Katherine, When She Smiled

by Harmon, Joyce

  An appalled silence greeted this speech. Aunt Alice and Helen both gaped at Katherine but said nothing. Jack, eyes downcast, fiddled with his spoon and said gruffly, “I wasn’t serious about replacing the floor, just ragging a bit.”

  “Oh, Jack,” Katherine gasped, “I am so sorry! I don’t know what came over me!”

  Aunt Alice said, “I think you were more shaken than you realize by that collision today.”

  “I’m not shaken,” Katherine insisted. “What I am is embarrassed. I wish we could leave the subject.”

  “You’ve no call to be embarrassed,” Jack told her loyally. “It wasn’t you who was hall-skating out of control and bashing into people. If anyone should be embarrassed it should be Lord Charles.”

  “Somehow men never seem to be embarrassed when they ought to be,” Aunt Alice observed. “I don’t know why, but there it is.”

  Katherine laughed and the conversation moved naturally into other topics.

  But Katherine was unusually quiet that evening, and paid scant attention to the evening’s reading. Her mention of Jack’s inheritance had made her realize something that caused her great unease. When Jack turned twenty-one, he would inherit Rosebourne and the rest of Papa’s estate. And what he would inherit was a property that could only be sustained at current levels of expenditure by the annual infusion of a new Mrs. Wilson novel.

  Katherine had been concentrating her efforts on Papa’s unfinished novel. But once it was finished, what then? What about next year, and the year after that? Was Katherine destined to spend her afternoons immured in Papa’s study, secretly producing novel after novel?

  By bedtime, she had only decided to worry about next year later, and seven years from now was a long way away. Perhaps in the interim, she could identify some economies they could make, or some new income sources from the property, so that the family would not be so dependent on Mrs. Wilson. But she went to bed with the uneasy knowledge that at least for now, the family relied on Katherine, more than they could imagine.

  The vicar and Lord Charles rode along the country lane, chatting amiably of various local matters. Mister Downey was relieved to discover that Lord Charles was a sensible man with a good understanding of rural life.

  “You sound as if you intend to settle down,” he observed.

  “Indeed, I do,” Charles said. He looked around with a contented sigh. “This was just the sort of scene I imagined so often during the Peninsular War. A prosperous English countryside, a comfortable, warm and weathertight house, a farm that’s a going concern. I have the home and the hearth, now I just need the wife, the children, the dogs.”

  “Sounds ideal,” the vicar agreed. “So I suppose we’ll lose you to London for the Season?”

  “Why do you suppose that?” Charles asked, puzzled.

  “The wife, man. Where else would you look for a wife?”

  “Anywhere else!” Charles exclaimed. “Have you ever been to London for the Season?”

  “No,” Downey admitted. “Above my touch, I’m afraid.”

  “Don’t regret it,” Charles told him. “The women on offer during a London Season… They’ve been so coached and so primped, stuffed into such elaborate costumes, why, they barely seem like real women at all. More like marzipan figurines; I’d be afraid they would melt in a good solid rain.”

  “Ah. So no woman of fashion for you?”

  “I’ve no quarrel with fashion,” Charles said. “And I certainly wouldn’t want to marry a dowd or a quiz. But there are limits, and fashion isn’t everything.”

  “Indeed it is not,” Downey agreed. “Ah – up ahead? That’s Rosebourne.”

  Charles nodded. He saw a lovely small gentleman’s estate, nicely maintained. Soon he was being introduced to Miss Alice Rose and Helen Rose, and renewing his acquaintance with Katherine Rose.

  “Ah, Lord Charles!” Miss Alice beamed at him. “Here you are at last! Why, I vow, Piddledean has been waiting on you for this age and more!”

  “Aunt Alice!” hissed Miss Helen in an agony of embarrassment.

  Not disconcerted, because he’d been warned about the outspoken Miss Alice Rose, Lord Charles smiled at her, and said, “And I am delighted to be here at last and to be making your acquaintance.”

