“I told your mother that you had taken a chill and would not be leaving your room for breakfast,” said Becky.
Gabby forced herself into an upright position. As she wiped her face with the back of her hand, she said, “Thank you, Becky, for telling her that. It’s not a lie, is it? I have taken ill.”
“That you have, I knew you were in a bad way when I saw you come home from the shops yesterday afternoon.”
“I was fortunate that my family had been invited to the Stewarts to dine. A headache was a likely excuse for my absence, but how am I to escape from my social calendar. It is quite full,” Miss Parker said in a slow, low tone.
“You are ill, are you not? That is why Cook sent the broth, she and everyone downstairs thinks you have taken ill. If the servants believe it to be true, your mother will, won’t she?”
“I suppose she will. I do feel ill, as ill as I ever have in all my life. Oh Becky, how could I have been such a foolish, silly girl?”
“You are not foolish nor are you silly. Have some tea. It will do you good.”
“I am not thirsty. I do not want to eat or drink, I seem to have lost my appetite.”
“I know you have, but drink some tea for me. Will you do that for your old maid, Becky? And a bit of broth? If I take this bowl of broth back to the kitchen, Cook will be disappointed, and your mother will hear of it. She will be told that you are not eating. Do you want her to summon the doctor?”
“No, I suppose you may be right. I just want to go home to Kent. I never want to see anyone or this city ever again.”
“There, there, have some tea. The tea and the broth will feed your blood; you look pale this morning. If I didn’t know better, I would say you truly are ill.”
Gabby did not argue with her maid. She accepted the tea without being cross about it, sipping it under the maid’s watchful eye before remarking, “Becky, I know you are not prone to telling lies. Thank you for lying on my behalf, but I must commend you. You must have been convincing for Cook to send broth.”
Becky smiled warmly at Gabby. “I have my ways about me.”
“You do have your ways, but I am grateful for them; you tried to warn me, and I would not listen. What was I thinking? How could I have been so wrong about Mr. Grant?”
“You thought yourself to be in love; there is nothing wrong about that. It is easily done, Miss. It happens to everyone.”
“I did not think that anything like this could happen to me. I thought of myself as a clever sort of girl. How many times have I written stories and told them to Barbara? She believed every word that I said was true because of my cleverness. I was not cruel, but I did laugh at her. Do you think Mr. Grant is laughing at me in the same way?”
“If he is a gentleman, he would not laugh. Miss, I have not wanted to ask this, but I find myself curious. What happened? You told me he was married, but you did not say how you discovered that he had a wife. If it is not my place to make inquiries, I will not say another word about it.”
Gabby sighed a deep heavy sound that made her chest hurt and her eyes well up with tears. She had been so happy when she and Barbara returned to Beecham & Grant ostensibly for the purpose of retrieving the repaired ring. Barbara was as chatty as she ever was, and Gabby was excited to be seeing Mr. Grant again. The story she shared with Becky, even though the telling of it was painful to relive so soon after it happened.
“Becky, yesterday, I was the happiest girl in Mayfair, in all of London. I had never known such a powerful feeling. Everything seemed to be happening to me as if I was a heroine in a book. I found a gentleman who was handsome and charming. The romance was forbidden. I was thrilled to not only believe that I was loved but to be in love with a man who did not bore me as the gentlemen in society always seem to. They are the dullest creatures I have ever beheld, but not Mr. Grant. There could never be anything dull or boring about him. He was so smart and clever; he made me laugh,” she said and sighed.
“Yes, Miss, but what happened to you? How did you discover that he was married? Tell me so that I may help you,” Becky said to her mistress.
“I do not know if you or anyone else can help me. I do not think that I am deserving of help. I have been a fool! I am ashamed,” replied Gabby, as she lowered her gaze, covering her face with her hands as she wept.
Becky did not interrupt her but waited patiently for her mistress to recover. After a few minutes, Gabby raised her head, her gaze falling on Becky. She wiped her face and asked, “I was telling you what happened yesterday at the jewelry store, was I not?”
