Michael blinked and looked across the table at Hugh. “Pardon?”
Hugh lowered his eyes meaningfully to the table before them, and Michael followed his gaze.
The cards there, while all diamonds, showed that Hugh had won the trick with a jack, but Michael, instead of keeping his cards low so that he did not sacrifice a potentially winning card later, had played the ten of diamonds. Their partnership had still taken the trick, but it was a waste of a card that could have won a trick later.
Moderately scored, indeed.
Michael stared at the cards, his mind spinning on various quips that might dissuade any discussion on his reasons for inattention. He forced himself to smile, then looked up at Hugh. “I am a terrible whist player. Didn’t I say that?”
Hugh rolled his eyes and chuckled. “No, I don’t believe so.” He looked at Miss Palmer. “Won’t you give up your cousin and partner me? You’ve clearly got an eye for the game, unlike someone else.”
Miss Palmer smiled swiftly and began to carefully reorganize the cards in her hand. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Sterling. I am quite satisfied with my partner, and the current course of the game.”
“That’s because you’re winning,” Michael pointed out.
Miss Palmer’s smile turned crooked, and she raised a brow. “Winning is a satisfying thing, and I’ll not deny it. But I hardly think you can justify saying my cousin and I are winning when we have not even finished a round yet.”
“No, indeed,” Mrs. Greensley insisted with a light laugh. “It could all change in the next round, and I believe we’ll still be enjoying ourselves.”
“I certainly intend to,” Miss Palmer agreed as she laid her card down. “Imagine if we only enjoyed the things we won at. Everyone would be miserable all the time!”
Hugh grunted once but smiled. “Spoken like a fair-minded woman. Men, on the other hand, are rivalrous to a fault, and are desolated when they lose.” He held out a hand towards Michael. “Is it not so?”
Michael heaved a sigh, shaking his head. “It is so. Many a man has been called out for cheating when all he has done was win. We simply cannot accept anything less than victory.”
Miss Palmer seemed to consider that, her expression still playful. “Perhaps this is why women live longer than men.” She swept the cards to her, having won the trick, and shrugged her shoulders. “Contentment and proper enjoyment.”
“Very likely,” Michael allowed, “and a distinct lack of stupidity.”
“That would depend on the individual,” Mrs. Greensley chimed in, a devious glint in her eye. “There are plenty of females who lack intelligence in even the most basic of subjects.”
“I could never say such a thing, nor will I be found agreeing to it.” Michael shook his head very firmly, pointedly laying his card.
Miss Palmer giggled softly, the sound warm and natural rather than the forced trill of high-pitched tones he’d heard from so many other ladies. “But you won’t argue against it?”
Smiling, Michael again shook his head. “I make it a point to never argue with ladies.”
Hugh snorted softly, laying the final card and taking the trick. “Is that meant to be gallant or self-preserving?”
“Both, ideally.” He offered the table a cheeky grin. “The only exception would be my sisters, and the older they get, the less likely I am to argue about anything at all.”
“For gallantry or self-preservation?” Miss Palmer asked as Hugh shuffled the cards and prepared to deal.
Her wit earned her a smile from Michael, as well as an additional mark of respect, though such a thing was less easily displayed.
“Neither, in their case,” Michael admitted fondly. “It’s the utter futility of the thing.”
That made her laugh again, this time more fully, and the sound was more captivating than anything he’d felt towards her yet. “Oh, Mr. Sandford, that is too perfect.”
“As a brother to a sister myself,” Hugh broke in, his tone serious, “I concur. There is no winning.”
“It comes with sisters, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Greensley admitted. She sighed and took a sip of the Madeira beside her. “The moment they learn the value of opinion, there is no stopping it.”
Miss Palmer made the gentlest scoffing sound known to man and gave her cousin a look. “Come, come, you cannot think all sisters everywhere are like Lucy.”
Mrs. Greensley grimaced, then looked around at them all. “Let it be known that I was not the one to mention a particular sister by name. I’ll not take the blame, should rumors abound.”
