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They sat close together on a sofa in the drawing room, next to the windows overlooking the beach and the sparkling waters of the bay.
"I hope you will follow my wishes, Veronica, and spend this summer applying yourself to finding a match. Now that your younger sister is so advantageously betrothed, you must not dally. We both know you have discouraged more gentlemen in the last few years than any young lady had a right to expect."
"Surely you exaggerate, Mama," Ronnie said with a forced smile. "I turned down only two proposals last year and one this year."
"You managed to discourage a score of fellows, and don’t deny it. I knew more than I let on at the time. And several even applied to me for assistance, though I never granted help to anyone. Your father and I felt it only right to allow you…"
What cliché would she choose, Ronnie wondered? Enough rope to hang herself? Enough leeway to avoid a collision? Enough room, enough time, enough opportunity? But their choices had never included her actual desire, either to wait for true love or find a cosy cottage, raise terriers, and grow daisies.
Ronnie tried to catch what Mama was saying.
"…unless you allow us to arrange…" Mama droned on.
Ronnie’s thoughts turned to Cici’s fiancé, a fribble who, frankly, would never amount to much, but satisfied her sister’s requirements of a handsome, titled, and wealthy match to escort her in Society and sire the children she intended to produce. The blossoms of intelligent conversation, the sense of humour - the traits Ronnie sought, did not bloom in Cici’s preferred bouquet. Nor in Mama’s garden. Cici and William were right for each other.
For at least the thousandth time, Mama was reciting the necessities of being married over spinsterhood, recommendations Ronnie had heard since her days in the schoolroom. Her thoughts drifted to the hotel manager, a military man, if one were to judge by his title, his comments about his travels, and his apparently useless right arm. Something in his carriage, in his dignity, in his bright eyes… something far beyond his chiselled features and wavy dark hair attracted her admiration. Something she'd never perceived in a potential admirer.
Mama droned on.
"We shall attend the assemblies here in Weymouth and you really should be attentive to…"
Ronnie forced her thoughts to the recent attentions of Lord Appleby, another of those widowers looking for a mother for his daughters, of whom there were three, if she remembered correctly. At least he’d made no secret of his aims, that he hoped for sons with a second Lady Appleby. But his dreary invitation to acquaint her with his Lancashire estate had tempted only her mother. Ronnie had been relieved that their Weymouth plans were so important to her sister, and of course, to Mama. A bird in hand, after all.
******
The next afternoon, Ronnie, followed by Evie, her maid, approached the open barouche before which Lord Appleby stood talking with Captain Drew. She did not find it an admirable scene.
Beside the Captain, Lord Appleby looked more stout than ever, at least half a head shorter, and florid of complexion, as if he had been exerting himself excessively, even though the two men hardly moved. The shiny buttons on Appleby’s driving coat of vivid green glinted in the sun, outdoing the mirror-like polish on his calf-high boots. Ronnie could not help thinking that he looked like an ordinary shopkeeper posing as a noble lord with a spanking new carriage of the latest style. When she turned her attention to the four bays in brass-trimmed harness, she was relieved to see a top-hatted coachman prepared to manage the team.
Yet that probably meant she would have to sit beside Appleby instead of having him in the driver’s seat. Perhaps better than having the obviously fresh horses race out of his control and end up in a ditch.
"Ah, good day, Miss Montgomery," the Baron said, coming toward her and bowing his greeting.
Captain Drew stayed just behind him.
"You have an ideal day for your drive," he said.
"Might you join us, Captain?" she asked.
"I am afraid I cannot leave the establishment at the moment, although it has been a long time since I glimpsed the scene, and today the view will be particularly enchanting."
Eventually, they waved farewell, all tucked into their seats, only Evie having to ride facing backward. Try as she might, Ronnie could think of no excuses to change seats with her. Every time Ronnie slid farther away from Appleby, he scrunched closer, keeping up a commentary on the town, the sea, and the open fields they crossed on a well-worn lane. He had a book he kept referring to, reading a history of the area, but she would have preferred to listen to the birds singing in the gorse along the roadway.
"What is that book?" she asked.
"The beauties of England and Wales, or, Delineations, topographical, historical, and descriptive, of each county. I thought we might use it to explore."
"It seems more concerned with ancient history."
"Yes, it starts there."
He resumed reading out the account of Saxon antiquities, the drone of his voice driving out every particle of her interest in the topic. Instead, she tried to visualise the mermaids and sea creatures which must swim out there under the rippling surface of the sea. Fanciful fairytale beings far from the clashing swords and sharpened spears of a battlefield.
At last, they stopped on a bluff above the beach, in sight of a giant stone arch which curved into the water from high above. He turned a page in the book.
He announced, "'Barn Door, or Durdle Rock, on the north shore, is a surprising rock projecting from the cliffs towards the south, forming a little bay with the shore. Layers of rock run perpendicularly with their edges projecting vast shelves.' There it is, a famous sight."
For moment, she said nothing as he peered at her expectantly.
