“Mr. Fetich has been very attentive,” Maryann commented after the man, who had been visiting with them some quarter of an hour, jumped up to fetch Miss Callifour a fresh glass of lemonade.
Miss Callifour smiled after her admirer. Then she turned a concerned look toward Maryann. “Does it bother you?”
“Not in the least. You both deserve someone who sparks your interest, and I daresay there were no sparks between myself and Mr. Fetich. I wish you both the very best.”
Her father had commented in his most recent letter to her that Mr. Fetich was a very enterprising young man. Clearly, Mr. Fetich hadn’t wasted any time writing to him.
Miss Callifour leaned in to whisper about a walk they had taken beside the Serpentine just that morning, and a stolen kiss when no one else was in view. “Are you so very shocked?” The look in her wide brown eyes betrayed that she was shocked, even if Maryann was not.
“I am glad to hear that his interest is so ardent. I would caution you not be too amiable to his attention until things are secure, of course.”
“Of course,” Miss Callifour said, but her eyes were dancing.
Though Maryann did not envy her for Mr. Fetich’s sake, she would not mind a stolen kiss or two of her own. As the season moved on and engagements were announced all around her, the pressure was becoming uncomfortable for those like Miss Callifour and Maryann who were not as young and pretty as some of the others.
Miss Callifour thanked Maryann for her blessing, then excused herself for a turn about the “lake” when Mr. Fetich returned with a full glass of lemonade. Maryann smiled at the couple and dipped her head in approval. He nodded back, which she took as his thanks that she was not standing in his way.
Without the company of Miss Callifour, Maryann prepared to leave, glad not to have an evening engagement. She’d had some event or another every evening for the last ten days, and the sociality was beginning to wear on her. Sometimes she worried that her false society smile had made her forget what a true smile felt like anymore. It would be wonderful to sit in her bedchamber and simply read a book. Alone. Wearing her nightdress and the pink shawl her mother had knitted for her many years ago.
She made her way to the drive, where she ordered the carriage and then visited with some other guests while she waited. She was standing alone when someone tapped her right shoulder. She looked that direction at the same time Timothy stepped forward on her left side.
“You are such a child,” she said after turning to her left, but she could not hold back a smile—a real one. No one made her smile like he did.
“Lucky for me, you like childish games,” Timothy said, then winked. He knew that she did not like such things, but it was such a part of him that she could not protest. “Did you enjoy yourself this afternoon, Maryann?”
“I did,” she said. “You?”
“Certainly,” he said. “Anywhere with women, wine, and fine food is a good time to me, though I am enjoying them much more now that I’m not trying to attend every event.”
“I’m glad to hear you are being more attentive to your schedule,” she said. “And what did you think of Miss Grimmley?”
“She was . . . lovely.”
“Lovely?” Maryann repeated. It was the same account he’d given of Miss Rushford a few weeks earlier. “What is wrong with her?”
“Nothing is wrong with her.”
They argued for a full minute until Timothy finally admitted that Miss Grimmley had very odd thumbs. “They are short and flat, and, well, they look like badminton paddles, honestly.” He waggled his own finely-formed thumbs.
“For heaven’s sake,” Maryann grumbled, shaking her head. “You are impossible.”
“I am not impossible,” he said with faux wounded pride. “I am just . . . particular. I introduced her to Mr. Anders, who has those excessively big ears, so he shall likely be more patient with her affliction than I am. And I am not dismissing her because she is not a wonderful woman, only she is not the woman for me. There is no shame in that.”
“There cannot be any shame in being rejected by Mr. Timothy Mayfield because women rejected by Mr. Timothy Mayfield is becoming a bigger and bigger group. Goodness, nearly all of us are within its confines these days.”
He looked at her with raised eyebrows
She had not meant to be quite so transparent, but she also did not step away from the truth. “Am I not one of them?” Before he could answer with something that would likely make them both uncomfortable, she continued. “I thought you were being more flexible regarding your list.”
“I am,” he said with his chin held high as he rocked back on his heels. “I took Miss Justin on a walk yesterday, and she is a brunette.” He smiled at his heroic gesture, though it quickly fell back to its ordinary level. “But I have realized that I am in no hurry to marry. I am only twenty-seven years old.”
“Lucas is also twenty-seven, and he has been married a full year and a half and he was engaged for two years before that due to my mother’s illness that stood in the way of a wedding.”
Timothy grinned at her. “Ralph Bington was thirty-two when he finally married.”
“And will be dead before his children marry.”
“Oh, you are a saucy one.” Timothy reached over and pulled at the ribbon of her bonnet, undoing the bow with a single tug.
She had four pins in place, so the bonnet did not shift in the slightest, but she gasped and glared at him. She tried to retie the bow with gloved hands, but, as he had that day in Hyde Park, he pushed her hands away and retied it himself. She looked above his head to keep from staring at his face so close to her own and willed her heart to keep a steady pace. If she wanted to, she could lean forward and steal a kiss of her own.
