A Courtship to Remember: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  “Elizabeth,” her father said.

  She quickly looked up. “Yes, Papa?”

  “I would like you to speak to your sister concerning her behaviour. You know that I am not one for tears, and as her older sister, she will listen to you.”

  Where would her father get that notion from? Cecilia was a law unto herself. No one could control her.

  “What should I say?”

  "I hardly feel the need to explain it to you. You are an intelligent girl, you understand what duty and propriety mean. Ensure that your sister does not repeat this," he waved his hands in the air, "act of disobedience again."

  That was the last thing that Elizabeth wished to do. Cecilia was a highly emotional individual who would lose herself in hysterics at any opposition. The only person that she behaved herself with was her father.

  “Papa, I hardly think that I can do such a thing. Perhaps Mama will be able to show her the dangers of crooked behaviour.”

  He shook his head firmly. “No, your mother is occupied with other duties. You will need to step in and be the older sister.”

  Elizabeth sighed, taking care not to make it too obvious. “Very well. Shall I go now?”

  “It is late, best you retire to your room. Leave the book behind.”

  That surprised her. “Papa?”

  He pointed. “The book. You must leave it behind. No man wishes to have a wife more concerned with books than him. Best you learn that now.”

  She was stunned. “But I have always read in bed, Papa.”

  “And you are no longer a child. Must I repeat myself again or will you listen?”

  There was a note of warning in his voice that had her putting the book down. She did not bother to look at him as she left the room. Why is Papa being so difficult about this? When did he become so concerned with my reading habits? She did not like this change, not one bit.

  *

  Elizabeth climbed the stairs to their bedroom, not looking forward to the conversation to be had with her sister. It had been their father's wish that Elizabeth share a bedroom with her sister during the time of Cecilia’s nightly terrors many years back. As time went on, it became an unspoken settlement that Elizabeth should remain with her sister. All attempts to advocate for her own room had fallen upon deaf ears. More so her father's than her mother's. And now to be forced to speak with her when it is well-known that Cecilia accepts no advice contrary to her beliefs? She shook her head. “I should enjoy living on my own and being independent,” she muttered out loud.

  She opened the door to find her sister already in her nightgown, sitting upright in her bed, seemingly waiting for Elizabeth's arrival. Her facial expression belied one who was mournful of her actions. She could see that her sister's body was humming with excitement, a stark contrast to the mask she wore. Oh, Cecilia. If only you would start to understand that life does not revolve around you. Elizabeth wanted the best for her sister, but she was worried that her nature would expire any good fortune to fall upon her. Patience and tolerability could only last for so long before something had to give.

  “Is Papa quite upset with me?” Cecilia asked.

  Elizabeth longed to say yes, but no good would come of it. Her sister would likely fall into a fit of passionate tears, ranting about the unfairness of it all.

  “No, just disappointed.”

  “Oh,” Cecilia said smiling. “Disappointment is preferable to anger. I am sure that he will lay his feelings aside once Percy speaks with him.”

  Elizabeth paused her progress to her bed. “Percival? Why should he speak with Papa?”

  "Prepare yourself for bed, and then I shall tell you. I have so much to tell you, Elizabeth! I am nearly bursting with excitement. Today has been a most productive day indeed."

  Believing herself to be subjected to the latest gossip, Elizabeth bathed her face before moving behind the screen and changing, all the while thinking about her father's odd request, or rather command, for her to leave her book in the drawing room. Perhaps if I were given to hysterics like Cecilia, I might be able to get my way. But I could never do such a thing.

  “Oh, do hurry up, Elizabeth. Must you prolong your routine? You do it every day, surely this means that you are used to it.”

  “Each to their own, Cecilia. You take some time in the morning. I take my time in the evening.”

  Her sister laughed. “You cannot compare the two. Who are you preparing yourself for at this time of the night? The man of your dreams?”

  “I was not aware that by taking my time I would be doing it for someone.”

  She heard her sister flop onto the bed, sighing loudly. “Oh, you are hopeless.”

  Elizabeth chuckled. “And I still love you, despite how you mock me, little sister.”

  She was indeed still her sister. Elizabeth could become frustrated and angry at times, but this was the sister who used to run to her when she hurt herself or hug her at the oddest moments just to show affection. It was only in the last few years that she had changed so much that they no longer had anything in common except for the room they shared. She came out from behind the screen and climbed into bed, preparing herself for the onslaught of gossip she was about to hear, wondering if she should tell her what Papa has said before she started.

  “Ceci, Papa wished that I would talk to you about your behaviour and actions today.”

  Her sister rolled her eyes. “I believe that this has been sorted, Elizabeth. I do not wish to discuss it again.”

