The Lady Is Daring

by Megan Frampton

  Nora nodded, then put another piece of buttered bread in her mouth.

  “Well,” Ida began, shooting a look toward Bennett, who cocked his head at her, “there was a carriage, and I took it.”

  Bennett smothered a laugh.

  Della’s eyes went wide. “There was a carriage. And you took it,” she repeated.

  Ida waved her hand. “There’s more to it than that, of course.”

  “I assume so,” Della said dryly as Mrs. Wattings tried not to smile.

  “I was in the carriage,” Bennett added. Making Ida glare at him.

  Della’s eyebrows shot up. “You were in the carriage? So you didn’t plan on coming here together?”

  “Not . . . exactly,” Ida replied in a reluctant tone.

  Della cradled her chin in her hand. “So how was it, exactly?”

  “Uh . . .” Ida said.

  Bennett leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. He couldn’t wait to hear what she was going to say.

  Ida shut the door to the room Della had shown her, her heart constricting with all sorts of emotions.

  Conflicting emotions, ranging from exhilaration at having been reunited with Della again to anxiety that she wouldn’t be able to persuade her sister to return with her to a heartsickness that felt as though it were taking over her entire body, knowing that Bennett was down the hall, again, but she couldn’t see him in that way ever again.

  They were both so set in their respective lives. And she couldn’t shake the thought that even if he were to say something, anything, about how he felt about her, she couldn’t with any kind of good conscience agree.

  She would ruin his life. It was dramatic, but it was also true.

  She undid her gown, twisting as she reached some of the buttons. Wishing he were here to help. Wishing he were here.

  But if he were there, they’d be doing things. Things that made her heart race, and her breasts get heavy, and her whole mind get filled with thoughts of what could never be.

  There were many reasons why. She just had to remember them.

  For one: What would happen when somebody he had to use his diplomacy on said something that irked Ida? She was bound to say something opinionated and strident, leaving Bennett to try to explain away his outspoken wife.

  Or two: Or when his family responsibilities took him away when she needed him? Was that any kind of way to live a life?

  Well, yes. But not a way to live her life.

  He would ruin her life, too. Because if she had to watch herself she would be less than the Ida she knew she was meant to be—a woman who spoke her mind, who exercised her intelligence to help others, who refused to relent when she knew she was in the right.

  That was why she had come on this journey in the first place, wasn’t it? Because she refused to accept that this was the way it would be. That Della would be lost forever to them. That they would never know Nora.

  It was that stubbornness that served her well now, but that would invariably ruin someone’s happiness.

  She couldn’t. She would not.

  She heard a sniffle, and realized it was her. Damn it. She did not want to cry over it all, but it appeared that that was what was happening.

  She got onto the bed, letting herself sob with abandon, falling into the heartache as thoroughly as she did anything.

  The next morning, her eyes were weary, but at least she was resolute.

  She had to return to London as quickly as possible, she knew, because the longer she stayed away the more likely it was that her reputation be ruined. Not that she cared about that, but she didn’t want to taint Pearl’s chances of finding a husband.

  “Della,” Ida said, after finishing her tea, “may we speak? In private?”

  Della glanced at Mrs. Wattings, who nodded in agreement.

  “Fine. But I have to be finished so I can teach my pupils in about half an hour,” Della said.

  Half an hour. Fine. She could do this. She was Ida the Intelligent, wasn’t she? The most argumentative of the Howlett sisters?

  Della led her upstairs to her bedroom. It was a lovely room, with a large striped coverlet on her bed, paintings clearly done by a child tacked up on the wall, a few pieces of jewelry on the dressing table.

  “You have made a good home for yourself,” Ida said, picking up one of the necklaces.

  “Mr. Baxter knew those were cheap, so he didn’t bother taking them when he left,” Della commented ruefully.

  “They’re pretty.”

  Della smiled. “Nora likes to play dress-up with them.”

  “Nora seems like a wonderful child. One I want to know better,” Ida said in a meaningful tone.

  Della rolled her eyes, but gestured for Ida to sit down, sitting down beside her on the bed.

  “Can I offer you a bargain?” Ida began, hoping this would be the argument that would work. “You know all the reasons I want you to return. Coming back to us, giving Nora more of a family, knowing the two of you are safe. But I have a selfish reason as well.”

  She took a deep breath. “The thing is, my travel here was somewhat unusual, and I know that if I return by myself, I will be forced to marry Lord Carson, who has no desire to marry me. Nor I him,” she added, even though she knew she wasn’t being entirely truthful.

  “You have no wish to marry him, Ida?” Della sounded skeptical.

  Ida took a deep breath and lied to her sister. “No.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Della said. “I believe you have fallen in love with him.”

  “That might be true,” Ida admitted. Della was too smart, and Ida too bad at lying, to prevaricate. “But it doesn’t mean I want to marry him. You, more than anyone, know what that is like.”

  “It’s not the same thing at all,” Della said in a scornful voice. She bit her lip, looking past Ida in thought. “I did not want to marry Mr. Baxter, not after I discovered who he was. Thank goodness he left before I had to throw him out. And thank goodness Sarah was here, she helped me through the worst of it.”

