by Laura Locke
By inviting the local gentry, she had ensured that Henry and his father – or just Henry – would be here in her home. She would have a chance to speak with him, to see him in the context of the others like Lord Epworth. Her aunt was giving her a chance to make up her mind properly.
She sighed. That is probably what I need. Perhaps Henry will stand out negatively, in this crowd of elegant, sophisticated characters.
She somehow doubted it.
“My lady?”
Matilda and Pauline looked up as the housekeeper, Mrs. Marwell, appeared in the doorway.
“Yes?” Pauline asked, brown eyes inquiring.
“My lady, your mama is upstairs in the parlor. She sent me to request your presence above.”
“Oh,” Matilda said, frowning. Pauline was frowning too. They looked at each other, brows raised.
“We should go,” Matilda said, already rising.
Upstairs in the drawing-room, their mother was in a bustle. She was directing maids to take the tea downstairs. They would be having it in the main parlor, she said.
“Oh, girls!” their mother said, looking quite relieved. “There you are. You should get ready. The guests are almost upon us...” she flapped a hand at Mrs Marwell, beckoning her over for instructions.
Matilda raised a brow, surprised. She was right. In half an hour, they would all be here. She nodded to Pauline, and the two of them went to their chambers.
“I'm going to wear blue,” Matilda said, a bright grin on her face.
Pauline laughed. “Well, I shall rebel and wear lilac.”
They both laughed.
Getting dressed did not take as long as it had for the ball, and soon Matilda was ready and drifting lightly downstairs.
In the parlor, she was surprised to find Lucas and her mother already there. Some of their guests were early, among them the Fetherston couple, and Lady Terence.
She glanced around, feeling more comfortable here. Her aunt and uncle were seated in carven, oval-back chairs near the fire, her aunt's smile warm and welcome.
“Matilda,” her aunt said warmly. She had a rich, warm voice, and spoke in a measured way, as if all the time in the world wrapped around her, comfortably. Matilda stood beside her, feeling that peace sink into her bones.
“Aunt,” she smiled.
Her aunt nodded, smiling, her warm brown eyes disappearing into her face with the gentle smile.
“It seems a good gathering here, does it not?”
“It does, aunt. Thank you.”
“Thank me?” She sounded surprised, but Matilda could see her eyes and the sparkle in them and knew that she understood what she meant, and agreed with the sentiment.
“I am pleased to be able to see more of our local friends among the party,” she said carefully.
“As am I.”
Matilda stepped back, scanning the hall. She could see Lord Featherston, already helping himself to a sandwich, his wife beside him, smiling up at him sweetly. Her mother was talking to a tall lady with a plume in her elegant head-dress, and she looked like she was enjoying herself. She scanned the room further.
No sign of Alexander, Lord Epworth.
The discovery relieved her, and Matilda leaned back against the wall, feeling the tension drain out of her. She looked up, suddenly feeling her heart thumping. She had heard a familiar voice.
It can't be!
But it was. Standing in the corner, involved in earnest conversation with Lady Haughton, his pale hair catching the candlelight, tall body stooped slightly to listen closely, was Henry.
Matilda swallowed, surprised at the joy which flowed through her just seeing him. She looked around. Her mother was still talking earnestly, Pauline was over in the opposite corner with Cornelius and his sister, flushed and laughing. She had time to talk.
She walked over as fast as she could without drawing undue attention to herself, positioning herself at Henry's elbow. Lady Haughton was engaged in earnest conversation with him.
“...and these new Bathing Machines are so much better than the ones they had before...Oh! Matilda!”
Matilda flushed as Lady Haughton and Henry both turned to face her. Henry's face, originally a picture of concentration, changed, a soft smile crossing his fine features.
“Hello, Matilda.”
“Henry,” Matilda managed, curtseying. Lady Haughton, a small, shrewd lady with a head of white curly hair and twinkly eyes, looked from one to the other and smiled.
“I think I shall go and find some of those delightful sandwiches. Excuse me, Matilda, Henry.”
