by Abigail Agar
Upon entering, Richard and Irene sat in the chairs near the fireplace. The fire already roared, and Irene sneaked her feet closer to it, giving Bess a mischievous smile. Richard’s eyes traced down Irene’s ankle. His face didn’t change, although Bess suspected he was shocked. Shocked at the white flesh, so revealing.
Bess wondered why Richard wasn’t married. Why he’d arrived at Lord Linfield’s home and remained there as a kind of right-hand man, somewhere between servant and friend. What had happened in his life?
Of course, she sensed Lord Linfield thought similar things about her.
“Shall we begin?” Bess asked, forcing a smile.
Lord Linfield pressed the door closed and turned to her, his eyebrows stitched together. “I can’t imagine for a moment what you’d like me to say, to begin,” he said.
Bess slotted her hand into a side pocket and drew out the new speech she’d written him. “I’ve created two copies,” she said, passing him one. “I want you to study the first paragraph and read it out to me. Do it the way you might address a full room of people. All your greatest friends, all your family members, all looking to you for the best story on Christmas Day.”
Nathaniel unfolded the pages of the new speech. Bess was surprised to note that his hands shook as he opened it. Was he really so anxious around only her, with Irene and Richard waiting in the wings?
“Good afternoon,” Nathaniel began, his eyes glossy.
“A bit brighter. Make sure you keep your chin up,” Bess said, crossing her arms over her chest.
Nathaniel did as he was told, asserting his voice a bit more. When he looked up, he caught Bess’s eye once more. She felt a shiver in her stomach, but she forced it away, pushing herself to pay attention to the way Nathaniel articulated the speech.
“You’re slumping as you speak. More and more. I noticed it during each of your speeches,” Bess said, cutting in as he tried to turn to the second page.
Lord Linfield rolled his eyes slightly. The corners of his mouth shivered as if he was forcing himself not to smile. He stood a bit taller, spreading his legs out wider. But as he spoke, he sped up, his words falling over and over one another. His lips fumbled.
“Stop, stop, stop!” Bess said. She stepped closer, slashing her arms through the air in front of her. “You’re like an out of control carriage,” she said, chuckling. “Can’t you hear how fast you’re going?”
“I haven’t changed at all,” Lord Linfield said, sounding obstinate.
“You absolutely have,” Bess said. “Nobody will be able to hear your opinions if you race to the finish line.”
Lord Linfield sighed, dropping his shoulders. He turned his eyes back to the paper, but Bess cut him off once more.
“And if you find yourself beginning to speak too quickly, if you find yourself getting out of control,” she began, “simply take a deep breath. Inhale, exhale. Force your anxious thoughts to calm down. And then, begin again. It will make your heart slow down.”
Lord Linfield made eye contact with her once more. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “I probably seem like an imbecile to you. Unable to read these very simple words.”
“No,” Bess said, drawing her hand across her chest. “Absolutely not. I remember, ah. When I was a debutante, during my first Season, I was so terribly anxious that I could hardly look anyone in the eye. I kept my eye to the floor, muttering to whoever spoke to me. I remember a friend of mine, Olivia, told me that no man would ever ask me to dance, let alone marry me.” Bess sighed, giving Nathaniel a genuine smile. “Of course, I grew better and better as the Season crept on. My father hired someone to teach me the basics.”
“I’ve been to my share of debutante balls, Lady Elizabeth,” Lord Linfield said. “And I—”
“Then you must remember how articulate the women were when they did speak,” Bess said. “You must remember that, although I’m sure they allowed you the floor for the majority of any given conversation, when they did utter anything, they did it with grace and certainty. That is what I’m attempting to translate to you.”
Lord Linfield gaped at her as if she had two heads. “I never thought past my own tongue at those balls,” he said.
“Perhaps that’s your struggle at the speeches, as well,” Bess said, giving him a small grin. “If you aren’t thinking about the person in the far back of the crowd, the person you might have very, very little to do with, on a personal level, then you’re delivering a poor speech. You have to be speaking both to the common man and the richest Londoner. You have to make them believe that you understand them.”
“Oh, Lady Elizabeth. For me to understand anyone, I should have spent fewer hours out in the woods with my hunting dog,” Lord Linfield said, his smile widening.
“I should say so. You have your head in the clouds,” Bess said, teasing him. “But it’s time to come back to the cobblestones, where you belong.”
They held one another’s eyes for a long moment, during which Bess marvelled at how witty she sounded with him. She’d always been accustomed to stepping off to the side, instead of ever hurting a man’s feelings. But with Lord Linfield, she was his instructor, and as such, it only behooved him for her to fight back, in a sense, with articulate banter. She knew he wasn’t accustomed to this, perhaps not from any woman or man. But for whatever reason, it was working miracles.
