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Or that coincide with when I have an invitation or an opportunity to enjoy some diversion, Thea thought dolefully.
“Besides, Thea might not wish to be in company so much when her wardrobe is so sparse.” Aunt Minerva patted the squirrel’s tail hairpiece that protruded from her lace cap. “I’ve not the money to spend on her when her father left her so pitifully unprovided for, and it appears she shuns those clothes of mine which I have so generously sent her way.”
This was a painful topic for Thea. The simple muslin and velvet pelisse she wore now had been a generous present from Fanny some months previously, but if they were to attend any social events beyond the christening, she’d be sadly lacking in comparison with not just her own stylishly and expensively garbed cousins, but even the lowliest parson’s daughter.
An image of handsome Mr Grayling, whom she’d been dreaming she might meet at some entertainment in Bath once he returned from his business, was replaced by relief that it was just as well she’d not be part of the social whirl, since he’d see from just a glance what she was: a hanger-on. A poor relation. Aunt Minerva had done a fine job the past year in tempering any hopes Thea had ever harboured of entering into holy matrimony. The thought nearly made her weep. Babies. Oh, how she longed to have babies with a loving husband by her side. Her own parents had been so terribly fond of each other and their many children, and Thea had always known that she wanted that same felicity of mutual feeling and a large family, too.
Admittedly, there was some merit in her aunt’s criticism of Father’s dealings with money, she owned sadly, for he’d taken considerably less care of his somewhat meagre fortune than he had of the beautiful wife upon whom he loved to lavish expensive presents, and who had no idea of the fast-decreasing limits to his funds. Not that Thea would have minded about having no money as long as she could have had her family. But the terrible fever that had swept through the village two years ago had put paid to that.
“You certainly are known for your generosity, A
unt Minerva,” Fanny said without a trace of irony, Thea was impressed to note. “Thea wrote to tell me of the fine brown and green velvet round gown you so kindly passed on to her.”
Thea’s heart leapt into her mouth. Surely Fanny wouldn’t divulge the fact she’d likened Aunt Minerva to a toad emerging from a bank of sludge when wearing the supposedly fashionable outfit? She shuddered with fear and accepted that she’d only been receiving her just desserts; for shortly after Thea declared to her cousins that she’d rather deport herself in public wearing nothing but her petticoat than suffer the humiliation of being seen in such an abomination, her aunt gifted her the notable creation.
Aunt Minerva’s cloying smile at Fanny’s compliment was a glower by the time she swivelled her jewelled throat in Thea’s direction. “Perhaps I shall attend the Assembly Rooms tomorrow night. It’ll give Thea an opportunity to sport the brown and green. I’d been thinking only recently I hadn’t seen her wear it, but then reasoned that it was because I’ve not taken her anywhere it can be seen to advantage. I was surprised when, last Thursday, she did not put it on when I knew how much she harboured hopes of securing the interest of the nice young curate who insisted on coming to tea long after I’d made it clear his hopes were…well, hopeless. Now I realise that it is as you say, Antoinette, and I’ve been unkind in keeping Thea at home with me. Even if it’s impossible she’ll ever marry, given her parlous financial state, it would be a kindness to allow her to attend a few entertainments, though not so many that would stretch her limited wardrobe and make her a subject of unkind gossip for having only the one dress to wear in company.”
Thea resolutely drank her tea. Oh my dear Lord, she’d rather die than go forth in the hideous ensemble her aunt would have her wear. She directed a desperate look at Fanny, who said smoothly, all wide-eyed innocence, “Why, Aunt Minerva, that was because she thought the gown so much more flattering to your colouring, she told me. You must have been quite a head-turner with your lovely bronze ringlets, if you don’t mind my saying so.” Her gaze travelled with clear-eyed scrutiny over Aunt Minerva’s visage before fixing upon the somewhat odd length of orange fur that blended with the ginger ringlets that hung in front of her ears. “It is remarkable time has not dulled your assets.”
Thea held her breath as Aunt Minerva narrowed her eyes. Fanny had gone too far this time. But then her aunt put her hand once more to the squirrel’s tail hairpiece that supplemented her sparse greying locks, and smiled coyly. “Oh, I have my secrets, even at my age,” she simpered. “Let me tell you, when I was young, the gentlemen were fighting over me. One in particular was so distraught by my rejection he shot himself.”
