No one else paid her any attention with the exception perhaps of Mr. Ware, who went out of his way to avoidher. Not even Mr. Bancroft took any notice of her, forwhich fact she was profoundly thankful. She was verymuch afraid for the first day or two that he might makea public scene, demanding that her aunt apologize toher or something horribly mortifying like that.
On the contrary. He appeared to redouble his attentions to Nancy and Mrs. Peabody, sending them into a positive flutter of expectation. If he was still carryingon with Lady Myron or Mrs. Hunter or Mrs. Delaney,there were no outward signs of it during the days following the picnic. He seemed to have put all else asidein order to concentrate on bringing his courtship tohappy fruition.
Patricia refused to allow herself to mourn. He had been kind to her. Yes, amazingly for such a man, hehad been. And when he had taken her face in hishands and kissed her lips—no man had done that sincePatrick had smacked heartily at them the night beforehe left to join his regiment—he had been giving comfort as if to a child or a younger sister.
Oh, yes, she had no illusions. And so there was no point at all in allowing herself to become heartsick.That she loved him was her own foolishness. It wassomething she would not fight, because she knew itwas something she would keep with her for a longtime to come, and his kiss was something she couldrelive perhaps for the rest of her days. But she wouldnot allow it to upset the quiet equilibrium of her days.
Something else did that. She had a reply from the parson at home. He wished he had known sooner of herinterest in teaching the schoolchildren. He had recommended the hiring of a teacher just two months ago,and one had begun her duties just last month. He remembered Miss Mangan with fondness and wished herhappiness and God’s blessings on her future.
Oh, yes, it upset her. She had counted upon this new idea of hers so much. She had dreamed of theescape it would bring her and the independence andsense of worth and self-respect. But she would notgive up. Now that she had thought seriously of takingemployment, she was not going to crawl back intoher shell. She would try again—somehow. Perhaps heruncle would help her. He was quiet and totally dominated by his wife, but he was a sensible and a kindlyman, she believed. Perhaps he would know how shemight come by employment. She would ask him afterthe guests had gone home.
And then there was the other upset, the one she had thought herself fully prepared for. The betrothal.Nancy to Mr. Bancroft.
Patricia was in the drawing room after dinner two evenings before the party was to end, though she hadnot been at dinner. There was no space for her at thedining room table while their guests were with them,she had been told three weeks ago. But she had afunction in the drawing room. She was seated behindthe tea tray, pouring tea.
When the gentlemen joined the ladies after their port, Mr. Bancroft made his way immediately to Nancy’s side and proceeded with the customary gallantries.Patricia, as usual, insisted upon feeling only amusedat what she heard. And then, when Mrs. Peabody hadjoined them and when somehow he had gatheredabout them almost all the ladies—Patricia had thestrange impression that he had maneuvered it so,though she did not know how he had done it—he tookNancy’s hand in his, raised it to his lips, and gazedwith warm intensity into her eyes as he spoke.
“I have asked for and been granted a private interview with your father tomorrow morning, Miss Peabody,” he said. “I doubt I shall have a wink of sleep tonight, such is the anxiety of my heart. It is my fondest hope that by this time tomorrow I will be thehappiest of men.”
Nancy knew just how to behave. She blushed very prettily, lowered her eyes, opened her fan and fluttered it before her heated face, and answered in avoice that was little more than a whisper—but sinceeveryone was hushed, it carried to the farthest cornerof the room.
“I do not know what can be so important that youmust speak to Papa in private, sir,” she said. She allowed herself a peep upward. “But you deserve to be happy, I am sure.”
He was returning her hand to his lips when Patricia decided she could be of no further use behind the teatray. Everyone had been served with a first cup, butsomeone else must pour the second. With the presentsteadiness of her hands—or lack thereof—she woulddoubtless fill the saucers as well as the cups. Sheslipped quietly from the room.
And lay fully clothed on top of her bedcovers for long hours into the night, staring upward at the canopy, a pillow clasped in her arms.
He had coldly plotted his revenge. No, perhaps not quite coldly. It had never been his way to hurt anyonemore than that person deserved to be hurt, though hehad never pretended to be either a considerate or acompassionate man. His first idea would have broughttoo great a humiliation to someone whom he had intended only to embarrass. His desire was to punishthe mother, not the daughter.
Until the daughter gave him good cause to be added to his black list, that was.
No one at the dinner table the evening after the picnic mentioned the incident that had happenedthere. He guessed that the memory of it was an embarrassment to all of them. Indeed, conversationseemed somewhat strained and over-hearty. Callingeven a servant a slut in public and slapping her facehard enough to cause swelling was not considered genteel behavior among members of theton.
He took Nancy Peabody for a stroll out on the terrace after dinner, as he often did.
“Did you hear what happened after you were forced to return to the house with a nosebleed, sir?” sheasked him.
“Did I miss something?” he asked. “Beyond a precious hour of your company, that is?”
“Oh, that.” She tittered. “I am sure you must have seen more than enough of me in the past few weeks,sir.”
He returned the expected answer.
And then she proceeded to tell him about the breaking of the wine bottles. His little bird, it seemed, had been sent to lift down the wine basket from the wagon. It must have weighed as much as she did. Andshe had dropped it after summoning Mr. Ware and demanding that he carry it for her—and then had tried to put the blame on him. Poor Mr. Ware, like the gentleman he was, had been quite prepared to accept responsibility.
“And then when Mama tried to reprimand her gently and smooth over the situation,” Miss Peabody said to his interested ears, “she was impertinent and Mamawas forced to be quite sharp with her and send herback to the house. Poor Mama. It quite spoiled herafternoon. And mine too, sir, you may be sure. Youwould not believe all Mama and I have done for Patricia. Mama has been a second mother to her, and Ihave been a sister to her despite the fact that her ownmama was nothing more than the daughter of a curatewho was hardly even a gentleman. But she has returned nothing for all our kindness except sullennessand sometimes open impertinence. Mama is a veritable saint for putting up with her.”
“And you too, Miss Peabody,” he said, patting the arm that was resting on his. “There are not manyyoung ladies who would watch another taken to thebosom of their mama without losing the sweetness oftheir disposition as a result.”
“Oh, well.” She tittered. “It is not in my nature to feel jealousy, sir. And one must be charitable toindigent relatives.”
He led the conversation into more congenial channels, and they talked about her for the remaining ten minutes of their stroll on the terrace.
He gave her a second chance. Two days later, they all went to church in the morning. He took Nancy upto ride beside him in his curricle. They drove the milehome from church in a slow cavalcade, his curriclebehind the barouche that carried Mr. and Mrs. Peabody, Patricia, and Mrs. Delaney.
“I see,” he said, “that your cousin has been forgiven and taken back to your mother’s bosom.”
Patricia Mangan had been granted the honor of carrying Mrs. Peabody’s parasol and her prayer book.