The pair of them worked tirelessly for the following twenty minutes, with Bess pushing Lord Linfield to memorise more of the words and use his hands to enunciate meaning. When one of the maids from the kitchen arrived to inform them of dinner, Bess remembered that Irene and Richard were half the room away. Bess strode towards Irene, finding her eyes half-closed and her chin lolling along her shoulder.
“Irene!” Bess hissed. “Hey!”
Irene erupted from the chair, seemingly shocked. She gaped at Bess, then at Lord Linfield and at Richard, who stood near the fireplace. “Oh! Goodness. Is it already time to eat?” she asked.
But of course it was. The four of them sat around the dinner table, with Irene gazing hungrily at the slices of freshly baked bread. The cook bumbled in, slipping a platter of chicken near Lord Linfield, who busied himself slicing into it and passing out the chunks of meat to the rest. Bess watched him work, watched the firmness of his muscles as he cut. She swallowed, turning her eyes towards Irene. But Irene had caught her in the act of inspecting Lord Linfield! She winked at Bess, causing Bess’s cheeks to grow bright red.
It wasn’t right. Bess knew it. She stared at the chicken before her, poured gravy over the top. Richard and Lord Linfield began to speak of something they’d seen in London earlier that day, a brawl between two carriage boys. As they spoke, Irene kicked Bess's ankle beneath the table.
“Are you a child?” Bess mouthed to Irene, knowing the men wouldn’t notice.
Irene just shrugged in return, giving her a wink.
“Absolutely not,” Bess mouthed again.
“I don’t suppose you’re the one attempting to teach me better speech mechanics when it seems you can’t possibly control yourself at the dinner table,” Lord Linfield said.
Bess turned her head fast, giving Lord Linfield an embarrassed smile. “It’s really only our secret language, you see,” she said. “It’s terribly embarrassing to admit.”
“Is it?” Lord Linfield said. He tilted his head towards Richard, playing along. “I believe Richard and I have a sort of secret language, as well. Why, just as we’ve been sitting here, he’s translated what a bore he thinks most women are, in comparison to you. Of course, I echoed back that it just upholds what I truly believe about you both.”
“Oh. And what’s that?” Bess asked.
“That yes, of course, you’re not boring,” Lord Linfield said, his voice bouncing. “But you’re certainly strange. And one could say that that’s always better than boring, wouldn't you agree?”
Dinner seemed much more uproarious than previous times. Bess marvelled at how easily she and Lord Linfi
eld spoke with one another. She’d never felt so uninhibited around a man before, not even when she’d been madly in love with Conner. In fact, when she had been in love with Conner, she’d felt her tongue was sloppy, and her brain was weak. She’d had so much to lose with Conner—had worried each and every day that he might abandon her for someone else. Of course, she hadn’t imagined that “someone else” would be her father.
When Lord Linfield and Richard walked the women to the door, he kissed both of their hands and paused for perhaps just a flicker of a second longer upon Bess’s. Bess felt the warmth of his hand, just below hers—loved the feel of his breath upon her. When she drew her hand back, he again looked into her eyes.
“I look forward to using the techniques you taught me at tomorrow’s speech,” he offered. “Along with, of course, the upcoming ball I’m meant to attend this weekend.”
“Oh?” Bess asked, surprised to feel a punch in her gut at the mention of this. “A ball?”
“A friend of my father’s would like to introduce me to his eldest,” Lord Linfield said. “Yet another person in this world looking to match me. Be my suitor.” He shrugged slightly. “Although, perhaps she’s the one? Who am I to say.”
Bess paused for perhaps a bit too long before answering. When she did, she felt her voice was far away from her body—like a string. “I suppose you shouldn’t rule out any option at all,” she said. “You’ll be in Parliament, after all. You’ll require a decent wife at your side.”
“Well, I certainly can’t imagine holding a conversation with any of those know-nothing girls. Girls who could never possibly impress me,” Lord Linfield said, tilting his head. Again, he seemed to hold Bess’s eyes for a moment too long.
“You can’t think they’re all alike,” Bess said. She felt flushed. Did she look it? “Each speaks three or four languages. Can paint, play piano, recite poetry. How could you not fall for one of them?” She swallowed sharply, feeling pained.
She was describing herself. All the long hours she’d spent in front of her piano, her fingers tracing the keys. Now, what did she have to show for it? Certainly not a husband.
When she and Irene sat in the carriage, which clunked along to their London home—deep in the grisly streets of what was a neighbourhood of refugees and poor people—Bess found herself bleary-eyed over the news of Nathaniel’s impending ball.
“You’re awfully quiet.” Irene sighed, tossing her head against the back of her seat.
“I’m not,” Bess said, sounding stubborn, even in her own ears.
