“You were eleven when she passed,” Julia said softly. “But she loved to spend time with you. I remember you were forever following her about the house as she worked with Mrs. North to keep things in order. Or in the kitchens when she planned menus. I think she must have enjoyed your company.”
Rebecca smiled softly and leaned back into her chair. “I like to think the two of you do as well.”
The elder two laughed and quickly agreed.
“Among the three of us, we can keep her memory and her kindness alive.” Julia spoke softly. “If we try, and do our best not to bicker with each other, we will make her very proud.”
“I hope so,” Christine whispered while Rebecca nodded. “We are all that is left of her.”
“And Horrible Horace,” Rebecca added with a laugh, lightening the mood.
“You promised to stop calling him that when he went to school,” Julia reminded her, eyebrows raised. “He prefers to go by Harry now.”
“Which is not really an acceptable substitute,” Rebecca countered. “I feel most sorry for him. He was so little when Mama died. I can at least remember some things about her. And then he went away for school.”
“At least he has her kind disposition,” Julia remarked softly. “Harry is forever thinking of us when he comes home to visit.”
Christine admitted this to be true. “And he looks the most like her, with his coloring.”
“Red hair and freckles,” Rebecca nodded. “I do not envy him that.”
“What do you think Mother would say to Christine about her upcoming season?” Rebecca ventured hesitantly.
A long pause was the only answer at first, but then Julia said, in nearly a whisper, “She would want her to be happy. I think all she would advise is to look for the events, the friendships, and the gentleman who will bring Christine the most happiness.” Julia reached out and squeezed Christine’s hand, meeting her eyes.
Christine looked away and sighed. “You are likely right. Mother wanted our happiness. I must confess, I am not always certain what that would look like.”
The rain filled the silence following that remark, though Christine, Julia, and Rebecca remained sitting close. Christine felt certain they shared more in that moment than they had in a long time, even if they did not utter their thoughts aloud.
∞∞∞
Christine prepared for her afternoon excursion early, determining she would need a good long ride before confronting Thomas. Reflecting on his behavior during their last meeting still left her with a strange ache, much like she had a rock settled in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to continue to ignore him, but as their last session was rained out and she had not actually seen him, the punishment would likely be lost on him. It would be better for her to go to the brook and tell him, in very clear terms, that she thought him a complete cad and wanted nothing further to do with him. She no longer even wished to think of him.
Except for that perfect, single, awe-inspiring moment that she could not forget, when he might have wanted to kiss her.
Her confusion leading to that perfect moment of clarification made her blush. How could she not have realized what he was doing? He drew her in expertly, in such a friendly manner. One moment he was the tutor, the neighbor and friend, and suddenly the world shifted.
She wanted him to kiss her.
This was the moment she continued to think on, pick apart, put back together, and rehearse in her mind. His lips close, his eyes looking deeply into hers. He had beautiful eyes. But before their lips met, it all ended.
Christine wanted to understand why she had been perfectly content —even happy— in that short breadth of time. Was it because she had never been kissed and wished to give it a try? Or was it something else? Something far more dangerous? Was she actually attracted to Thomas?
She adjusted her hat in the mirror while her maid, Sarah, stood by, examining every line of her to make certain all was well with her wardrobe.
“Have a lovely ride, miss. It’s been so wet out, I hope the paths are clear enough for you.”
“Thank you, Sarah. I know of a few places that tend to remain firm.” She smiled her gratitude and prepared to leave.
A knock at the door stalled her plans. Sarah opened the door to a footman who handed her a note, then disappeared.
The maid brought the note, eyebrows raised. “It is your father’s card, Miss Christine.”
Christine turned the card over to see her father’s firm handwriting. “Come to the study at once.”
She sighed and tucked the card into her waistband. “It seems I may be delayed at the stables. Please send a message to the groom. Let him know to keep my horse ready, but I do not know how soon I will be out.”
“Of course, miss.”
Christine nodded her thanks and left the room at a brisk pace. To keep her father waiting overly long would be a supremely bad idea.
Mentally, Christine went over all her expenditures for the season. She remained within the budget, she well knew. She also went over her recent behavior at the events she attended with her family and without. She could think of nothing she had done to upset her father.
She arrived at his study door still agitated and perplexed. Taking a deep breath, she raised her head and knocked. As tempted as she was to analyze his call to enter, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, breezing into the room.
“You sent for me, Father?”
“Christine. Sit.” He did not rise from his desk nor look up immediately from his papers. Only after she sat, perched on the edge of the chair, did he look up. He did not offer her a reassuring smile as she so wished he would. Surely, before her mother passed, he smiled more?
But then, in those days, Christine rarely saw him. He spent much of his time on business in London, and their mother preferred the country life where she could raise children and horses in the sunshine and fresh air—or so she always said. For the first time, Christine wondered if that was the real reason her mother stayed at home when her father went into the city.
“We are now two weeks away from Christmas. Will you be sufficiently prepared by that point?”
