by Fanny Finch
Ask me any questions that you like. I look forward to reading your letters and to answering your questions as best I can.
With fondest wishes.
Julia was simply burning with questions—but also with a kind of resolve.
This man had clearly known her for years. He even said so himself.
That narrowed down the field of possibilities. If she could gain more knowledge about him then she could find out who he was. She could learn his true identity.
It was a delicious prospect.
She could discover who he was and then confront him. Not in an angry sort of way. She was not upset. But wouldn’t it be just like the plots of those Gothic novels everyone was so fond of nowadays?
She would be unraveling the mystery. And perhaps she would not tell the gentleman immediately when she figured it out. It would give her time to sort out if the man who she knew could hold her affections the way that this letter writer could.
They were two sides of the same coin, she knew. But to like only half of your husband’s personality was not enough. Not for her. And, she thought, not enough for most people.
People would say that it was enough for them. But that was not so. They were lying to themselves. They would make themselves unhappy in time.
She would not do that. She would learn through her questions who her mystery writer was. Once that was accomplished, she would decide if she wanted to cease all interaction or if she would ask him to reveal himself.
It was almost like a game. She found herself rather excited for it, in fact. To put together the clues and follow the trail of breadcrumbs. Rather like a fairy tale.
She sat down at the desk and began to make a list of what she knew and what she wished to know. Rather, what she needed to know in order to figure out the man’s identity.
What she did know was not a lot, not by any stretch of the imagination. But there were a few key things that she had figured out.
First, she knew by the man’s own admission that they had known each other for many years.
That was helpful. She could remove quite a lot of men off the list that way.
Secondly, she highly suspected that this person was one of her father’s former pupils. She was close with all of them and there were at least six off the top of her head who would openly and happily call her ‘friend’.
That narrowed down the list even more. She had grown up with those men. It fit in with what the gentleman had told her in his letter. His description of how he had come to realize he cared for her fit in with a man who had known her first as a sort of sister figure.
It made sense. She had known her father’s pupils as pupils first, boys second. As they got older she had become aware that some of them were quite handsome. But she doubted that any of them had seen her as a proper lady for some time.
She had run into a great deal of them frequently over the years. At least two resided in Bath. There had been gaps in between when she had seen them as a younger girl of, say, fourteen and when she saw them as an adult.
It all fit.
Third, she knew that this person was in Bath. A few of them owned houses in Bath but one or more of them might be staying in a hotel or at the house of a friend. That would explain the postal box, in fact. As opposed to using a house address.
She would not go so far as to go around to all of the hotels and give them a list of names to see if one of the men was staying there. But it was a start to have that list in front of her.
However, there was the possibility that it was not one of her father’s former pupils. She could account for that. But if so, she would cross that bridge when she came to it.
First she would see if it was in fact one of those men. Which brought her to her second list: questions to ask.
She made a list of books that she would ask if the man had read, and what his thoughts were on them.
It was a natural set of questions. Discussing books, philosophy, the arts—it was how many people got to know one another. It certainly made for diverting conversation.
If a man was incapable of expressing an opinion on a book or a play then he and Julia would never be compatible. She was quite certain of that.
However, it would also serve to help her to figure out if the man was one of her father’s pupils. She knew all the things that her father had taught the young gentlemen. Which books her father favored. His opinions on philosophers.
The gentleman wouldn’t suspect a thing from her line of questioning. But she would be learning. She would be narrowing down her list.
The second set of questions was in regards to his plans for an estate. How did he intend to run his home? How did he see her fitting into it?
A set of practical questions that would normally not be asked until after the engagement. Courting was for love and tokens of affection. Not for discussing the humdrum and minutiae of daily life.
But she figured that she might as well know. And it would help her to narrow down the search. For in telling her about his estate and what he had in mind for the household side of their marriage, she would be able to tell what sort of family he came from.
Her father had educated a few men with titles. He had also educated those without titles but with a greater level of wealth than he had. After all, if her family had been rich, her father would not have needed to take in young men to tutor.
She suspected that the gentleman would not wish for her to know that he had a title. Both to protect his identity and to prevent her from feeling uncomfortable in speaking with him.
Part of this endeavor, after all, was to avoid judging one another through the means that society had constructed.
However, there were aspects of running an estate when one had a title that were different from when one was merely wealthy.
Julia made a mental note to ask Mr. Norwich about the details of his own estate. That way she could compare them to what this gentleman said.
If he said the same things that Mr. Norwich did, then he, too, had a title. Or at least was set to inherit one.
However, if his methods were different because of his means, such as his household being smaller, then she would know that he did not have a title. Therefore, he would have a smaller estate.
Third, she would ask him what he liked to do in town. Did he like dancing? Was he good at it?