“So noted,” Hugh and Michael said together, almost solemnly.
“But that would mean she would come against me,” Miss Palmer pointed out, mock effrontery on display.
Mrs. Greensley gave her a pitying smile. “Alas, my poor cousin. I shall weep prodigiously at your funeral.”
Michael chuckled to himself and looked between the ladies. “You never had the same trouble with another sister, Mrs. Greensley?”
She met his eyes, smiling congenially. “Not in the same way, no. Each sister has her own particular blend of mischief and mayhem, but I have found that each has some of both.”
“Not Mary, surely,” Miss Palmer protested.
Mrs. Greensley’s look was answer enough, though she added, “Even Mary, my dear. We are so close in age that going to the dressmaker would cost our parents less because they would get half the number of dresses and expect us to share.” She huffed, as if the memory of several fights on the subject still caused irritation. “It was a blessing when she married Captain Gracie, in a number of ways.”
“I did not know she had married him,” Michael said in surprise, smiling warmly. “My felicitations. When was that?”
“This winter,” came the reply, “which is likely why you did not hear of it. They married and almost immediately set sail for the West Indies for his next posting.”
“It was a beautiful service,” Miss Palmer told the group. “Short, but lovely. And really, what is there to say besides the pronouncement of man and wife?”
Michael played the four of spades, looking at Miss Palmer with a rueful smile. “I do believe there are some vows…”
“One or two,” Hugh added with a nod. “I barely recall mine. I was too distracted by my bride.”
“You called?”
Michael groaned as Elinor approached, not that it should be an evil, but for the simple effect her presence would have on Hugh. As expected, his smile was doting, his wife’s indulgent.
“Good evening, angel,” Hugh said, taking his wife’s hand and kissing it once.
Elinor winked, then turned to the table. “Jane! How well you look; I can see that marriage to Greensley suits you.”
“It does, I’ll not deny it.” Mrs. Greensley returned her smile and gestured lightly. “And I would say that being Mrs. Sterling must agree with you. You’re quite radiant.”
Elinor blushed, glancing at her husband. “I am entirely under his influence, you might say. There is much to be said for a happy marriage.”
“Amen,” Hugh agreed softly, his eyes still on his bride.
“Is it a command that married ladies must compliment each other on being so?” Miss Palmer asked Michael in a low tone. “Or are we just fortunate enough to be witnesses to this particular exchange?”
Michael restrained a laugh, biting the inside of his cheek. “I really cannot say. I don’t know that I would call Mrs. Sterling radiant so much as frequent to flush since her marriage.”
“And my cousin has only found a softening to her features since her marriage, not an entire alteration to complexion,” Miss Palmer added, flicking at something on her cream muslin. “I rather think that is due to a far better cook and less strife at home, not particularly owed to being wife to Greensley.”
“Perhaps crediting marriage for the changes is a tradition,” Michael suggested, watching the particular turn of Miss Palmer’s lip while their companions chatted about all things matrimonial.
>
Miss Palmer hummed, her head tilting as she apparently considered that. “It’s an odd tradition, I must say. And surely it only lasts the first year or two of a marriage. I cannot admit to hearing my parents say such things, though, admittedly, their marriage was not for love.”
“Nor mine,” Michael conceded, now eyeing Elinor and Hugh, wondering if such a match might have made a difference in his life. “Companionable enough, perhaps loving in the end, but not at the start.”
“Mine was much the same, though my father was a good deal older than my mother.” Her smile deepened almost wistfully. “It was his second marriage, though we were never made to feel like it. His other children were frequent visitors, more akin to aunts and uncles than half-siblings.”
It was not an uncommon thing to find such a match and family in England, though Michael had never discussed such a thing so openly with anyone involved in one.
“Did you have siblings of your own age, as well?” he queried, setting his cards face down on the table and folding his hands in his lap. “I hope you had playmates, at least.”
