by Karen Kirst
She could not wait to tell Reed about her decision. He, above everyone else, would understand.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
John turned to his sister, who was practicing her violin as they sat in the salon after dinner. “Sid comes home today.” It had been a week since she left. Not that he had been keeping up with each day that passed.
“What a relief,” she replied, finishing her song with a flourish. “She’s a much better conversationalist than you.” She scrunched up her face at him, and he laughed.
“True, true. I cannot hope to argue the finer points of what bonnet would flatter your complexion most,” he admitted. He put aside the book he had been reading, a fascinating volume about training dogs to herd sheep, and gave his sister his full attention. “Tell me, are you glad she will be accompanying us to London?”
“Of course.” Jane laid her violin and bow aside and flexed her fingers. “But, I think, not as glad as you will be.” She came and sat beside him, in a velvet chair near the hearth.
“Whatever do you mean by that?” He glanced at her, raising his eyebrows. “I will be happy to have her assistance bringing you to heel, if that’s what you are saying.”
Jane rolled her large, dark eyes at him. “No, idiot. I know you will enjoy Hannah’s company in London because you have developed quite a tendre for her.”
For a moment, a panicked, suffocating feeling took hold of him. It was predestined that he should marry, because Grant Park needed a mistress and an heir, eventually. He had rather hoped to wait until he had Jane safely married off before he turned to his own matrimonial prospects and selected a woman of proper bearing and breeding. However, he had just grown used to the idea of being master of the house—his own eventual nuptials were too much to consider at present. He schooled his features into bland disinterest. “That is a ridiculous statement. What makes you say that?”
“I can see the way you look at her,” Jane replied. “I have also noted that you rely totally on her counsel, and that you trust her as you trust very few people. As soon as I heard she was accompanying us to London, I knew the truth. You cannot bear to let her go.”
“Jane, don’t be absurd.” There was some truth to what Jane said—he did like Sid’s company, he relied on her and he had complete confidence in her. But did he love her? Surely not. Sid was not the kind of woman with whom he was used to keeping company. The women he knew in London were a fast set: hard, beautiful and frivolous. Of course, none of them would do as mistress of Grant Park, so he had just assumed that, when the time came, he would find a woman of their class who was no less exquisite, but infinitely quieter and better behaved. “I asked Sid to accompany us because I need her to help me rein you in. Without her assistance, I predict that I will have a terrible time making you attend the requisite balls, reviews and concerts.”
“Hmm.” Jane tilted her head to one side and fixed him with a mocking glare. “I find it difficult indeed to believe you.” She leaned forward, a daring sparkle coming into her eyes. “Why don’t you marry her and be done with it, then? Why this ridiculous facade—why must we go to London? I have my heart set on Timothy Holdcroft, and you would do very well to marry Hannah. I say, let’s be married to the ones we love now, without dithering about. Come on, John. I never knew you to shy away from something daring before.”
For a strange moment his heart leaped at her words, but he shook his head. “No. For one thing, neither Timothy nor Sid are of our class. You know this, as well as I do. If I am to be master here, I must understand this and adhere to what’s expected of me—of both of us.”
She made a disgusted sound and sagged against her chair. “You are a snob, John.”
“No, indeed, I am not.” He struggled to put his feelings into words, for he had not properly sorted them out in his head just yet. “You see, you have a vast living at your disposal and could easily fall prey to a fortune hunter. I am not saying Timothy Holdcroft is that type of fellow, but what do we know about him? What do we know of his family? The immense amount of material wealth that is yours could make any man, even a man who professed to be good, turn into a scoundrel.”
Jane shook her head, compressing her lips. “It’s not true,” she choked out.
“It may not be, but it could be, and as your brother it is my duty to protect you,” he interjected. This was quickly turning into a slippery slope. He thought he had a foothold, but obviously the entire side of the mountain could come crashing down with him, if he didn’t take care. “As for me, well, I must marry someone who could hold a candle to Mother as mistress here. She was good, kind, devoted to the health and well-being of everyone on this place, even to her own detriment.” He sighed, pressing her memory to the back of his mind. “She was also cultured and refined, and quite beautiful. I must find someone like her to be my wife. I would disappoint both Mother and Father if I settled for less.”
“Hannah Siddons falls short of these expectations in what respect?” Jane was a fairly gentle creature, but when roused to ire, her temper could be alarming, as he well knew. He must tread carefully, for her hardened tone signaled that she was losing all patience with him.
“It’s not that Sid falls short. She’s just…different, somehow.” He’d not thought of her as a prospective mate, because her social status forbade any thought of matrimony. Moreover, he had not considered himself marriageable material until very recently. When one’s life is all about chasing pleasure, what time is there for caring about taking a suitable bride?
Jane sighed. “Oh, dear brother, whatever will you do when my time in London draws to a close, and I end up marrying the man of your dreams, and then Sid must go away?”