Becky spoke to her with kindness, her eyes gleaming with tears of compassion. “You were telling me the dreadful news. Miss, if it is too much for you to bear, I would rather not hear of it.”
“No Becky, I need to say it aloud. I need someone to hear of my tragic story, or I shall bear the burden of it all alone. I know I can trust you. If I recall, I had entered the store; it was not crowded this time. I am glad of that.”
“Was he there, did you see him?”
“Yes, dear Becky, I did see him. Mr. Grant greeted me in much the same way as he did on the previous occasion. He smiled at me; we enjoyed a pleasant conversation. He left the counter to retrieve my repaired ring. This very one that I am wearing, do you see it shining on my finger? If my father had not given me this ring, I would have flung it into the river, but I cannot. I was in the shop, Barbara was examining the matching pieces to her new pair of earrings, and I had the finest conversation I can recall with a merchant. Mr. Grant asked me if I was engaged to be married, I told him that I was not. He commented about the loveliness of my dress and my choice of bonnet. I confessed that I hoped he would be at that shop that day; he told me he was glad that I came to see him.”
“He sounds forward if you ask me, speaking like that to you. He had no right to ask you if you were engaged. The nerve! You are practically a lady compared to the likes of that man!” exclaimed Becky.
“He may have been forward, but I did not mind, not when he was telling me how lovely I looked yesterday. When he asked me if I was engaged to be married, I thought of the posey ring he had shown to me. Did he intend to ask me? I presumed that he was saying such things to me, even if they were bold, for one reason. I mistakenly thought that he was unable to speak of the hidden desires of his own heart, not when there were other people in the shop and standing close to us. His forward manner and his flirtation I mistakenly presumed were declarations of his feelings for me, feelings he would one day tell me if we could steal away together.”
“That scoundrel,” hissed Becky. “He ought to answer for what he’s done to you.”
“Becky, I cannot say that I am blameless in this matter, can I? I wish that I could, but the blame lies with me. I was a fool for believing that he was sincere in his words. I could not know that then, but I can see that now with a clarity that astonishes me. I have been foolish, but I have not told you the part that breaks my heart. As I stood at the counter, waiting for him to return with my ring, I was imagining the two of us together. In my mind, I saw us riding on horses in the park, or taking a stroll as husband and wife. We would be so happy together; I was sure of it. “
“I am not sure of it, not at all if I may give my opinion,” Becky stated.
“I am sure of it, so sure that I envisioned the life we would one day share. While I was dreaming of a future that could not be, a woman arrived at the shop. She was taller than me, her hair was a dark color like ink, her skin was as pale as snow. I confess that I considered her to be stylish, as I had a moment of envy. She was wearing the new style of afternoon dress, a style that was quite becoming. I was wishing that I had a new dress when she found a place at the counter near me. She seemed to be waiting for someone, but I did not give the matter much thought.”
Becky appeared like Barbara, riveted by one of Gabby’s stories, as the maid asked, “Who was she waiting for? Did you hear her say?”
Gabby shook her head. “No, I did hear her utter a word; s
he stood there as quiet and patient as a stone. When Mr. Grant returned from his office, he was holding my velvet ring box in his hand, as he politely nodded at me and greeted her. He gave the ring to me and assured me of the quality of the repair. I noticed a difference in his manner, but I could not account for it. He was not as warm and gregarious as he had been minutes before. This man was the epitome of efficient service and deference. There was coldness, a distance that I did not understand. I recall trying to make sense of the swift change to his nature, of the alteration to his personality when a clerk, nodded in the direction of the fashionable, dark-haired woman as he greeted her as Mrs. Grant. You can imagine that I was not expecting to hear her called by that name, but I did not immediately reach the necessary conclusion.”
“My word!” exclaimed Becky as she gasped. “This cannot be!”