She turned more fully to him, nodding. “I have a brother just a year older than me, and a sister two years younger. And my half-niece is nearly the equal distance in age between us both, so the three of us were always together.”
He smiled at the fond note her voice had taken on. “Was that never strange? A niece older than your sister?”
Miss Palmer shook her head. “No, never. We never knew that all families were not thus until we started making friends outside of our home and family. Millie is almost as much a sister to me as Mariah, and sometimes closer than.”
Michael glanced over at Mrs. Greensley, who had now been joined by her husband, and the couple were still actively engaged in conversation with the Sterlings. They were not likely to continue their game for some time, and it seemed a shame to sit at the table and wait for them to return their attention to the game. Why not give all a chance to converse freely?
He looked back at Miss Palmer, who had done the same. “Will you favor me with a turn about the room, Miss Palmer? I do not think we will commence our game for a time.”
“Please.” Miss Palmer rose and brushed at her gown. “If their topic is to continue on the advantages of the newly married, I would much prefer to sample the punch.”
“Happy to oblige you there.” Michael gestured toward the table at the other side of the room where the punchbowl sat.
She inclined her head and began that way, though moved toward the edge of the room in what would take them both in a longer, more roundabout way than he’d planned.
He was not about to complain, though. He rather thought it was a brilliant diversion for them both.
“Do you object to matrimony?” Michael asked, stunned by his own boldness, though he did inject as much teasing into the words as possible.
Miss Palmer was not put off. “Is any woman truly opposed to matrimony? I have no doubt I will welcome the thing when it comes, but the idea that it should be my whole focus has never sat well. And I should so much prefer a match of true affection than one of ease and comfort.”
“Cannot ease and comfort come with true affection?” he mused aloud, clasping his hands behind his back. “I agree with you, it is only a thought.”
“I suppose it can,” Miss Palmer allowed, “though I would not think it particularly common. And, I confess, it has always troubled me that the marriage vows in the church are the same for all marriages. How can an arranged marriage uphold a vow to love, honor, comfort, and obey? Does the definition of love change in that regard? And what of honor? Surely not all spouses honor each other.”
Michael could honestly say he had never given the marriage vows a second thought, let alone with such depth, but now it seemed she had an excellent point.
“What would you have the vows say, then?” He allowed himself to smile, glancing about the room. “A marriage of convenience would vow not to kill each other and to ally themselves for the good of their families? A marriage of comfort that they would learn to love and behave with respect?”
She laughed quietly beside him, a measured step bringing them closer together. “I don’t know, and I will not pretend to be overly cognizant of what vows to God should entail. But if I were marrying for love, I should like to vow that my love for him would grow day by day, hour by hour. That I should draw closer to God as I serve and give myself to my husband, and he to me. That we vow to walk through life hand in hand, come what may.”
For the space of four heartbeats, Michael had no thoughts, let alone words. Her words circled about his head, seeping within it, and echoed within the cavern of his chest. There would never be vows like those said in a marriage ceremony performed in the classic sense, though one might find some leeway granted in Scotland, and more particularly in Gretna Green. The formality of the vows would ever remain, expecting the same of couples marrying for love as marrying for entirely material considerations. But what those vows meant to those uttering them might be entirely different based on the feelings and situations of those involved.
Miss Palmer, for example. And whoever was fortunate enough to win her love and her hand.
“You must think me a very silly creature for saying such things,” Miss Palmer murmured, blushing prettily and lowering her eyes as they walked. “I’m far more practical than romantic, to be sure, but in this, I find sentiment outweighs sense.”
Michael laughed softly. “I don’t find you silly at all, Miss Palmer. In fact, I think you may be the least silly person I have ever met, male or female. More than that, I find you quite charming.”
His cheeks instantly flamed as his words played back to him. “Your words,” he was quick to correct. “I find your words quite charming. Marvelous idea, specific vows for specific circumstances.”
