by Nina Mason
“I sigh and lament me in vain,
These walls can but echo my moan;
Alas! it encreases my pain,
When I think of the days that are gone.
Through the grate of my prison, I see
The birds as they wanton in air;
My heart how it pants to be free,
My looks they are wild with despair.”
Each line, each well-aimed barb, pierced Christian’s heart as he struggled to concentrate on the game. Ironically, Miss Raynalds had started the hand with the Queen of Hearts, upon which he laid the Knave.
“Above, tho’ opprest by my fate,
I burn with contempt for my foes;
Tho’ fortune has alter’d my state,
She ne’er can subdue me to those.
False woman! in ages to come,
Thy malice detested shall be;
And, when we are cold in the tomb,
Some heart still will sorrow for me.”
As the volley continued through the second and third verses, each arrow finding its mark, Christian squirmed in silent anguish. Did the others also understand the song’s hidden meaning? Did they, too, think him an unfeeling monster? Oh, to escape this torture before she dealt his heart the final salvo!
“Ye roofs! where cold damps and dismay,
With silence and solitude dwell,
How comfortless passes the day,
How sad tolls the evening bell!
The owls from the battlements cry,
Hollow winds seem to murmur around,
‘O Mary, prepare thee to die:’—
My blood it runs chill at the sound.”
“Upon my soul,” he cried in despair as he threw down his cards. “This is not to be borne!”
The astonished expressions that greeted him around the table suggested the Raynaldses, one and all, were either oblivious to Miss Bennet’s veiled chastisement or exceptionally good actors.
“Whatever is the matter, Lieutenant?” Miss Bennet innocently inquired from her seat at the keyboard. “Did you not enjoy my singing?”
“On the contrary, Miss Bennet.” Rising from the table, he crossed to the pianoforte. “I found your voice—and choice of song—exceptionally expressive.”
“I see,” she said archly. “And have you any other remark to offer upon my song?”
“I do not.”
“None?”
Bewildered, he asked through clenched teeth, “Pray, what would you have me say?”
“You might apologize, for starters,” she whispered in reply.
“For what offense, pray?”
“For your behavior toward me yesterday, of course,” she said, her anger barely veiled behind her hushed tone. “I came in, prepared to meet you with the pleasure which our separation naturally produced—and the familiarity our friendship seemed to justify—only to be repulsed! I have passed a wretched night endeavouring to explain your conduct. But, unable to form any reasonable explanation for your behavior, I am perfectly ready to hear your justification of it now.”
“My dear lady,” he said, mortified to be thusly confronted. “If I gave rise to the belief I felt more for you than friendship, I shall reproach myself for not having been more guarded in my declarations of esteem, which is very sincere. Have I, in fact, given you the wrong impression with regard to my feelings, Miss Bennet?”
“N-no.”
“I am relieved to hear it.” It was killing him to be so taciturn, but this was hardly the place to bare his soul to her. Nor was he prepared quite yet to be forthcoming about his feelings. “Now, with regard to my behavior toward you yesterday, I was merely caught off guard by your sudden appearance. No offense was intended, I assure you. But, since offense was apparently given, I offer you my sincerest apology. For I could not bear to lose your good opinion one moment longer than I already have.”
“You have not lost my good opinion,” she said, blushing. “So have no fear on that score.”
“Are we then friends again?”
“Yes, of course,” she said quietly. “And sincerely hope we always shall be.”
“As do I, Miss Bennet,” he replied, tasting the lie on his tongue. “As do I.”
Five
The next morning, when Georgie went down for breakfast, she was relieved to find only Louisa already in the dining room. Owing to her disappointment the night before, she’d slept poorly and was eager to unburden herself to someone—and who better to tell than the sister who possessed the power to lessen her regrets?
If only she could be persuaded to disclose what she knew about Lt. Churchill.
