by Merry Farmer
“You’re unusually quiet this evening,” he said after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence.
Elaine sighed, forcing herself to stop being anxious. She was with Basil, after all, the only man—the only person—who made her feel safe. “I was just thinking is all,” she answered.
“Oh? About what?”
His shoulder brushed against hers as the carriage bumped along. The contact shouldn’t have made her feel so…so something. To fight those feelings, she looped her arm through his and hugged him like a true friend would.
“I was thinking about little Alberta, I suppose,” she said.
“Mrs. Newsome’s baby?” Basil asked, his tone casual.
“Yes. She is darling, isn’t she?”
“All babies are darling,” he answered.
Elaine glanced up at him. She refused to entertain the shivers. “Do you want babies, Mr. Wall?”
She felt him stiffen before the question had fully passed her lips. Heat radiated from him, and if there had been more light in the carriage, she was certain she would have seen him blush.
“At my age?” he asked, bristling with awkwardness.
A twist of disappointment hit Elaine’s gut. “You’re not as old as all that. And you’d make a wonderful father.”
He shifted, inching away from her. “You haven’t been talking to Robert Crimpley, have you?”
“No.” Elaine blinked, baffled by the question.
Basil cleared his throat again, still writhing, seemingly unable to find a comfortable position to sit, which surprised Elaine, seeing as the carriage was more luxurious than most.
“I suppose I would like children,” he said at last, not looking at her. “One has to have an heir, after all.”
Elaine wasn’t sure if she liked his answer or not. “Yes, I suppose you should have someone to pass the bookshop on to. But if you ask me, a girl would be just as good of an heir as a boy in that case.”
“All right, then,” he said, tense as a tiger. “A boy and a girl.”
“That sounds ideal to me.”
The conversation ended there, silence filling the carriage as it rattled on. As much as she felt she should, Elaine couldn’t think of a single thing to say to follow up their odd exchange. Stranger still, she found herself thinking of names for Basil’s son and daughter—Thyme and Rosemary—though chances were that would be none of her business.
And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something going on that she didn’t know about. Something important. Something vital.
They were still silent when they arrived at Burton Manor. Lord Ramsey’s estate was on the other side of the lake from Brynthwaite. The house had an excellent view of the lake, which was breathtaking in the fading light of evening. Elaine supposed that in summer, the sunsets were magnificent. They weren’t half bad in late March either. Stars were already beginning to pick their way out in the sky above the rolling, Cumbrian landscape.
“Your property is beautiful,” she told Lady Ramsey as she and Basil were introduced. “It’s like something out of a fairy story.”
Lady Ramsey was slow to reply. She was too busy studying Elaine’s gown—and perhaps her hair—with a disapproving curl to her lip. “Yes, indeed,” she said at last, then turned to the woman standing on her other side. “Did you hear that the missing Earl of Waltham has been found?”
“Truly?” The other woman jumped into conversation, giving Elaine a snide look. “After all these years? Where has he been?”
“I’m not sure. I had a letter from my cousin, Lady Branford, in London saying that his whereabouts have been discovered and he is about to make a grand reappearance in time for the election.”
Elaine was utterly forgotten. Disappointment in Lady Ramsey’s reaction was nothing new, so Elaine met it with a smile, the same as if the woman had showered her with effusive praise. Basil didn’t seem half as willing to take the reactions of the people assembled for supper with a grain of salt. A look of alarm tightened his expression. The tension from the carriage had followed them into the house, and as they were introduced to the other guests—Mr. and Mrs. Crimpley and Agatha, Mr. Folsom, one of Brynthwaite’s prominent businessmen, and Mr. and Mrs. Danvers, relatives of Lord Ramsey’s from Windermere—Basil held himself in a stiff, almost regal fashion, as though hobnobbing with the nobility were second nature to him.
Elaine made up her mind to enjoy every second of supper, no matter how quivery her insides felt. She was amongst her betters, people who could actually make a difference in the world, and so she was determined to speak her mind.
