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Her footsteps were light, so Bridget could hear the hems of her gown being dragged along the floorboards on the parts that were not covered by the carpet. That could only mean that she was wearing one of the nicer dresses. The Marchioness had always been one for fashion, urging her girls to always look not only presentable but beautiful. Bridget remembered hearing this comment as a little girl and wondered why she should look nice for other people when her mother released the sweetest, most melodious laughter with the explanation that a woman was most beautiful to others when she was first beautiful to herself.
Bridget loved that explanation. Only now, she could not think herself beautiful because she could not see herself. Her beauty was indeed in the eye of the beholder, and she relied on that same beholder to let her know if her hair was out of place, or if, perhaps, she had a bit of cocoa cream in the corner of her lips which was a crime she was often guilty of.
“Nothing,” Sarah replied, and Bridget felt the brush suddenly being yanked away from its job. “We were just discussing Bridget’s plan for creating a vegetable garden.”
“A vegetable garden?” the Marchioness repeated. She sounded surprised that either of her daughters would want to busy themselves with something so ordinary as gardening vegetables. Flowers were understandable. They were beautiful, but vegetables were merely practical and nothing else. “I suppose we need it, but the reason I came to you is that I have just received a letter.”
Bridget turned to face her mother, and although she could not see the expression on her mother’s face, she could sense that this was not the end of the conversation. There was more to follow, and it was important. It needed to be stated right now which made Bridget fidgety with curiosity.
“From whom?” Sarah was the first one to pour that same curiosity into words.
“Why, from the Duke of Sculthorpe, of course.”
Her exclamation was sudden although not unexpected. A part of Bridget wished that he had written to her although there would be no use. Her letters were not a private affair any longer since someone else needed to read them out loud to her. But she was still inquisitive regarding the contents.
“He has inquired whether you and your sister would be available to join him for a stroll in Hyde Park tomorrow.”
Bridget wanted to respond immediately but then bit her tongue. She wasn’t certain who exactly her mother was asking first. Did the Duke invite Bridget with Sarah to be the chaperone, or did he invite Sarah with Bridget to be the chaperone?
You are hoping again. Careful.
That little voice was her friend. It only meant good, and she knew that she ought to listen to it. Only, her heart rebelled against it, rebelled with all its might.
“So, what do you girls say?”
Bridget wondered if she ought to respond in any case. “I think it is a splendid idea,” she seized the chance.
“I do believe so, too,” their mother agreed. From the way she ended her sentence, it sounded as if there was more to be said, but no other words followed.
Bridget knew that their mother would like for the Duke and Sarah to start officially courting. In fact, everyone would prefer that. Sarah was the one who could provide Joseph with everything he could possibly need. She could be a good wife, a good mother, and a good Duchess. Bridget wondered if she could be any of those things.
“Well then, I shall write back stating that he may come for you around eleven,” she announced. “And, when you’re done, perhaps you’d like to join me for tea in the parlor? I do dislike drinking tea alone, and your father has taken Oliver to town to settle some business affairs.”
“Of course, Mama,” Sarah spoke first while Bridget only nodded, smiling gently.
She listened to the sound of the doors being closed, then the brush went through her hair again, detangling tiny little knots.
“How very interesting,” Sarah mused. Bridget could hear her soft breathing which was cut every time there was a more stubborn knot that needed to be detangled.
“What is?” Bridget wondered.
“The invitation.”
“Youdoknow why he is inviting us, don’t you?” Bridget’s voice was calm, but underneath it all, it was laden with doubt and discomfort. Coming to terms with the fact that Sarah was the obviously better choice of a wife was something inevitable, something that needed to be done, no matter how painful it was.
“I suppose so.” To Bridget’s utter surprise, Sarah seemed disinterested.
“I suppose you could make a worse match than the Duke of Sculthorpe,” Bridget teased, opting for humor in face of discomfort. For several blessed moments, it worked.
“Me?” Sarah stopped with the combing, the brush still digging deep into Bridget’s honey-colored curls.
“Why, who else, you silly thing?” Bridget’s throat got drier and drier.
“You, of course.”
The words had set her heart aflutter, but that could never be, and she knew exactly why.
“Well, now you are being downright ridiculous.” Bridget’s voice was firm, but there was no harshness behind it. In fact, the gravity of her voice was aimed at herself and not at Sarah to remind herself that she should stop hoping for another moment longer that Joseph might harbor the same emotions as she did.
