by Fanny Finch
“Please impose upon your daughter the importance of finding a husband,” Mother said.
“My daughter? Why is she always only my daughter when you are cross with her?” Father asked.
He then looked over at Julia. “But you really must give some thought to marriage, dear. Your mother is right.
“You will not be young forever. Look at how panicked dear Georgiana became after so many years. Your mother and I will not be around forever.”
Julia sighed. She had heard this whole lecture before. But it was so hard to think about marriage when she had yet to meet a man who held her attention for any length of time.
She knew, objectively, that she must find a husband. Knowing objectively, however, and feeling the pressure of it were two different things entirely.
Father frowned at her. “Are you even listening to me, Julia? I know that I have recovered from my illness. But it will not be the last illness that I have. I am no longer in the prime of health.
“In fact, your mother and I are rather of the opinion that if you do not treat your suitors more seriously, you are to have your other freedoms restricted.”
“What?” Julia stood up in shock and horror at that. She knew that her parents allowed her more freedoms and more headway than many other ladies. She was not at all anxious to give any of that up.
Father nodded solemnly. “Yes. It has become clear to us that we have allowed you to behave as if you were already mistress of a home—”
“Because Mother is ill!” Julia protested. “She shouldn’t have to handle such things when I am around!”
“Your reasons are thoughtful,” her mother said. “And it was born out of necessity. But it has allowed you to become far too certain of yourself.”
Julia could hardly believe what she was hearing.
“And you think that springing this news upon me in such a fashion will help me to be more inclined to follow such advice?”
“It is not advice,” Father said. “It is an order. We are your parents and when we tell you that you are to set about properly finding a husband then you are to agree and do as you are told.”
Rarely did Father speak so firmly. Julia wanted to ask why he was being like this. Had she done something wrong? Had she embarrassed the family in some way?
Perhaps he was worried that his illness would come back. Both of her parents had been feeling poorly when they decided to move to Bath. Although Father now felt better, they elected to stay for Mother’s sake.
Could it be that Father had news about his illness that he had not told Julia?
Fear stuck in her throat, closing it up. Of course, she could not know for certain. And Father would never tell her if that was the case.
It could simply be that he was seeing all the other young ladies getting married. Georgiana had just gotten engaged to be married and many had already started to call her a spinster.
Perhaps it grated on his pride. His daughter was the talk of the town and yet, not wed. It must be hard on him, to hear about all of these other women getting married and his own daughter was not. His daughter, said to be the star of many a ball.
Julia could appreciate that. But how could she be expected to marry a man when they were all so shallow? None of them truly appreciated her wit. Or seemed to think of her as anything other than an opportunity for her dowry or ability to bear children.
She loved her life with her parents far too much to be compelled to marry a man whom she did not love. They seemed to love her, but often without truly knowing her.
And she certainly did not love any of them.
Her parents, she knew, had not been in love when they had married. But surely they could understand that she wanted more?
Their marriage had worked out. They loved one another now. But not everyone was so lucky.
Her mother sighed. “You will not be young and sparkling forever, my dear. Women are not diamonds.
“It is important that you start to think about this seriously. Georgiana was fortunate in that her brother was rich and willing to care for her after her father passed.
“You have no one. No brother, and I highly doubt your cousin Fitzwilliam shall wish to care for you. That is not at all fair to force upon your relative.
“It is your duty to get married. It is not a privilege. It is time that you started to take that duty more seriously.
“At this dinner there will be several eligible young men. I shall expect you to pay close attention to them. Any one of them would make you an excellent husband.”
Julia groaned inwardly. She should have known that something was afoot when Mother showed such care with the guest list.
Normally, Mother didn’t care to see the guest list at all. “Whatever you think is best, dear,” she would say. “So long as there are people with whom I might converse.”
Not this time. This time, Mother had gone over everyone. Julia had thought it odd, but she had dismissed it from her mind.
Mother must have been ensuring that men of whom she approved as potential sons-in-law would be present.
Julia wanted to seethe. She wanted to put her foot down—literally—and declare that she would not marry until the greatest of love compelled her to.
That was not the proper thing to do. The mature thing to do. Marriage was not about love. Marriage was about duty.
She had been living on borrowed time, so to speak, and now that time was up.
Julia searched her parents’ faces. Found the worry hidden in the lines around her mother’s eyes and in her father’s clenched jaw.