  “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

  “Thank you. It was my own foolishness, I know that. But I also know that I am impulsive and impetuous.” She smiled. “As it seems you are, since you tore off after me.” She frowned. “I know you stole a carriage, of all things, but how did you know where to go?”

  Ida grinned. “Well, it appears one of your students was practicing penmanship or something. I saw ‘Haltwhistle’ written on your latest letter. And since our mother was being our mother . . .”

  Della’s eyes widened. “You mean she wanted to marry you off?”

  Ida nodded.

  “Not to Lord Carson, though?”

  Would she have agreed if it were Bennett her mother had presented?

  Likely not; her initial impression of Bennett was so different than what she thought now. She would have refused him with as much alacrity as she would have refused Lord Bradford, if he’d been offered the opportunity to propose.

  “No. Even worse. It was to Lord Bradford. Do you remember him?”

  Della wrinkled her brow in thought, then her expression cleared. “No. Him? He once explained that breakfast is first thing in the morning because it is when you break your fast. Only, he said in painstaking explanation, you don’t actually break anything.”

  Ida gawked at Della for a moment before bursting into laughter. Della let out a peal of laughter as well, and the two sisters both collapsed onto the bed, holding their sides.

  Eventually their laughter subsided, and Della’s expression turned serious again. “So you’re saying that unless I return with you you’ll be forced into marriage? How would that work? We’ll both be disgraced.”

  “But we’ll be together,” Ida pleaded. “And all of those other arguments I presented, don’t forget about them. Aren’t we stronger together?”

  “We are.”

  Ida felt her heart lift at hearing Della’s confirmation.

  Della continued. “You are as c
lever as always, Ida, presenting me with a request I can’t possibly refuse.” She reached over and took Ida’s hand in hers. “I will return with you, then, if only to ensure you won’t have to marry where you don’t want to. Not that I think for one moment that you would actually be forced into it, since I do know you, and your stubbornness. But I want Nora to know her aunts. All of her aunts.”

  She looked up at the ceiling as she thought. “I expect we can stay with Eleanor. I do not wish to return to our father’s house, not until they’ve had a chance to decide how they feel about my return.”

  She returned her gaze to Ida. “And I’ll speak to Sarah. I will invite her and Emily to join us, since they are my family.”

  “Of course.” Ida hadn’t anticipated being joined by the other woman and her daughter, but if it meant Della wasn’t going to argue anymore about it, she would accept it.

  She knew Eleanor would be thrilled to have Della and her friend and their children stay with her; Eleanor’s own baby was just a few months old.

  “We can spend a few days here while Lord Carson obtains the funds and the carriage to bring us back. I might dry out by then,” Ida said in a wry tone.

  “It is good to see you,” Della replied, squeezing Ida’s hand. “You don’t know what it means to me that you came all this way with your friend to find me. You must promise me, however, that once you are seen to be not at all compromised that you will allow me to make my own decision about my future. As I am helping you do with yours by my return.”

  “Yes,” Ida responded immediately. “Of course. And if that means that you and Nora and Sarah and Emily come back here to your life, that is fine. I cannot promise I won’t join you, however.” Especially if it meant she would escape seeing Bennett being eventually married to the woman his life deserved—someone safe, and warm, and comforting. Someone who was everything that Ida was not.

  “I’ll speak with Sarah and then I’ll start preparing for the journey.” Her lips twisted into a wry smile. “Nora will be thrilled.”

  As was Ida. She and her niece had that in common then. Hopefully she would be able to get to know her niece. In London, with all of them together.

  And if Della refused? Well. She should make certain to spend time with Nora now, since she might not get to see her again for a long time.

  “My pa is a sailor,” Emily said.

  She, Nora, and Ida had walked to the little pond at the edge of the property. Normally, the girls said, they weren’t allowed to come down there, not without one or the other of their mothers, but since it was their aunt—Emily had adopted Ida as her aunt as well—Della had said it was all right.

  It gave Della a chance to speak with Sarah about London, and it gave Ida the opportunity to know her new nieces.

  She hadn’t seen Bennett—Lord Carson, that is—yet that day, and she reminded herself that that was how it would be when they returned. She wouldn’t see him, he wouldn’t see her, they wouldn’t see each other.

  Conjugating again? his voice said in her brain.

  “Aunt Ida?” Nora asked.

  Ida blinked as she focused on the girls. Both were staring at her wide-eyed, so apparently she’d made a noise or a face or something to indicate her scattered state of mind.

  Wonderful. Now she was making small children question her sanity.

  As she was questioning her choices.

  The girls had brought paper boats to the pond, and were holding them over the water set to launch them. Ida didn’t have a lot of faith that the boats would do anything more than absorb water and sink, but she would not be explaining any of that to the children, whose expressions previously were those of excitement. Before Ida got odd and made them anxious.

  “Nothing, girls. Sorry. Just remembering a story I heard.”

  “You’re going to tell us your story.” Nora spoke in a commanding tone. Yes, she was rather like her aunt, wasn’t she?