“Of course,” Matilda said, throwing a grateful smile over her shoulder at the perceptive older lady.
“Matilda,” Henry said, at once looking concerned. “How are you. How is your father?”
“Oh, Henry,” Matilda said, letting out a ragged sigh. “He is not well. How glad I am to see you!”
Henry smiled fondly. “And I you. Have you been out and about recently?”
“Not recently, no,” Matilda said, slowly. She had barely had time to sit and read, never mind take walks or rides as she usually did. She had missed it.
“Me neither,” Henry agreed, blowing out his cheeks wearily. “And the weather has not been exactly favorable, now has it?”
“No,” Matilda agreed, smiling.
They talked more generally, catching up on news, but all the while Matilda felt a tugging in her heart. She wanted to speak alone with him, to pour out all the feelings and concerns that had been hidden deep inside her for so long.
“It...it's hot in here, is it not?” Henry said after a moment.
“Yes,” Matilda agreed slowly. Her heart fluttered. Did he want to leave too?
“Should we...would you accompany me for a walk in the grounds?”
“Yes,” Matilda agreed.
“Well, then,” Henry smiled, scanning the room for a sight of her mother – their host for the party. He spotted her and inclined his head towards the door. Matilda, feeling awkward, looked across from her, out of the window.
Henry led Matilda over, and curtseyed to her mother.
“Lady Braxton? I desire to take some air. Matilda said she would accompany me. If you could excuse us?”
“Of course, Henry,” Matilda's mother said fondly. “Off you go.”
“Thank you. An excellent tea party, if I may say so, my lady.”
“Thank you, Henry,” Lady Braxton said, flushing. Matilda smiled. Even she was not immune to how charming Henry could be.
If only he was of high enough standing for her to approve, everything would be perfect.
Matilda sighed. It was a source of sadness to her that her mother simply could not accept Henry as a suitable future husband.
Outside, the air was a little cold. Matilda drew her coat about her, shivering in the bite of the air. Henry bent down toward her.
“Is it too cold?”
“No,” Matilda said quickly, desperate not to return to the house. “No, I'm well, Henry.”
“Well, if we walk quickly, perhaps we shall warm up a little.”
Matilda laughed. “Good idea!”
They walked down the path towards the roses.
“You seem...”
“Oh, Henry...”
They started speaking together, then both trailed off and looked at each other.
“You speak first,” Matilda smiled at Henry.
“I just wanted to say, you seem sad,” Henry said gently. His handsome face creased with a frown. “You are worried about something, it seems.”
“I am,” Matilda nodded. She bit her lip. “Lots of things, actually. But oh, Henry! Promise me you shan't be angry with me?”
“Angry with you?” Henry's voice was raw. “Why on earth would I ever be that?”
Matilda smiled a little sadly. “You are dear. But...but...oh! I don't even know what I'm saying,” she said a little helplessly. “I think it's the uncertainty. And Papa being ill, and Mother wanting to secure my future, and the mon
ey, and...I don't know what's happening, Henry.” She looked at the green grass, feeling wretched.
“I understand,” Henry said gently after a while. “Your mother has plans for you. You might not agree with those plans. And nor might I,” he added with a light laugh. “But duty is as it is. And you know?” he said, smiling wistfully, “if your parents think something is best, perhaps it is. They are doubtless better judges of such things than am I.”
“Henry...” Matilda looked up at him. He was looking out across the lawns, his sky-blue eyes far away. He looked wistful and sad and she felt her heart flip. “You know that I...” She coughed, the emotion sticking in her throat.
“Yes?”
Henry was looking at her now, a little frown on his face. He smiled, one side of his mouth lifted in a wistful, gentle look.
“Henry,” Matilda said slowly. “You know how I feel. You know I would want...different things for my future. But it is not mine to choose.”
She looked up into those blue eyes. He smiled, a smile of such tenderness it made her heart melt at the edges. He nodded.