Having little appetite, Georgie chose only buttered toast and tea for her meal before claiming the seat opposite Louisa. “Well, sister dear,” she began. “I have no doubt it will please you to know your husband’s friend has no interest in me beyond friendship.”
Louisa looked up from her plate, her eyes brimming with concern. “How do you know?”
“He told me as much last night.”
“I see.” Understanding dawned in Louisa’s eyes. “So that is what the two of you were speaking about in such hushed tones last night. I thought perhaps he was complimenting your singing…or preparing you to accompany him in a song of his own.”
Louisa’s second guess surprised Georgie. “Does he sing?”
“He does indeed. And very well, too. Though his tastes run more to operatic arias than humble folk songs.”
This, too, astonished Georgie, who never expected the Lieutenant to have such refined tastes. The news that he shared her love of music—and singing—also deepened her regrets where he was concerned.
“I hoped you might tell me something to inspire me to celebrate my escape rather than heighten my lamentations.”
“Oh, sister. Forgive my insensitivity. I did not realize…that is to say, of course you are disappointed. For what women alive would not be let down by a gentleman’s rebuff, whether or not she had designs on him?”
“I had no designs on him, I assure you,” Georgie said, a little too defensively to sell the denial. “How could I when I know you are harboring a secret guaranteed to devastate my hopes?”
“True. But now that he has been honest with you, what I know is of no consequence.”
Georgie sipped her tea and nibbled her toast disinterestedly. “It is still of great consequence to me, sister dear.”
“Is it? Why so?”
“Because I still take an interest in that gentleman’s concerns.”
“I strongly encourage you to do otherwise.”
“And, yet …”
At length, Louisa said with a deep sigh, “That being the case, I will renew my offer—the name of the character for your promise of silence on the subject thereafter.”
Georgie leaned strongly toward accepting her sister’s offer—if Miss Raynalds had brought her copy of Sense and Sensibility home with her from boarding school. At that very moment, the young lady upon whom the verdict hinged providentially entered the dining room.
“Good morning, ladies.” Miss Raynalds, as usual, was all smiles and good cheer. “Did you both sleep well?”
“Good morning, Winnie,” Louisa returned with good cheer of her own. “I slept very well, owing in large part to the safe return of yourself and your brother.”
Miss Raynalds beamed at her sister-in-law before turning her gaze on Georgie. “I very much enjoyed your playing last night, Miss Bennet. I had no idea you were so accomplished.”
“I thank you for the compliment, Miss Raynalds,” Georgie said with a blush, “but my musical accomplishments are nothing compared to yours.”
As Miss Raynalds pointed out her breakfast selections to the waiting footman, she said, “I beg to differ. For you sang with such passion, I was convinced you had a personal stake in poor Queen Mary’s laments.”
Georgie cleared her throat of crumbs. “It’s fortuitous you came in when you did, Miss Raynalds, as Louisa and I were discussing a book I would very much
like to read—a book she believes I might borrow from you.”
Excitement animated Miss Raynalds’s blue eyes. “Oh? And what book would that be, pray?”
“Sense and Sensibility.”
“Oh! That is one of my favorites. And I do own a copy, which I would be only too delighted to loan you, Miss Bennet. But why do you not borrow your sister’s copy?”
“For the simple reason that my sister’s copy is at Craven Castle,” Georgie explained. “I began the novel there before becoming snowbound here, you see, and would rather not wait until the weather improves to learn how the Dashwood ladies get along.” Turning her gaze on her sister, Georgie added, “And talking of the book’s characters, which of them were you about to mention just as Miss Raynalds came in?”
“Edward Ferrars.” Louisa’s smile, Georgie could tell, concealed agitated feelings.
“What were you planning to tell her of Edward Ferrars?” Miss Raynalds asked Louisa.
“Only that he reminded her of a mutual acquaintance of ours.”
Miss Raynalds smirked teasingly. “He must be someone very dull indeed, if he resembles Edward Ferrars.”
