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“Miss Whittleton?” Will said. “Are you quite well? May I get you anything?”
Her face, serenely composed a moment before, hardened at the sound of his voice. Without turning her head, she said, “I am perfectly well.”
“Are you alone?”
“As you see.”
“Do you wish for company? Not necessarily mine,” he added hastily. “May I bring Miss March to you? Or one of Lady Carrbridge’s brothers? I do not like to see you unattended in such a crowd as this, where anyone with a shilling in his pocket may enter.”
That brought a wintry smile. “You are too kind, sir, but I shall not be alone for long. Lord Humphrey is obtaining a glass of wine for me. I found the heat and noise oppressive in the box, and came out to obtain a little air.”
“It is not much better out here,” he said sympathetically. She was not a likeable woman, too waspish by half, but she looked very pale.
“No.” Finally, a genuine smile. “I so miss the countryside, Mr Fletcher. For the first twenty-two years of my life, I was amongst hills and lakes and green valleys. I could walk all day and hardly see a soul. A shepherd about his business, perhaps, or the washerwomen at the beck. And then we moved to Bath, and it was like a prison to me. So much stone, so much noise and smoke and bustle, and Sydney Gardens and the gravel walk arenorecompense for my lovely Haweswater. And now London, ten times worse, and everyone is so kind to me and I am very grateful, truly I am, but Icannot breathe.”
Will was not a fanciful man, but his heart went out to her, this country girl encaged in the city, like a bird who should fly free. “Then let me take you out of London for a little while. Richmond is very pretty, it is said. We can get up a party — I should not be your only escort. Indeed, I need not go at all, if it would make you uncomfortable.”
Another smile. “You are very kind, Mr Fletcher, but I cannot leave Lady Carrbridge for so long. I am here to be of service to her, after all.”
“Well then, another drive in the park, perhaps, if you can bear my company for an hour or so. The trees are glorious at this time of year, and the air is so much fresher. Not when it is crowded — we could go at noon, say. It is very quiet then, for I have exercised my horse at that hour, and was able to ride quite unimpeded. Should you like that?”
She looked at him uncertainly, and he could clearly see her desire for the refreshing greenery warring with her dislike of him. The greenery won. “I… should like that very much. Thank you, Mr Fletcher.”
“Excellent. Will tomorrow suit you? And we need not talk at all, if you prefer. You may sit and enjoy the prospect before you in silence. Ah, here is Lord Humphrey with your glass of wine, and I had better go and retrieve my father before my stepmother sends out a search party. Good evening to you, Miss Whittleton. Until tomorrow, then.”
“Good evening,” she said, curtsying. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought her curtsy was a shade more respectful than formerly.
~~~~~
‘To Miss Jupp, St Peter’s Road, Sagborough, West Riding. My dearest Belinda, We are just off to the shops, but I must dash off a quick line to tell you about our visit to the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane, for I was never so disappointed in my life. Not so much in the theatre itself, which is everything it is described in the guide books and more, but the crowds! So ill-mannered and riotous in the pits, I have never seen anything like it. They stared and pointed and yelled, and one even threw flowers up to our box, and a daffodil hit Mama on the nose. She was not at all pleased. The York theatre patrons are a model of decorum by comparison. I am called, so I must go. We are all well. I hope you are too, and that Ricky’s new coat is everything he hoped for. How I wish I could see him in it. Yours in haste, Rosie. Post script. The play was well acted but dull. I liked the farce much better.’
12: A Drive In Hyde Park
The Marford ladies met for a late breakfast the next morning in the family dining room, the men having long departed. Unlike many ladies, they did not lie abed until noon, but had been up for some hours, out riding, shopping, writing letters or, in Eloise’s case, sitting at the pianoforte allowing her fingers to run over the keys as music played in her head. But somehow, today, the music was discordant and out of key. What was the matter with her?
At the breakfast table, she was abstracted until Connie said, “Eloise? Wool gathering?”
“I beg your pardon. Connie, can you spare me for an hour this morning?”
“Of course, dear.”
“If you cannot, I shall quite understand, for I am not at all sure I wish to go, but—“
“You have an assignation!” cried Lady Juliana, one of the Marford aunts. “How delicious. Who is it, my dear? Do tell.”
Eloise actually blushed, which annoyed her more than all the rest. “It is Mr William Fletcher, but—”
The ladies all cried out in delight.
“—I do not wish to go,” she finished lamely.
“He is becoming so attentive,” Connie said, clapping her hands in glee. “Nothing could be better! Is it another drive in his curricle?”
“Yes, to Hyde Park, and he will have his groom with him, so there is nothing improper about it, but…” She tailed off unhappily. How could she explain? She did not understand it herself.
“You are growing to like him,” Connie said jubilantly. “I knew it!”
“No, I—”
