“Fun? It is fun to argue?”
“It is the greatest amusement in the world to quarrel gently over the meaning of a single word in a poem written two thousand years ago. There are any number of other matters we could dispute, but we do not. Medhurst thinks riding to hounds is a splendid way to pass a wet day in December. I beg to differ. I believe that the North Riding is the finest place in the world.”
“And so it is!”
“Medhurst would take issue with us both, then. He likes the softer, less challenging terrain of the south. And so it goes, but we do not fall out over such matters. We simply shrug and wonder why the other, who seems a reasonable fellow in other ways, could be so bone-headedly wrong.”
She laughed, but said wistfully, “I wish I had a friend like that. Or three friends, as you do. Friends who would chaff me gently but not quarrel with me — except over a Latin poem.”
“But you do,” he said surprised. “You have all four of us as friends.”
She sighed. “Yes, but it is not a friend I need, Bertram, it is a husband. Oh, to be mistress of my own establishment, and order my time as I please! I have spent the entire day in the basement with Mama and the duchess…. No, that is not quite true. There was an hour in the attics, too, and I do believe there was an interlude in the linen cupboard. But I must refrain from speaking of that, lest the excitement overwhelm me.”
He chuckled. “Dearest Bea, you were not made for domesticity, were you? Let me tell you a secret — servants can manage a house perfectly well, if left to their own devices. My mother does nothing more than order the meals each morning, and look over the accounts now and then, to be sure no one is cheating us. Otherwise, she leaves well alone. If there is anything amiss with the linen cupboard, Mrs Lynch will tell her of it. As for Lady Strong, I am not sure she knows where her linen cupboard is, for she spends every waking hour in her garden.”
“Which is much better than terrorising the servants. What does your mama do for a hobby? Her health, of course. She must spend half her days in the still room concocting remedies for every little cough or itch.”
“She is not very good at concocting, so she keeps on very good terms with the apothecary,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper. “But do not let her know that I have told you that.”
“My lips are sealed,” she whispered back.
The room had filled up as they talked, and even Mr Fielding was there, with a hesitant little smile for her. The duke’s extremely grand butler announced dinner, Bertram offered her his arm, and, with a little burst of pleasure, she allowed him to lead her into dinner and then to sit beside her.
It was an odd thing, but no matter how despondent she became, Bertram always made her feel better. He was such agood friend to her. If only he could be more than a friend, but she had given her word.
18: Sunday
Bea enjoyed Sundays, for it was the one day of the week when she could be sure of having her father to herself for a little while. Mama always took the carriage, but Bea and her father chose to walk to church. It was a bone of contention between them.
“Persons of quality do not walk with the servants, Mr Franklyn,” Mama said disdainfully.
“We are all equal in the sight of God,” he replied. “On the Sabbath, I like to walk to church in humility and penitence, like the sinner I am.”
But Mama did not see herself as a sinner, and saw nothing wrong with putting the horses to on a Sunday, even for the short journey to church. Bea did not mind, for she could walk with her father and it was, for a little while, as if Mama had never come into their lives.
She had no objection to Mama in principle, for she had seen for herself how the little worry lines that had begun to cloud Papa’s forehead vanished after his marriage, and he smiled agreat deal and seemed very happy. No loving daughter could object to that. But for herself, she found Mama oppressive and restrictive, and was therefore disproportionately pleased when she could enjoy her papa’s company alone.
Today she tucked her arm into his as they set out. “This is pleasant, is it not? No rain, and it is not uncomfortably hot. But sadly our last Sunday at Landerby. How we shall miss our new friends!”
“You have enjoyed yourself, I think, mingling with all these great ones. More than at Marshfields, or am I wrong about that?”
“Not wrong, no. The Marshfields people always seemed to look down on me, so I could never be quite comfortable there, but here… would it be improper of me to say that there is more generosity of spirit?”
He nodded slowly. “My inclination is to agree with you. Shall I tell you a secret? I never feel comfortable at Marshfields, either, for all that they are my wife’s relations. They look down on me, too, and, which is worse, they look down on your stepmother, because she married a man like me.”
“Why do we keep going there, if neither of us enjoys it?”
“Because it is your stepmother’s home, and it gives her great pleasure to stay there. And I confess, it is amusing to write to one’s acquaintances and mention that one happens to be staying at the Duke of Camberley’s seat. Or here, as guests of the Duke and Duchess of Wedhampton.”
“Have you written toallyour acquaintances while we have been here?”
“Hmmm… yes, I believe I have. Some of them twice. We have come a long way, you and I, from that little house in Newcastle.”
“I liked that little house,” she said.
“Oh, so did I, and we were very happy there, but I like Highwood Place a great deal more. My inheritance was mostunexpected, but our lives have improved immeasurably because of it. We live more comfortably, and have been given the opportunity to raise ourselves in society. As a result, I have a most excellent wife, and you will soon have a husband worthy of you.”
A husband worthy of you.Those were Bertram’s words, too. “Who is a husband worthy of me?”