Hoping to learn more about the character, Georgie addressed herself to the Captain’s sister. “Is Mr. Ferrars not then the dashing hero?”
“He is the hero of sorts,” Miss Raynalds answered. “I would not, however, describe him as dashing by any standard of measure. The dashing one is Mr. Willoughby, who is so handsome, charming, and romantic Miss Marianne cannot help but fall madly in love with him. Unfortunately for her, he turns out to be—oh! Do, do forgive me. I must curb my tongue before my enthusiasm for the story spoils your enjoyment of the book.”
Georgie nonchalantly sipped her tea before moving in for the kill. “Surely Mr. Ferrars has some redeeming qualities. Despite his dark secret, that is to say. For he is hiding something from the heroine, is he not?”
“He is indeed.” Miss Raynalds’s eyes grew wider. “And when poor Elinor learns of it, she is— Merciful heavens! There I go again, nearly giving the story away. I really must learn to mind my tongue. I vow, therefor, to say no more until you have finished the book, which I will fetch for you as soon as we finish breaking our fasts.”
The conversation ceased as they all resumed eating. At length, the gentlemen came in, engrossed in quiet conversation. Georgie strained to hear what they were saying as they made their choices from the chafing dishes on the buffet. The most she could discern, alas, was that Christian had received a letter from someone intent upon visiting him in Much Wenlock during the holidays—someone he clearly did not wish to see.
Jealously plucked Georgie’s heartstrings. Might the unwelcome visitor be a lady he’d been courting in Portsmouth over the past ten months? If so, it would explain the cooling of his ardor toward her. For, despite his denials, she was certain he’d felt more than friendship for her all those months ago when they were in Scotland for Louisa and the Captain’s elopement.
On the other hand, what lady would write to invite herself to the house of a gentleman’s friends? Only a very uncouth one, she’d daresay. And she could not imagine Lt. Churchill attaching himself to a person as ill-mannered as that. Especially in preference to a genteel, sensible, and proper personage such as herself.
It must, therefore, be someone else. His younger brother, perhaps. Yes, that must be who was coming. For had Christian not once described the young man as an insufferable coxcomb?
Georgie breathed a sigh of relief. Her disappointed hopes would be difficult enough to endure without the added pain of watching him pay his addresses to another lady.
The gentlemen brought their plates of eggs and cold meats and joined the ladies at the table. Georgie’s heart was so full of things she wished to say to Christian, but she could hardly speak intimately to him in front of the others. Nor would she be able to have a private word until this evening, when the gentlemen joined the ladies after dinner for cards and music.
The remainder of the day, they would pass in separate parts of the house. The gents would keep to the library and billiards room, while the ladies made use of the drawing and music rooms.
Were they not house-bound by the snow, both sexes might have enjoyed outdoor pursuits together, such as walking in the gardens, riding horseback, taking a carriage ride into the countryside or village, or playing croquet, lawn bowling, or badminton. But, alas, the snow was still too deep on the ground even to go sleighing or ice-skating.
So, it was sewing, reading, writing letters, or practicing the pianoforte for Georgie and Miss Raynalds, looking after the baby and household for Louisa, and billiards, reading the papers, or attending to matters of business for the two gentlemen.
As Georgie sipped her tea, she looked down the table, endeavoring to catch her favorite’s eye. Failing in this, she tried in vain to think of something appropriate to say that might draw his attention. When all her subtle efforts produced no results, she was left with no choice but to be direct. “Pray, when might we expect the pleasure of your brother’s company?”
Christian looked around the table at his companions, as if trying to work out to whom Georgie had addressed the question. Then, realizing he was the only one there with a brother not present, he said to her, “Pray, why do you presume my brother is expected at any time?”
“Is he not?”
“Not insofar as I am aware.”
“Oh. Do forgive my presumption. I must have misunderstood.”
Christian regarded her with a furrowed brow. “I could more easily forgive your error if I had the least inkling how you came to such an erroneous conclusion.”