This was a planning meeting? That she could handle. She could even smile. “Yes, Father. Everything will be prepared and packed before that date. I am certain all will be ready.”
“Excellent.” He sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers before him, regarding her with the same flat expression. “You are more realistic and level-headed about your foray into society than your sister. She was too young. Immature. But you see this opportunity for what it is, a chance to advance in society and raise your family with you.”
Christine swallowed and nodded once. “I hope to make you very proud, Father.”
“So long as you remember your duty to your family, and your obligation to see a return on my investment in you these many years, I believe you will.”
Having heard this same lecture many times before, why did it feel as though a stone materialized in the pit of her stomach?
“Your duty to the family goes beyond the day I give your hand to another. Once the marriage contract is made, your obligations double. You will be responsible to keep your husband in good standing with society and his associates. You will also continue to be a representative of this household and our family name.”
She knew his expectations, yet they had never sounded this pointed before.
He stood and came around the desk, paper in hand. “I have taken the liberty of making a list of the families I find most suitable for you to join. The eldest eligible male in each family would be best.” He held the sheet out to her.
Christine stared at the paper in his hand, her confusion mounting even as that stone sunk deeper into her stomach. “You have a list of families you would like me to marry into?” Her eyes darted up to his, hoping she misunderstood somehow or that there was a better explanation forthcoming.
“Indeed.” He raised both eyebrows at her. “I need not tell you, with your
extensive knowledge of horse breeding, how important the right bloodlines and connections are?”
She felt a chill run through her and then all the heat returned in her cheeks as she accepted the sheet of paper. “Bloodlines?” she whispered, her eyes turning to the page, though she found herself unable to take in a single name at present.
“Yes. Pedigrees. I went through a great deal of work to approve each name on this list. I looked into finances, social status, and titles. I have ranked my preference from top to bottom. There are fifteen families listed. Any of them will do, but you should begin at the top.” He tapped a name at the corresponding space on the paper. “The Earl of Darbinger’s family. He has two sons. Both will inherit titles, one from the mother’s side. If you can manage to snare either of them, I would be pleasantly surprised. The sooner we form a marriage contract, the better.”
“What of gentlemen not on the list?” she asked, voice softer than she liked. Her eyes darted up to meet his, to find them cold and hard upon her.
“Adhere to the list, Christine. Then, if another option presents itself we could discuss the matter. With the money I will spend on you for this season, and spent on your upbringing, I expect a very advantageous match. You are the only one among my daughters to never be foolish enough to dwell upon the idea of romance.”
That smote her, though it was true. Never had Christine spoken to her father of romance, of novels, or of love. She spoke of the things which would please him, parroting his opinions to him, behaving in exactly the manner he demanded.
Father never spoke of love, so she did not. He never spoke of his hopes for her future happiness, so she did not. He spoke of the connections he wished her marriage to make, and she pledged herself to finding the perfect match, the son-in-law who would make him pleased.
Now she had fifteen options to choose from.
While she struggled through this mental avalanche, her father went back to his place behind the desk. “Study the list carefully. Your aunt has been sent a copy, in order to arrange introductions. If we plan accordingly, we will have you engaged by February.”
She started at that. “February?”
“It would be better to snatch up a promising subject than to give anyone else a chance at him,” he said, eyes back on his desk. “There is little time to waste in the business world, Christine.”
“Business world?” she said softly. “But it is my first season—”
The look he gave her, icy in its formality, cut her off. “It is your only season. I will not throw money away on a bad investment.” He rose slowly and narrowed his eyes at her. “That was Julia’s mistake, and you see how she regrets it. I gave her everything a girl could desire for her season, including a wide variety of gentlemen I approved of. She chose to ignore my wishes. Now she is no better than a housekeeper. What of you, Christine? With Julia fulfilling that role here, what do you hope to become if you fail to marry?”
He paused, lifting his chin and looking down his nose at her. “Your mother understood her duty too little. She married me and when her eyes were opened to the realities of the world and our place in it, she withdrew from society and buried herself here, caring for nothing but those horses she would not even breed or sell. Of what use was she to me? The one thing your mother did correctly was give me an heir.” A lesser man would have snorted, he only exhaled forcefully. “Do not shame me as she did.”
Her whole body felt as though it had been carved from marble, so stiff she became when he spoke of her mother.
Her mother, who she recalled with love and fondness. The mother who was always there with a smile and encouragement, warmth radiating from her every expression and word. How could he speak of her so carelessly?
She tamped down a shudder at his demanding expectations. There was nothing she could think to say except what was expected. “Yes, Father.”
“You are dismissed.” He flicked a hand toward the door, his eyes already back on his desk.
She stood and hesitated, wondering why this meeting felt as though it went horribly wrong, but turned and left as quietly as she entered, with her head much lower.
When the study door closed behind her, she looked down at the list and swallowed back tears.
“I am no better than a broodmare.”