  He looked at the younger ladies. Miss Helen sat on the settee with her fingers tangled together, obviously tongue-tied. A pretty widgeon, was Charles’ quick assessment. Miss Katherine Rose was also silent, but composed. “Miss Rose,” Charles said to her. “I trust you are quite recovered from our rather unorthodox meeting yesterday?”

  “I am quite well, thank you,” Katherine told him.

  “And I am in your debt,” he went on. “Had you not been there, I would have taken a nasty tumble down those steps.”

  Katherine frowned, considering, and then said. “Actually, I don’t think that’s true.”

  “It’s not?” Charles asked.

  “No, for had I not been there, I wouldn’t have knocked on the door and the door would not have been open. So rather than taking a tumble down the stairs, you merely would have collided with the front door.”

  “Why, so I would have,” Charles said in surprise. He stroked his nose thoughtfully. “I can’t say a collision with the door would have been my preference, though at least in those circumstances, I would have suffered the results of my own clumsiness in decent privacy.”

  “Perhaps you couldn’t help it,” said Katherine in a kindly manner. “My brother spoke of a rough spot on the floor.”

  Charles was momentarily ruffled at her soothing of his male pride, feeling like a small boy with his nanny. But then he fancied he saw a twinkle in her eye, and wondered if she was perhaps not as serious as she seemed.

  The company spoke some few minutes longer, local news and commonplaces, and then Mister Downey reminded Lord Charles that they had other calls to make, and they took their leave.

  “Well!” exclaimed Aunt Alice as soon as the door shut behind their visitors. “Well!” she said again, hands pressed to her bosom in pleasurable agitation. “There is something about a handsome man, isn’t there? I declare, I’m quite in love with him already!”

  Helen was too starry-eyed to speak, for which Katherine was thankful. She knew that Helen’s campaign to be allowed to ‘come out’ would soon begin in earnest, and the family just moved into half-mourning recently. She was firm in her intention that Helen’s come out would not be until the fall, but would just as soon put off that debate to a later time.

  Charles and the vicar made several more introductory calls, on the Massinghams, the Smythes, and the Fletchers, and then rode gently back to Greymere.

  They had just come to the front door, approaching the house from the fields, when they beheld a traveling coach bowling up the front drive, the roof strapped high with baggage.

  “What on earth?” Charles wondered.

  “Were you expecting company?” asked Mister Downey.

  “No, I was not!” Charles said.

  The coach drew to a stop beside them, and a window let down, displaying an attractive, vivid face, beaming with good humor under an outrageously fashionable hat.

  “Clara!” Charles exclaimed, dismounting from his horse. “What the deuce are you doing here?”

  “Charles, darling!” cried Lady Clara. “We’ve run away from home!”

  Charles peered into the coach. “Hector’s with you?”

  “Of course he’s with me, where else would he be? Help us out of this beastly box, there’s a dear, and feed us some tea.”

  Charles turned his horse over to the waiting groom, while another groom hurried to the coach and let down the steps and opened the door. Charles extended a hand and Clara took it lightly, springing down from the coach. “Do give a hand to Hector, he needs the assistance more than I,” she urged, shaking out her ravishing carriage gown.

  Charles reached into the carriage and with greater difficulty, the coach’s other occupant was extracted. He proved to be an amiable you
ng man, dressed in the extreme of fashion, but walking heavily and with a decided limp. “How do, Charlie,” he said.

  “Now,” Charles said, turning to Clara. “You’ve run away from home?!”

  “Yes, darling, I just didn’t see what else we could do. I’m increasing, perhaps you didn’t know for it certainly doesn’t show yet, and of course there’s Hector recuperating from that ball in his leg, and his dear mama has been driving us both mad. I vow, Charles, you may think I exaggerate, but I should have gone mad if we’d remained there another day.”

  “She does fuss a bit,” Hector offered.

