“The better question is—am I happy not having a husband who leaves me behind and only sends me frustratingly short letters?” Kate shivered. “Of course I am. I also don’t conform to convention. I’m not the only one in my family. I have a sister who is a wife, a mother, and a chemist. Her husband taught her everything she needed to know and they own their shop.”
“She works?”
“Every day. I admire Alice more than any woman I know. She’s intelligent and her husband refuses to let her hide her intellect ‘behind her skirts,’ or so he says. He is the perfect man.”
“I can’t imagine my Peter speaking of me that way. When he was home, he called me Bird and liked patting me on the head, but he rarely heard a word I said, unless he wanted a bit of ‘you know.’” Mrs. Warbler pulled a face of distaste and pushed her glass an inch to the side, her brows drawing together. “So messy and very unenjoyable and yet we can’t help but long for someone in our lives. Someone to make me feel useful.”
To feel useful.
Kate understood exactly what the older woman meant, and in that moment experienced a bond between them.
One of the reasons for her crusade to return to London was to stave off those feelings of uselessness. Life had started to become a drudge. Kate had felt age creeping upon her. She’d needed a new challenge, or at least that seemed to be her nature. Alice and her other sisters seemed content. Kate envied them their peace in their homes, husbands, and children, telling herself that wasn’t for her.
And it wasn’t. She wanted more... except she couldn’t define exactly what “more” was.
“Perhaps I would feel differently if the colonel and I had had children,” Mrs. Warbler said. “Do you regret not having them? I’m certain you have had plenty of men in your life?”
Immediately, Kate’s guard went up. She drew back and Mrs. Warbler made a sound of genuine alarm. “I did not mean to insult you, Miss Addison. I was just...” Her explanation trailed off.
“Prying?” Kate suggested tartly.
“No, no. I rather admire you. I invited you here because I owe you an apology. My behavior the other day was appalling. I don’t know what I was thinking. I can be judgmental. That is true. However, to throw things, especially a turnip, well, I am appalled at my behavior. I’m sorry for attacking you.”
Kate studied her a moment. She’d been given false apologies before.
The image of Hemling the last time she’d seen him rose as a specter in her mind. His mighty lordship on his knees begging her to return to him. He’d honestly believed he was making an offer she couldn’t refuse.
She also remembered how his contriteness had turned vindictive, how he’d done all in his power to ensure no theater in London would take her in.
But Mrs. Warbler wasn’t a powerful lord or even angry. Yes, she had been spiteful. Then again, Kate had often wondered how many women’s judgmental attitudes and general vindictive pettiness, especially toward their own sex, was because they felt a need to exert a bit of authority in their lives. There had been times when she’d caught herself wanting to lash out because she’d felt powerless. It had been just such an incident that had pushed her to start her own troupe. She’d grown tired of feeling as if her opinion did not matter.
“I’m sorry for the incident myself,” Kate answered. “I had not realized the impact my appearance would have on the social gathering.”
“It was the dress,” Mrs. Warbler assured her. “You looked magnificent, and there wasn’t a man in the room who didn’t notice. Or woman. We pay attention to those things more than the men do.”
Kate had dressed to tweak the nose ofoneman, and it hadn’t madeanyimpression that she could see on Brandon Balfour.
Mrs. Warbler took in Kate’s simple muslin day dress with its modest décolleté. The material had small flowers woven into it. “You are the very image of a genteel lady today.”
“I always thought it was manners that made a woman genteel.”
“You know that is not true. It has to do with who her husband is or if she has male family members to protect her.”
Kate raised her sherry glass. “Mrs. Warbler, that is the most astute observation I have heard for some time. I also believe you should write.”
“I’m too old—”
“Men write when they are old. What is to stop us?”
“Ourselves.”
“Exactly. There is no excuse.”
Her hostess lifted her own glass. “You are right. Absolutely right.” She downed her sherry.
Kate took a small sip and then asked the question that had been on her mind since she’d first met the lady. “Why do you wear a wig?”
Mrs. Warbler touched the hairpiece. “It was the fashion when I was young. Because I look better. Is there any other reason?”
