I pressed on my temples, willing away the stories of unwed women. The bodies in the streams. The bellies beaten black-and-blue. “Your best chance at a happy life is to prepare yourself for the ball—”
She tossed her head back in exasperation. “To which I am not invited!”
“And to comport yourself properly and continue to work on your accomplishments so that when you are—”
She placed both hands on the desk in front of her, and though shedid not slam them down, the movement had all the dramatic impact she needed to silence me. “I need to be able to take care of myself!”
“Youdo. You boil the sheets and carry your own water. I must draw the line somewhere. You must keep up appearances. I do not want a future where you must rummage for woodcock and snipe in order to eat your supper!” I looked out the window, toward the apples, and then back at my daughter, hair falling around her face, her worn hands splayed on the desk. I reached out and took one of them between my own. She had large knuckles and thin fingers. I saw, despite the rawness around the nail beds and the thickness on her palms, beauty, and strength. (I saw, also, all her hands from all her years: Her newborn hands and her three-year-old hands. Her five-year-old hands holding a quill and her eleven-year-old hands peeling grapes.) Her fingers pulsed in mine, as fragile and full of life as a small bird.
“You know well,” I told her, “that I have always donewhateverwas needed to take care of you.”
After Errol’s visit—and proclamation—I was determined to find a different way forward. I shed my mourning black and set about attending a litany of parties, balls, and dinners, saying yes to as many as I was offered, with the idea, or goal, of finding a suitable partner for marriage—for myself. My actions had nothing to do with grief, which still throbbed like an animal trapped under my skin. But if I could secure a second husband, our marriage settlement would present an opportunity to negotiate. I could find someone willing to take the role of guardian of my daughters, to cover their future dowries, and in turn, wrestle control from Errol and his looming intentions. I had no doubt he’d be willing to give us over easily.
But finding such a second husband wasn’t without its challenges. Though I was elevated in status by my first marriage, I now had two daughters, no land, and a meager amount of coin. I was not as young as most women on the marriage market. I could only consider widowers,most of whom were so far beyond my own years, I felt like a child bride myself. Still, I said yes to each invitation: I had only a few months before the girls were meant to board a ship that waited for them like a curse I could not break.
One evening I went to a supper hosted by a wizened neighbor who, I believe, understood my situation. After I arrived, Tabitha pulled me aside. “I’ve seated you next to Lord Robert Bramley. He is visiting and titled and has every one of his teeth. A well-tended estate in the southern province, if you don’t mind me being direct. He lost his wife five years ago, and also has a child, and, from what I hear, has been uninterested in taking a new wife. Yet every woman I know would throw themselves at his boots. Goodness.” She glanced over at her husband, who was twisting his ear hair while listening to another guest. “I would, too, if I had half a chance.”
It was an illustrious send-up for a man who, I soon discovered, spoke so softly it was as if he had swallowed his own sentences. Perhaps, I reasoned, that was why he gave the impression of being so sought after: People had to lean toward him to hear what he said.
Once we were seated and introduced, I turned to face him. “It seems we have been placed together because you are without a wife.” He looked surprised, but I leaned in, adding a twinkle to my eye. “And I without a husband. You have a daughter, our host has told me, and I have two. I think that should give us sufficient material for discussion, and if we keep it up properly”—I put a hand on his arm—“we may avoid chiding from dear Tabitha yet.”
He glanced over at our host, then back to me, and swallowed. “Two daughters,” he repeated.
I looked at him carefully. He had a pale complexion, blond hair, pillowy, purplish lips, and the posture of a person unused to their own body. I dropped my arm and decided to take a different approach. “They are seven and eight. Insatiable ages, and yet I miss them the moment I step away.”
“Mine is seven and a half.” He withdrew a watch from his pocketand flipped it open. On the inside of the gold lid there was an engraving of a young girl, maybe three years old. “When she was younger, of course.”
“She looks like a cherub,” I exclaimed, though it was hard to tell what she looked like at all from the simple etching.
“Her mother had it made for me.” He shut the face of the watch abruptly and, in the hurry to shove it back into his pocket, dropped the gold object onto the floor, where it rolled under my chair. He colored, embarrassed.
“Allow me,” I assured him, bending over to retrieve the timepiece from under my skirts. “We cannot let our precious objects escape, if even for a moment.” Upright once more, I handed it to him. The watch was heavy and likely worth as much as a horse. “Tabitha tells me you are from the south.”
“Yes—near the palace. Just a quarter day’s journey.”
“Do you spend much time in the city?”
“Not much,” he admitted, eyes distant.
“Do you not care for it?”
“I do. But I don’t. In some ways, I find it all right. In others…” He trailed off, as if flummoxed by the question.
“So, you prefer the country, then.” I nodded. “I love a good walk in the countryside.”
Our small talk continued in such a vein until an attendant interrupted us, offering a choice between regular wine and sherry.
“The wine,” Robert asked, “is it good?”
The attendant nodded. “A fine year, my lord.”
“But you’d say the same of the sherry?”
“Both are excellent choices.”
“Indeed,” Robert said softly, but continued deliberating until the silence grew unnatural.
“Sir?” The attendant held out one of the bottles. “Shall I pour you the wine?”
