Hannah escaped the room gracefully, but she was unable to escape the imprisonment of this proposed union. It felt as though her father had placed bars around her with his announcement and the main question that rang in her head wasWill I have the freedom to paint!?
Reaching her bedchamber and slamming the door behind her with passion, Hannah paced the floorboards as though she might find emancipation if she could only pace long enough. She recalled the Duke from the previous evening, desperate to find any redeeming qualities. He was striking and dark – if she saw him across a ballroom, she would undoubtedly have considered him a handsome man. In her mind, she tried to make his face smile. Yet she did not know how his features would fall in such a scenario as throughout their meeting and their dance, his lips were curled downwards at the edges; his eyes wide and betraying no joy there whatsoever. She could not imagine him smiling. And she could not imagine a life with a man of misery.
Hannah stopped pacing and threw herself upon her bed. The maids had already made up her bedclothes and she thought that was probably a fortunate happenstance or she might have grabbed the pillows and sheets to throw across the room in frustration – or worse - crawled into the waiting covers and cried there until she fell asleep. As the bed was a neat matchbox of tightly quilted corners, the most destruction she could do to it was to perch on the end, leaving a seated indentation.
It was no use, she needed to express this inner turmoil. Again, she grabbed the sketch pad, poised to draw the way she was feeling, but she was faced by her picture from yesternight. As she traced the measure of darkness in that image and attributed it to the man who was set to be her future husband, Hannah knew that any self-reflection was too minimalist a treatment for such monstrous news – she had to speak with her friend. Immediately, she called upon her maid, Lucy. Scribbling a note about meeting urgently for afternoon tea, she instructed the note to be taken immediately to Lady Sophia Camden.
***
Caleb contributed very little to the drawing room chatter at breakfast even on the most usual of days and today was most unusual. His mind clamoured with duties, responsibilities, the precision of timeliness, and all the things that would need to be done. He was keen to eat and leave at the earliest convenience – there was no time to spare on frivolous blather. He generally left chatter to the ladies of the house in any case, but that morning his mother infuriatingly insisted on inviting him into the conversation with some persistence.
‘Did youseeLady Lucinda Fairfax at the ball, son?’ Anne prompted.
‘At the Haysendale ball thrown for Lady Hannah Haworth, Mother?’ Caleb responded.
Emmeline stifled a giggle – she did so love how her brother could indicate that his mother’s comments were inappropriate without outrightly humiliating her.
‘Of course,’ Anne bristled.
‘I believe I may have seen her at some point, in amongst the many ladies of thick perfumes,’ Caleb looked down at the bread he was eating, reluctant to engage his mother.
‘You may then have noticed, how gracefully she danced?’
‘I did not,’ Caleb attempted to close the conversation.
‘Have it on my authority then, that she did – as if she were a swan.’
Caleb raised his eyebrows and immediately dropped them, demonstrating indifference.
‘Not a foot wrong – and such an excellent conversationalist as she danced. Poise, articulacy, and coordination perfectly aligned,’ Anne waxed.
‘One hopes she should not mind you eavesdropping, Mother,’ Caleb retorted.
‘Eavesdropping?’
‘Otherwise, how might you know that she was anexcellent conversationalist,Mother?’ Emmeline chimed in, enjoying the game and taking the heat off her brother for a moment. Caleb flicked her a look of gratitude.
‘I simply mean, of course, that she was busy talking whilst maintaining flawless transitions in her dancing,’ Anne justified.
‘She may have been talking about frogs or…horses’ manure…’ Emmeline giggled.
‘Emmeline! Not whilst we are dining!’ Anne shrieked.
‘My point is that really, Mother, you have no insight as to whether or not her conversation was scintillating or sheer nonsense. In actuality, she may have been merely counting out her dance steps!’
Anne sneered at this and continued to eat. Caleb and Emmeline shared a knowing look.
Despite their age gap, the siblings had bonded over a common theme. There was a night they both remembered when Caleb was about fourteen and Emmeline three. Their parents were rowing once again but on this occasion, it sounded as though something had been thrown. A yell of aggression from their mother had been closely followed by a smashing sound and Caleb could well imagine she had pitched a plate across the room at his father’s head, thankfully missing and hitting the wall instead. The noise had caused both Caleb and Emmeline to venture out onto the staircase, where they sat, peering through the balusters of the banisters. Emmeline had begun to cry as the shouting escalated and Caleb had hugged her tight to him. She felt safe with her big brother and the protectiveness he felt toward her had continued strong since that night.
When their father had died, Caleb had been only twenty-six and Emmeline a tender fifteen. On some instinctual level, Caleb had known that he would now assume the role of father in her life as well as brother. He tried to strike a balance between discipline and playfulness but was just finding his way with trial and error.
‘I wonder if she will play piano when we dine with the Fairfaxes this week…’ Anne began again.
‘Who, Mother?’ Emmeline feigned ignorance.
‘Lady Lucinda Fairfax, of course!’ Anne snapped.
‘Oh…is she good on the piano then?’ Emmeline almost giggled aloud.
