“But though our upbringing was— Oh, it was really rathercheerless, was it not, Bert?” she said. “Even so, we were enormously fortunate to have an uncle and aunt willing to give up years of their own lives and even their own home to come here for our sakes. And they did love us, even though it was never in a really warm or demonstrative way. I think Mama must have hugged us a lot. Probably Papa too during that first year. He was the one trying to rock us to sleep, after all. He had been up most of the night with us because our nurse was exhausted and he had sent her to bed. Oh,if onlywe could remember. I have indeed forgiven him, Bert. And I donotfeel damaged. Only different, perhaps, from what I might have been. Which is a foolish way to think. We are all different from what we might have been ifthisorthathad been different. Life is nothing if not precarious. It is how we live it from day to day that matters, though.”
“You are not damaged, then,” he said. “Yet you are still unmarried, Stell, at the age of twenty-five, soon to be twenty-six. Even though you are titled, rich, and beautiful. Even though you sparkle with vitality and charm in company and have had so many offers I have lost count.”
That was a bit of an exaggeration. Actually a lot of an exaggeration. She was usually able to deflect ardor before it organized itself into a formal offer.
“You are twenty-five, almost twenty-six too,” she said.“Though you will always and ever be twenty minutes younger than I am. You are titled, rich, and handsome. You radiate warmth and charm in company. Yet you are still unmarried too. You have not even made any offers unless you have been very secretive about it.”
He closed his book and set it down on the small table beside his chair. “It is different for me,” he said. “I am a man. Thereisa difference, Stell, though I can see you are about to bristle and give me a lecture on the unfairness of it all.”
“And you believe I remain single because I amdamaged??” she said. She closed her own book too after taking note of the page number, and slid it down between herself and the window.
“It has occurred to me,” he said. “Do youwantto marry, Stell?”
She folded her arms beneath her bosom and gazed outward for a few moments. The rain was still sheeting down. The flowers in the beds were getting buffeted.
“Are you afraid I will still be here, an aging spinster sister, after you bring a bride to Elm Court?” she asked, turning her head back to smile at him. “Causing endless trouble?”
He grinned back. “I will ship you off to Redcliffe,” he said. “You can be a prop and stay to our father and stepmother in their old age.”
“Poor things.” She laughed. “And poor me. Of course I want to marry. But before you ask, I have no idea when and even less ideawhom.I have not met him yet.”
“Would you know if you had?” he asked.
She thought about it. “Maybe not,” she admitted. “Though when I think of all the men I know—the single ones—I really cannot picture myself married to any one ofthem. Not that that is any indictment of them. There are some very pleasant and worthy men among them. But—”
For some reason she thought of the dark, dour stranger who had ridden into her life and out of it yesterday, passing her by without a word even though that vicious dog of his might have torn her limb from limb if he had been one moment later arriving upon the scene. She almost laughed. But Bertrand would want to know why, and she had not told him about the incident. He was quite capable of forbidding her to leave their property without male protection and they would end up squabbling and she would accuse him of sounding just like Aunt Jane and he would accuse her of not heeding good advice when she heard it simply because she found Aunt Jane tedious. Which would be grossly unfair. Shelovedtheir aunt.
“But?” he said, prompting her. “What sort of manareyou looking for, Stell?”
“Oh, let me see. My dream man.” She pursed her lips and gazed out at the clouds. “Nottall, dark, and handsome, or he would be you. I love having you as a brother, Bert, but I would want something quite different in a husband.”
“Short, fair, and ugly, then?” he suggested.
“The thing is,” she said, “that I cannot really suggest a physical type that attracts me more than any other. But he would have to be...attractive.The trouble is, though, that it is a difficult word to define.Something that attracts.Orsomeonein this case. What are attractive qualities in a man, apart from just looks? Let me see. An open, pleasing countenance, I think. Smiling eyes, preferably blue. Yes, definitely blue. Good teeth, preferably white. A kindly manner. But with firm principles and the courage to stand by them. Charm. Kindness to all. Fellow feeling for all.Intelligence and some learning. A sense of humor. A regard for women as persons.”
“Passion?” he suggested when she paused to think some more.
She considered it—and her mind yet again touched upon that man, who had seemed to be coldness to the core. She shivered and hugged her arms more tightly.
“And passion,” she said. “And commitment and fidelity. Nochères amiesfor my dream man.”
“Position? Wealth? Property?” he suggested.
“Well, I am tempted to say that they are of no importance whatsoever,” she said. “But that would be impractical. The idea of living on love alone goes too far into the realm of fantasy to be feasible. My husband would not have to be titled, but he would have to be of good birth and education, I believe. Otherwise we would have so little in common that there would not be enough to sustain a relationship when the first blush of romance had worn off. He would not have to be enormously wealthy or live in a mansion, but he would have to be comfortably situated. I do not believe I would be happy living in a hovel, waiting for him to snare a rabbit for me to skin and drop into a pot of stew with some thin gruel and vegetables I had pulled up from my scrubby little patch of garden.”
“And you would forever live in fear that he would be taken up for poaching and transported for seven years or so.” He laughed and sat up a little straighter in his chair.
“I would not,” she said. “I would not have married him in the first place.”
“But there would have to be a blush of romance?” he said.
“I did use those words, did I not?” she admitted. “Oh, I believe so. There must be something more than just a dispassionate decision thatthisman rather than any other willsuit me as a husband. I just do not really know what that something is, though, Bert. Perhaps I will know it when I find it.IfI find it. But he must be a man of impeccable character and reputation. I could not contemplate marrying a rake, even a reformed rake.”
“Like our father,” he said quietly.
“Well,” she said, shrugging her shoulders and turning her face to the window again. “There you have me, Bert. For he was undoubtedly a rake, was he not? Yet I love him dearly. And I do believe he is the best of husbands now. He and Mother are terribly happy.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