“I would like to thank you for giving me this opportunity, Lord Ramsey,” she said as they prepared to walk in to supper.
“Opportunity?” Lord Ramsey frowned.
“To share my views with such an august assembly, of course.” Elaine smiled, in spite of the prickles of warning that shot down her spine.
The way Lord Ramsey stared at her as if she were a creature from Hades come back from the underworld, did nothing to settle her nerves. “Yes, quite,” he said, then glanced past her. “Ah, Sudbury.”
Inexplicable dread hit Elaine as she turned to see Mr. Augustus Sudbury stride into the room. “Mr. Sudbury, how pleasant to see you this evening,” she said, her voice an octave too high.
“Miss Bond,” the oily, middle-aged man said, stepping closer and greeting her with a passionless smile. “Mr. Wall,” he nodded to Basil.
“Glad you could join us, Sudbury,” Lord Ramsey said, meeting Sudbury’s nod of greeting with a look that sent a chill down Elaine’s spine. “Now that we’re all here, we can go in to supper.” He turned away to collect Lady Ramsey.
“How are you acquainted with Mr. Sudbury?” Basil asked as they joined the line of guests heading in to supper—near the back, of course.
“He’s my landlord,” Elaine whispered, clinging more tightly to Basil’s arm than a woman with any sort of courage should.
“Your landlord?” Basil glanced from her to Mr. Sudbury—who walked ahead of them into the opulent dining room of Walton Manor—and back to Elaine. “I thought you owned your cottage, that your father gave it to you in his will.”
Elaine shook her head tightly. “No, Papa has rented the cottage from Mr. Sudbury—and his father before that—for more than twenty years.”
“And have you been paying your rent?” Basil asked, leading her around to the far side of the table, near the foot.
“Of course,” she said.
“But the house is not in your name.”
Elaine frowned slightly at him. “Almost no one in the middle class, even the upper middle class, owns their own home, Mr. Wall. You should know that.”
He pressed his lips tightly shut, looking both scolded and protective. He let go of Elaine’s arm long enough to reach for a chair to pull out for her, but was interrupted by Lord Ramsey’s call of, “Mr. Wall, Miss Bond, we’ve reserved seats for you here.”
Elaine exchanged a wide-eyed look with Basil as Lord Ramsey gestured the two of them to the head of the table. Basil took her arm once more, tighter than before, and ushered her to the lofty end of the table.
“Are you beginning to get the feeling we’ve walked into something of an ambush, Mr. Wall?” she whispered to him as Lord Ramsey gestured to the two chairs on his left, directly across the table from Mr. Sudbury and Mr. Crimpley.
“I was aware we were walking into one from the moment the invitation was issued,” he replied, grim and stony.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Elaine hissed.
“I thought you would enjoy attending a formal supper party.”
There was so much genuine concern in the way he looked at her as he gave his answer that Elaine wasn’t sure whether her heart should melt or harden. One thing was certain, she wasn’t going to stand meekly by and be maneuvered in someone else’s game.
“What is the meaning of tonight’s supper?” she asked Lord Ramsey, bold as brass, refusing to sit even though Basi
l had pulled out a chair for her.
“Meaning?” Lord Ramsey replied, full of false surprise. “Must a supper have a meaning?”
“It must when the guests of honor amongst a grand assembly are a humble bookseller and an independent woman who is seen as a pariah,” she insisted.
The other guests whispered and stared, watching as though they were about to be treated to a theatrical display.
Lord Ramsey cleared his throat and glanced to Basil, who stood firmly by Elaine’s side, slightly behind her. “You see? This is precisely the thing we had all hoped to avoid.”
“What did you hope to avoid?” Elaine demanded, growing angrier by the moment. She had the distinct feeling that Lord Ramsey didn’t see her at all, no matter how strongly she spoke to him. “What could possibly have you all so intimidated that you would have to hatch some sort of plot to avoid it?”
“Miss Bond,” Basil whispered behind her, touching a hand to the small of her back.
