by Finch, Fanny
Mother’s tone gentled slightly “I do not think that you are a consciously selfish person, my dear. Nor do I think that you often act out of pure self-interest.
“But you would do better to sit back. To be silent for once instead of speaking. To observe. I think that you would be surprised at what you would see in the people around you.”
Julia wanted to throw her hands in the air. To stamp her foot. It was unfair for her mother to just come out like this with no warning and shame her cryptically.
“Well, then, who have I hurt? To whom must I apologize? If not to you?”
“I am not telling you to apologize to anyone. I am only doing what it is a mother’s job to do: to inform their child of how they can do better.”
“And this has nothing to do with how you wish to marry me off.” Julia struggled to keep her voice even. “I know that I am not succeeding in obtaining a proposal yet but surely a courtship must take time?”
“But you are not even being properly courted. You are still aloof and distant. You are holding them at bay as if with a stick. Your attitude speaks volumes to the men around you.
“Therefore, I am telling you that if you would only be less intimidating, they might grow bolder. And if you would stop and look, truly look, at the men around you, you might be surprised.”
“By whom? And in what way?”
Mother shrugged as if to say you will see.
Julia clenched her teeth so that she would not scream in frustration. “And who would you have me marry, Mother? If you do not have a favorite in Mr. Carson. Surely there must be someone that you favor. Someone towards whom you are pushing me.”
Mother gazed out the window. “I would rather not say.”
“No, Mother. You cannot start this argument and then retreat and claim that you have no horse in the race. There must be someone that you are getting at for me and you do not wish to say it. But he exists. I know that he does.
“You might have raised an impertinent and obstinate and altogether selfish daughter. But you did not raise a stupid one. I know when you are trying to drive me towards something but do not wish to say that something straight out. Although goodness knows why.”
Mother frowned, as if she was the one who was being interrogated this entire time. As if she was the one who was being inconvenienced by this conversation.
“If you really do insist upon knowing who I would wish you to marry… if it were entirely up to me. I should pick Mr. Norwich for you.”
Julia liked to consider herself the kind of girl who was always poised. The kind of woman who was always ready to laugh something off and prepared for any kind of occasion.
But when her mother said that, her jaw dropped open. She gaped.
“Mr. Norwich?” she asked.
Her nerves were electrified with surprise. But—why on earth—
Well, it made sense, logically. Mr. Norwich was set to inherit a title. He was wealthy and had good connections. He was educated and a friend of the family. If she were to list his attributes on a piece of paper he would make any woman the perfect husband.
But it had never even begun to occur to her that he might be someone to marry. He was not even interested in her. She was nothing but a young girl to him still. In his eyes she would probably always be that way.
If anything, the gentleman thought of her as a younger sister. He was always happy to banter with her and tease her. They freely called one another ‘friend’.
But woo her? Court her?
Surely if he was interested in her that way she would have seen the signs of it long ago. He was not a stranger to her or to her family.
They had seen one another off and on over the years. She had her entire season and her coming out. Dinner parties. Balls. Nights at the theatre. She had come into the bloom of womanhood some time ago.
If he was going to view her as a marriage prospect then wouldn’t he have done something about it by now? Given her some sort of sign?
“Mother, he thinks of me as nothing but a child. A little sister, if you will. You know that he has no sister of his own. Only his younger brother.”
“I think that he would be a wonderful match for you, Julia. You two get on so well. You always have. And he will be able to provide for you as few men can.”
“Mr. Carson and many other men can provide for me as he can.”
“True, but you do not get on with any of them so well as you do with Mr. Norwich.”
“Getting along well with someone in general does not mean that I should get on with him in that particularly romantic fashion.”
“There is no need for you to start a marriage with romance,” Mother replied. “That is not how I did it. And I came to love your father deeply with time. I know that we do not always speak of it. It is not proper to do so. But I like to believe that you have felt it.”
“I have seen and felt the regard that you have for one another,” Julia replied. “But I cannot be that way. I do not wish to marry someone only out of respect. I wish to marry someone that I truly love.”
“You will be hard-pressed then, my child,” Mrs. Weston shot back. “And I fear that you will die a spinster. And a penniless one as well. You do not have a rich and titled brother to care for you!”
“I will move in with Georgiana!” Julia said wildly. “She would never turn me away! I should be a proper aunt to her children. Captain Trentworth enjoys my company. He would not object either.”
“You ridiculous girl.” Her mother sniffed. “If you are so determined to wait for love then I despair of you. You will not find it!”
“Georgiana did!”
“Georgiana found it, lost it, nearly became a spinster, endured the taunts of society, and then nearly lost it again before it came to her. Forgive me for not wishing you to go through the ordeal that she did.”
“I dare say she would tell you that it was worth it in the end. If she thinks that then why should I not pursue a similar course?”
