by Fanny Finch
He had lived in a happy little bubble. Julia had been incredibly impatient with him over it.
At first, he had not respected her. He had looked down his nose at her for being a girl. He had declared that she could not possibly hold her own against him.
Well, there was nothing that Julia liked so much as a challenge.
She had taken to reading her father’s books late at night by candlelight. She had doubled the time she spent practicing her dancing. She had memorized poems and passages from plays.
Whenever Mr. Norwich had come to banter with her, she had been ready for him.
If he spoke loftily about philosophy, she knew her Greeks as well. If he tried to stump her with religion, she knew that too.
In time, he had to concede that Julia was just as intelligent and capable as he was.
It was still a triumph that she thought on with great pride.
Father had later on confided to her that he was glad that she had been so competitive. It had spurred Mr. Norwich into furthering his studies and made him a more focused student than before.
As their rivalry had faded and their mutual respect for one another had grown, friendship had grown in its place.
She could now count Mr. Norwich as one of the few people whom she trusted completely. And whose company she truly enjoyed.
And for that she’d had to put him next to Mother. Who else out of those assembled could she trust to look after Mother with such care?
Julia put Mr. Norwich out of her mind. He was an entertaining and loyal friend, but not what she needed to think on at the moment.
After dinner finished they retired to the sitting room where Julia got out the cards for those who wished to play. Mother was a fan of bridge. Luckily, Mr. Norwich was quick to gather some people up to make them an even four so that Mother could play.
Julia resolved to speak to the men that she had not had the pleasure of sitting next to at dinner.
Although ‘pleasure’ might be a dubious concept in this respect.
It was as though now that she knew she might have to spend the rest of her life with one of them, these men were no longer interesting. All she could see were their flaws.
She was not impressed, not swept off her feet.
It was probably unfair of her to expect to be like a heroine in a play and simply fall smack in love with a man the moment she saw him across a room.
That seemed to happen to heroines all the time in plays.
But surely when she spoke to a man there ought to be a spark of some kind. The only time she had any sort of fun was when she spoke to Mr. Norwich about how the bridge game was going.
He was a tease, of course, as he always was. He could be grave when the situation called for it. But Julia had not seen him be serious about anything other than the whole affair with Georgiana.
He had been most kind and thoughtful to her. It was why she still considered him a dear friend even though he often drove her quite out of her mind. When the cards were on the table, he came through.
Mother took her sweet time in saying goodbye to all of the men. She talked with Mr. Norwich for some time but that was not unusual. Mother had always been fond of him. Julia dared to even think that he was perhaps like a son to her.
She knew that Mother had always wanted more children. She could only hope that she managed to somewhat make up for being the only one.
Mother always said that Julia had enough energy for five children, at any rate.
But talking with all the other young men—that was unusual. It was probably Mother’s way of subtly reminding Julia what her new focus was supposed to be.
As if Julia was capable of forgetting something as big and life-changing as that.
When all the men and women had left, Julia all but collapsed onto a chair.
“How was it?” her mother asked, pouncing at once. “What did you think of them?”
“Mother, honestly?” Julia sighed. “When I made this guest list I was not thinking of men that I should potentially like to marry. I was thinking only of people that should entertain me in the moment.”
“Well, that was your first mistake, my dear.” Her mother sat down in her favorite armchair. “You ought to have been thinking about marriage. You have gone without thinking on it for far too long.
“You need to invite men not because they will provide a moment’s diversion. Rather, you must invite men that you can potentially see yourself marrying. If I was able to properly play the hostess, you would give your requests to me.
“There are of course social obligations to consider. People that we must invite to other dinners or mix in with the gentlemen and young ladies.
“But in any case, there is no reason why you should not be disposed towards the men who were here tonight. They are all fine, upstanding gentlemen of good income and from distinguished families.”
“As if that is all there is to entice a woman to marriage,” Julia replied.
“That is all that should be needed to entice you,” Mrs. Weston shot back without missing a beat. “Ladies cannot afford to be picky.”
“But they are all so terribly dull, or so awfully full of themselves. I should hate them before the year was up.”
“I have the slightest suspicion that you would hate starving even more.”
Julia sat up straight. She wished to glare at her mother, but that wouldn’t do. Mother was feeling poorly. What if this was their last conversation and Julia was horrid to her?
“Please, Mother. Try not to inject every sentence with your usual acid. I am well aware of my position.”