  But Elizabeth was firm. “What you did was wrong. But due to your tears, Papa could not scold you.”

  “Who has said this to you? Surely not Papa?”

  “Yes, it was Papa. There is an image that must be upheld. Whatever we do will reflect on the Ramsbury name, and you know that this is important to Papa. Please do not repeat your actions.”

  “Oh, leave that be now, Elizabeth. As I said, Papa will soon forget his disappointment once Percy speaks to him.”

  “Speaks to him about what, pray tell me?”

  Cecilia adjusted herself on the bed, getting to her knees and sitting back on her haunches. Her excitement was palpable.

  “I expect that Percy shall ask for my hand in marriage in days to come. Is that not wonderful?”

  Elizabeth tried to smile but she couldn't. This cannot bode well for me. I am nowhere near to accomplishing what I wish. If Ceci should marry, pressure may be placed upon me to do the same.

  Cecilia saw the look on her face and placed her hands on her hips.

  “Are you not happy for me? Should you not congratulate me?”

  “How certain are you of this proposal?”

  "As sure as my name is Cecilia Ramsbury. He told me that he wished to take our courtship to another plane of intimacy. What can that mean but be betrothed?"

  Another plane of intimacy? Is that what the young men were calling it? “I am not familiar with the jargon used by the young people of our time.”

  “Oh, you truly know nothing, Elizabeth.”

  “I shall take that as a compliment.”

  Cecilia flopped onto her belly and regarded her sister with a narrowed gaze.

  “What is it?” Elizabeth asked. “Why do you look at me like that?”

  “I do not imagine that you are a happy person.”

  “What has made you come to that conclusion?”

  "You cannot be happy to sit at home for much of your day, if not more, and be happy. It is my hope that you would find a man who will make you as happy as Percy makes me feel."

  Elizabeth snorted. "Marriage? An invisible chain that we women wound ourselves with every vow that we speak. I am not one for marriage, Ceci. In fact, there is not a hope within me directed toward matrimony.”

  Cecilia's nose wrinkled. “And why ever not?”

  “I expect that it would bore me to an early grave. Being happy is an important aspect of my life. Marriage would rip that away from me, not to mention it would inhibit my talents on the pianoforte. I have much that
I wish to achieve – getting married is certainly not one of them.”

  Her sister shook her head. “You are far too cynical for your age, Elizabeth. Who is to say that your husband will not allow you to pursue your passions?”

  Elizabeth thought of her mother, of what she had said. Getting married would surely dampen her musical passion. “Have you ever seen Mama play the pianoforte?”

  Cecilia thought about that as she twisted the bed quilt around her hand. “Perhaps once or twice. She seems far busier doing other duties. Why do you ask?”

  “Did you know that Mama was a gifted musician? Her passion for music was as mine, if not greater.”

  “It could not have been that great if she chooses not to play now. There is ample time in the evenings to practice her hobby.”

  “A hobby?” said Elizabeth incredulously. “You believe that it was a hobby?”

  “What else could it have been? She is hardly bothered with it now.”

  “That is my point. Mama gave up her passion to be a wife and a mother.”

  Cecilia looked taken aback. “You are too concerned about this, Elizabeth. If Mama did so then so be it. She understood that wifely duties are far more important than a silly talent.”

  "Silly? Do not speak of what you clearly do not understand, Cecilia. You wish to be a married woman, so be it. I, however, have dreams that do not concern finding a husband, bearing his children, and running a household. I wish to do something with my life that is meaningful."

  “Oh, I believe that I see it now. You wish for fame and glory. You wish for people to take notice of your talent and praise you for it. The compliments that you have thus far received have gone to your head, dear sister.”

  Cecilia could not have been any further from the truth. Why must it be wrong to pursue a passion other than matrimony?

  “You are wrong, Cecilia. I do not desire fame and glory, but a life of my own choosing, doing what I love. I do not wish to be controlled by others. I am an individual, I refuse to lose myself in the roles of mother and wife.”

  Elizabeth delivered this speech with great passion, her chest slightly heaving. She was surer than ever before that her fate would not be one of marriage. Suddenly exhausted, she lay down, her long auburn hair fanning her pillow.

  It was not a minute later when Cecilia spoke again, her voice light but sure of what she was saying. “You are just not ready for love yet, Elizabeth. But do not fret, it will happen soon enough.”

  “I already have a great love, Ceci.”

  “Playing the pianoforte? Music? Playing that instrument and studying music all day must be tedious, I am sure that you will tire of it one day.”

  Elizabeth said nothing in reply. She was tired of explaining to her sister that she loved music and did not desire to get married. My words go into one ear and come out the other without taking root. It is pointless to speak to her of my dreams.