Oh, Maryann. Really.
“So, I have been thinking,” Timothy said as he gave the loops a final tug.
She glared at him once more before looking down the drive for the carriage, feeling oddly uncomfortable now that she’d thought of kissing him. If he knew, he would laugh.
“You have gone out of your way to introduce me to some prime candidates for making a match, but I have done nothing for you in return.”
“I mean this as kindly as I possibly can,” she said, smiling sweetly at him. “But what could you possibly do for me?”
He narrowed his eyes at her playfully, then ran his hand through his overgrown hair. “I can introduce you to potential husbands, just as you are introducing me to potential wives. It seems only fair.”
“Except that I don’t need your help,” Maryann said. “I have plenty of men to choose from.” Men visited her every day, with bright smiles and tight ears as they complimented her dresses and her hair and the lovely room her father had built and the extraordinary gas lamps in the drawing room. Each man was as insincere as the next, but she was not lacking in numbers.
“You have fortune hunters to choose from,” Timothy said. “Men looking to line their pockets and pay off debts.”
“Hmm,” she said thoughtfully, tapping her chin with one of her non-dainty fingers. What did Timothy think of her thumbs? “It seems you were one of those men not too long ago.”
“But I was honest about it,” he reminded her, putting a hand to his chest to emphasize his magnanimity. “I know men who do not necessarily move in our circles but who would be a good match.”
“If they don’t want money, they’ll want beauty and youth, and I am equally low on both.”
“Do not be unkind to yourself, Maryann. You have plenty of both those aspects.”
She blinked at him. Was he saying that he thought she was pretty? She did not dare believe it because she was reminded every day that she was not. She looked away before he could see the surprise in her face. “I thank you for the offer, but, again, I do not need your help.”
“Why not?”
“Because I do not
need it,” she snapped.
“So, if I were to introduce a man to you who fit the parameters you were looking for, you would snub him?”
“I am not mean-spirited,” she said, feeling rather cornered by the discussion.
Lucy had become proficient at vetting potential suitors through their household staff; Maryann had purchased eleven pairs of silk stockings these last weeks in payment. Mr. Martin owned an estate in Surry—with a heavy mortgage attached. Lord Bromley had land of his own—and five younger sisters in need of being launched into society. His estate had not been profitable for almost a decade due to severe flooding and inadequate repair. His wife would be expected to sponsor each of his sisters, which would take the next ten years of her life. No, thank you. One by one, each name that crossed her salver ended with a financial need for which she was seen as remedy and nothing by way of romantic connection. Each man who joined the ranks of the others made her miss home even more.
“Let me help you,” Timothy said, smiling at her in that way that froze the argument on her lips. “I shall only offer introduction to those men of the finest character, those whom I know would benefit from a fine woman like you.”
She finally nodded, but her mind was repeating “a fine woman like you” over and over in her head. He felt her a fine woman—but not fine enough for him.
“I shall agree if you will get a haircut.”
He ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up so badly that she used her fingers to comb it back into place. She worried after the first pass that it was another intimate, and therefore inappropriate, gesture, but he did not react so it seemed she was safe. She wished she were not wearing gloves so she could feel his hair moving through her fingers. It seemed very soft.
“We are still in public, Mr. Mayfield, do mind your manners.”
He laughed as Lucas’s carriage finally rolled up. Timothy put out his arm to escort her the ten steps down the drive.
“Thank you for your concern for my future,” she said when they reached the carriage door held open by the driver. Timothy bent his head and kissed her gloved hand before handing her inside. She told him goodbye, he shut the door, and she collapsed against the cushion. She would introduce women to him, and he would introduce men to her. What a carousel, one that she knew with greater clarity every day would end in heartache. For her at least.
Maryann paced back and forth in the drawing room while Deborah sat in a chair near the fire. “I am tired of attending events alone, Deborah. If you cannot go, then I should be able to stay home as well.” She looked pale, but not that pale.
“Lucas and I cancelling is a hardship on the hosts already, but at least the numbers are kept even. You’ll better understand this when you plan your own parties and someone else is inconsiderate of the details you spend hours toiling over.”
“Then make Lucas go and I shall stay home this time.” Her desire to return to Somerset grew stronger each time she thought of it, and attending events alone did nothing to lessen her discomfort. She was so tired of the marriage games of London.
“Again, it comes down to the numbers,” Deborah explained patiently. “Equal men and women. Lucas and I, as a married couple, are easily extracted. You, as a single woman, are not. It is a very fragile balance, and it will reflect poorly on all of us if you do not go.”
Maryann sat in the chair beside her sister with a scowl on her face. Between her headache and too many callers, she had not gotten any rest that morning. To hear that she would have to attend the Hornbergers’ dinner party alone was the proverbial straw on the back of her diminishing sociability. She was in no mood to be good company and make small talk and drink punch. She wanted a good strong brandy, truth be told. Father had occasionally allowed it when she had one of her headaches, but Deborah would not. Maryann was still a debutante and debs did not drink brandy. Even medicinally.
