by Fanny Finch
“What has brought about this particular question?” Mr. Carson asked. “It feels rather as though I am under interrogation this evening.”
“Can a lady not ask questions of a gentleman?” Julia replied.
“I suppose she might… if she had a particular aim,” Mr. Carson added. His voice was weighted, significant.
“Perhaps I do, perhaps I do not,” Julia replied.
She could feel that she was on thin ice. Mr. Carson’s tone of voice could not be mistaken. He was wondering if she was finally responding to his advances. If she wanted to see if he would make her a good husband.
Julia knew that she had to step carefully so that she would not give him a false impression or make him any understandings if he turned out not to be her letter writer.
“Who is to say if I have a particular aim or not?” she replied loftily. “Perhaps I am merely trying to take the measure of you. It has been some time since we saw one another, after all.
“Mr. Norwich would not object to such an interrogation,” she added. She was not sure why she said it. “He would answer my questions without thought. He is rather obliging that way.”
Mr. Carson gave her an odd look. “I suppose that he would not. But then he has had time to grow used to your eccentricities.”
“Eccentricities! You make me sound like an old grandmother. The sort of person with whom one must put up because she is old and perhaps a bit of her mind is going.”
“I can assure you that you are not old nor is your mind going. And I should hope that you are not yet a grandmother.”
“Will you answer my question then, sir? Indulge a pretty young lady?”
“I am not so certain. Given your description of yourself one might consider you to have too high an opinion of yourself and to have been indulged plenty already.”
That made Julia’s throat close up a little as she swallowed. The letter writer, she hoped, would not say such a thing.
She had told her correspondent about her self-doubts. About how she saw herself. He would not, she hoped, be so callous as to ignore that.
Unless he thought that it would give him away. Unless that was everyone’s opinion of her and he must play along with it so that he would not stand out from the crowd.
Julia hoped that most people did not think she had too high an opinion of herself. Was that how the world saw her? Was that what her mother had been talking about?
It terrified her to think that all of her fears about herself were correct. That she had been right this entire time when she had thought herself to be too loud. Too talkative. Too sharp in mind and tongue.
But the letter writer did not think so. He always encouraged her. He was supportive and kind. He was gentle in his words and when he did criticize her for a word or action he countered it with a reminder of how highly he thought of her.
Julia cleared her throat. “Surely you do not think so, Mr. Carson. You must know me well enough by now, I should think. Given how many dinners you have attended recently. You must know me well enough to know that what I say is most often in jest.
“This includes my opinion of myself. And after all, if nobody else will compliment a lady then who is left to compliment her except for herself?”
Mr. Carson smiled indulgently. “You are never lost for a retort, are you, Miss Weston? I do not think that I have ever seen you at a loss for words.”
You might soon see me without anything to say, she could not help but think.
If he was the letter writer she would undoubtedly be somewhat speechless. But if he was not she might be speechless as well with confusion and frustration.
“My reputation is based upon my wit. Therefore I must do what I can to keep it up. But you have still not answered my question, sir. What do you think of those little names that couples so often give one another?”
She could almost hear his voice in her head. My little raven. He had to know that was what she was driving at, if he was the one writing the letters to her. He had to know that was her aim.
Mr. Carson frowned in thought. “Oh, I do not think much of it one way or another. Some couples are of course far too indulgent in the habit.
“If I have to hear Mr. and Mrs. Langston call one another ‘darling’ in every single sentence again, I shall have to excuse myself from dinner in order to bang my head against the wall.”
Julia gave a small obliging laugh.
“But overall,” Mr. Carson concluded, “I see no problem with them so long as they are in moderation. Some couples, I think, use them in place of true affection. Or as a sort of barb. It is all in the intention of the word, is it not?”
“What of more specific names?” she asked. “I had heard one person call their wife…”
She had to say it. She had to now.
“…my little raven. It was because of her hair. And, I believe, because of her personality. It reminded him of the bird.”
There was no response from Mr. Carson. No glint of recognition in his eyes.
Julia was aware that there was such a thing as hiding one’s true emotions. And that many people were good at it.
But there was no possible way in which Mr. Carson could have hidden his response to that. She knew that he would have to show something of his surprise. It would be quickly stifled but it would be there.
Instead, Mr. Carson just stared at her placidly.
He had no idea what she was talking about.
He was not her letter writer.