Her question hit him like a blow to his stomach. He must control himself, for it wasn’t his choice to make. The decision was made for him at birth. He must marry a certain type of woman. For years he had thumbed his nose at the conventions of his position, not out of disrespect to his parents, but out of a driving need to have fun. He needed to make it up to Mother, somehow. She died far too young, while serving others. He was, in his own way, making up for what she had missed out on. Now, he had accepted the responsibility of being master of Grant Park. He had to take up the yoke and accept everything that came with it, whether he agreed with the rules and expectations or not. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally. His head throbbed.
“Well, you had better think it over,” she snapped. She rose, picking up her violin. “I personally think that you are being foolish. Whether you realize it or not, you are in love with Hannah Siddons. As to how she feels about you, I don’t know. Frankly, I think she can do far better.” She flounced out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
The pictures on the wall rattled with the force of her anger. John winced, rubbing his temples.
He had engaged in many fights over the years with his sister, but this one was particularly bruising. He thought he was doing so well. He was taking an interest in Grant Park and making it his own. He was making sure Jane had a proper London debut, right down to a wardrobe that befit a princess. In fact, he had been rather proud of himself, for he no longer felt the burning ire against God that had smoldered within him all those years. Sid’s gentle guidance had helped him turn away from anger, and to begin accepting the thought that God hadn’t stolen Mother away.
Now he was unsure. Jane was furious and disappointed in him. How could he be doing both right and wrong at the same time?
He needed to be isolated from everyone. Before leaving for the seclusion of the library, he grabbed two books from the table beside him. They were books that he had meant to study when he was in the right frame of mind: the Bible and his mother’s diary. As shaken as he felt, and since Sid wasn’t here to guide him, he must rely on these books for direction.
He gained the security of his room, and heaving a deep sigh, settled into a chair and opened Mother’s journal. The sight of her handwriting hit him like a physical blow. His hands shook as he turned the fragile pages, hard
ly seeing the words as tears clouded his vision.
One of the last entries snapped him out of his misery. He read, wiping his eyes.
My poor boy has fallen ill with a fever, and I can hardly bear to see him so low. He is always so full of life. My prayer is that he will make a full recovery and go back to being the mischievous little scamp he’s always been. He is the dash of pepper that makes everything right. It’s wrong to see him feeling so miserable. He should be free to be as lively and loving as always. Whatever shall we do if he becomes a sour and dour old man? That would never do for our Johnny. He should be free.
Mother wanted him to be free, and she loved his impish behavior, which, at eleven years old, was playful indeed. She wanted to encourage that in him, and probably in Jane, as well. He sat back, closing the book. Mother had not been angry, or upset, or full of blame. This would take a while to fully comprehend, for this changed his entire life.
*
Hannah smiled as the carriage neared the gates of Grant Park. Freed of the responsibilities and worries of the shop, she could finally enjoy coming home to Grant Park to stay. At least until her time here was done. After that…she could not think beyond the London trip. For the moment, her liberation from the Siddons Sisters Millinery Shop was enjoyable, but it also brought up concerns about her future beyond Jane’s debut. Once Jane was suitably wed, there would be no reason for her to hang about. What would she do then? Could she parlay her experience as Jane’s seamstress into another position elsewhere?
She sank into the carriage cushions as they rolled through the gates. “I can’t think about that right now,” she murmured to herself. “The most important thing to remember is that I can’t allow my head to be turned.” That was, of course, the greatest obstacle she would face once she started helping Jane in London. She could easily get used to the life of a companion, enjoying the ease and luxury that her betters could expect. Then she would be spoiled for the life she could provide for herself.
No, she must put away anything that could cosset her into thinking that she was a fine lady, too, starting with the wardrobe she was expected to provide for herself. She didn’t have any workers in Tansley any longer, for Abigail and Mercy had agreed to stay and work for Lillian Bellamy. So she must do her own sewing, and with the scarcity of time she had, she would limit herself to one or two gowns. After all, her current dresses were nice enough for day, though not as fashionable as the dresses she was creating for Jane.
There was the usual welcome-home flurry of activity, from Molly frisking down the back steps to greet her to Mrs. H’s outstretched arms and warm hugs. Then she was upstairs in Jane’s suite, unpacking her bag for the last time until she tagged along to London.
“So, you gave the shop away? Just like that?” Jane clapped her hands and laughed. “Upon my word, that is delightful.”
“The best part of it is, I truly think it was the right decision for everyone involved, no matter what Susannah thinks.” Hannah took her sky blue day dress out of her valise and gave it a good shake. “I feel certain that Lillian Bellamy will make that shop thrive, as I never could. I must be meant for something else. I believe that God has set me on this path with you.”
Jane smiled. “I like that thought.” She paused, plucking at the coverlet on Hannah’s bed. “Tell me, did you see the Holdcrofts?”
“Yes, I did. Mrs. Hugh’s bonnet was finished, so she came in to pick it up. I introduced her to the new shop owner and made sure to praise Lillian’s skills. I am certain she is going to be a lasting customer.” Hannah put the blue dress away and withdrew the handkerchief box. “I remembered to bring this home, too. Thank you for letting me borrow it both trips. Somehow, having it displayed out in the store made me feel braver and more certain of myself.”
“Of course.” Jane took the box with hands that seemed to tremble a bit.