“Is it really so bad?” Deborah asked kindly, her head cocked to the side in a gesture that reminded Maryann of their mother. “You have met so many people that surely you shall be familiar with the other guests. Won’t the Callifours be there? I know Lady Dominique is attending.”
Maryann sighed and scolded herself for acting like a child. “It is not so bad,” she admitted. “But when we attend together, I know you are looking out for me and I can go to you with any difficulties. You have extracted me from more than one awkward conversation.” Once, a young man had been droning on about his cattle for nearly half an hour before Deborah was able to draw Maryann from the conversation; she later gave Maryann some tips on how to remove herself in the future. “The whole point of having a sponsor is so that I do not have to attend events alone. Plus, I have a headache.” She pointed to her head as though Deborah could see the slight throbbing that had been keeping Maryann company all day.
Deborah frowned and crossed her hands in her lap. “I am sorry, Maryann. You have done well this season; I have been so proud of you. However, tonight is not an event you can easily miss. There are only twenty guests, eighteen without Lucas and myself.”
“Can I at least have some brandy for my poor head?”
“Maryann, dear.”
Maryann waved away the inevitable refusal because Deborah did sound sincerely apologetic. “It is all right. I know I am being petulant. But this is the fifth event in the last two weeks I have attended alone, and I am beginning to feel strange arriving by myself. As a debutante, I am expected to have a chaperone.” Saying it out loud made her sound even more childish. “But, enough of that. I should be more concerned for your health than I have been. Perhaps it is time to send for a physician.” It was not the first time that Maryann had suggested such a course. After caring for Mother for so long, she was not one to drag her feet when men of medicine needed to be involved.
“The physician is coming tomorrow,” Deborah said, as though admitting a secret. She removed the light shawl she was wearing and began to fold it in her lap.
“That is good, then,” Maryann said. “With a little luck, and perhaps the right treatment, you can be joining me again by Saturday night.”
Deborah shifted her in her seat and kept her eyes on the shawl. “If I am right about the reason for my discomfort, I do not expect I will be feeling much better for a while. Perhaps we should discuss another arrangement for your chaperone. Lady Dominique might—”
Maryann slipped from her chair and knelt down in front of her sister. She put her hands on the arms of Deborah’s chair, trapping her in her seat. “You’re pregnant!”
Deborah blinked back tears but nodded. “I believe so, but I am so nervous. After last time, I don’t know that I could bear another loss.”
Deborah had married in February of last year, after waiting almost two years after Lucas’s proposal due to their mother’s illness. Two years. It was Maryann who had convinced her family to move forward with the wedding when it became obvious that Mother would not improve.
That June, Deborah had announced she was expecting. Mother had not been aware of anything, but Deborah had told her as though Mother understood every word. “I know you are happy for me,” Deborah had whispered that day as she held their mother’s crumpled hands in both of hers.
In July, Deborah lost the baby.
In August, Mother was unable to swallow properly, which led to issues with her lungs.
In September, all of them were sitting around her bed as Mother took her last breath.
The hardship of those months was more than Maryann could articulate even now, but the pain was even sharper for Deborah, who had lost her child and her mother in a few months’ time.
Maryann raised on her knees enough to wrap her arms around her sister’s shoulders. “Everything will be all right this time,” she said even though she had no way of knowing such. She pulled back, remembering something she’d heard the women discussing at a tea a few weeks ago. “That you feel ill is a good sign, I
think. You were not ill last time, right?”
Deborah shook her head. “I have heard that, too, but it does not displace my fear.” She put her hands over her stomach though there was no physical change yet.
“Well, it should displace your fear and give you hope,” Maryann said with confidence. “And you are to forget I whined at you about anything at all and know that I am well enough on my own for as long as needs be. I shall be an aunt!”
She hoped that the child would be a girl and Deborah would name her after Mother—Katharine Landsing had a nice ring to it.
“You are already an aunt three times over to James’s children,” Deborah reminded her.
“And they are lovely.” Maryann smiled, remembering that Timothy used that word to describe the women who did not meet his requirements. “But this will be your child, my sister’s child, and I shall be the most doting aunt you can possibly imagine.”
“You shall have to be, as Lucas has no brothers or sisters and James’s wife is not one to dote on her own children, let alone someone else’s.”
Maryann barked a laugh, then covered her mouth quickly with her hand. Deborah laughed as well but stopped when Maryann cut hers short.
“My apologies,” Maryann said after removing her hand.
“Apologies for what? I believe laughing at someone’s joke is a compliment. Why did you stop yourself?”
Maryann stood, shaking out her skirts and attempting to turn the subject. “I am so happy for you and Lucas both. This is the most wonderful thing I have heard in a long time.”
“Thank you,” Deborah said. “But why did you cover your laugh?”
Maryann shifted her weight to her other foot. “Does Lady Dominique know? Have you told anyone else?”
Daisies and Devotion Page 10