Her warm giggle again met his ears. “I don’t know how marvelous it is. I imagine a family engaged in a hastily arranged marriage would not like to have vows recited that reflect such a thing. The whole congregation would know, if they vowed to repent of their sins once bound together in matrimony.”
Michael choked on a cough, a fist going to his mouth to stifle it. “Or,” he managed when able, “to divide the dowry and inheritance of an heiress into specific avenues for a fortune hunter’s marriage.”
Miss Palmer snickered, biting down on her lip. “Vowing to stand against opposing relations in Gretna Green.”
“Vowing to return to sea at least once a year if married aboard a ship.”
She clamped a gloved hand over her mouth, her eyes squeezing shut in mirth. “Oh, Mr. Sandford, we will surely scandalize all. Our first meeting and we have talked of money, of marriage, and of scandal. What are we going to do?”
“Continue to meet, I hope,” he ventured as they reached the punchbowl. “As I said… I find you quite charming.”
She looked up at him, smiling in a way that expanded his chest rather grandly. “I find you rather charming as well, Mr. Sandford. I am happy to meet you again, if at all possible.”
“It’s possible,” he assured her. “It is entirely possible, of that I am certain.”
Chapter Twelve
A morning stroll is a marvelous gift to those intrepid individuals sane enough to seek it out. Provided one does not dawdle along it. There is no excuse for dawdling on morning walks.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 7 October 1819
There was something about a long walk. Charlotte wasn’t entirely certain what it was, but her mother had always told her that the solution to any problem was a good cup of tea and a long walk.
Not that Charlotte presently had a problem, other than the obvious lack of husband, but people walked in Hyde Park frequently enough that it seemed the thing to do. She had no callers, so it was clear that she must do the venturing.
It was a maddening exercise, walking about and smiling at absolutely everyone on the off chance they may wish to speak with her. And to smile even more prettily at any men she
happened upon, especially if they were remotely attractive.
That wasn’t a desperate action, was it?
It felt desperate.
Having her mother as escort on this walk felt even more desperate.
“My face hurts,” Charlotte grumbled through the pain of yet another brilliant smile at a young man on a horse.
“You’re only out of practice,” her mother told her without concern. “Why do you think I always wanted you to smile more?”
Forget desperate, this was maddening.
“What I wouldn’t give for a mask.”
“Yes, I think that quite often myself when in the company of you and your brother together.”
Charlotte snorted loudly, covering her mouth.
“That was attractive, dear,” her mother went on. “If that will not call all eligible bachelors to you, nothing will.”
“You are not helping,” Charlotte protested, giggling madly.
“Neither did that jig you danced with Lady Patton’s godson last evening,” came the quipped response. “Clearly, I have failed you.”
Charlotte felt tears of mirth welling dangerously, her breath harder to come by as she continued to laugh. “I managed as best I could! I am dreadful at jigs, and he was an even worse partner!”
Her mother tsked. “Never blame the partner, dear. It is most unbecoming.”
“Better to blame him than admit I am a poor dancer,” Charlotte insisted, grinning and looping her arm through her mother’s. “Oh, Mama, you do make me laugh.”
“So I should hope.” Her mother covered her hand, rubbing soothingly. “I know this is a bit of a trying time for you. Such confidence in all other respects, but in this, I think you might be just as insecure as any other girl in London.”
Charlotte sighed and nodded once. “I’ll only admit so to you, as you can already see it. Maddening business, finding love. I wonder that anyone succeeds in it.”
“Most do not, I’m afraid.”
That was unfortunately true. Charlotte barely avoided sighing again, looking out at other parts of Hyde Park as they strolled almost aimlessly. She had picked her ensemble this morning with great care, a lavender sprigged muslin and a plum walking coat, her bonnet a fine complement to both, and having to put so much thought into her appearance was wearing on her. What did any of it matter, in truth? She had been seen for years, and though being dressed elaborately and pinched into rosiness might have given her more attention, it could not change what they already saw.
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