“I love Benedict but I’m absolutely terrified that he may change…or that I cannot.”
“Benedict is a gentle, kind and patient man. Well, except when giving riding lessons.”
Daphne’s lips quirked. “And the major is a thoughtful, strong and understanding one.”
They looked at one another in sympathy and commiseration.
“I dream of my husband…shouting at me. Berating me.” Both she and Daphne turned to Mrs Mereworth. Rosalind had almost forgotten she was there. It was always like that. The woman was like a silent wraith, except when she was extolling the virtues of etiquette. She remembered the dedication in that awful Miss Pikesworth book.
“Was he called George, your husband?”
“Yes.” Her eyes didn’t lift from her lap.
“Did he beat you?”
“No… Goodness no.” She looked up, surprise evident on her face. “We loved each other. He always told me he loved me. We met when I was eighteen and I…it was a whirlwind romance. But I was never good enough for him. I was always a disappointment. I didn’t set the table correctly for his friends or curtsey low enough for his uncle. I didn’t eat quietly enough and I didn’t dance gracefully.”
Rosalind watched aghast and listened as Mrs Mereworth continued, her voice rising with each sentence.
“I let the housekeeper fold the linens incorrectly, and I laughed too stridently. He was so handsome and I was so lucky to have him. He loved me and I…I loved him, but it became so hard and I felt so guilty for…”
It was the loudest Rosalind had ever heard her and she hadn’t finished yet.
“I came to hate his petty, mean ways, and yet I can’t let go. It has been five years and yet I still repeat his horrible diatribes; I can’t laugh without feeling noisy; I can’t speak freely without feeling…” Her voice abruptly dropped to a whisper. “…stupid.”
Both she and Daphne looked at each other with horror.
Rosalind reached over a hand and took Mrs Mereworth’s fist, which had risen to her mouth in anguish. “Speak to us, Mrs Mereworth. Whenever you want. Shout with us and laugh with us.”
“Lily.”
“Pardon?”
“It’s been five years. You should call me Lily.”
“That would be most improper.”
“Oh. Yes, I’m sorr–” Lily suddenly paused, her brow creasing. “You are jesting. That is what I like about you. You are always laughing. Always happy and bright. And yet your past is so painful. One knew you had a…talent, shall we say. Impossible not to notice, living here. And I envied you so. You are different and unique.”
Rosalind stared, stunned and silent. She knew? A talent? She chose not to think about that for now. “I thought you hated my conversation at dinner.”
“No. I…I just always heard George in my head, and I couldn’t seem to help myself. We were married twelve years. I don’t…I don’t know who I am any more.”
It was Daphne who reached a hand out to Lily this time.
“There are many types of cruelty, Lily. Your husband’s cruelty sounds even harsher than mine. My husband hurt me, but in turn it fed my anger and fury till I ran, but yours, to hear words of love mixed with denunciation and attack.” She shook her head. “That is not love. That is spite and malice, and much harder to run from.”
“Well,” said Rosalind, shaking herself, “we should all be ourselves from now on – whoever we are. Daphne, you should do as you see fit – with Benedict or not – but remember that he is a good and quaggy man.” Daphne mouthed the word quaggy with a confused look. “Lily, you are still young, pretty, devilishly good at card games and have time to find your old self, but you could begin by burning that awful Pikesworth book and doing something very naughty.”
“Really, such as?”
“Oh I don’t know, that is for you to decide. Drink absinthe? Seduce the next bachelor that Benedict invites here? Go to a gambling den in London and wager hundreds on whist? You always win after all.”
At the first suggestion, Lily let out a small snort and held a hand to her mouth. At the second idea, she blushed and let out a yelp. The third, she laughed – it was a throaty, seductive giggle – and Rosalind knew that if a man heard that, her second suggestion would be easily achieved.
“We are all lucky to have Benedict enter our lives,” said Rosalind. “But what we do with it now…well, that is up to us.”
The ladies shimmered with contentment and sat in companionable silence, thinking to their futures.