“You are,” Irene stated. “It’s because you’re falling for him. I can see it written all over your face.”
“I’m not!” Bess said, her voice breaking.
“It’s all right.” Irene paused for a moment. “Just make sure it doesn’t affect your writing.”
“As if it could ever possibly,” Bess said, frowning. “You know my writing is the only thing I truly care about in this world. Even if I felt a glimmer, a momentary glimmer of feelings for our Lord Linfield, it’s not as though I would act upon it. He’s an intelligent man. A man of strong moral compass. But perhaps he’s right that he belongs deep in the woods, rather than on any seat at Parliament. Certainly, he doesn’t seem the kind of man a woman can hold the attention of.”
“If that’s what you wish to tell yourself,” Irene said, giving Bess a cutting smile. “Then I’ll go along with it, too.”
Of course, Bess was unable to sleep that night. She ached with memory of the burning in Lord Linfield’s eyes. It seemed to tell her something about the inner workings of his soul. Something he could never translate in his little notes he gave her, the notes she was meant to patch together to create a speech.
Chapter 14
The following day’s speech occurred beneath a blanket of rain-clogged clouds. The event manager recited disgruntled words to Lord Linfield, just moments before his speech. “We don’t have much time before this rain collapses down upon us. Better make it good before we all run inside.”
Richard reached into his pocket and drew out a handkerchief, slotting it over his nose and letting out an outlandish blow. Nathaniel chuckled, making Richard look at him with large, confused eyes. “What is it?” he asked.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing, Richard,” Lord Linfield said. He clapped his hand atop Richard’s shoulder, shrugging. “You know, it really means a lot that you come out to these speeches with me. It’s like having a piece of my father here with me, each time.”
“It’s my honour to see you like this,” Richard said. He wadded up his kerchief, looking terribly serious. “You know that I would do anything for you, sir. Anything at all.”
Lord Linfield addressed the crowd using as many of the skills Lady Elizabeth had taught him. He forced himself to keep his chin up, to use his hands—to slam his fist against the podium when something was particularly emotional and charged. The mouths of the people in the crowd hung open, in shock at this more volatile version of Lord Linfield.
Midway through his speech, Nathaniel spotted Lady Elizabeth in the crowd. Unfortunately, the moment he spotted her, his tongue flubbed a bit. His eyes held onto hers—so much larger than anyone else’s in the crowd, it seemed. He felt he was suddenly tossing, lost at sea. Where on earth was he in the speech? He shuffled the papers on the podium, stuttering. But Lady Elizabeth gave him a single, firm nod, one that told him he could do it. He could do anything.
As she’d instructed him, Lord Linfield inhaled, and then exhaled, feeling his heart fall back to normal beating. After a heavy blink, he said, “So, as I was saying,” and fell back into the pattern of the speech. Within moments, nobody in the speech remembered the gap in time. Nobody knew he’d made a mistake.
After the speech, Lord Linfield half-expected Lady Elizabeth to come to find him to the side of the podium. But instead, several of his father’s friends bombarded him again, patting him on the back.
“You can’t imagine how thrilled I am to see you come into your oratorical skills,” one man said, making his jowls shake with his excitement. “Really, you must be the biggest grace given to the Tory party.”
“Thank you, sir. Sir Isaac, yes?” Lord Linfield said, forcing himself to return to those lost memories.
The old man stretched his eyebrows high, creating stacks of wrinkles on his forehead. “Why yes, indeed!” he said. “I’m surprised you remember, my boy. You mustn’t have been more than a teenager. Always out in the woods, your father said. Always out with your dog, hunting. Fishing. He wasn’t worried about you, no. Not like your mother was. Rather, he said it seemed you knew more of the world because you could be quiet in it.” Sir Isaac paused for a moment, twirling the very bottom of his white beard with a stumpy finger.
“I remember those long nights. Listening to the lulling voices of you and my father downstairs, while my mother forced me to go to sleep,” Lord Linfield said. He bit his bottom lip, willing himself not to feel the crashing emotion, the ache of missing his father.
“He’d be proud of you, son. He’d be terribly proud.”
Richard mentioned Lady Elizabeth in the carriage back to the estate. “I’m sure she doesn’t want to give away her identity, showing the world that she knows you,” he said, without prompting.
It seemed it was clear that Lord Linfield was quiet due to his missing of Lady Elizabeth. He shifted in his seat, making his voice deep. “I know that perfectly well,” he said, although he didn’t. Not fully. In his mind, shouldn’t a woman like that be grateful to appear beside him?
“Regardless, she really gave you something to work with, didn’t she?” Richard said. “I noticed such a difference in your mannerisms, sir, if it’s not too bold to say.”
“I’m certain I already had those skills, myself,” Lord Linfield said. “Just took a bit of coaxing to draw them out.”