by Rosie Wynter
Only when Mr Curtis had taken his coffee and stalked out of the dining room to his office did the atmosphere in the house clear somewhat. Mr Curtis was a creature of habit, especially when irritated, and his actions were as predictable as the flow of water in a river. The women sat silently for a few moments, listening to the sound of his footsteps receding down the hall. Though naturally heavy-footed, Mr Curtis had a way of making his actions doubly audible when roused to anger. His footsteps were like the beat of a drum, and the sound of his office door being slammed shut was loud enough to make Mrs Curtis jump in her seat. Even the click of the key in the lock could be easily discerned, and it was only when the women were sure Mr Curtis was safely shut in his private sanctuary that they began to speak freely.
Grace, always the bold one, was first to speak. She leaned across the table, her voice a furtive whisper. “You have really gone and put us all in it this time. I bet you three shillings he will be like this for a month, and I do not want to spend the whole summer walking on eggshells in our own home.” She sat back in her chair and pouted. She looked at the half-eaten piece of toast she held in her hand and threw it casually back onto her plate before running her hand through her long, golden locks. When this was not enough to ease her mood, she turned to look out of the window at the garden.
Claire, only fifteen years old and possessed of a measure of the same shyness that Rosalie suffered from, wound a lock of her chestnut hair around her index finger as she prepared herself to speak. “I don’t think it is so objectionable at all that you did not find a man to your liking. It is not right that couples should be bullied into a marriage before either is sure of their feelings. Certainly, I would not condemn myself to a husband I was the least bit unsure of.” Claire reached over and took Rosalie’s hand in hers. “I think you are very brave.”
Grace rolled her eyes and let out a heavy sigh as she slouched further into her chair. “You’ve been reading far too many novels, Claire. They are rotting your brain. How do you even know Rosalie was busy turning down men she did not approve of? For all you know, she likely repeated her mistakes of last year and never spoke to a single gentleman all the season through.”
“That is not true!” Rosalie spoke as loudly and as forcefully as she dared. Her eyes flicked to Mrs Curtis for support, but her mother just shrugged.
“Rosalie made a more promising showing, to be sure. There were, to her credit, two young men who displayed a modicum of interest.” Mrs Curtis’s eyes drifted off to some unknown realm of fancy for a moment. Rosalie guessed she was imagining a happier scene, where one of those two young men had been bold enough to make a proposal. When the fantasy had passed, Mrs Curtis’s jaw visibly tightened. “Progress or not, it was still a poor showing. I am positively embarrassed to think of begging your father to finance yet another season in London for us, after this. He has already sworn never to waste good money on such endeavours again.”
That admission got Grace’s attention, and her back straightened up at once. “You cannot mean that I will not get my debut? I promise I will not make light of the opportunity or treat London like a game!”
Mrs Curtis offered a reassuring smile and patted the back of Grace’s hand. “I did not mean for you and Claire, dear.” She looked back to Rosalie, her eyes glistening with sadness. Rosalie knew her mother did not like to speak harshly of any of her daughters. All she had ever wanted was to see the three of them marry as well as her own more fortunate sister had done. Still, it was hard for her to be sympathetic when she was being so openly criticised.
Taking her time to sip her tea, Rosalie tried to maintain an air of indifference. She did not wish her mother or sisters to guess how strongly their disparaging words affected her. “If that is the way it has to be, I will happily move aside for Grace. I am sure she will do far better in the company of London’s finest than I ever could.” She noticed the slight upward lift of Grace’s lips at that moment. “I am happy to stay at home and see what luck I might find with the gentlemen of our own neighbourhood.”
Mrs Curtis snorted. “You will do no such thing. Until such a time as we can find a partner of suitable standing for one of you, I will not hear any mention of one of my daughter’s marrying some ‘local gentleman’. I will not see doors closed to us by one of you marrying beneath you.”
Rosalie opened her mouth to speak but faltered. She wanted to counter that none of the local gentlemen could be considered beneath their family socially. Though it was an unmistakable truth, her mother would surely disagree, and Rosalie could not afford to put her parents in a worse humour.
“Well Grace, you’ll have to consider making fewer visits to the village for the foreseeable future, then.” Claire had a slightly superior smile on her face as she spoke, but this vanished the moment Grace shot her a warning glare. Rosalie did not know what secret had just passed between the two sisters. Still, it was clearly a matter of some seriousness and not for their mother to know. She put the observation to the back of her mind, to be addressed later.
It was only when Mrs Curtis excused herself to talk with her husband that the three sisters were able to talk as freely as they wished. Though each was possessed of a personality the antithesis of the others, the three were bound by the equal burden of their mother and father’s expectations. This unfortunate arrangement meant that, despite quarrels, differences of opinion and worse, there was always a sense of unity between the three. They had long ago learned to depend on each other when their parents’ expectations and warped worldview made their lives difficult.
Stepping into the drawing room, far away from their father’s office, the three girls let out grateful sighs. Grace immediately capitalised on the opportunity to take the softest chair in the room, falling casually into it and letting her legs dangle over the arm. She could be the epitome of perfect breeding and sophistication when she wanted to be. However, as long as no one important was looking, she relaxed her manners.