A strange mixture of relief and sadness swept over her. Her stomach tightened. Her eyes felt hot and itchy.
He was still interested in her. She knew that. She had known that before she had started to wonder if he was the letter writer or not.
But now he must think that she was more interested than she was.
And she was realizing—it was sweeping over her like early morning sunlight through the window—that she could not have him.
Not if he was not her letter writer.
It reminded her of the time that she was a child. She had finally understood addition. She’d been very young at the time but it was one of her earliest memories.
The sudden epiphany, the knowledge that had filled her as she had truly grasped that oh, two and two together equaled four! It had been like nothing she had ever felt before.
This felt quite similar to that. Knowledge that had always been there, waiting patiently, was suddenly before her. She knew it, felt it, could see the truth of it.
She was in love.
She was in love with the man to whom she was writing those letters.
Julia almost wanted to find him so that she might stand on a chair and clap sardonically. Bravo, bravo! He had succeeded in his aim. She was in love with him, as he had wished her to be.
But she still did not know who he was. And he had dodged all attempts for her to find out. And now she had gone out on a limb with Mr. Carson and he must think he had far more of a chance than he truly did.
Mr. Carson was speaking to her. He was answering her question. Talking about how giving a wife a nickname after an animal sounded rather too fanciful for him.
Too fanciful. Well, they should never get on anyway. Julia was a fanciful person. Everybody knew that.
He was still speaking but she could hardly hear him. It was as though her ears had become stuffed with cotton. Or as if he was talking to her from underwater. It was all muted.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She was in love.
Oh, how foolish she had been to not realize it before.
She felt safe with her letter writer? She wanted to run to him when she was in distress? She told him everything?
She had thought that she only decided to find out who he was from the thrill of the mystery. And then so that she might have the best choice of husbands out of the ones presented to her. Because at least he knew her and at least they were friends.
But no. This whole time she had been blind. Not seeing what was right in front of her. She’
d had two, and two, but she hadn’t thought to put them together to make four. And who’s fault was that?
None but her own.
She had to find him. She had to.
Mr. Carson was still speaking and she felt as though she would say anything he wanted in order to get him to be quiet. She could not bear to hear his voice or see his face.
She wanted her correspondent.
“…I hope that I have not been too forward,” Mr. Carson concluded. “But I should like to think that your line of questioning is your way of giving me hope.”
Julia’s breath caught in her throat. She had not truly heard a word that he had said.
“I apologize,” she replied. “I have not been attempting to give either despair or hope. I only wished to learn more about you.”
“But why should you wish to learn more about me if you were not leaning towards—”
“I greatly apologize, Mr. Carson. I had not meant to give offense or false hope. Not at all. I am an inquisitive woman by nature and it is simply that I wanted to learn your opinion on things.
“You may ask Mr. Norwich, if you would like. He will be sure to tell you that this is my personality. I meant no harm, I can assure you.
“It is only that you seem eager to spend time with me and to get to know me better and so I am endeavoring to get to know you better in turn. Is that not what you are after? Is that not what courtship is for?
“If you have not been courting me or if you feel you are farther along in your courtship than you actually are then I apologize. I did not mean to mislead or misunderstand you.
“I hope that we can part this evening as friends, at least. I apologize deeply if I have given offense. I am only wishing to ask questions for that is my nature. I enjoy getting to know people and you seemed eager for me to get to know you.
“But if I may be frank, sir, I do not think that we are far enough along in proceedings for you to have too much hope. After all, you have not even seen fit to ask me to dance a second time at any balls.”
Julia struggled to keep her breathing calm so that she would not panic. She did not want to offend Mr. Carson or damage her reputation.
To her relief, Mr. Carson simply nodded. “That is fair. I cannot be so cautious and then expect you to read my mind and to know what is in my heart. I will be more direct in my courtship of you from now on.”
It was not what she wanted. She wanted him to give up and to stop courting her at all. But to say so would draw too great a risk of insulting him. She was already skirting too close to disaster.
“I hope that I shall have the pleasure of receiving more obvious encouragement from you soon.” Mr. Carson glanced over at the others in the sitting room. “But it appears that the party has disbanded.”
“Ah, yes.” Only her mother, Mr. Norwich, and one or two others were left. “Have a pleasant evening, sir. I apologize for any lack of understanding or for any miscommunication.”
“You have a pleasant evening as well, Miss Weston.”
Well. That was only halfway a disaster.