Many people seemed to think that someone who liked dancing must therefore be good at it. Julia could attest that this was not the case. She had danced with many a man who claimed to love it and yet repeatedly stepped on her toes.
She would ask if he enjoyed the theatre. If he went to art galleries. How often he had to go into London for business.
She could then ask the same questions of her father’s former pupils as she ran into them. And she would run into some of them. The ones who were staying in Bath and who were, therefore, her primary suspects.
And they must needs call upon her and her mother. It would be rude of them not to. Not after knowing her and her mother for so long while staying at their house.
Julia laughed delightedly to herself as she read over her list. Oh, this was the most exciting thing to happen since Georgiana and Captain Trentworth had been reunited.
Only this was more exciting. Because this was happening to her.
She sealed up her letter of response and hid her lists underneath some blotting paper. Then she hurried down to send the letter out with the morning post.
This was going to be great fun.
Chapter Ten
James looked forward to tonight’s dinner party the way that he imagined those poor nobles in France looked forward to the guillotine.
The one thing that the exchanging of these letters had not prepared him for was the agony, the constant fear, of being discovered.
Not merely discovered through his own slip-up in the letters. That would be bad enough. But that he would say or do something in the middle of a dinner party or a ball.
And then, to look up and see Miss
Weston’s shocked, possibly even horrified face as she realized…
Oh God. It hardly even bore thinking about.
He mustn’t panic or appear odd in any way through his behavior, he told himself. That was what would lead to discovery.
If he behaved with confidence, however—that would keep anyone from suspecting anything.
He had heard, once, from a lawyer with whom he was conversing, that confidence was how so many criminals were able to get away with things.
“I knew of a thief,” the man had said, “who was quite successful. He stole quite a lot of jewels right from under the noses of his employers. He would pose as a servant.”
The reason the man had succeeded in his simple and bold schemes was the sheer confidence that he displayed.
“When a man acts as though he has a right to be doing something,” the lawyer had explained animatedly, “people assume that he does, therefore, have that right. They do not question him. A plausible little falsehood, smoothly told, a quiet ease of manner, and there you are.”
James had thought at the time that it was a testament to the gullibility of society. That people ought to think for themselves instead of easily believing what was told to them.
Now, however, he hoped that the lawyer had been correct. That in his confident manner lay his safety.
If he behaved as he usually did, then Miss Weston would not suspect a thing. She would have no reason to if his manner was as always.
She would be looking for a man who was suddenly nervous around her. Who had gone from friend to careful stranger. That was what would give him away. Keeping his distance might seem to offer safety but it would spell his ruin.
He would be cautious in mind only. But his manner would be usual and open.
When he arrived at the Weston residence for the dinner he was surprised to find that he was not the only former pupil of Mr. Weston’s in attendance.
“Mr. Carson, good to see you,” he said, shaking the other young man’s hand.
Mr. Carson was a pleasant man. He had an easy manner that James had always secretly envied. It felt to James as though he must always affix a mask to himself, to his personality. That he had to force himself to be jovial.
The only time it did not feel false was when he was around Miss Weston.
Mr. Carson, however, seemed naturally to be that way. It could be a mask just as James’s joviality was but if so it was an exceedingly good one.
The gentleman was only a year or so younger than James. He had a title coming to him as well once his father passed, for he was to be a marquess.
“Mr. Norwich, a pleasure as always.” Mr. Carson smiled. He had one of those faces that was not handsome but quietly pleasant nonetheless. The sort of face that one could look at for the rest of one’s life.
“What brings you into Bath?”
“Mother comes down here every year and has enlisted me to come along. My younger sister was in need of an escape from London but she insists upon continuing to go to balls here.”
James knew a little of Mr. Carson’s younger sister. He suspected that she was being taken away from London to prevent her reputation as a flirt from getting any worse.
His own brother had been just as bad before he had joined the Navy. James was sure that his brother’s behavior had not changed overmuch. But at least now it was in good company with like-minded men. And he could get on with his flirtations far away from society where he might damage himself and his family.
“How old is Miss Carson now?” James asked.
“Oh, she has just turned eighteen,” Mr. Carson said. “You know how girls may become at that age. She is quite intoxicated with her first season. I think that she has let it all go to her head.”
“Simply because one can flirt does not mean that one should,” James observed.
“Precisely. I have tried to tell her so myself but you know as well as I do that wise counsel is not always welcome.”
“Wise or not, the fact that it is counsel at all grates upon a young temperament. I was rather the same, I’m afraid.”
There came the sound of Miss Weston’s gay laughter, and James had to work hard to suppress the fond smile that wanted to grace his lips.
“Now, there is a young lady who knows how to walk that line quite well,” Mr. Carson observed. “Miss Weston has turned into a wit and a beauty when we were otherwise occupied.