“What could a viscount, a landlord, and some of Brynthwaite’s most prominent businessmen be so frightened of that they would seek to avoid it?” she asked him directly, both hoping he would tell her and dreading what the answer must be.
The way he looked at her—with affection, frustration, and regret—sent prickles across Elaine’s skin. He let out a tight breath, then turned to Lord Ramsey. “We shouldn’t have come. I know everything you’re planning to say. I’ve heard it all before. I will not let Miss Bond be bullied into silence or forced into what you all think should be her place. I had hoped she would be able to enjoy an evening of fine company, but I see now that there is no company finer than her own, on her own terms.”
“Now see here—” Mr. Crimpley began.
Basil ignored him, meeting Elaine’s eyes as though the rest of the world were mere background noise. “Would you like to go home?”
A surge of pride in Basil’s heroism bolstered Elaine, spreading a smile across her face. “Yes, I believe I would.” Her smile faltered. “Unless you would like to stay. It could be to your benefit,” she finished in a whisper.
He shook his head. “Not this crowd.” He glanced around at the men, who all gaped at them as if they’d committed a cardinal offense, which they probably had. But what else was new? Elaine was particularly struck by the way Basil stared Lord Ramsey down, as though the two were equals.
“You’re treading very thin ice, Mr. Wall,” Lord Ramsey said, attempting to out-posture Basil’s regal stance. “Your continued defiance, and Miss Bond’s continued disregard for modesty, will have repercussions.”
“I believe, Lord Ramsey, that you do not know the ice upon which we tread,” Basil replied, his voice hoarse with fury. He nodded to the man, then offered Elaine his arm.
Elaine took it, holding her head as high as Basil’s. “Good evening, my lord. I thank you for your invitation, but I will not play the games you wish to play. Not tonight, not ever.” She nodded to Basil, who escorted her back down the table toward the dining room door.
“Hold fast just one moment,” Mr. Crimpley shouted, standing. “You have no right simply to walk out on us like that.”
“Oh, we have every right,” Elaine muttered as she and Basil reached the door. “The nerve of them.”
“Are you certain you’re all right,” Basil asked as the footmen waiting right outside the dining room scrambled to see them out. “We may have to walk back to town, and it’s quite some distance.”
“I don’t mind,” Elaine sighed, feeling wearier than she wanted to admit. Standing up for herself was one thing. Dealing with the aftermath was another. As satisfying as telling Lord Ramsey off had felt, she had a terrible feeling the consequences would be just as bitter a pill to swallow as Lord Ramsey had hinted. “It’s not as though they can ruin my social standing any more than it’s been ruined.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Basil muttered as they approached the manor’s front door. The butler held it open with a supercilious sneer. As soon as they were outside in the cold, evening air, Basil drew in a breath and stood straighter. “Let them do their worst,” he said with renewed strength—strength Elaine rather admired. “I will never forsake you.”
As cold as the evening was, warmth filled Elaine’s heart. Disgraced and cast out, she was still the luckiest woman in the world, as far as she was concerned. As long as she had a knight like Basil fighting on her side, what could the Ramseys and Sudburys of the world possibly do to her?
Chapter 4
“It was positively dreadful,” Elaine reported to June Lakes the next morning as the two of them wrung Elaine’s laundry and hung it out to dry on a line in the garden behind her cottage. “Clearly, we were only invited to be made a spectacle of.”
“That’s awful,” June said, jabbing clothespins into a pillowcase. “And they were intent on poking fun at Mr. Wall as well?”
Elaine sighed, her arms aching as she finished running a sheet through the wringer. “Perhaps not. Perhaps they had him accompany me in the hopes that he would take their side and influence me to change.”
Even as she spoke the words, she knew they weren’t right. The people of Brynthwaite had gotten it in their heads that Basil was the key to forcing her into conformity, and not because he was her closest friend. They wanted him to be more, much more. And she was just as determined to ignore that aspect to everyone else’s hopes and expectations for her as she was to ignore the thrilling feelings the sight of him dressed for dinner the night before had raised in her.