Julia wanted to burst into tears. Indeed, she could feel the tears welling up in her despite her best efforts.
It was all too much. There were far too many emotions warring inside of her like clashing clouds in a thunderstorm.
She felt a strange mix of surprise and elation at the realization that she was in love. She felt nervous, terrified, unsettled, worried that she had just insulted Mr. Carson and would suffer the consequences for it. Or that she was now engaging him in a courtship that she had no intention of continuing.
She also felt fearful for herself. Scared that she was selfish as her mother claimed. That she had just been more selfish in her actions than she thought. That her fears about herself were true. That she had been selfish just now in regards to Mr. Carson.
It was all rather overwhelming and she thought she might have to sit down.
And of course, Mr. Norwich saw her.
He was very kind to her. Offering to get her tea and find someone to sit with her. Lending her a handkerchief.
She hoped that she was not ungrateful to him. She tried to say so. She did not want to be selfish or thoughtless. And he did treat her always with respect and kindness.
Perhaps her life would be easier if he was in love with her. If he had courted her long ago. He had certainly had plenty of opportunity to do so.
Maybe then she might have fallen in love with him. But she did not know. And he certainly did not love her. He was all gentleness and care, of course.
She could see why Mother wanted her to marry him. But she could not even conceive of the idea of marrying another. Not now that she understood why she thought so much of her letter writer.
How could she have been so blind, so stupid, so unable to realize what was right in front of her?
The man with whom she was corresponding must think her the most thick and dull-witted girl on the planet.
Did he know? Could he tell that she loved him?
It was not the sort of thing that you could easily tell another person. “Oh, I know that you are in love with me,” sounded like the pinnacle of arrogance. She would not have said as much if she was in the position of her letter writer.
Or could it be that he did not know? That he was holding onto nothing but hope, still, after all of this time? Willing to wait and be patient and court her slowly through letters?
He must be the most understanding man on the whole earth if that was the case.
Either way, Julia knew that she must tell him.
After she finished having her little cry.
It was stupid, she knew, to shed tears. But she was just feeling so much all at once. She was feeling ashamed of herself and scared that she had real reason to feel shame. She was anxious over Mr. Carson. And she was filled with this knowledge that was simultaneously wonderful and horrible.
Was this what love felt like? As though you were standing at the edge of the ocean and a great wave was approaching you and you could not move to avoid it?
She had to remember to be sure to commend her letter writer for his patience. She had only known that she was in love for half an hour and already she was bursting to tell him about it.
She could not imagine what waiting years must have felt like for him.
After Julia had persuaded Mr. Norwich to leave, she took a few moments to gather herself together. She must not cry all over her letter, after all. Or else if she did the ink would smudge and she would have to start again.
When she had sufficiently composed herself she went upstairs to her room.
Along the way, however, she was stopped. Or rather, she stopped in surprise, but she was sure that her mother would have stopped her had Julia kept walking.
She was sitting in the chair that rested in the hallway just outside of Julia’s bedroom door. Julia almost didn’t see her lingering in the shadows there.
“Mother! You ought to have gone to bed. It is late. I thought Mr. Norwich saw you up the stairs.”
“He did. He is a fine gentleman.”
“Mother, please. I cannot hear about how I ought to marry Mr. Norwich or any other person at the moment.”
“I know.” Mrs. Weston sighed, stood and walked over to her, taking Julia’s shoulders in her hands and squeezing gently. “I have been too harsh on you, I am afraid.
“It is only that I am worried for you. As we have already talked on. And I hate to see that other people around you are not being appreciated by you.
“You are a thoughtful and kindhearted young woman. It would be a shame for you to wake up and realize that you had wasted those qualities because you did not see how the people around you truly felt about you.
“I am too harsh on you. You are my only daughter. My only child. And I fear that sometimes I expect too much from you.
“It was wrong of me to chastise you as I did. Without warning and without proper explanation. I know that finding a husband can be hard.”
“I have been looking,” Julia replied. “I promise that I have been. And I believe that I have found the right person for myself. That I am going to be proposed to shortly.”
“Do you speak of Mr. Carson?”
Her mother’s tone was carefully light, as though she were trying to hold in her disappointment for Julia’s sake.
Julia shook her head. “No, Mother. It is not Mr. Carson. That I can assure you.”
Mrs. Weston looked pleased, but her mouth pursed and her jaw clenched as though she were doing her best to hide it.
