"You know," Aunt Bertha said finally, "when I entered into matrimony with Harold, I thought safety was the most important thing. I had watched my mother struggle after my father died, the uncertainty and the fear of what each day might bring. I swore I would never put myself in that position. So I chose Harold, who was kind and steady and offered me security above all else."
"And you were happy with him."
"I was content. There is a difference, though I did not realise it at the time." Aunt Bertha's voice was soft, remembering. "Harold was a good man. He gave me a comfortable life,a respectable position, everything I thought I wanted. My feelings for him were of a gentle regard. There was none of that unreasonable fervour which keeps a lady awake, nor that desperate persuasion that one’s life is lost should the object of her thoughts be absent for a moment.”
"That sounds rather peaceful, actually."
"It was peaceful. And then Frederick came along, and I learned that peace is not the same as happiness." Aunt Bertha smiled, her eyes distant. "Frederick was absolute chaos. He disrupted everything I thought I knew, everything and I thought I wanted. And I held him in such high esteem that it frightened me."
"Were you not afraid of losing that safety?”
"Terrified," Aunt Bertha admitted. "But I was more afraid of never knowing what it felt like to truly, completely love someone. To have my heart so full that it might burst from the sheer weight of it." She reached out and patted Vanessa's arm with gentle affection.
"You may be right, dear. You may be entirely right. Nice might be exactly what you need." She resumed walking, her lavender shawls fluttering in the spring breeze. "But do make certain you are choosing nice because you want it, and not because you are afraid of wanting something else."
***
Lord Deane arrived at precisely three on the hour, as he always did. Vanessa had changed into a day dress of pale yellow—not because she wished to impress him, but because her mother had laid it out on her bed with a note that said simply;Wear this. One did not argue with Lady Wayworth's notes.
The drawing room had been hastily tidied, the chaos of packing temporarily banished behind closed doors. Lady Wayworth presided over the tea service with the sereneexpression of a woman whose household was not, in fact, in complete disarray. Aunt Bertha had been gently but firmly encouraged to remain in her chambers, her talent for saying inappropriate things at inopportune moments being well documented.
"Lady Vanessa." Lord Deane bowed over her hand with practiced grace. "You look lovely. That shade of yellow suits you admirably."
"You are too kind, Lord Deane."
"I am merely observant." He took the seat she indicated, accepting a cup of tea from Lady Wayworth with appropriate murmurs of thanks. "I understand you are preparing for the journey to London. It must be quite an undertaking."
"It is rather chaotic," Vanessa admitted. "Mama has been directing the servants like a military campaign."
"Organisation is essential for such endeavors," Lady Wayworth said. "One cannot simply throw things into carriages and hope for the best. There is always a system."
"I do not doubt it, Lady Wayworth. Your reputation for efficiency precedes you."
Lady Wayworth preened slightly at the compliment and Vanessa hid a smile behind her teacup. Lord Deane was good at social niceties, the careful flattery and the navigation of drawing room politics. He knew exactly what to say and when to say it, how to put people at ease, how to make himself agreeable without seeming obsequious.
It was, she supposed, an admirable quality. It was also oddly exhausting to witness.
"I hope the Season will provide many opportunities for us to further our acquaintance," Lord Deane said, turning his attention back to Vanessa. "There are several events I am particularly looking forward to. The Castleton ball, of course.And I understand Lady Haberton is hosting a musicale that promises to be quite exceptional."
"Lady Haberton's musicales are always exceptional," Lady Wayworth said. "She has a remarkable gift for securing talented performers. Last year she had an Italian soprano who made half the audience weep."
"I look forward to it." Lord Deane's eyes remained on Vanessa. "Perhaps you might save me a dance at the Castleton ball? If your card is not already full, that is."
"I would be happy to."
"Excellent." His smile was warm, genuine, reaching his eyes in a way that suggested he actually meant it. "I confess I have been thinking about our last conversation. About honesty, and the masks we wear in society. It is rare to find someone willing to speak plainly about such things."
Vanessa felt a flicker of something, interest, perhaps, or at least curiosity. Their last conversation had been more substantial than she had expected. Lord Deane had revealed glimpses of depth beneath his polished exterior, hints of a man who wanted more than the comfortable life his position afforded him.
"I enjoyed our conversation as well," she said, and found that she meant it. “How vastly refreshing to occupy our minds with something of substance, rather than the tedious reports of the day.”
"Then perhaps we might continue in that vein." He set down his teacup and leaned forward slightly, his expression earnest. "I have been reading the most fascinating treatise on agricultural reform. I know it sounds dreadfully dull, but the author makes some compelling arguments about crop rotation and soil management that I believe could revolutionise farming practices across England."
"Agricultural reform?" Lady Wayworth's eyebrows rose. "Is that quite appropriate drawing room conversation, Lord Deane?"
"Forgive me, Lady Wayworth. I sometimes forget myself when I am passionate about a subject." He had the grace to look slightly abashed. "I do not wish to bore Lady Vanessa with talk of farming."
"I am not bored," Vanessa said, surprising herself. "I would be interested to hear more. My father has been experimenting with new methods on our estate, though I confess I do not understand the details."