“Why must women always be forced to conform to some nebulous image of femininity?” she complained, stomping her way to the clothesline and tossing the sheet over. “Why must we be caged and trussed up, limited by social norms? Who decided on those norms in the first place?”
“Not me,” June laughed. She walked back to the pile of clean, wrung-out linens in the tub at the end of the wringer and pulled out another sheet. “If it were up to me, men would keep their own houses, do their own cooking and cleaning.”
A twist of guilt struck Elaine’s heart. She glanced over her shoulder at June. They were the same age and had been in school together, but June had taken on the appearance of a weary drudge while Elaine had managed to maintain at least a semblance of youth and frivolity. With the sleeves of her dull, grey blouse rolled up, the hem of her brown skirt stained with mud, and her hair kept back by a threadbare scarf, June looked more like a scullery maid than the daughter of Brynthwaite’s farrier. But Mr. Lakes was a notorious drunk, and his three sons, June’s brothers, were no better. Ever since Mrs. Lakes had died more than fifteen years earlier, June had practically been kept in a prison of domestic chores while caring for her useless, male kin. Elaine employed her help with laundry and cleaning when she could to provide June with some money of her own, but watching the way the other woman clasped her back and winced after pinning the sheet to the line brought home just how fortunate she truly was.
“If women ruled the world,” Elaine said, deliberately flippant and carefree, “men would be required to do all the chores.”
June chuckled and sent her a smile as she walked back to the tub of wet laundry, so Elaine went on.
“All pubs would be closed and tea houses would be opened in their place. Men would be required to mind all children as well. They certainly wouldn’t be permitted to do anything as bold as voting or governing.”
“No?” June looked surprised as she returned to the line with an armful of towels.
“Certainly not. They focus the nation far too much on making war and conquering those that they see as weak.” Elaine crossed her arms, standing taller. “If women ran the nation, we would care for the poor and the sick. There would be no workhouses or slums. International diplomacy would be conducted over supper and pudding, and the queens of each nation would share advice and resources so that the entire world would be peaceful, contented, and well-fed.”
June laughed. “Do you truly think that would happen? I find it far more likely that Britain a
nd Prussia would band together to give France and Spain the cold shoulder, and America would fawn over Europe until matching them in grandeur, then pretending they’d never been introduced.”
Elaine laughed at the imagery. “Yes, well, I suppose we have our faults as much as men do.” She took a few towels from June and hung them on the line. “Though I still maintain that if we had as much power as men do, we would use it far more compassionately. I would never force another woman to pretend to be someone she’s not simply to please others that she barely knows.”
“I’m sorry that you receive such criticism for your ways,” June said with a sigh, hanging the last of the laundry. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to come to your defense. You’ve been so kind to me. But most days, I can barely lift my head up from my chores.”
Elaine stepped to June’s side, resting a hand on her arm. “It’s all right. I understand. I shouldn’t complain so. I have my independence, after all, and Mr. Wall rushes to my defense whenever….”
Her words drifted to a halt as she glanced past June to find Mr. Sudbury marching around the corner of her house. He was dressed in rigid business attire, with an ebony cane and glossy top hat. He had the courtesy to remove his hat as he approached Elaine and June, but the frighteningly stern expression he wore was implacable.
“Miss Bond,” he said in clipped tones that sent ice straight to Elaine’s gut.
“Mr. Sudbury.” She glanced anxiously to June, then rushed across the lawn to meet him. “What an unexpected surprise. I’m afraid you’ve caught me and Miss Lakes on wash day, but I could tidy myself and the cottage up if you—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Mr. Sudbury interrupted. His back was straight and his chin tilted up as he looked down his nose at her. “My errand here today is a short one.”
“Oh?” Elaine clasped her hands in front of her, mostly to stop them from shaking as the sense of dread within her grew exponentially. “How can I help you, sir?”