“Clearly you are not aware of it enough or you would have taken pains to try and find a husband before now.”
“It is only that I have been so focused on you. You and Father are so wonderful and I worry about you both.”
“You do not have to butter me up.”
“I am not buttering you up. It is the truth. I worry about you. I worry about Father as well. Do not mock me when I am genuine. I should think you would know by now when I am being so.”
“And can you not see that we are worried for you? A parent’s chief concern is not their own health but the wellbeing of their child.
“If you wanted to set us at ease you had best do so by finding a husband. Not by fretting over my hot water bottles and what the doctor tells us, which is of course always different from what he told us on his previous visit.
“That is always the way with doctors. We cannot do much about my health. But I suspect I can manage well enough.
“You will have a much harder time of managing if you are still unwed by the time your father passes.”
“Is Father gravely ill?” Julia blurted out before she could stop herself. “Should I be worried for him? More so than usual, I mean? Is he all right?”
“Your father is fine, so far as I know. And it is not like him to keep important things from me. If he were ill I think I should know it.”
“Then why impress this upon me all of a sudden?” Julia knew she was close to being petulant but if her fate was to be unleashed upon her like an anvil then she felt she had a right to know why.
“It would not be sudden if you had given it the proper thought all of this time.”
“Have people been speaking about me? Saying unkind things?”
“Is it not possible that a sickly mother and a tired father simply come to realize that their daughter has been of marrying age for quite some time? And that they wish for her to be safe rather than sorry? To be prudent? Is it not possible that we simply long for grandchildren and to see you settled? That we worry for we know that life is short and unexpected?”
Julia crossed over to her mother, sinking down to her knees and placing her hands in her mother’s lap. “Do not work yourself up so. Breathe carefully. Would you like some water?”
Mrs. Weston sighed. “That is what I am talking about, my dear. You are quite worried for us. We appreciate it, for we love you. It is not everyone who can
say they have such a conscientious daughter.
“But you cannot waste your youth on our old age. It is not right. I fear that someday you will look up and find that in tending to us, you have condemned yourself.”
Mother placed her hand gently on Julia’s head. “And that is not something that any parent should wish, is it? Being a parent is ultimately a selfless act. You give of yourself to your children. It should not be the other way around. That is not how it is meant to be.”
Julia bit her lip. “But… Mother, what if I cannot be satisfied only with respect between myself and my suitor? What if I wish for something deeper? For a proper romantic courting?”
Mother stroked her hair. “Romance is not all about fine letters and poetry and flowers, my dear. Romance is found most often in the little things.
“Someone who makes you laugh. Someone who knows when you are truly upset. Someone who is loyal and steadfast. That moment when they pass you the sugar without looking because they know how you like it in your tea. When they have bought you a book they saw because they thought you would enjoy it.
“That is where true romance is found. Flowers fade and so do kisses. Jewelry is empty when you realize it is a way of buying your affections. Or buying your forgiveness when your husband treats you ill.
“But in those little moments. Where you are shown how well they know you, how much they pay attention. That is romance.
“And if you were to pay a little more attention and think of things in that manner, I think you would find that romance is truly right in front of you. More of it than you would expect.”
Julia was not so sure. Mother was an intelligent woman. But she was also a pragmatic one. She had declared Romeo and Juliet to be nothing close to the sort of romance one should emulate.
“It is about the folly of grudges,” she had said. “I should never use Juliet as an example of how one must behave in love.”
And so really, what did Mother know? Mother did not have a truly romantic bone in her body.
“But at least, Mother, you can understand why I should wish for romance?”
Mother sighed. “I am not one for such things, but I suppose that I can see the appeal. I fear that if that is what you are waiting for, though, you will not find it.
“Look instead for the small shows of affection. They are more numerous and with the passage of time they are what will sustain your heart.”
Her mother took her hand off of Julia’s head. “It is high time that I went to bed. I am quite exhausted.”
“Did Mr. Norwich look after you? Were you well taken care of?”
“He was most attentive. You know how well he knows me by now. He is a sweet boy.”
“He has not been a ‘boy’ for some time, Mother,” Julia replied, smiling as she stood up. “I am glad that he looked after you.”
“I can look after myself, you know. I am not quite so much an invalid yet that I am incapable of sitting around and talking. But I do appreciate the care you have for me, Julia. I know that I do not always show it. But I truly do.
