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He wasn’t proud of not owning his identity yesterday to the squire’s wife and son, but in the chaos of emotions, he had found himself quite unable to bear with what one could plainly see would be an overflow of commiseration and adulation the like he’d always abhorred. Much more did he prefer Miss Stapleton’s straightforward heartfelt offering of sympathy and the knowledge that Clara’s death had grieved her too.
Clara. His heart sank. He supposed his first port of business should be to see what he could learn about his sister’s death and matters of legality concerning his niece.
And perhaps a gentle reminder to Mrs. Drake and her husband that he’d appreciate their forgoing any mention of his name.
Chapter 6
“No! I shan’t go!”
“But, miss!” Hettie knocked on the door, glancing across as Theo paused in the hallway. “She’s refusing to open the door, Miss Stapleton. I think she’s jammed it with something.”
Theo swallowed a sigh and rapped the varnished wood. “Becky?”
Some days it seemed to Theo that her youth was very far away. Those days tended to coincide with nights when she had slept little due to the greedy winds outside, which only exacerbated feelings of impatience she did not like to own. She would prefer not to concur with her grandfather’s assessment of their young guest, but at times she could not help but agree that Becky was far more childish than what Theo remembered herself as ever having the luxury of being. But perhaps that was the effect of Becky growing up with an absent father and a mother whose many illnesses often stole attention from her daughter. Should she have done more to assist her friend and her daughter? Regret gnawed, tempering exasperation into patience.
She knocked on Becky’s door again. “Becky, my dear, please open the door.”
“Is it only you?”
Theo thanked Hettie and motioned for the maid to leave. “Yes.”
There came a sound of furniture being dragged, then the door swung open to a scared face. “Dear Miss Stapleton!” She flung herself into a surprised Theo’s arms. “I’m sorry. You don’t hate me, do you?”
Her words drew a new thread of compassion. How the girl longed for affection. “Of course I do not hate you. How could I, even if you act a little goose-like at times?” she teased, easing back.
Becky shook her head. “I cannot leave. Please don’t let him take me away.”
“Now Becky,” soothed Theo, “you must be brave. You know this is not at all the way to carry on.” She encouraged her to complete her toilette, and Becky slumped into the small chair at the dressing table, eyeing Theo in the looking glass with a mutinous tilt to her chin.
“But I don’t want to leave all my friends.” Becky slowly dragged a brush through her hair.
“Lydia and Patricia will still be your friends no matter where you are,” Theo assured, her voice holding more certainty than her heart. The twin daughters of Mr. Cleever, the local solicitor, had proved stalwart in recent months, but she sometimes wondered if their friendship was based more on the convenience of similar age and location rather than those bonds that truly knit the soul.
“I don’t know anyone at all in London,” Becky complained, fixing her hair as Theo held the pins.
“Such need not concern you now.” Theo patted Becky’s shoulder. “It is best not to borrow trouble.”
“Sufficient is each day’s worries without borrowing more,” finished Becky. “See? I was listening to Mr. Crouch’s sermon last Sunday.”
“And wise advice it is too.” Theo handed her another pin. “There. Now you look most presentable for when your uncle comes.” She encouraged Becky to gather her book and sewing and go to the downstairs parlor. As Theo passed from the room, she caught her own reflection in the looking glass and lingered a moment.
The morning light was not kind, revealing all her skin’s freckles and flaws. She bent closer. Was that a vertical line in her forehead? How wonderful. She turned to study her cheek, the mottled pink color that had forever marked her as different. Her lips twisted. There was little point in trying to make herself more attractive, as no man could see past the fact she’d never meet any of society’s expectations of beauty. She straightened. Not that she should care. Vanity was simply an invitation to comparison and dissatisfaction, and she’d worked so hard to learn to be content.
She drew in a deep breath, lifted her chin, and moved down the stairs. It was best to carry on as normal, to simply be her usual unadorned self, and do all she could to dampen the foolish attraction she had felt yesterday. If questioned, she might never have described the captain’s looks as that belonging to her ideal. But his character, his wit, and the faith he’d shown with his surety of Clara’s being in heaven seemed to have knocked all other considerations from her mind. Hence the need to banish such foolish fancies, sure as they were to be disappointed.
“Ah, my dears.” Mama stretched out a hand at the breakfast table, accepting Theo’s kiss on her softly perfumed cheek. “How are you both today? I trust you slept well, dear Rebecca?”
“Yes, thank you, ma’am,” Becky said with a small curtsy, before accepting the invitation to help herself to the breakfast items on the sideboard, whereupon she took a seat and focused on the very important task of eating.
“And you, Mama?” Theo asked, having served herself a small portion of eggs and toasted bread. “I hope the wind last night didn’t keep you awake too long.”
“Oh, I’m rather afraid it did.” Mama’s large mournful eyes turned to Theo. “I know I have spoken to your grandfather about such matters, but at times it almost seems he has little care beyond that which directly affects his own comfort. I know it is probably most uncharitable for me to mention it—”
Even though it was true.
“—and especially in front of one who I regard as almost but still notquitefamily, but I cannot help but wonder sometimes.” Mama sighed. “You must forgive me, Miss Mannering, for being so plainly spoken.”
“Oh, Mrs. Stapleton, you need not mind me.” Becky took a sip of her tea. “Apparently my father was well known as being the most parsimonious clutchfist in the county.”