“Jane, are you all right? Are your hands shaking?” Hannah bent close to examine her friend.
“I have a bit of a headache,” Jane admitted, rising from her spot on the bed. “I think I will retire. It does us all a power of good to have you back, Hannah. John and I were just talking about how much we missed you this morning.”
“Were you?” Hannah squashed the faint hope that rose in her chest. Jane had an exquisite turn of phrase and natural graciousness; what she said was said out of pure politeness and had nothing whatsoever to do with John Reed’s feelings.
“Yes. In fact, I encourage you to seek him out and tell him about giving the shop away,” she replied. She gathered up the handkerchief box. “Good night.”
“Good night, Jane. I hope you feel better.”
Hannah finished unpacking her valise, and a gnawing sense of restlessness took over her. Truth be told, she was ready to see John Reed and tell him all about her achievements, but that would certainly not do. He wouldn’t really care, and she would be overstepping her boundaries. Perhaps, if she read a book she would calm down. She picked up her candle and made her way downstairs to the library.
A light flickered under the door. The fire must still be lit, even at this late hour.
She pushed open the door and gasped in surprise. John was there, reclining on the settee, asleep. Two books had been opened and draped across his chest. She crept inside quietly, thankful that her slippers made far less noise than her boots.
Hannah selected a couple of novels and was about to leave when John suddenly sat up, sending the books tumbling to the floor. “Sid?” He yawned.
“I am here. I thought it would be all right to borrow a few books to read,” she replied, coming around the settee to face him. “I am sorry I awakened you.”
“Not at all. I should be awake.” He ran his hand through his hair. “How was your trip?”
“Rather amusing,” she replied. She told him about Lillian Bellamy, the shop and, of course, her sisters’ reactions. “Susannah was the most appalled, even after the matter had been settled,” she concluded, with a laugh.
“How does it feel, being rid of all those obligations?” He stooped over to pick up the dropped books.
“To be honest, there are two emotions—genuine happiness and genuine fear,” she replied with a shrug. “I am trying to focus on the happiness.”
He laughed. John’s laugh was no longer as annoying to her as it used to be, for he laughed as much in professed admiration for her now as he did out of an urge to tease her. “I will never grow tired of your honesty, Sid. Or your bravery, for that matter. You have been courageous in giving up something that no longer served you. I have faced some of my fears, too. I spent the afternoon reading, which in and of itself is unusual for me. I read two things—my mother’s diary and the Bible.”
“How do you feel?” This was no small victory for a man who had, until very recently, held himself and God responsible for his beloved mother’s death.
“I don’t know how to feel. You see, my mother did everything out of love, as did our Savior. I spent all these years railing against Him for taking her away as He did. I spent just as much time convincing myself that everything my mother did was out of duty, and I could never measure up. I feel exhausted and buoyed at the same time. As though, for the first time in years, I can see clearly. Does that make sense?” He stacked the books neatly, one atop the other, and looked at her from beneath his eyebrows.
“Yes. It makes perfect sense. I have been struggling with those emotions myself.” She cradled her books close to her chest. “I suppose I should go.”
“I would not have had the courage to face either of them, my Lord or the memory of my mother, without your help, Sid.” He gave her a tired smile, but his eyes glowed warmly. “Thank you for helping me to become a better man.”
She nearly lost her hold on the books. How ridiculous. He was merely expressing the kind of feverish gratitude anyone would feel after they stayed up too long, reading through heavy and emotional subjects. “You are welcome,” she replied simply, though her voice quavered a trifle. “I really should be
off to bed, though.”
“Sid, one thing before you leave.” He opened the Bible. “Hear these words of wisdom—‘Do not be terrified, do not be discouraged, for the Lord will be with you wherever you go.’”
“Ah, the Book of Joshua,” she said, smiling. “Then I have these words for you. ‘For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.’” With that, she bobbed a curtsy and left the room in a swirl of skirts.
Somehow, discussing bravery with John was terrifying.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Hannah awoke the next morning full of purpose, for every moment of her next year must mean something. She would wring every last bit of joy and hope and determination from every day, preparing herself for the inevitable time when she must part ways with the Reed family.
The thought of leaving Jane was saddening because her companionship was like having Susannah and Becky home again, before everyone got married and went away. It was hard to think of losing Jane. In many ways, Jane had become the sister she never had.
Somehow, it was even more difficult to think of leaving John behind. She had come to rely on him as someone who took her out of herself. At first, his jolly nature and joking ways were merely irritating. He had, though, broken down the wall she’d built around herself. Without him, she would never have given up the shop.
She hurried down to the workroom, eager to begin her day. Amelia and Lucinda were already there, working on an embroidered shawl and pair of gloves. “Has Miss Jane come in this morning?”
Amelia looked up from her work. “No, miss.”
“That’s odd. I asked her to, as I need to have her try on this ball gown. It’s still basted, and I need to make the final seams.” She sighed. Jane must still be having breakfast, or else she had started the day by practicing her violin. If that was the case, then she would be gone for quite some time. “Oh, well. I’ll work on the riding jacket lapels.”