  “Well, now that we have all of that out of the way, let me tell you of the latest news. I am sure that you are going to most interested in it!”

  “I doubt it,” Elizabeth muttered.

  Cecilia paid her no attention as she launched into the latest gossip of the town. “Our own dashing baron suffered a great rejection some days ago, perhaps even weeks.”

  “Then we should not speak of it. I am sure that you would not like people to discuss something that you found humiliating.”

  “Oh, Elizabeth, do stop acting as if you are a shrivelled prune!”

  Elizabeth burst out laughing. She had never been called that before.

  “And what has tickled you so?” her sister demanded.

  Elizabeth wiped the tears from her eyes, trying to compose herself. “Oh, dear me, you can be rather colourful at times, Ceci.”

  Her sister regarded her with amusement. “Only you would laugh at yourself when being called a name. It makes me wonder if you are not indeed a different creature altogether.”

  “Would you know, I think the same thing at times. I certainly do not fit the mould.”

  Cecilia uttered a noise of frustration. “Oh, do let me continue, please.”

  She sighed. “Very well, go on.”

  "Well," Cecilia started, once more excited. "The story goes like this: he proposed to his sweetheart, and she rejected him. Can you imagine the shame? What was her name again?"

  “Miss Diana Lambert.”

  “Yes! That was her name. How did you know?” Cecilia asked accusingly.

  “Ceci, I did not get to the age of twenty not knowing the names of those who throw themselves into the public's eye. Besides, I believe that I once played in their audience just last year. They attended the spring celebrations.”

  "I do believe that you are right. She is the daughter of the viscount who opened the celebration with a long-winded speech."

  “Mmm.”

  “Well, I cannot imagine how the baron must feel about this. I hear that he has not left his room in some time.”

  “No one enjoys rejection. I imagine he needs time to come to terms with it. They were together for some time.”

  Cecilia stared at her sister, her eyes narrowing. “Why do you know so much about them?”

  Elizabeth was not about to tell Cecilia the truth, that would be self-sabotage. Three years ago, when she saw the baron for the very first time, she had thought him terribly handsome. He had caught her attention for reasons she could not decipher. He had looked at her, a lopsided smile playing about his lips, only to have his attention snapped away by a beautiful woman with golden hair. She had soon learned that they were an item – Anthony Cavendish, Baron of Bedford, and Diana Lambert, daughter of the Viscount of Somersby. Elizabeth had felt an odd twinge seeing them, not understanding why she should be sad. She did not know him, but he had arrested her attention for a moment in time. She blinked her eyes, forcefully setting aside that confusing moment.

  “Oh, I have heard of them here and there. Mama hosts many dinner parties. It is not hard to pick up information about people as well-known as they.”

  "I suppose so, although I am surprised that you hear anything at all. You always appear to be joined to the pianoforte in a way that seems unnatural."

  Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders. “It is more rewarding to play than to partake in activities that do not interest me.”

  “You are a peculiar being, Elizabeth.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But not as peculiar as the hat that Margaret Moore was wearing today. Where could she have bought such a horrendous creation? And she seemed quite proud of it. Well, it did well to hide most of her face and those unfortunate freckles.”

  Elizabeth allowed Cecilia to speak, not commenting besides the odd sound that convinced her sister that she was attentively listening to her. Soon enough, Cecilia fell asleep, her last words a slurred mention of the dress that she intended to buy for her upcoming proposal.

  “Goodnight, Ceci.”

  “G'night,” she mumbled.

  *

  When an hour had passed, it soon became apparent that Elizabeth could not sleep. Her mind was filled with thoughts and worries that kept her annoyingly alert. It is not that I am opposed to love, but I am opposed to the false love that I see around me. Conditional love that wounds rather than strengthens and heals. The love described in books and fairytales is the type of love that I desire for myself. Perhaps it is wishful thinking, but it is how I feel. Why must I settle and be unhappy?

  Her books had told of enduring love, passionate love, a type that gave and did not take away. It sacrificed but did not cause pain.

  Is that such an impossible love? Is it so wrong to wish for a man who will make me stronger and allow me to be who I am? I would support him as well, I would love him and take care of him without forsaking myself.

  Feeling restless, she rose from her bed and went to the window, peering into the darkness. A movement caught her eye: two people coming out of the shadows. Intrigued, she slowly opened her window and leaned outside. Although
she could not see their faces, their forms were clearly male and female. They walked hand-in-hand, every now and then the male figure leaning down, bringing his head close to the slender female figure.

  “Sweethearts,” she whispered.

  It seemed that love was in the air, not just for her sister, but for the servants below her as well. She was sure that they were servants as the family did not have any visitors. The two figures turned to look at each other before the male figure bent down and kissed the woman.