‘He wanted to marry you?’ Antoinette squeaked with such incredulity, Thea and Fanny both sent her the evil eye, so that she added with commendable alacrity, “But of course, what young man would have passed up the opportunity to secure your hand in marriage?”
“Mr John Dempster was his name,” Aunt Minerva recalled, gazing moist-eyed into space, apparently mollified by the turn of the conversation. “But I rejected him, and what do you think he did? Rushed off to the continent where, in his mental derangement at my rough treatment of his hopes, he shot himself through the heart.”
Antoinette tilted her head. “The heart? One doesn’t shoot oneself through one’s own heart, surely? Is he actually dead, then?”
Aunt Minerva cleared her throat and replied smoothly, “Mercifully, the Good Lord was not yet ready to take him.”
“So he’s not dead.” Antoinette clarified. “I must say, trying to shoot oneself through the heart doesn’t sound very efficient if you’re intent upon succeeding. Why didn’t he put the pistol into his mouth? That’s what one does when one really wants to kill oneself.”
“Antoinette, that’s enough,’ her sister warned, turning back to her aunt with a sympathetic moue. “Poor Mr Dempster. I’m sure he never got over you, Aunt.”
“Indeed he did not. Never married, I hear.”
“Never married! What a cruel waste, Aunt,” Antoinette went on blithely, “when you could have made him so happy and we’d have had possibly dozens more cousins and not just poor Thea, who is all alone.” She clapped her hand to her mouth at a fierce look from her sister, no doubt recalling that Thea had once been the eldest of six before the scarlet fever.
Thea forced her mind onto other matters as she pushed away the pain.
“Mr Dempster sounds a particularly foolish and unworthy suitor, Aunt Minerva.” Fanny took over smoothly. “Perhaps you had a special admirer amongst them all?”
For a moment Aunt Minerva stared into space as if recalling something very intense. Her lips worked and her head shuddered slightly on its well upholstered stem. She opened her mouth to speak before shutting it abruptly, her eyes narrowing into slits of malice.
“I think it’s high time you took Thea off to the nursery,” she muttered. “I can see the children later when they’re clean and ready for company.”
As soon as the girls reached the nursery, after a promise to bring young George and Katherine down to see their great-aunt later, they broke into convulsive laughter.
“Oh, Thea, if it weren’t that you had to live with her the year through, we’d be looking forward to the old gorgon’s annual visit with the greatest anticipation.” Antoinette hiccupped. “Did you see the evil look she sent some unknown past would-be lover? If she could just have put a hex on him, he’d have been writhing on the floor in front of us, spitting out green smoke as he slowly turned into a toad.”
“Hush! Not in front of the servants,” Fanny admonished, waving away the nursemaid as she picked up young Katherine and cuddled her. “You say you were courted by the curate?” she asked Thea.
“But a lowly curate?” Antoinette clarified. “Please say you didn’t entertain the idea for a minute.”
Sadly, Thea forced her longing gaze away from Fanny and her baby to look at her feet. “He was a very sweet young man. I was fond enough of him that if he’d asked me I’d have consented to be his wife for I couldn’t imagine I’d receive an offer from anyone else, but Aunt Minerva said it was out of the question.”
“Of course it was,” Antoinette said roundly. “You’d be subjecting yourself to a life of penury from which there’d be no return. For once Aunt Minerva did you a service.”
Fanny, now bending over the pristine coverings of her baby’s crib to tuck Katherine back into the warmth, harrumphed. “That was no service. That was simply self-serving. Aunt Minerva will not sanction any marriage for you, Thea, as she has you in mind for far more important things.” She kissed her baby’s plump little fist, which remained wrapped around her finger, adding, “Yes, indeed, as her handmaiden into old age. No, there really is a great urgency to find you a husband in the next couple of weeks. But of course you’ll need clothes. Antoinette and I have already discussed it. Aunt Minerva would far rather see you step out looking like last season’s sludge, all but announcing to the world that you’re as poor as a church mouse. But Antoinette and I were, too, only last season—and aren’t we a stellar advertisement of how one’s star can rise in such a short time?”
