Chapter 4
Dubiumsapientiaeinitium.If Descartes believed doubt is the origin of wisdom, Fern would surely acquire wisdom today, as she doubted the value of the activity bustling around her.
Violet’s bedroom was one of the largest in the spacious Boar’s Hill mansion, a Georgian brick landmark that soared four stories above the ground, with wide wrought-iron balconies hanging from the double windows leading to each bed chamber on the second floor. It screamed of generational wealth in subdued tones, crying privilege and comfort, but not loudly enough to draw derision. For Fern, it was home, far more than their stately townhouse in Mayfair, a structure designed to impress and intimidate, a second office for her father during his appearances in Parliament.
On the morning of the masquerade, the room seemed as cramped as a broom closet. Three young women and their mother hummed inside with two ladies’ maids flitting about, bringing in gowns, hair decorations, undergarments, tea trays, and the occasional reticule for consideration by the fine ladies.
The air was thick with unspoken tension. Normally London’s finest families would not make the trek from town to Oxford for a birthday celebration, but tonight would be Violet’s return to society, after her ill-fated engagement went sour. Lord Redborne’s birthday was in reality an excuse to introduce their middle daughter to the marriage mart once again. Violet would need to be spectacular if she was to attract another proposal.
Fern watched her twin’s reflection in the mirror at Violet’s vanity as Rose dusted her pale cheeks. At twenty, Rose could expect to attract the attention of suitors as well. An unexpected pang struck Fern's chest at the thought of her sister becoming a wife. Rose had trained for this moment for her entire life, but living apart from her twin was akin to wrenching Fern’s spine out and asking her to stand tall on her own.
Fern hoped for a sudden outbreak of hives that would leave her bedridden and unable to go downstairs. But life wasn’t fair, she thought as she examined her pale skin for any sign of redness. Alas, none were to be found.
“Fern, it’s your turn,” she heard her mother call. Knowing the woman was on edge, Fern decided not to push her luck. She stood with a sigh and rolled her eyes. Her mother scoffed and set her hands on her hips. “Fern, you must stop that. You know how rude it is.”
Fern knew rolling her eyes was rude, but she wasn’t aware she did it. Her eyes rolled without her commanding them to, like she let some of the steam out of a kettle. It kept her from exploding. Surely doing a little something wrong was far better than a big something wrong.
“I’m sorry, Mama.” Fern walked to the center of the room where a small platform awaited, shedding her simple day dress. By the time she reached the platform, she wore only her chemise and corset, which hung limply from her slim frame. She had little figure to speak of, none of the gentle curves of her older sister or the lithe grace of her twin, but a collection of angles and awkward points.
Her mother’s maid slipped the new gown over Fern’s head, helped her put her arms through the sleeves, and let the fabric fall to her feet before fastening the line of buttons up her back. Fern knew the gown was something special; her mother and sisters’ gasps of delight made their opinions abundantly clear. But her limbs twitched awkwardly under the attention until she saw the glowing look of approval on her mother’s face. Her mother loved her and protected her at all costs. But perhaps tonight, just once, her mother would be proud of her.
Fern smiled, her lips tight. “It’s very nice,” she forced out, ignoring the seams scratching her neck.
“You look lovely, Fern,” her mother said, lightly touching her daughter’s cheek. “I’m so proud of you.”
Fern’s heart glowed, the bliss brought on by the praise spreading warmth through her body. She could wear this dress and go to a ball every day for the rest of her life if it made her mother happy.
As Fern sat at the dressing table to have her hair styled, a knock sounded at the door. Mrs. Boyd, the housekeeper, stepped into the room and found Lady Redborne amongst the mayhem. “My lady, there is a bit of a problem with the crystal. It appears we broke several glasses at the last party, and we may no longer have enough that match.”
Lady Redborne stood, shaking her head. Although she seemed put out, Fern knew her mother relished in solving problems. Fern had been her primary problem for the past two decades, and she knew how overjoyed her mother became when Fern made progress toward “normal.”