Seeing no graceful way out, she elected to tell the truth. “I overheard something you said to the Captain … about a letter you received from someone planning to visit … and assumed the writer was your brother.”
He opened his mouth, presumably to chastise Georgie for eavesdropping, but before he could speak, Louisa dove in to save her drowning sister. “I did not know you had a brother, Lieutenant.”
“We are not close … so I rarely have occasion to mention him.”
“Is he younger or older than you?” Miss Raynalds wanted to know.
“Benedict is two years my junior.”
“Is he married?” The brash girl made no attempt to hide her interest in the brother as a potential beau.
“He is indeed,” the Lieutenant answered.
Miss Raynalds batted her eyes at the Lieutenant, arousing Georgie’s jealousy. “Is he as handsome as his older brother?”
He laughed good-naturedly. “You have phrased the question in a way that makes it impossible to answer without sounding like a coxcomb.”
“We, none of us, would ever think you a coxcomb, Lieutenant,” Miss Raynalds assured him with sparkling eyes. “A Corinthian or dandy, maybe—owing to your impeccable taste in clothes—but never a fop. Do you not agree, Miss Georgianna?”
“I do.” Suddenly feeling competitive with the girl, Georgie added, “With regard to his good looks, as well as his excellent fashion sense.”
Two pink spots appeared on the Lieutenant’s chiseled cheeks. Meeting Georgie’s eyes across the table, he smiled at her in a way that made her heart beat faster. “That is very kind of you to say, Miss Bennet—not to mention, excessively flattering to my ego.”
“I was only being sincere,” she said, warmed by the heat of his gaze.
There was feeling in the way he looked at her. Feeling beyond friendship. There was no mistaking the energy passing between them. Why then did he insist upon denying his interest? Unless—heaven forbid—she had been correct in her initial fear about the sender of the letter. Was it possible he felt something for her, but still more for somebody else? Since good manners prevented her from asking him outright, she must use cunning to discover the truth for herself.
At present, there were two clues available to her: whatever Edward Ferrars was hiding from Elinor Dashwood in Sense and Sensibility and the letter she’d overheard Christ
ian discussing with Capt. Raynalds. If she could find and read that letter, she’d know for certain why he was pretending to feel only friendship for her.
On the other hand, searching for and reading the letter were gross violations of his privacy, trust, and friendship. If caught, she might alienate herself from him altogether. Was learning the truth worth the risk of permanent estrangement?
No, indeed. It most definitely was not.
Then, she got a better idea. It would not help her uncover his secret, but it would help her determine if his feelings for her were as passionate as hers for him.
Looking across the table at her sister, she said very sweetly, “Louisa, dearest. Will you be hanging any mistletoe in the house this year?”
“Of course. I’ve asked the gardener to gather some for that purpose only this morning. For what are Christmas entertainments without mistletoe?”
“I could not agree more,” Georgie returned with a smile. “And, if you wish it, I will help you hang what he’s gathered after breakfast.”
“If you would oblige me, I will turn the task over to you entirely, for I have so much else to do to keep the house and prepare for the party.”
“Oh, can I help, too?” Miss Raynalds asked Georgie with sparkling eyes.
“If you like,” she replied, sliding a glance toward Lt. Churchill. “Though I am perfectly capable of completing the task on my own.”
“In that case, I shall leave it to you while I go upstairs to read. The headmistress has required us to read Fordyce’s Sermons for Young Ladies—both volumes, no less! So, I’d better get started.” Turning to Louisa with a smirk, she said, “Unless you’d rather I read them out to us all in the evenings, as Mr. Collins did in Pride and Prejudice.”
“I think not,” said Louisa, pursing her lips. “For I cannot imagine a duller way to spend an evening. Besides, I would rather hear you play and sing. You and Georgie.”
“Churchill also sings quite well,” the Captain put in. “Perhaps, if we all work on him, we can convince him to treat us with an aria this evening.”