They only wanted what was best for her, she told herself. They wanted to make sure that she was well taken care of, so that if Father took a turn for the worst again they needn’t worry for her.
Julia nodded, swallowing down the protests she wanted to give.
“I shall do my best,” she said. “You have my word on that.”
Her father nodded brusquely. “You are quite the young lady,” he said. It was as close to open affection as her father got. In fact, it might have been the highest compliment he had ever paid her. “I am certain that any man would be grateful to have you.”
Julia bowed her head, grateful for the compliment.
And just like that, the somber mood was broken. “Well then,” her father said. “I am off. Write to me frequently, my dear,” he added, directing his words at Julia’s mother. “You will receive my letters shortly.”
“I await them with bated breath,” her mother said dryly.
Julia had to smother a smile, for she knew that her mother secretly kept, carefully preserved, each letter that her father sent her.
Her father exited, and her mother fixed Julia with a look.
She had many looks. All of them managed to convey, in a single moment, a myriad of cutting thoughts.
It was quite a talent. Julia wished that she herself had such a skill.
“You will do as your father said,” her mother told her. “And it would please me if you would not trouble and tease the poor men too much.”
Julia snorted. “Mother, if they cannot handle my teasing while we are at a single dinner, how ever will they handle me as a wife?”
Her mother sighed, as though Julia were the bane of her existence. “Show yourself in your best light, that is all I ask. Your father has not put a time limit upon you but remember, I should like to see you wed before I am too ill to go.”
Julia held in her groan of frustration.
The clock, it seemed, was ticking.
Chapter 2
James Norwich was usually the sort who looked forward to dinner parties.
He could freely admit that he was the sort of man who rarely found a reason to be serious. Not that he did not take things seriously when it was required.
Rather, he tended to see things in an optimistic light and to find reasons for good cheer.
Dinner parties were always an excellent opportunity to exercise the wit of which he was so fond. And the Weston dinners
were his favorite of households.
Mr. Weston had been James’s instructor when he was a boy. He had always been fond of the man, although James had learned he would not be there that night.
Mrs. Weston was a woman of exceptional backbone and wit. James had grown up admiring her greatly and wishing for a mother like her. His own mother had been a vain woman.
But it was Miss Weston for whom he held the greatest of admiration.
No, not even admiration. He would never breathe it to another soul but his fondness for the lady had taken even deeper roots nearly two years ago now.
He could admit, to himself at least, that he was in love with her.
Miss Julia Weston was a most singular woman. Well read, educated, lively, and witty. She brightened any room that she was in. She was fond of meddling and a bit mischievous. Perhaps a bit too much for some men. But to James, she was everything.
He admired her strength and her strong moral determination. A few months ago he had the privilege of witnessing her, against all propriety, give the dressing-down of the century to her best friend’s suitor when he had done her wrong.
The suitor had, of course, seen the error of his ways and wooed his lady properly. They were to be married shortly and Norwich had been invited to the wedding. He was quite looking forward to it.
But the point still stood that Miss Weston had put herself at quite a risk addressing a gentleman in such a manner. But that had not mattered to her. What had mattered was that justice was done and her friend was protected.
Norwich had hardly been able to contain his amusement and his pride in watching her.
He had known the lady since she was quite young. And while she had never lost that youthful exuberance, he had come to be proud of the strong, intelligent, and determined woman that she was today.
He would have proposed to her in a moment, if he had thought that he had half a chance.
Miss Weston, however, had often made it clear that she viewed him as a brother. She teased and exchanged witticisms with him. She confided in him and was comfortable with him.
Never had he observed her giving him the flirtatious looks he had seen her casting at others. Or that other women had cast at him.
He was aware that he was a catch. He would be a count once Father died. Although, hopefully, that would be a long time in coming.
It was coming, though, and women were aware of it. He was more of a catch than he would have been without the title, even if he’d had the same annual income.
Many ladies had made it clear that they would be happy to become Mrs. Norwich. But none of them, he feared, caught his fancy nearly so much as Miss Weston.
Sometimes he wanted to be rid of all pretense and simply declare himself. But what good would that do anybody? It would only serve to make Miss Weston feel awkward.
They had known one another nearly all their lives. They were not always close, per se. But they understood one another better than most. Or so he liked to flatter himself.