Claire, free-spirited and given to romanticism, sat on the window seat, her knees drawn up to her chest. She held a book in her hand, but her attention seemed to flicker between the pages and the playing out of the day outside. Rosalie noticed the lack of shoes on Claire’s feet as she took a seat by Grace.
Rosalie had been teased, in the past, about her deportment when not in company. Unlike Grace, she could not turn off the niceties of propriety on a whim. She sat with her hands drawn over her knees and, on seeing a half-finished piece of embroidery on the side table, immediately put herself to work. She was the epitome of a good, well-bred girl.
Even the styles of the clothes the three girls wore reflected their vastly contrasting personalities. Rosalie wore an auburn dress that had no frills or fancy work on the hem, neckline or sleeves. Once, before when she had worn it, Grace had joked that the thing looked like the habit of some French monk.
Grace had an eye for fashion, and as soon as she could fill out a dress properly, took to wearing the kind of provocative gowns that were now proving so popular in London. Her mother had been forced to talk to her, more than once, about the décolletages she was given to wearing. Now though, with London fashions seeming to win out over moral decency, it was likely that Grace would be given licence to wear more of those risqué gowns she so liked. Even now, at home, with no company to impress, Grace insisted on wearing a morning gown that could easily have been mistaken for evening wear. It was white muslin overlaid with black lace netting. Little flowers had been stitched into the lace design. It was expensive work and not something to be worn when lounging about as she was.
Finally, Claire’s morning dress was a light, flowing, green dress that hugged her slightly thinner frame. She enjoyed light, airy clothes at all times of year and was usually the first to catch a cold in autumn. All in all, they made for a very odd trio, and it was well that few saw them like this.
“So, tell me Grace, just what did Claire mean when she said you will be making fewer visits into town for the foreseeable future?” Rosa
lie did her best to keep her eyes down on the needlework she was engaged in. She did not wish Grace to suspect that the matter had been on her mind since breakfast. Grace would be more likely to talk openly if the subject was brought up casually.
Grace let her head loll backward and she groaned. For a moment, it seemed as if this was all the answer she would give to her sister’s query. When she sat upright again, she shot Claire the same acrimonious look she had given her at the breakfast table. “It is absolutely nothing at all, and I know you are going to make a fuss about it if I tell you, which was why I wished it left private, Claire.”
“I will make a fuss?” Rosalie tried to maintain a neutral tone, even though warning bells were already starting to peal in her mind.
Grace chuckled and shook her head. “You are so transparent, trying to act uninterested. I may as well tell you the whole thing, though it really is a trifle. You have to promise me, though, that you will not mention a word of this to Mama.”
Rosalie pursed her lips. The need for secrecy between them was nothing new, but it did not bode well for whatever Grace had to reveal. “I have not let you down yet, have I?”
Grace didn’t answer her but began to spill her secret. “While you and mother were dithering around in London in search of a husband for you, Claire and I enjoyed another pleasant spring of Father focussing on his work and letting us run our lives as we saw fit.”
“It must have been pleasant for you,” Rosalie admitted. She could not deny that she wished she had had the opportunity to enjoy a summer to herself without her parents breathing down her neck.
“It really was,” Grace answered casually, not seeming to care for Rosalie’s thoughts. “To make a short story very short, I used the opportunity to reacquaint myself with Thomas.”
“Thomas?” Rosalie’s eyes widened a little as she repeated the name. “Do you mean the Cooper’s youngest boy?”
“Yes,” Grace answered in a very matter-of-fact manner. “He is working as a stable boy at the changing post.”
Rosalie gave a cautious nod. “I see.”
Claire had lowered her book now and glanced at her sisters. “What Grace is trying to say is she has been courting the poor boy all through the spring.”
“Courting him?” Rosalie put down the embroidery at once and stared at Grace with what she hoped was a sufficiently severe expression.
Grace snorted and continued to lounge casually in her chair. She didn’t even bother to look her sisters in the eyes, focusing instead on her own cuticles, feigning casual boredom. “Hardly courting. If you must put a name to it, I suppose you could call it… a harmless flirtation.”
Rosalie took a deep breath. She didn’t feel she could get much from Grace on the issue, so turned her focus to Claire. “Tell me what this is all about, Claire. Spare me no details.”
Claire turned around on the window seat, letting her bare feet dangle over the edge. “She’s been leading the poor boy about the village, hiding in blind alleys and whispering sweet nothings in his ear. He has earned a lot of ire from his masters for being absent from his post, thanks to Grace tempting him away from his work.”
Grace chuckled. “That is not at all my fault. I have never forced him to accompany me out into the fields at any time. He was more than capable of telling me he had work to do. If he can’t prioritise his life properly, it is his problem and not my concern at all.”
“You’ve been wandering out in the fields with him… unaccompanied?” Rosalie suddenly wished she had been firmer with her mother when she had extended their stay in London.