  Also, Ida didn’t have a story in mind. She wasn’t good at this whole prevaricating thing, was she?

  “Emily, you said your father was a sailor?”

  The little girl nodded.

  “And you are here launching ships!” Ida could feel herself clutching at straws.

  But she had done this before, hadn’t she? Talked at length about a topic just because someone mentioned something tangential to it?

  “Do you know that in the Americas they call our sailors ‘lime-juicers’?”

  Both girls shook their heads. Of course they didn’t know that. Ida had only stumbled upon it in a periodical she’d read at Mr. Beechcroft’s, one from New York that mostly contained shipping news. No wonder they’d never heard it.

  “What is a lime-juicer?” Nora the Inquisitive asked.

  She really was an excellent child.

  “Well, you know what limes are, don’t you?”

  Emily frowned and shook her head again. Nora beamed and folded her arms over her chest. “I do.”

  “Do you want to tell us?” Ida asked.

  Nora looked hesitant. “I think it’s green. And it’s food.”

  “It is,” Ida replied, suppressing an urge to list all of the green food items in her mental inventory. That could take several hours, and it wouldn’t be useful toward helping the children understand now.

  That she had to suppress the thought at all meant she hadn’t entirely lost her urge for pedantry. She’d have to be mindful of that. There was no reason to dissuade learning in the young just because the older teacher was determined to show just how much she happened to know.

  “A lime is a member of the citrus genus.” Not that they would know Linnaeus either. “In order to organize things, we put them into categories. Like your hair ribbon, Emily, is like Nora’s hair ribbon. Only they are not the same hair ribbon, or it would be very difficult for both of you to wear them.”

  The girls looked at each other and giggled.

  “A lime is similar, but not the same, to lemons and oranges and other members of the citrus genus. It’s got a green outside and a lighter green inside.”

  “What do limes have to do with sailors?”

  Ida beamed at Nora. “That is a very good question. Americans noticed that our sailors, sailing in the British Navy, ate a lot of limes. Well,” she amended, knowing the girls wouldn’t care about absolute accuracy but not being able to leave a misapprehension alone, “they actually put lime juice into their grog.”

  By this time, the girls had abandoned their boats and were seated on the grass, one on each side of Ida. Nora was leaning her head against Ida’s arm, while Emily had hold of Ida’s hand.

  It felt so different from anything she’d ever experienced before.

  It felt strange and wonderful, and her heart constricted. This was what it would be like if she had children of her own. Not that she was planning on having children; if she wasn’t planning on getting married at any point in her life she wouldn’t be considering children.

  She was not Della, after all.

  But the thought of it, of having a young mind or minds to nourish and grow . . .

  “What is grog?” Nora said, interrupting Ida just as she thought she might burst into tears.

  “Grog?” Ida blinked, her brain recalling what she knew so she could report it accurately. “Grog is a drink that sailors drink. Perhaps your father has had it, Emily.”

  Emily gave a shy smile.

  “It’s rum mixed with water. I heard that it is named after some admiral because he wore a coat made of grogram. What the French call gros grain.”

  The girls’ expressions were puzzled. No wonder, since she had just given the worst possible explanation of the word grog.

  “We should get back,” Ida said, getting up to her feet.

  If she was going to confuse the children, she could do that just as well at Della’s house, where he might be.

  Not that she wanted to see him.

  You can’t even lie to yourself properly, a voice chided in her head. A voice that sounded a lo
t like Pearl’s.

  She wished, suddenly, that she had some grog. She would drink it until she could not think anymore, and then she wouldn’t have to be bothered with thoughts of him and children and what could never be.

  But she didn’t have grog. What she had was an undecided sister and a gentleman with whom she didn’t want to do the honorable thing, no matter how much she truly did want that.

  She took the girls’ hands and began to walk back toward the house, feeling the alternating tug of her heart as it cycled through what could and would not happen.

  Lecturing about life and the natural order of things was far less complicated than living life.

  Contradictorium Idatum, indeed.

  Bennett had left the house early that morning, not wanting to torture himself by seeing her. Even though it was torture not seeing her, but that was a different type of torture.

  No doubt she could have explained the cognitive differences.

  He smiled even as it hurt to think about her.

  Never mind that it was already torture to be wearing his clothing from the day before, which was still damp from the rain. The alternative to that, however, was venturing into town in Lady Della’s dressing gown, which he didn’t think the town was ready for.

  Already that day, he’d sent a letter to his bank, asking for funds, and then found a stable where he could rent a carriage and horses. The proprietor had been suspicious, at first, but had warmed to him as soon as Bennett gave his title and the amount he was willing to pay.

  Then he found a place to sell him a suit—not one as good as the one he was wearing, from Mr. Holding. But it was dry.

  His business finished, he walked back to Lady Della’s house, moving swiftly when he thought about seeing Ida, and then slowing his pace as he thought about her.

  About them, and this magical journey they’d been on. That was about to end.

  “You’ve returned,” Mrs. Wattings said as he stepped into the house. “Lady Ida is waiting for you in the sitting room. Just there,” she said, gesturing to the room they’d first gone into the day before.