Page 32 of The Good Fortune of Miss Robbins

“Are you well?”

“Oh yes, very well. It is a fine morning for a walk.”

“A bit foggy, but otherwise fine.” He was staring hard at me.

I smiled to show him that he was mistaken if he thought I’d been crying. “I very much enjoyed the evening,” I said. “Dancing and the music. And the dinner was very good as well. Very pleasant.”

“I am glad to hear it. I hope Lord Markeley’s behavior toward you was not improper in any way. He was quite inebriated last evening.”

“No, not at all. There was nothing improper.”

“Good. He’d received some unwelcome news from home.”

“I am very sorry for his bad news. I hope it was nothing too terrible.”

“His mother’s illness. But I shall allow him to tell you of it, if he wishes.”

The conversation paused. I wondered what he was thinking. Had he sought me out this morning? Or was it only by chance that he encountered me here? Shamelessly, I was just happy to see him and to have this moment alone with him.

“I believe I see Miss Millicent Skidmore coming this way. I shall leave you two to your walk. But I will see you this evening.”

“Yes, of course.”

He was gone before Millicent had made her way to me.

“Was that Lord Brookhaven?” she whispered.

“It was.”

“Did he arrange to meet you here?” She lowered her voice even more.

“No, no. I suppose he was taking his morning walk and came upon me unintentionally.” I said it as though there could be no other explanation.

Millicent began chattering about the evening, about dancing with such amiable gentlemen as Lord Brookhaven, Lord Markeley, and Mr. Thomas Merritt. “Truly, I cannot believe my good fortune at being here. My cousins shall be so envious. Do you know I have three cousins, all ladies, all out at the same time? My grandmother is completely unable to single me out to help me find suitors, and even though our carriage accident was very frightening, it was rather providential in the end.”

“It was, for now you are here with me.” I linked my arm through hers and we started down the path toward the garden.

“Oh, yes. I do hope you will write to me when I’ve gone home to Shropshire. I do enjoy receiving letters, though I am not much of a letter writer, but I will write to you, I promise. Am I not a silly, selfish girl?”

“Not at all. You just don’t enjoy writing letters. The fact that you write anyone at all shows unselfishness.”

“You are so good, Charlotte. A true friend.” She gave me a gratifying smile and squeezed my arm. “And even though Rose Rutledgehas not yet condescended to have a conversation with me, she does sing and play divinely, does she not?”

“She does indeed.”

“She is very accomplished, or so I’ve overheard from her mama and Mrs. Allen.”

So we had all heard. Lady Rutledge had proclaimed all of her daughter’s accomplishments loudly and often since they’d arrived. And I would never have told anyone, but I had mentally counted off each accomplishment—fluent in French, German, and Italian; skilled in painting and fancy needlework; well-read in both prose and poetry; beautiful penmanship and letter-writing skills; a thorough education in arithmetic and the sciences. And I allowed myself the prideful thought that I could match each one, all except her playing and singing abilities. But it hardly made me the kind of “catch” that Miss Rose Rutledge was considered, since she was a wealthy baron’s daughter and would receive a large dowry.

I changed the subject, and we talked of the banter between us, Lord Markeley, and Mr. Merritt at the dinner table.

“I would accept a marriage proposal from either of them.” Millicent sighed. “They are both so handsome. I’d been worried I’d end up married to one of my father’s widower friends. They’re so old.” She scrunched her face and squeezed her eyes shut.

I hadn’t noticed either Mr. Merritt or Lord Markeley showing any interest in her, but I hoped for her sake that one of them would. Either of them could offer her a life of great privilege and security.

I hadn’t noticed Millicent mentioning anything about love, but I suspected she thought marriage was the same thing as love, that she would instantly love her husband, and that she could make her husband love her. But I’d seen too many marriages, just being a vigilant observer in church and around the village of Milford, to have noticed that there seemed to be little affection between most husbands and wives. And one of the teachers at Mrs. Southey’s school had been carrying on some kind of relationship with a married man, a wealthy former tradesman who lived in Milford. Mrs. Southey dismissed heras soon as she learned of it. Such a thing could have been the ruinous end of our school, if gossip of the affair had spread.

Love. It was the thing I wanted most in the world, perhaps because I’d received so little of it. And I just couldn’t bear the thought that I might never have a husband who loved me.