“Georgiana could afford to be so fanciful. As I mentioned before—she has a rich brother who was willing to take care of her. You do not. When your father dies you shall be penniless.
“Are you truly willing to risk that, Julia? Is that something for which you are actually prepared? I know that you say that you are but are you truly? Thinking something intellectually and experiencing it are two entirely different things. Your father has pointed this out to his pupils many a time over the years.
“Goodness knows he treated you like a pupil enough times while you were growing up. One would think that lesson as well as others of common sense would have sunk in at some point.”
“Well,” Julia said, drawing herself up. “If I am such a disappointment to you then I apologize. I never meant to be such a thing. I have always done the best that I could to make you proud.
“If I have been selfish in my behavior towards you then I apologize as well. But I must stay true to myself. I cannot marry a man that I do not love and who does not love me.
“I certainly shall not marry him simply because you wish me to. That would make the both of us unhappy in time. And, I daresay, it would make you unhappy as well, to see me so unhappy.”
“Stubborn girl,” Mrs. Weston snapped.
Julia knew that there was only one way to maintain any sort of dignity at this point.
She left the room.
Her first inclination upon hurrying up to her room was, of all things, to write to her gentleman correspondent.
She did not understand that.
Why should she wish to write to him?
Yet it felt like the most natural thing in the world to do. She was upset and she wished to tell him about it. To tell him all that Mother had said. To ask him, for he said that he was her friend, if he truly thought her to be selfish and stupid in waiting for love.
Not that she had told him that was what she was waiting for. He had declared his love for her. It had felt cruel to tell him that she was waiting to marry a man she was i
n love with while he was doing his best to show her that he could be that man.
But oh, she realized in that moment how she had come to depend upon him for her emotional support. How she had told him all of her secrets and all of her woes.
If she did tell him, though—would that not be childish? She would no doubt sound as though she was ungrateful. Whining like a little brat, even.
Here was a man who declared his love for her and was willing to marry her. And he respected her need to know him truthfully as a person. He was writing to her faithfully for weeks in order to court her.
And when she could have had him at any moment she still would not give him what he so wanted? What could solve all her problems and make her mother happy?
Not that it wasn’t all from lack of trying on her part. She was going to risk things with Mr. Carson tonight to see if he was the man she was looking for. But she felt a deep sense of shame that prevented her from writing anything.
It was all probably just her overreaction anyway. Mother was probably right.
Was she selfish? Was she unobservant? Was she callous?
Julia was terrified to find out.
She would know soon enough if she was reading her letter writer correctly. If she had figured him out.
She would feel like an utter fool if she was wrong.
Julia hid in her room, sitting on her bed. She wanted to curl up and cry.
Mother had not been so stern to her in such a long time. Julia could feel her stomach churning. She felt almost sick.
Was she being awful to people and not realizing it? Was she a horrible daughter?
Mother had not said anything about Julia failing her parents specifically. But it was right there in between the words that she said.
Julia was not marrying the man that her mother wanted her to marry. She was not yet married, which in and of itself was bad enough.
She was, apparently, not paying attention to the wants and needs of people around her.
Her mother might not have outright said you have disappointed me but she did not have to. Julia could hear it echoing in her ears all the same.
She wished fiercely, like anything, that she knew who her mysterious gentleman was. She wished that she could run to his house and fling herself into his arms. If only so that she might feel safe.
He made her feel safe. It was odd, that. She could acknowledge it. She had never met the gentleman.
Or, rather, she had met him several times but did not know who he was.
And yet she felt safe with him. She felt that if she were to tell him everything that she was feeling that he would hold her closely and allow her to be upset and he would not judge her.
He would counsel her and give her soft but wise advice and she would listen. He would soothe her. Oh, it all sounded so nice in her head.
If only that it was true.
She found herself almost wishing that it was Mr. Carson despite her earlier reservations. If it was Mr. Carson then at least the mystery would be over. She could draw comfort from him. Bring him to her mother and say look, I have found someone. Are you not happy now?
And Mr. Norwich. Where on earth had Mother gotten that idea? It had felt to Julia as if she had been struck by lightning. She felt oddly dizzy and tingly.
The poor man had to have no idea that Mother was throwing in her cap for him to marry Julia. He would most likely laugh if he knew.
He had always seen her and never would see her as anything but a young girl. He teased her constantly. And the man was certainly not serious enough.
Julia recalled telling Georgiana once that Mr. Norwich was the sort of man raised in privilege. Because he was raised in such privilege, he did not always realize how serious life was for everyone else.
And why should he know? He had everything that a man could desire. Or a woman could desire, for that matter. It was understandable.
She could simply not see Mr. Norwich as being in love with anybody. Or if he was, she knew that he would be buoyant about it as he was about everything else. Exuberant. Excitable. Cheerful.
