mary’s avalanche of inanities, Priscilla interrupted her to say, “I beg you to excuse me, but I believe I will return to the assembly rooms. Will you accompany me, Sophie?”

  And once again Lady Mary saved Sophie from awkward conversation with Priscilla Beswick by offering to accompany them as well. “For my mother will be looking for me; and really, the tea is not to my taste, though I should not complain.”

  Priscilla must have realized any opportunity to speak with Sophie had been lost, and she once again cut in on Lady Mary’s chatter to say to Sophie, “I will call on you tomorrow morning so we can continue our conversation.” She then left Sophie and Lady Mary together and went to find Mr. Andrews, to whom she was promised for the next set.

  Sophie was happy to see Miss Woodford as soon as she reentered the assembly rooms. She bid Lady Mary a cordial farewell and left her, having learned over the past few weeks that, as rude and uncomfortable as it might feel, one had to walk away from her while she was still speaking, because she never stopped.

  Sophie had just exchanged greetings with Miss and Mrs. Woodford when Sir Edmund suddenly approached to request a dance. Sophie accepted, but first asked to be allowed to present the Woodford ladies to him. She watched Sir Edmund and Miss Woodford carefully as she performed the introduction, but there was no obvious indication from either of them that an event of any significance had occurred. Sophie was not sure if she was relieved or disappointed, but eventually decided that a mere introduction would not fulfill her duty toward Sir Edmund; she had to put forth more effort at matchmaking than that.

  So after the dance began and the steps brought Sir Edmund near her, she asked: “What do you think of my friend Miss Woodford? She is very handsome, is she not?”

  They were parted before he could reply, but she saw Sir Edmund glance back over at Miss Woodford, as if he had not previously considered the question. When the steps brought them together again he said: “Very handsome. Though in my opinion there is a lovelier lady present.”

  Sophie did not rate her own attractions very high and would never have presumed that he was speaking of her, and as Mrs. Beswick had joined their set with Mr. Andrews she immediately assumed it was her to whom Sir Edmund referred. “It’s true that Mrs. Beswick is without peer, but she is already married,” she said, determined to make him aware of Miss Woodford as a potential match.

  “The lady I refer to is unmarried.” Since this time he accompanied his words with a significant look into Sophie’s eyes, she could not fail to grasp his meaning. Before she could respond, however, she was swung onto another dancer’s arm, which gave her a few moments to compose herself. And when she returned to Sir Edmund’s side, it was almost as if he’d never given her a compliment at all, so quiet and uncomfortable did he seem. Sophie was totally confused. But she was feeling shy as well, so ventured no further conversation. The rest of the dance was performed in silence, though Sophie wondered if there were still messages being conveyed. Did Sir Edmund’s hand linger a little longer than was strictly necessary when clasping her own, or was that her imagination? And why did she still feel such a strong attraction to Sir Edmund when she was contemplating accepting Mr. Maitland’s suit? It was extremely disconcerting, and she once again thought how funny it was that she had a reputation for her skill at the game of courtship when she was so hopeless at playing it herself.

  Though, of course, it wasn’t funny at all.

  * * *

  Cecilia was likewise ruminating on the depressing business of making a match. Lord Courtney had become very obvious in his attentions, and they were dancing together at that very moment, but Cecilia knew it was not necessarily in response to her charms but rather because Lady Smallpeace approved of the fact that Cecilia was connected to their family and thus encouraged him in his suit. (Though she wondered that Lady Smallpeace didn’t revise her opinion on the importance of sharing a noble bloodline, as Lord Courtney was a rather disappointing specimen and Cecilia sometimes wondered if it was because his parents were too closely connected.) Cecilia thought that perhaps Sophie was right in saying that Cecilia did not need to rush into a match with anyone, and such a decision should be based on something other than material or societal prospects. But on the other hand, she had Priscilla Beswick’s example before her. Priscilla, who could have married a lord but followed her heart and married a mister instead, had been relegated to country society, like a beautiful flower blooming unseen and unappreciated behind the hedgerows.

  Cecilia was proud of herself for this very profound and po
etic simile and wondered if she should commit it to paper, but then Lord Courtney accidentally kicked her—just a small kick, nothing serious—and she had to reassure him that he had not hurt her before she could resume her mental meanderings.

  Another thing that contradicted Sophie’s advice to her, Cecilia thought, was Sophie’s own example. If she hadn’t caught the fancy of London society with her letter (which could just as easily have earned her their condemnation) and if not for the unfortunate demise of the first Mrs. Maitland, Sophie would have been destined to remain a spinster for the rest of her life. And why? Because she’d failed to make a match during that narrow window of opportunity that had opened in her eighteenth year. Not that it was her fault, of course; Cecilia had nothing but the most sympathetic of feelings toward her cousin and still had difficulty speaking cordially with Mr. Maitland; but it just went to prove that there was a time limit for a young lady in society, and that it behooved Cecilia to make the most of her prospects before that time expired.

  The set concluded and Lord Courtney returned Cecilia to her mother’s side, where Mr. Hartwell was waiting to dance with her. Cecilia was relieved that she could stop fretting about the future and enjoy her dance with him without having to feel any pressure to reach a decision that she did not want to make. She so appreciated Mr. Hartwell’s undemanding company.

  * * *

  Sophie was promised to Mr. Maitland after her dance with Sir Edmund, and if she was forced to compare the two dances she’d have to admit the latter was more enjoyable, as Mr. Maitland smiled at her a great deal more than Sir Edmund had. But then, Mr. Maitland always appeared to be in good spirits. Sophie supposed that was a point in his favor, though sometimes she wondered if a widower and father of two children shouldn’t be a little more serious.