As Lady Redborne left Violet stood and followed, insisting on seeing to the crystal crisis herself. Rose looked on as the maid styled Fern’s hair, coming closer each time Fern flinched. “Nicole,” Rose said pleasantly to the maid. “Perhaps I should take over. Fern and I have been practicing our hairstyling, and I would love to try something.”
Nicole’s shoulders dropped, and Fern couldn’t miss the maid’s relieved sigh. It was not unheard of for Fern to run from the dressing table with her hair halfway styled, threatening harm upon her maid with her hairpins.
Rose stood behind her sister and took up the brush as Fern shook her shoulders loose and exhaled slowly. “Thank you,” she murmured.
Rose smiled in return as she worked Fern’s hair loose. “You’re quite welcome. I thought you might need me.” Fern’s hair was fine, with the same luster as Rose’s but in a slightly lighter shade. But few would make the comparison as Fern’s hair rarely hung brushed out. She hated the sensation of a brush on her scalp. It made her skin crawl and her teeth hurt. Only Rose knew the right level of pressure, the exact places to touch and hold, to keep Fern calm during the ablutions.
When Fern looked in the mirror, she saw Rose had brushed her hair until it gleamed and hung in loose curls around her shoulders. She pulled a few strands up and away, leaving the rest loose to frame her cheeks. While it was unfashionable to wear her hair down, Fern despised the pulled-tight feel of modern chignons and Rose knew it. She adorned Fern’s style with a few pearl clips, then stepped back. “You look beautiful.” Rose admired her work and placed her hand on Fern’s shoulder. With her hair brushed and her expression soft, Fern could see the resemblance she shared with her twin.
Fern put her hand on top of her sister’s. “Thank you. I don’t think I could do this without you.”
Rose sat on the bench beside her. “I can’t do this without you.” She sighed and pressed her lips into a thin line. “Do you think Mama will be angry with me if I’m not a success tonight?”
Fern tilted her head and furrowed her brows. “Why wouldn’t you be a success? You’re good at these things, and unlike me, you most likely won’t make an utter fool of yourself.”
Taking Fern’s hand, Rose rubbed her thumb over her twin’s palm, soothing both of them. “It’s not that. There is all this pressure after what happened with Violet, Mama won’t be able to take it if I’m not offered for quickly. I’m not even sure I want to get married.”
Fern pulled her hand away and dropped her jaw. “Not get married? Why not?” Few opportunities existed beyond marriage for women of their station, and their entire lives had been engineered to ensure an advantageous match. Being the wife of a powerful man was an achievement of the highest order.
Fern could not imagine herself as a wife. She knew there was more to her future, although she couldn’t identify precisely what. Marriage wouldn’t be unwelcome, per se. The lurid gothic novels she had found buried on a high shelf amongst her father’s old ledgers had piqued her interest in the opposite sex and what could transpire between a married couple. Unfortunately, she would have to convince a man to look at her in order to move on to anything more interesting.
A married woman enjoyed significantly more freedom in society than an unmarried miss. She had heard of ladies attending lectures at Oxford in their free time, even enrolling as students. As Fern was unlikely to secure her independence and satisfy her intellectual needs through marriage, she would need to make her own path. But she wanted her sister to have everything she desired. She deserved it.
“Marriage is all you and Mama have ever talked about,” Fern continued, assessing her sister carefully.
“I know,” Rose said. “But now that I might meet someone, and it actually matters… I wanted a love match, like Mama and Papa, but I’ve never felt that sort of attraction towards another person, nothing like we’ve read in books. And I don’t want a marriage in name only like our sisters have, with those dreadful men who do nothing but go to their clubs or hunt or simply waste their time.” She huffed out her breath as she rolled her eyes, still enchanting while wearing the silly expression. “I’d be dreadfully bored, going to parties all day, calling on other bored women. I want something more, someone who has a purpose, a gentle soul who will care for me as a person, not simply a bank account. Someone I can truly love.”