Not at all the serious and introspective sort of man that she realized that she craved. The sort of man that her letter writer was.
It was terrible to know that she was letting down her mother. At least Mr. Norwich was not in love with her and therefore not being let down as well.
To disappoint one person that she cared about was already bad enough. But the idea of disappointing another person, a good man, one that she considered a friend—that was far too much.
She almost wanted to cancel the dinner party now. To hide away in her room. She had thought that she was doing fine. That her behavior while certainly not something she would boast about was not something to chastise.
Instead it seemed that since the time her parents had first brought it up she had only disappointed them more in the matter of marriage.
She would have to endure it, though. She would have to endure and do better. And she would see if she was right and Mr. Carson was indeed her letter writer.
If he was not, then she would simply have to ask the letter writer to reveal himself. There was nothing else for it.
After all, he might not be the man that her mother had wished for but surely he would be better than nothing. He was a good man. He was set to inherit a title. Or at least she suspected that he was.
And he was at the very least a man with whom she felt safe. A man that she could talk to.
What she wanted had to go out the window now. She had disappointed her mother. A dying woman. The one person that above all she wished to see happy. Her time was up and she had to act.
Julia wanted to cry. But she was not a child. She was a lady and a grown one at that. She must handle things.
She rose, and prepared herself for dinner that night. She did not speak to her mother again and neither did Mrs. Weston seek her out.
It was as though they were at some kind of silent stalemate. Neither of them was willing to give up her position. Yet neither was either of them willing to charge into the fray again.
Mother was probably exhausted. The fight must have cost her energy even if she did not wish to show it and would never admit it.
She was a stubborn woman. More stubborn than Julia. Stronger-willed as well. Julia could admit to that.
Part of her wished that she was stronger-willed. That she could match her mother’s force of personality and declare that she didn’t give two pence what Mother or anyone else thought of her.
But she did care. She cared very much. Especially for what Mother thought. Father as well but Mother was more important. Mother was the one who would not be long for this world.
Julia kept quiet and so did her mother, the two of them getting ready. Normally she helped her mother to get ready and Mrs. Weston would make suggestions for Julia’s wardrobe. Not this evening.
Julia almost wanted to scream. She had always hated silence. Why else would she fill her days with wit and banter?
Even when she was writing her letters she was filling pages and overlapping herself. She would often write diagonally over her own words as was the custom to save paper.
Her letter writer had remarked on it once or twice with amusement. His was a special kind of amusement that did not feel patronizing in the slightest. It was as though his amusement sprang from a genuine delight in everything that she did.
She was torn between hoping it would be Mr. Carson so that it would be all over. And hoping oddly that it was not him.
She could not say why she still hoped that it would not be him. It was something deep inside of her that just seemed to instinctually rebel against the idea.
Not that it truly mattered what she did or did not want anymore. She would select the letter writer because she felt safe with him. Because he knew her. Because he had done so much for her already. Put his heart out there for her for weeks.
If she had to marry then it might as well be him. Even if it was not for love.
; And then Mother would be happy.
Mr. Carson was one of the first to arrive which was fortunate. Julia wanted to get this entire ordeal over with.
It was probably not the attitude that she ought to have when faced with the possibility of discovering the man who had been writing to her with such care and passion.
But how else could she feel? It was as though her back was to the wall. Like she was a starving mouse and although she knew the cheese in the trap might spell her doom, she had to try and snatch it anyway.
When dinner finally arrived, she couldn’t tell if she wanted to heave a sigh of relief or throw up. Her stomach seemed to be unable to decide on the matter.
Mr. Carson was one of the first to arrive. He usually was.
Julia had not been unaware of his slow attempts at courtship. She had thought it might be because he was the letter writer. That because of that he wanted to be his usual charming self but did not want to proceed too hastily. That the shyness he spoke of in his letters was manifested in his behavior.
But could it be because she was driving him away? Was her behavior quite so awful?
She smiled at him as he arrived and immediately engaged him in conversation.
“Mr. Carson. A pleasure as always. You know, it is a good coincidence that you are here. I was just speaking to someone earlier about…”
She wasted no time, asking him at once about a book that she and her letter writer had discussed.
If he had read it and had the same opinion as her letter writer, that would be a good start.
Mr. Carson had indeed read the book. But he stated that he could not venture to give his opinion on it.
Was it because he was her secret correspondent and he knew what she was doing? Or was simply afraid that in expressing his opinion that her question, innocently meant, would reveal him?
She tried another tact instead, launching into some reminiscing about when he was her father’s pupil.
Julia saw Mr. Norwich arrive at one point out of the corner of her eye. Mother went over to him immediately.
Mr. Norwich seemed to be a little out of sorts. He spoke with Mother but there was a distracted air about him. Could he have gotten bad news about his brother or father?