  “A bit!” Clara said. “Always stuffing pillows under his poor leg and urging him to go for a nice lie-down, when Doctor Knighton insists that Hector must walk. Walk, walk, walk, that’s what he said. And me as well, and to eat good sustaining meals, while dear Mama Fernley keeps urging me to eat less and take weight off. Well, I had a letter from Mama saying that you were in residence here, so Hector and I decided to just make a run for it, and here we are.” She looked at Charles anxiously, “Oh, do say you’re glad to see us!”

  Charles collected his scattered wits and chuckled. “Of course I’m glad to see you, goose, you’ve just taken me by surprise, that’s all. Oh!” Charles remembered the vicar, still mounted and watching the scene with undisguised interest. “Downey, I should present these refugees to you. This is my sister and her husband, Lady Clara and Captain Hector Fernley. Mister Downey is our vicar, Clara, so behave yourself.”

  Downey tipped his hat and collected his reins. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. And now I should be off, Lord Charles. Have a pleasant evening – “

  “Won’t you stay to dine?” Charles asked.

  “Oh, I think your cook has enough of a challenge as it is,” Downey chuckled. “Stop by the vicarage when you’re in the village.” He nodded to the Fernleys and rode sedately down the lane.

  Clara gave her brother an amused look. “Out riding with the vicar, Charles! Aren’t you the country gentleman!”

  “Mister Downey has been making himself most useful, introducing me to the families in the vicinity,” Charles explained. “Come in, won’t you? We’ll see about that tea.” He worried silently about how his cook would appreciate this sudden increase to his table, but over tea, Han set that worry to rest.

  Helping himself lavishly to the little tea cakes, Han told the company, “Mrs. Spelling is glorying in the challenge. She just kicked me out of the kitchen and called me a dratted boy, but I could tell she was enjoying herself. She had been saying just the other day that cooking for two men just didn’t provide the ‘scope’ for her talents, so she’s quite on her mettle now.”

  “There, you see, Charles,” said Clara triumphantly. “We are serving a useful purpose after all; we are entertaining your cook.”

  That evening’s dinner proved that Mrs. Spelling on her mettle was a notable cook indeed. The first course offered a selection of soups as well as a fine turbot and some smelts. The second course featured a joint of mutton, a roast of pork, plump partridges, and a jugged hare. The array of creams, jellies and pastries that graced the third course satisfied even a growing boy like Han.

  “By the way, Charles,” Clara told him across the table, “Hector and I are here because Mama told me you were in urgent need of my assistance.”

  “She did?” asked Charles in astonishment.

  “No, of course not!” said Clara with a trill of laughter. “But that’s what I told Mama Fernley.”

  “Why on earth did you say such a thing?” he asked.

  “Had to say something,” Hector offered. “Could hardly say, ‘Mama, we must leave before you drive us both mad,’ could we? Fond of the old gal, wouldn’t hurt her for the world.”

  “So I’m your excuse for decamping so hastily,” Charles said thoughtfully. “Very well, what problem do I have that you are supposed to be assisting me with.”

  “I’m not sure,” Clara admitted. “I was rather vague about that. I think I left Mama Fernley with the impression that you were falling into the clutches of a scheming female.”

  “The squire’s lady, I suppose,” Charles said. “I know for a fact that she’s scheming to have me to dine.”

  “We’ll soon have you sorted out,” Clara said comfortably. “But now that the wars are finally over and you are settling down, isn’t it about time to be setting up your nursery?”

  “Oh, no doubt,” Charles said easily.

  “You may always come to us for the Season if you don’t wish to open up Winton House,” Clara said.

  “Yes, indeed, old fellow,” Hector confirmed. “Always welcome.”

  “Thank you both, but I won’t be doing the Season.” Charles said.

  “Not do the Season!” exclaimed Clara. Hector just stared, stunned by the notion.

  “Not do the Season,” Charles said. “The young ladies there are so coached and costumed, so artificial, that’s it’s impossible to tell what they even really look like, much less whether or not you like them. I’m not a particularly romantic man, but I do insist that I must at least like the woman I marry.”