“Yes! And I will tell you another secret, sister.” Grace smirked and leaned in close to Rosalie’s ear conspiratorially. “We are secretly engaged and plan to run away to Gretna Green before the summer is out.” Grace’s upturned lips irritated Rosalie. Even with the shock of these revelations, she was still able to tell when her sister was trying to bait her with lies.
“Do not make light of this. Even if it is nothing more than a game or harmless flirtation to you, there is no telling how he might view it. What if he comes calling on Father, asking for your hand?”
Grace laughed again and stood up. She took a few steps toward the centre of the room. There was an air of smug superiority in the way she held her chin so high, while looking down at them. “You are both such dramatists. I promise you, Thomas knows full well what we have enjoyed is just a passing fancy. He is too sensible to think, for a moment, that I would actually desire any kind of future with him. This is… merely the playing out of our childhood friendship to its natural conclusion; a simple flirtation and amusing diversion for us to enjoy before we go our separate ways in life.”
Claire shook her head and opened her book once more. “I don’t know how you can be so casual in affairs of the heart.”
“Well, that is because you haven’t encountered any type of love that wasn’t written in one of your pretty little novels. Just you wait till you are a little more grown up.” Grace walked over to her younger sibling and patted her on the head just as some patronising parent might.
“I should remind you that you are not out in society yet, Grace. Don’t go pretending you are some authority on romance,” Rosalie chided.
Grace did not seem at all concerned. If anything, she seemed as amused with Rosalie as she was with Claire. “The way I see it, I am far and away the foremost authority on romance in this house. Claire has no knowledge of any man who wasn’t a character in the pages of a book, and you have failed for two years in a row to even find a man willing to take interest in you…”
The atmosphere in the room changed in an instant. Though the conversation had been quite serious, there had been that sisterly understanding that they were safe to speak at ease. Now, though, that air of safety was dispelled. Rosalie’s face bunched up at Grace’s last remark, and Grace herself seemed to realise too late the viciousness of her joke.
“Rosalie… You know I was only teasing you. I didn’t—”
Rosalie sighed and stood from her chair. “It is really no matter,” she lied. She took a moment to iron out the creases in her dress. As much as she wanted to run out of the room, she held her composure and made a more dignified exit. “I still have a number of things to unpack.”
“Rosalie…” Grace said her name again but was unable to find any other plea or words to follow it up.
“I won’t tell father or mother what you told me about Thomas Cooper. But, for your sake, you had best cut off this foolish ‘flirtation’ you are having.”
Stepping out of the drawing room, Rosalie took several deep breaths in the corridor. She half expected Grace to come after her. She was simultaneously relieved and disappointed when the drawing-room door remained closed and neither of her sisters attempted to pursue her. She dabbed her eyes with the right-hand sleeve of her dress and bit her bottom lip as she focused on maintaining a regular and steady rate of breath. Only when she was sure she had control of her emotions did she let herself move on.
Rosalie walked as if she was clockwork. Her body moved rigidly as if it was not her own to control—an automaton. She had to force her legs to propel her up the flight of stairs to her bedroom. Only there could she allow herself the moment of weakness she craved.
As soon as she was inside, she closed and locked the door. Her shoulders slumped and she shuffled listlessly to her bureau. A plain oval mirror stood on her desk and she gazed at her reflection in the glass. As she had in the carriage down from London, she began to recount her flaws, starting, as she always did, with her eyes: the colour of a rainy autumn sky.
CHAPTER 3
After a full week at home, Rosalie found herself settled back into the familiar routine and rhythm of what she considered to be normal life. Her father still refused to speak to her unless necessity prompted it, but other than this, she felt as though she had never left. Doing chores, sewing, cooking and taking walks in the garden kept her mind busy and well enough engaged that she was almost able to suppress th
e memory of the last five months, living in a somewhat lacklustre rented home in the unfashionable end of London.
Despite the acrimony that had come between herself and Grace on her first day at home, Rosalie resolved to reconcile herself to her sister and made a point of accompanying her on her trips into the town. She told herself such private walks together would be good for setting aside their differences and might help cure the rift that had developed between them, a rift no doubt caused by her long absence away from her family.
Once again, the weather had turned out hot and unforgiving. The river Avon, which ran through the middle of the town, was flowing noticeably lower than it did most summers. Reeds and grasses that normally swayed happily under the water floated listlessly like dead fish on the surface. In the distant fields, men could be seen working with their shirts open or else wholly discarded. This sight seemed of particular interest to Grace, who exhibited no shame as she stopped to admire the view of the farmers going about their labours.
Both sisters wore rather loose morning gowns. It was too hot for anything more extravagant. Even Grace had given up wearing her usual finery, in order to better cope with the oppressive air. Still, she maintained a spring in her step and radiated her natural beauty, despite the lack of ornamentation to accentuate it.
“Father mooted something rather curious while you were off hiding in the corners of the house last night.” It was the first word either of them had spoken for at least a mile. Grace’s voice was halting and hesitant as she spoke. With neither having brought up the unpleasantness that had passed between them so many days ago, all words traded between them seemed to rest on a knife-edge.