“One moment she was merely the daughter of our tutor. The next she is this wonderful lady. I feel as though I have turned my head away for but a moment only to look round again and find her transformed.”
James viciously shoved down the awful, hot mixture of jealousy and envy that stirred up inside of him. Mr. Carson had every right to think of Miss Weston as a fine and lovely lady. That was what she was, after all.
James certainly had no hold on her. And Mr. Carson might not even have any kind of romantic designs on Miss Weston. He could simply be complimenting a woman that he admired. Admiration and romantic endeavors did not always go hand in hand. One might have one without the other.
“Yes,” James said. He forced his voice to stay pleasant. “I have found her to be an excellent dinner companion. She is learned, of course. What else could one expect from a father such as hers.”
“Well, not all fathers would care to educate their daughter. Even if she was his only child.”
“Ah, but you know Mr. Weston. Who could he converse with when he was in between pupils? It must needs be his daughter. And we know how he does so hate a boring conversation.”
Mr. Carson laughed. “Yes. I was hoping that he would be here, but it seems he is in London.”
“You will have to make do with the daughter then.”
“I shall do more than simply make do. Tell me, do you know if she has a particular suitor? I know that she must have a few. But is there one that she seems to favor above the others?”
“Why, are you suggesting a duel at dawn?”
“I could never duel at dawn, my good man. First of all, it is far too early in the morning for such a thing.” Mr. Carson laughed.
“But secondly, I would not wish to step upon the toes of any man who already has a place in her heart. If I am too late, then I am too late. But otherwise she seems a delightful creature. It is high time that I am to be married. Or so my father says.”
“Ah, fathers. Always looking out for our best interests. Whether we want them to be or not.”
Mr. Carson laughed again. “Precisely. I shall have to get to know her better, of course. But would she not make a fine wife? You know her well, or so you said?”
“I like to think that I am someone the lady may call a friend,” James replied. He struggled to keep his tone light and even. “And we can agree that she is a fine woman. Very much like her mother.”
“You mean that she has a sharp tongue.” Mr. Carson chuckled. “That is of no never mind to me, as you know.”
James nodded, trying not to look or sound as distracted as he felt. “She would make anybody a fine wife so long as her intellect is respected.”
“And there is no one man that she favors? Nobody upon whose toes I would be stepping?”
“None so far as I know.”
He couldn’t very well tell the man that he had been corresponding secretly with Miss Weston. And he did not even know if he was favored by her. He was throwing his hat in the ring, that was all. Doing it in an unconventional way, but still.
Miss Weston’s replies to his letters spoke more to her curiosity than to any form of favoritism. He would have to keep working to earn that.
And now it seemed that he would not be alone in his efforts.
James honestly did not know how he could compete with Mr. Carson. The man was set to inherit a larger estate and a better title than James was, for one thing.
Not that title and rank were all that Miss Weston cared for. But one had to be sensible in marriage. What young lady would not be somewhat captivated by the idea of becoming a marchiones
s?
If she had to choose between two men that she liked equally, why would she not go with the one who would bring her better fortune and a greater title?
And for another, Mr. Carson was clearly more at home in himself than James was. He had taken one look at the young lady and was set to woo. And he would not need to hide behind letters in order to do so.
James felt a great wave of shame wash over him. He was truly a coward compared to this man. He dared to think that he had a right to woo Miss Weston through letters? He could not even declare himself to her in person?
He ought to step back. To not reply to whatever letter she sent him next. To vanish as the letter writer if he could not court her as himself.
But then Miss Weston walked over to them, smiling—and smiling primarily at him.
“Mr. Norwich,” she said eagerly. “You have no idea how eager I am to see you this evening. You must prepare yourself for a proper interrogation. Are you ready?”
“As ready, I imagine, as I shall ever be when it comes to you,” he replied.
In that moment he knew that his weakness was not confined to his cowardice with courting. It was also in her. Her shining smile. The way that her eyes danced with mirth. How she sought him out so easily and readily.
He was a selfish man. He could not give her up.
But how could he compete with a man such as Mr. Carson?
Speaking of which…
“Mr. Carson!” Miss Weston smiled at him and curtsied. “I was quite pleased to hear from Mother that you were in town. Thank you for accepting our humble invitation.”
“I should not have missed it for the world,” Mr. Carson replied. “I was only just telling Mr. Norwich here how unfortunate it is that your father is not in attendance. But I hear that you are to be commended for replacing him. You are certainly easier upon the eyes than he is.”
Miss Weston laughed, and James privately cursed his inability to compliment her so easily. Why was it that he could playfully insinuate insults but could not compliment her the way that he wished? The way that she deserved?