To have someone upon whom she relied as a friend turn around and impose his feelings upon her—he would be loath to do that to her.
Perhaps, had he been a better man or a stronger one, he would have warned Miss Weston that it was high time to marry.
She was not yet approaching the age where people would call her a spinster. She still had a couple of years left before that.
However, her father had been in ill health recently. And to have gone through several London seasons without a marriage… or even a proposal to speak of…
She was a free spirit, Miss Weston. He respected that. In fact, it was one of the things that he appreciated about her.
But he feared for her.
Perhaps he could propose to her under the guise of helping her?
But she would be insulted by that. Miss Weston did not like to be pitied or treated as someone to be protected and coddled. She would see it as condescension.
James instead resigned himself to another evening of pining for her and getting nowhere with it.
There are other women in the world, he reminded himself. Why can you not content yourself with them?
Perhaps he was in his own way as particular as Miss Weston.
Seeing that it was time to go, and far past the time to disperse with his melancholy reveries, he hastened to summon the carriage.
The Weston house was already lively and filled with the majority of the guests when he arrived. No sooner had he stepped over the threshold than he was seized upon the arm by Miss Weston.
She greeted him enthusiastically, with her usual turn of phrase:
“Oh, Mr. Norwich, there you are! And thank goodness for it!”
It always seemed that the moment of his arrival was the moment that Miss Weston was about to go completely off of her mind about something. And that his presence was a godsend and a saving grace.
He had never quite thought of it that way himself. He had always known it was one of Miss Weston’s flights of fancy. She could be dramatic when she wanted to be—which was often.
“You will not believe the dire straits that I am in,” she told him, hurrying him through the parlor to the fireplace. “Go ahead and guess. See if you can ascertain what is so distressing me.”
“Your frock is not in the exact color of blue that you were dreaming of,” he replied, deadpan.
Miss Weston looked quickly down at her frock. It was a most becoming shade of pale blue and went well with her dark hair and eyes. “Why, is there something the matter with it?”
Only that you look incredibly bewitching while wearing it. James shoved that thought aside. They were dangerous to think, for he never knew when he might lose himself and say one of them out loud.
And then he would really be in for it.
“Nothing at all,” he replied. “It was only the first thing I could seize upon that might put you in such a state.”
“Is that all you think that I think on?” Miss Weston replied in an arch tone.
“Oh, no, not at all. I think that you spend a great deal of time thinking how best to embarrass us poor men who deign to dance attendance on you. And some time, of course, for how you shall style your hair. It looks most fetching today. Did you think on it all yesterday afternoon?”
“You are the worst of men,” Miss Weston declared. But she was giggling all through it. “Honestly. Why any of us put up with you, Mr. Norwich, I shall never know.”
“I think that my incoming title and my great wealth have something to do with it.”
“Oh, yes, there is that. I suppose that a title must make you half tolerable. When a man has a title, he goes from being plain to somewhat handsome. From boorish and brainless to simple of soul and ponderous. From arrogant to educated.”
“Ah, but I know that I must be at least partially tolerable in truth and not simply because of my wealth. Otherwise, you would never bear to spend any time with me. I should never receive a dinner invitation.”
“How do you know that my father is not uncommonly fond of you as his former student and forces me to always invite you?” Miss Weston replied. “Perhaps I am secretly filled with a seething hatred for you?”
“I highly doubt that you would wish to confide in me if that were the case.”
Miss Weston’s cheeks colored slightly. “How do you know that I have something to confide in you?”
James could not hide his pleased smile. “You are most fanciful when you have something serious that is at hand. You use humor to make light of it so that it will not seem so daunting a subject.”
Miss Weston sighed, her face growing a bit more serious. “That is true. You know me far too well. I blame all the years of dinners.
“My parents have given me a stern lecture. I am to start looking in earnest for a husband and to welcome any suitors. They say that I am running out of time.” Miss Weston bit her lip in agitation.
“I confess that I am… aggravated by this news. But I am even more worried by what it might mean. What it m
ight indicate for my father’s health.”
James shook his head. “I am sure that your father is hale and hearty, Miss Weston. It is only a precaution.”
“Mother wishes to see me married before she dies,” Miss Weston added, her voice soft. “I had not thought her condition quite so bad. It is a malady that lingers, is it not? She has many years yet in which to snap at me and feel poorly.”