Chapter Fifteen
Thomas paced on his side of the brook, his coat billowing out behind him, Christine’s gloves in his pocket. He checked his watch again and scowled at the infuriating little piece of machinery. She was nearly half an hour late, leaving his horse to stand longer in the cold. If she wished to cancel their agreement after their last meeting, she should have sent a note. She had ample opportunity, with the storm three days past interrupting their usual meeting time.
For the first two days after that disastrous lesson, he berated himself for upsetting her so greatly. Christine, innocent as she was, surely did not deserve such harsh censure and inappropriate treatment from him. But in those moments, when she nearly allowed him such liberties, he was overwhelmed with frustration.
He was angry that she would fall into such a trap without a second thought. Angry that he took advantage of the situation. Angry that he was tutoring her at all. How touched in the head did one have to be to agree to her confusing, madcap scheme? Thomas also felt a great deal of frustration toward any and all people in her life who should have been preparing her for her entrance into society. How could a girl go so long, even moving in such a small society as theirs, without learning when a man meant trouble?
Christine trusted him completely. She never expected to need to raise her guard when they met. Shouldn’t his change of character, abrupt as it was, have sent her fleeing? Why did she draw closer instead of away? And, blast it, why did she raise her face to him and look so much as though she wanted to be kissed?
His self-abasement did not last long as he argued the scenario with himself, again and again. He did his duty, as promised, to prepare her for whatever civilized society threw at her when she arrived in London. There would doubtless be men present capable of gaining her trust, even her friendship, before attempting to take liberties with such a sweet, guileless woman.
The very idea of anyone attempting what he had, abusing her trust, outraged Thomas. He could not be there to watch over her, to protect her, no matter how much he wished it so.
His fists closed and opened several times as he imagined the would-be suitors closing in upon her as she innocently flirted her way into their clutches, like a lamb to the slaughter.
No. Thomas could not allow it to happen. Today, he would drive home the point. He would give her a lecture, sparing her no detail of what such men could do to her reputation, to her heart—if she ever bothered to show up.
He was reaching for his watch again when he heard her coming, heard the horse’s hooves upon the ground and the rustling of the branches across the way.
He planted his feet apart and stood, shoulders back, ready to turn the full force of his glare upon her. Thomas would not apologize. He would stand his ground and show her the folly of her trust.
She did not stop on her side but rode straight across to his. His desire to ring a peel over her head dissolved the moment he took in her expression.
Christine’s face was pale and streaked with tears, her eyes telling of great distress, even grief. She looked as if she had lost a loved one, as though doom had been pronounced upon her.
Dread pooled in his stomach and he reached up for her before she could dismount on her own. She slid down, the least graceful he had ever seen her move, and took one stumbling step into his arms, where she immediately buried her face into his coat front. Without a word, her sobs began anew.
As a man with sisters whom he loved, he told himself it was completely natural to wrap his arms around her and rest his cheek upon her head. Though he did not think his sisters, either of them, ever fit so nicely in that place.
It did not escape him how entirely inappropriate their position was, but he could not f
ind it in himself to rebuke her or put her away as her broken-hearted sobs, quiet as they were, shook them both.
After a time, her body stilled and a few last, stuttering breaths were taken before she inhaled deeply. She lifted her head from his shoulder, her eyes swollen and red, her cheeks pale.
“Thomas,” she said, and his heart lurched forward suddenly. Had she asked him in that moment to run through whatever blackguard caused those tears, he would have done it. “I am sorry.” She put her hands flat upon his chest and gently pushed away. He released her from the embrace but moved his hands to hers.
“Come.” He pulled her gently towards that log, that place where all the trouble of their last meeting began. “Something terrible has happened. Tell me. What can I do?”
She shook her head, yet followed him docilely. “It is not so terrible.” She wilted when she sat, folding her gloved hands in her lap. “I do not know what has come over me. I just—” She shuddered and wrapped her arms about herself. “I do not know who to talk to or how to explain what has happened.”
“Is your family well?” he asked softly, still standing before her. He did not want to sit next to her and risk her thinking he had any intention of repeating his actions from their last meeting.
“Y-yes. Everyone is well. Healthy.” She smiled weakly. “I suppose I did rather act as though someone had d-died.” Her liquid brown eyes met his, nothing at all in them to smile about. “I had something of a shock today, I suppose. A dreadful shock.”
“What happened?” he asked. When she hesitated to speak, he hastily added, “Not that you need tell me. It is none of my affair. I—”
“Are you my friend, Mr. Gilbert?” she asked softly, interrupting him.
The answer came without him having to think on it. “Yes. Undoubtedly.”
“Then I believe I can tell you.” Her shoulders slumped and she lowered her eyes to the ground. “I spoke to my father today. He wanted to remind me of my prospects this season and make certain I understood what he expects of me.” Again, that smile devoid of happiness appeared. It was a rueful, sad smile. “He presented me with a list of families of whose pedigree he approved. A stud list, if you will.”
The Social Tutor Page 13