“I hope that you will do me the favor of caring for yourself as I wish to care for you. That you will see yourself through your mother’s eyes. I cannot find the strength to attend balls with you and assist you in finding a husband. That is a failure on my part.”
“No it is not!” Julia was filled with indignation on her mother’s behalf. “You cannot help your illness.”
“Nevertheless, it is my duty as your mother to help you in such things. I cannot. Therefore, I am not providing for you as I should be. You have to take it wholly upon yourself.
“Treat yourself as I wish to treat you. Find yourself someone. And do think on my advice. If you look for romance in the smaller things and the more mundane I think you will surprise yourself with how contented you are with it.”
Mother went up to bed then. She moved with a quiet dignity, despite her illness. She did move more slowly than she had in previous years. But she did not allow her back to be bent or her head to fall.
Julia hoped that if she were ever in the same situation that she would bear it so well.
She hoped that she could bear this present situation well.
If only she could be pragmatic. But that had never been in her temperament.
She supposed that she would have to simply focus in on the men and see what she could turn hopeful.
Hopefully it would be something more exciting than what she had dealt with tonight.
Chapter 4
James had overall tolerated the dinner. It would have been nothing less than enjoyable had he not felt the specter of Miss Weston’s news hanging over him.
Could he even dare to throw his hat in the ring?
The fact that Miss Weston had confided this information to him suggested against it. She would not have told him such a thing if she was intending to think of him as a potential suitor. She had told him this as a friend, as a confidant. Not as someone that she was hoping would propose.
No, he dared not let his fancy run away with him. Miss Weston had seen him as an ally. A support. Perhaps someone who could help her in avoiding rakes. Not as a suitor himself.
He had done his best not to focus upon Miss Weston all through dinner. Instead he had turned his attentions to the other young ladies and gentlemen, and to Mrs. Weston especially.
Despite her ill health, she had been the true authority at the table. She had sat at the head while Miss Weston had sat at the foot.
Her demeanor would have done royalty proud. She had smiled indulgently whenever James had checked up on her. As though she did not truly need his help but appreciated it all the same.
“You needn’t be so concerned for me,” she had told him at one point. “I am not so sickly as my daughter fears.”
He had genuinely enjoyed her company. Her wit was such that not everyone could stand to be around her. One had to have a thick skin to tolerate Mrs. Weston’s company. It was no wonder that her daughter was so lively herself.
But despite Mrs. Weston’s wit, he could not completely relax. He had kept looking over at Miss Weston. Watching her interact with the other gentlemen.
None of the men, in James’s opinion, were good enough for Miss Weston.
He knew that he was biased in the matter, horribly so. But if he was to watch the woman that he loved fall for another—or at least marry another—then that man must be one that she deserved.
And Miss Weston deserved nothing but the best.
He had dismissed each man in his mind as he had seen Miss Weston converse with them. Too boring and never knew when to fall silent. Too full of himself. Not nearly enough of an interest in literature. Unable to keep up with her wit.
And so on.
When it was time to go, he was relieved. It had been a fine dinner. A fine game of cards. But everything had been tinged with sourness because of his newfound knowledge.
He almost wished that he had not heard. That Miss Weston had not told him. At least then he could have gone on as he had before. In blissful ignorance.
No, he told himself. James was not the sort of man who preferred to go on like that. He appreciated knowledge. He liked to know the lay of the land in any situation.
His younger brother had always teased him that James ought to be the one pursuing a military career. For James was the one who cared about foreknowledge and strategy. Planning battles, his brother had said, would well suit him.
Of course, James had to stay alive and safe at home in order to learn how to run the estate. But it was a fair point.
Now he knew, and although he hated it, he could now prepare.
Perhaps it would help to find some suitable men? Some men who truly were worthy of Miss Weston? He could then send those men her way along with a subtle endorsement.
He lingered behind, hoping that he might suggest such a thing to Miss Weston. He would not presume to help her in her quest without her permission. If he did so and she found out she would find some way to mak
e her displeasure painfully known to him.
To his surprise, however, Mrs. Weston came up to escort him to the door.
“Mr. Norwich,” she said quietly, “I hope that you will forgive a sick old woman for requesting a moment.”
“You are nothing close to old,” he assured her. “And I always have time for you, dear lady.”
“You flatter me,” Mrs. Weston replied. “That is probably why I like you so.”
“You are fond of me, I should hope, because you know that my flattery is sincere and not made up in order to get on your good side.”