“It is, Becky; it is how I have told you. I assumed that I had heard her title used incorrectly, that she was unmarried, that she may be his sister even though I did not detect the slightest trace of a family resemblance between them. At the end of his explanation of the work that had been done to make my ring whole once more, Mr. Grant introduced me to her. She was Mrs. Grant. I was still not able to comprehend what I was hearing or seeing with my own eyes. Perhaps I reasoned she was the wife of his brother? Was it not possible he had brothers, as I myself have six? I naively mused that she must be related by marriage, or however unlikely it may seem that her name and his were the same by some happy coincidence.”
“It was not a coincidence, I trust?”
“No, it was not a coincidence,” Gabby said, as she hung her head in shame. “The woman was his wife. Do you know how foolish I felt at that moment? I had told him that I came to see him, that I hoped he would be there. Why did I say such things to him?”
Becky abandoned all propriety; a thin façade had only ever existed between them, which she ignored as she sat on the bed beside her mistress. Gabby rested her head on Becky’s shoulder as Becky said, “You said what you did because you believed that he cared about you. How could you be wise about such matters? You have known your brothers, and they are all respectable. You have known the gentleman of your sort; they may be dull, but they are good men. This Mr. Grant fellow, he is not a gentleman. He is a scoundrel for flirting with you. He knew what he was doing; he knew better.”
Gabby lamented, “When I saw her, she looked so glamorous, so fashionable. I have never felt so plain and ridiculous.”
Becky replied with vehemence, “You listen here, you are not plain, and you are not ridiculous. You are a prize; you don’t know that, but you are. There aren’t many women in all of London to match you. That man, he was a merchant. It is his business to flirt and charm, that is how he makes his money, the lout. He had no business preying on you, a young girl. If it weren’t for the trouble it would cause you, I’ve a good mind to tell your father.”
“Becky, I trusted you. Please, you must not tell a soul. Not ever!”
“I know Miss, I will not speak of it. You have my word.”
“What shall I do? How can I face anyone? I am ashamed of myself for being so ridiculous.”
Becky smiled. “My dear mistress, one day you will not think on this man at all. If you remember him, you will recall that it was the devotion of a silly young girl and not love. The very idea that you—as clever and full of life as you are—should find yourself in love with a tradesman! Hmmp!”
“I am in love with him, I know it!” wailed Gabby.
Becky smiled benevolently, as she remarked, “You think you are in love with him because you do not know love for what it truly is. Mark my words, listen to your old friend, Becky; you would have found the life of a merchant’s wife to be a very dull indeed. I wager if he was not half as handsome as you have said, you would never have entertained any thought of marrying such a man. A merchant for my mistress. Ha! You shall marry a man who matches you in spirit and boldness, you are no tradesman’s wife.”
Becky held Gabby as her mistress wept. Gabby cried, sniffed, and was grateful for Becky. Perhaps, Becky was right after all. She was older and knew a few more things about love and life than Gabby. As Gabby cried, she felt better, but only slightly. She did not know if she would ever truly forget her love for Mr. Grant, but she prayed that Becky was right. One day she would find the gentleman who matched her own independent nature. She prayed that when that day came, it would end with a wedding and not tears.
5
Winter 1813
London, England
Gabby Parker sat in the drawing room of her London townhouse. Snow was falling outside, as she stared out the windows framed in drapery that was the same rose tint as to be found in the carpets and on the chairs. The drawing room was covered in the soft shade of rose with a hint of gold, green, and touch of blue. These light pale colors were the height of fashion and were found in the fabric that covered the pillows and the porcelain vases that lined the mantle. The walls were white, trimmed in gold in the style of the last century, an enduring design that her mother adored.
She sat with her mother, as was expected of a woman of twenty years of age. This was the beginning of her second Season among society in London. The indulgences of her first Season were a memory as her mother explained upon their arrival to London. She was twenty; she would be expected to make appearances, to sit for tea, and to be a proper young woman. She was also expected to find a husband before June. Slumping slightly in her chair, Gabby caught her mother’s reproachful look. Adjusting her posture, she recalled that her mother gave her the same look when she expressed her disappointment that Gabby’s first Season had ended without a match. This Season she was cautioned must end in an engagement. Gabby had wondered what her mother would say to her if she knew that it was not disappointment but heartbreak which marked the ending of her first Season. At that moment, she was grateful that no one but Becky knew about her unfortunate infatuation with Mr. Grant.
