Her father’s new demand for compliance was demoralizing.
Ella understood his arguments—to a point. She’d been allowed much more freedom of thought and action than most young women. Would she enjoy such autonomy after he died, when she was left to contend with the world alone without his shelter and provision?
Time was not on their side, and difficult decisions needed to be made, but her trust in him, for the first time, was waning. How could she really trust anyone when the rules were constantly shifting in a game she did not understand?
She clipped a fading leaf from the rose’s stem and then another. She should feel relieved at Mr. Abernathy’s interest. It was no secret that she had to marry, and it never had been. If she did not, she’d lose her beloved conservatory, not to mention the dream she’d been planning for since her mother died—offering education for girls.
Her mother had been very clear: While grateful that Keatley Hall could provide such a stout education for boys, she was frustrated that young women were not given the same opportunity to develop and expand their minds. Ella mirrored her mother’s abhorrence of the unequal treatment, and if she could help even a few young women find power through education, she would be gratified.
But somewhere, somehow, time had slipped by, slowly and largely unnoticed, and the practicalities of life had dwarfed urgency. Suddenly action was inevitable, and the price to keep her dreams alive would be dear indeed.
The idea of matrimony was generally agreeable to Ella, and she’d never opposed the idea of marriage to Nathaniel Rawlston. She had not loved him, but he was amiable, astute, and could engage in a pleasurable conversation. Most importantly, he shared her family’s vision for furthering the natural philosophies in all forms.
But Abraham Abernathy? The idea would take getting used to.
Movement at the conservatory’s glass door caught her attention. Mrs. Chatterly, their housekeeper, stood in the doorway, ashawl wrapped around her thin shoulders and a candlestick in her hand. “I thought I’d find you here.”
Refusing to appear out of sorts, Ella forced a smile. “Of course I’m here! Did you see these new blooms? Aren’t they lovely?”
Mrs. Chatterly had been Ella’s mother’s lady’s maid, and after Ella’s mother’s death, Mrs. Chatterly assumed the role of Keatley Hall’s housekeeper. Besides Ella’s father, Mrs. Chatterly had been the one constant in Ella’s life.
The older woman stepped in farther and wordlessly assessed the bloom in question before she spoke. “Your father informed me that he’d been in conversations with Mr. Abernathy. He also told me why.”
Ella’s smile faded. She knew better than to attempt to fool Mrs. Chatterly with a feigned cheery disposition. “I suppose I should be pleased. A solution at last. Father has figured it out. I shouldn’t question it.”
Mrs. Chatterly stepped to a small wooden worktable just inside the door, scooted a stack of empty pots to the side, and placed her chamberstick next to it. “But you are questioning it, aren’t you?”
Ella’s response felt heavy on her tongue, preventing her from an immediate response. Mr. Abernathy was such a diversion from the plan—a diversion that made her feel as if she’d been tricked instead of contributing to the solution. “You think he’s right, don’t you?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think, does it?” Mrs. Chatterly tilted her graying head to the side, her eyes unnervingly direct.
“Yes. It does.”
Mrs. Chatterly sighed and walked around Ella to the far side of the table, where a mature potted lemon tree stretched its glossy leaves and perfumed the air with its zesty aroma. “Do you remember when you were a young girl and you’d encounter something you didn’t like or understand? What would your mother tell you to do?”
“Be curious.”
The unspoken words were ingrained on her mind and heart. The phrase had been her mother’s solution to any conundrum and was the first advice she would offer when faced with a dilemma—to neutralize the emotion and approach something rationally.
Mrs. Chatterly’s intense gaze did not shift, and Ella knew it would not until she gave the housekeeper the correct answer. “To be curious.”
“That’s right.” Mrs. Chatterly lifted her pointed chin, as if satisfied that her clue had incited the answer to her riddle. “And I believe she would urge you to be curious about Mr. Abernathy.”
Ella’s nose wrinkled in response.
Mrs. Chatterly’s dry laugh filled the chamber. “He’s not that ghastly, dear child. We’ve all known him a long time.”
Ella snipped another leaf.
Mrs. Chatterly was right, she supposed, but in all the years Ella had known Mr. Abernathy, she’d barely noticed him. He was quiet. Plain. Unremarkable.
Mrs. Chatterly did not stop. “I imagine the bigger question would be, why would henotbe interested in this arrangement? He’s served the school loyally for over a decade, and becoming headmaster would be his next logical step. It would mean great social advancement for him. What reasonable man would not relish such prestige and responsibility?”
Ella’s words seemed almost ridiculous as they passed her lips. “But he doesn’t care aboutme.”
Mrs. Chatterly shook her head. “You were not thinking of aromantic relationship with Mr. Rawlston. Why is this different? Mr. Abernathy’s a good man. No, he’s not as entertaining or charming as Mr. Rawlston, but maybe he’s better suited. This would hardly be the first marriage concocted for a specific purpose. With mutual respect and common interests, it will end up all right.”
Ella wanted to scream at the injustice of it. How could Mrs. Chatterly condone this idea? Just because she was a woman, she was forced into this horrid ultimatum—marry or lose the life she’d always known. Her mother would be appalled.