  “Well, of course you must like her, Charles, don’t be absurd,” said Clara. It was occurring to her that her excuse to her mama-in-law was coming true in fact, and that her brother actually needed her assistance. “But wherever else would you find this woman, if not the London Season?”

  Charles threw his arms wide. “Anywhere!” he said. “There are young ladies of marriageable age everywhere, my dear sister. Women of good birth and breeding in every corner of the island; they don’t all congregate in London every Season.”

  “So you hope to just… stumble across a likely young lady?” Clara asked.

  Charles bit back a snort. It dawned on him that he had in fact stumbled into a young lady just the other day, but that was only the disapproving Miss Rose and the vicar had called a prior claim on her anyway.

  “Just meet young ladies,” he said. “Get to know them in a more natural environment, and find one that suits. It seems to me a perfectly simple process, scarcely a matter for science and formulae.”

  “Very well,” Clara leaned back, eyes sparkling. “Describe this young lady.”

  Charles paused. He’d never designed a wife before. After a moment, he went on, “She doesn’t have to be beautiful, but at least well-looking, I think. I wouldn’t want to face a complete quiz across the table all my life. A nice girl, you know? Good-natured, not argumentative or nagging.”

  “This is all fairly standard stuff, Charles,” Clara said.

  “I don’t know!” Charles said, exasperated. “I know what I don’t want! Someone proud, or too fond of pomp and ceremony. But what I want is more… Well, down to earth, I suppose. Just… someone I would enjoy talking to. Lively, good-humored. Just a jolly sort of girl, that’s all.”

  “A jolly sort of girl,” Clara repeated. She looked thoughtful.

  EIGHT

  By breakfast the next day, all of Piddledean knew that the party at Greymere had been enhanced by the addition of two exciting new residents. The vicar, when directly tasked by Mrs. Worth, admitted that his lordship’s sister and her husband had arrived for a visit, but would not be drawn into a discussion of their appearance, manners, or conversation.

  The servants’ grapevine, however, was more accommodating, and it quickly became common knowledge that the visiting couple were very fashionable people, that Lady Clara was in an interesting condition, that her husband, despite his appearance as a languid dandy, was a military man who had played a role in the late battle and received a wound from which he was still recovering. Lady Clara laughed a lot, according to all reports, and the Captain loved a good port.

  Later in the day, the High Street was thrilled by the appearance of the people themselves, taking a walk through the village. For some villagers, it was their first glimpse of Lord Charles, and they were greatly struck by his manly figure and pleasing countenance. His manners, too, were most favorabl
y viewed, as he had no height about him, chatting pleasantly in turn with the vicar, with Mrs. Massingham, and then exchanging a few pleasantries with Ellis from the public house.

  The Fernleys were vastly admired. A captious critic would call their attire wholly inappropriate for country wear, but Piddledean loved them for it. The villagers might hear about London fashions but few of them ever had the opportunity to see them. Yet here was Lady Clara, in a stunning pomona green walking dress that would have drawn gasps of admiration in Hyde Park. Her spouse astonished the eye with jonquil pantaloons, a wasp-waisted puce coat, and a vest that married the two colors in broad stripes. His limp was pronounced and he assisted himself with an ebony walking stick capped in silver and handled in ivory.

  Mrs. Worth had been visiting Mrs. Shelby when the great visitation occurred and the two ladies vied for position at the lace-curtained window.

  “They do say that she’s increasing, but I must say I see no evidence of it,” Mrs. Worth offered.

  “It must be early days yet,” suggested Mrs. Shelby. “But my word, how does the Captain breathe in that coat?”

  “My dear, I’ve no notion! I had heard that the extreme of fashion calls for coats that cannot even be donned without assistance, though I didn’t believe it until now.”

  “I must say, I like his lordship’s look better.”

  “As do I, though Captain Fernley is quite entertaining to see.”

  “And there’s the young lad staying with his lordship. Lady Fordice says he’s a famous artist, but I can’t help but think she must have heard it wrong; he’s so young!” offered Mrs. Shelby.