As Gabby watched the snow falling, she longed to be back in Kent, but she could not escape her duty. After Mr. Grant, her ideas about love had changed dramatically. She no longer believed in love, romance, or marrying for any other reason but duty. There was also her wish to avoid the shame of being perceived as a failure. How could she remain unmarried after her second Season when even her friend Barbara Anderzimple was now engaged?
Barbara Anderzimple, her dearest companion, was seated beside the fireplace between Mrs. Anderzimple and Mrs. Parker. In the circle of upper-class matrons, who were Mrs. Parker’s social set, Barbara Anderzimple sat in a place of prominence and honor. Dear, sweet, and plain Barbara Anderzimple was going to be a bride. Gabby was happy for her friend, especially considering that Barbara was marrying her brother Percival, but she could not be thoroughly satisfied until she too was engaged to be wed. It was the only way to escape the fate that awaited her if she did not. How could she, an acclaimed beauty be unmarried when her friend, a thin, gaunt woman was a bride? Gabby did not feel such terrible or envious feelings towards Barbara, but she had heard it whispered and said in front of her by these same women who now wished Barbara happiness and congratulations.
It was times like this that Gabby wished there was some other choice for her besides marriage and spinsterhood. Could a woman choose to be unwed without appearing to be a failure? Could she not be alone without forcing her family to conceal the shame of it? If only she could seek adventure like a gentleman if she wished, or join the Royal Navy or His Majesty’s Officer Corps, but she was the daughter of a wealthy gentleman. She would find no career as a governess or a companion awaiting her; she would not be allowed to be a commodore on a ship. She was to be wed or face humiliation. Those were her only two choices. When she glimpsed at the dour expressions of the married women in the room, she understood them for the first time. They were dour because they too had married for obligation. There was no other future for a wealthy woman but as a wife.
Sighing, she earned another disapproving look from her mother. Conce
aling her growing exasperation, she smiled. She was happy for Barbara Anderzimple and her brother. Neither one was handsome. Percival was the sixth son of her family; he had no particular talents, nor was he due to inherit a significant amount of wealth or land. That would all go to her eldest brother, Rupert. However, Percival, while not having any particular prospects, was not without his charm. A charm he used to beguile Barbara Anderzimple, who was in possession of a substantial dowry. Percival would remain a gentleman with a rich wife, and Barbara would be married. They appeared to be well suited in their common goal. To everyone in the drawing room such a match—not based on love but on common sense and connections—was ideal for both families.
Last Season, Gabby might have disagreed, eschewing marriage for any reason but the truest of love. This Season, after spending months mending her broken heart and growing more cynical by the day, she had very different ideas. Marriage, she decided, could not be avoided. If she must marry, and she was certain that she must, she would endeavor to find a gentleman who was pliant, indulgent, and would not trouble her. She wished for a handsome man, but if she was allowed her own house, had money to spend, and freedom to do as she wished, she may even consider a man who was not dashing. She thought of Mr. Grant, as she realized that she had learned a painful lesson regarding handsome men. She came to the conclusion that a plain man, who was kind, obliging and undemanding, would suit her best.
She was still thinking about her ideal husband, a count, a baron? Maybe a marquis, she thought to herself, as she watched Barbara Anderzimple beaming with happiness. Gabby was pleased that her dearest friend would now truly be her sister; there was that consolation. How funny that last Season she should be the one who Barbara Anderzimple admired and aspired to be? Barbara, who would soon be married and become a wife.
Gabby almost sighed once again as her mother made a disparaging remark about the servants. “I ordered a plate of tarts with tea? Where are they?”
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