“I understand. I know. My heart is...Matilda, my heart is as it was when we were both eight years old, playing in these fields. I want...you know my choice. I'm sure I do not need to use words. But matters are as they are. They do not change what I wish.”
Matilda looked up at him, his eyes locked with hers. She felt astonished.
“Henry? You mean...”
He leaned forward and she leaned forward. Their lips met. His mouth was so gentle on hers. She leaned against him, breathing out as his arms held her close.
“Oh, Henry.”
He kissed her again, slowly and gently.
When they stepped apart, both sighing, he looked down at her. His blue eyes were warm with feeling.
“Matilda,” he said, voice raw. “I...I do not know what to say.”
“Nor I,” Matilda said softly. Her heart was thumping inside her, beating fit to burst. Her body was soaring with excitement. At the same time, she felt sad.
“Henry, my choice is...you know my choice.”
“And you know mine.”
Matilda smiled. She felt as if her heart was a lark, flying high in the blue, cloud-touched sky. But at the same time she knew that this was forbidden to her. She could not wed Henry. Her whole heart cried out for it, but it was impossible. And it was all she wished for.
They stood together, watching the birds fly low over the fields. From here, she could see the way to the hills, the sky blue and just touched with late afternoon sun. The clouds were ragged, the light soft and opalescent. Her heart was singing with joy, but the sorrow of their impossible situation held her fast.
“Henry.”
“My dear Matilda.”
Sighing, arm in arm, they walked back towards the house.
At the tea-party, Matilda tried to mingle, to be polite and easygoing, to act as if nothing had happened. But she could not pretend that all was well. She was miserable without Henry, bereft of the possible future that was all she wished for. All the social nicety was meaningless and silly, compared to that.
There is nothing I can do about it. I need to forget.
The sun sank a little lower, a nightingale singing in the grove beyond the windows. Pauline played the piano and they all sat down to listen. Everything was polished and gentle and nice. But her world had changed and Matilda could not feel content.
Chapter 5
“Cousin?”
Matilda looked up from where she sat in the parlor, trying to distract herself with embroidery. She found herself looking into the earnestly-pretty face of her cousin Cornelia.
“Cornelia!” she smiled. “Hello. What is it? You look worried.”
“I am, a little,” Cornelia confessed. Matilda waved her to a seat, and she took one, smiling gratefully.
“What is it?”
“It's Mama,” Cornelia explained. “With your Papa so ill, and she fretting so hard, I'm starting to worry about her.”
“You are?” Matilda asked, cutting off the pink thread she was using, then setting the tapestry aside. “In what sense?”
“Well,” Cornelia said, looking uncomfortable. “You promise you won't tell?”
“Of course, Cornelia!” Matilda assured her. “Why would I do that?”
Cornelia beamed. “Thanks, cousin. Anyhow. The other night I woke up and I heard a noise from her chamber, so I went in and she was standing before the window, staring out, a lamp in her hand. I asked her what was wrong, and she said she thought she saw someone.”
“That's not that odd,” Matilda said, frowning. “A person can be jumpy sometimes, dear. Especially when you're older.”
“Well, I wouldn't have thought anything of it either, cousin. Except that, the next day, she said it again. We were walking in the grounds and she insisted she had seen a man, earlier, lurking behind the roses in the shrubbery. I asked the gardeners, but they said they had seen nothing. Mama did insist, though. And I...well...one worries,” she said quietly.
“You think your mother's nerves are a bit...care-worn?” Matilda asked carefully.
“Yes!” Cornelia nodded vigorously. “I mean, it's just me and Mama, and I do worry about her so. It's not like her to have fancies like this. But what else can I think? I am certain you are right – all this worry for Uncle Will has worn her down.”
“Perhaps she should rest more,” Matilda suggested. “We have all been to a lot of engagements recently, and Mama has a recital planned for this evening...” she added, rolling her eyes.
Cornelia smiled – she had a pretty smile, and did so often. Little dimples appeared in her chin and Matilda thought how pretty she was. Like a little lap-dog. She would have no trouble finding a husband, she thought a little jealously. Even Lucas said she was pretty.
“Well, I suppose I should go and find your pianoforte,” Cornelia smiled. “If there's going to be a recital I'd best practice.”
“Me too!” Matilda said, feeling a sudden urgent need to practice herself. “I'll tell you what: you go first, and then this afternoon I'll play for an hour or so.”
“Oh, thank you, cousin!” Cornelia said, squeezing her hand. “That's dear of you.”
“You remembered first,” Matilda said kindly. “Now off you go. And don't worry about your mama. If she needs something we can always ask Doctor Jarrow for help. I'm sure there's some sort of tonic to ease being overwrought.”
“Thank you, Matilda,” Cornelia smiled. “I knew you'd help.”
“Not at all,” Matilda murmured.
When Cornelia had gone upstairs to practice, she sat back, thinking. Aunt Allectia was of a somewhat-nervous temperament, it was true. But seeing things? Was that likely?
Sighing, she picked up her embroidery and headed upstairs. She should check on their father.
She met Stella, her maid, coming out of his chamber.
“How is he, Stella?”
“Poorly, mistress,” Stella said. “Resting now, but he had an awful turn this morning. Didn't recognize me, nor know where he was.”
Matilda closed her eyes. “I am sorry to hear that. Is he resting now?”
“Yes, milady.”
Matilda nodded. “I'll leave him be.”
She went back upstairs, her worry a cold hand in her chest. In the library, she found Aunt Allectia, talking to Pauline.
“...oh, you do have a copy! Thank you, dear,” Allectia was saying. “I do need something to read to help me sleep.”
“Not at all, aunt Allectia,” Pauline said soothingly. “If we could perhaps have a posset sent up? Cook makes a good posset, and it's sure to ease your restlessness.”
“Thank you, Pauline.”
Matilda walked in just as Aunt Allectia was leaving. A short woman, with glossy dark hair barely touched by gray, it was not hard to see great-aunt Tertia in her aunt's gentle features. She looked up at Matilda.
“Oh, hello, dear,” she said, looking at her with a slightly owlish
expression that suggested she hadn't expected anyone to be standing in the doorway. “I was just finding a book. You too?”
“No,” Matilda said. “You're having trouble sleeping?”
“Oh, terrible trouble!” Allectia said. “It's all these strange happenings.”
“Happenings?” She glanced at Pauline, who nodded.
“I'm just going down to find Mama. Excuse me,” she said. Matilda nodded.
“Of course.” She turned to Allectia. “Sorry, I interrupted. You were saying?”
“I saw a man in the shrubbery,” Allectia confessed.
“You did?”
“I did. Well...he wasn't in the shrubbery to start with. I saw him walking along the path by the lawn. He looked around and when he heard a noise, he hid there. I saw him wait until Jenkins led the horses past, and then he came out again. Walked along the path, like he belonged.”
“You saw where he went?” Matilda asked, frowning.
“I didn't, no, my dear. By then I was quite worried. I'm afraid I returned to the house in quite some haste. As you may imagine,” she added, looking up at Matilda with wide, dark-brown eyes.
“I do imagine. It must have been quite worrying.”
“It was!” Aunt Allectia nodded firmly. “And given that I'd swear I'd seen someone creeping about on the lawn the other night, well...”
“On the lawn?”
“The main lawn, near the arbor. I couldn't see clearly; it was dark. But I saw a shadow there. I'm almost completely sure of it.”
“You told Shipsley?”
“I told no-one,” Aunt Allectia said quietly. “Well, besides you. And Cornelia, of course. She thinks I'm being silly,” she said, with a soft sadness in her eye.
“I'm sure she's just worried,” Matilda said kindly.
“No, she thinks I'm going soft in the wits,” Allectia said with a surprising frankness. “But I'm not. I tell you, I saw someone.”
“I believe you, Aunt,” Matilda assured her. Whether or not her aunt was just being jumpy, she didn't believe she was going soft, as she had put it. She would have a word with Shipsley and ask him if any of the servants had seen anything.