Dolly took in the dazed expression on my face and smiled. “You’ll have fun.”
“I’ve never experienced London nightlife before,” I admitted.
Dolly tilted her head in surprise. “Truly?”
“Well, I went to Girton once I came of age. And then Oliver and I left for Athens as soon as we were married.”
“I’d forgotten all that,” she said softly. “We were so disappointed not to have the chance to celebrate with you.”
The regret on her face took me by surprise, but before I could respond, my mother cut in.
“Come here, Minerva.”
The hairs on the back of my neck tingled, and for one brief moment, I felt like a girl again, being calling into my mother’s sitting room to be admonished for some way in which I had unintentionally embarrassed her: I hadn’t made enough conversation at tea with the ladies, or I wore the wrong dress to church, or I didn’t respond the right way when questioned about my plans for the summer.
I had been henpecked for nearly every choice I made until the day I left for good. Only now, after being removed from this treatment for well over a decade, could I truly understand how damaging it had been. And perhaps worst of all, it was futile to discuss any of it with my mother, who believed she had done everything right by me. Everything a woman of her class and status was supposed to do. My few successes were only because of her guidance, and the many ways in which I had failed could only be because of my own stubbornness. It had been a frequent enough refrain for years, including one of the very last things she had ever said to me in person:
You are lucky a man like Oliver Harper is willing to overlook so very much in order to marry you.
I swallowed hard and forced my feelings aside as I moved to sit beside her. “Yes, Mother?”
She patted my arm, and for a moment, I was struck both by the gesture and by how frail her hand looked. “I’m glad you are spending time with Delia. You can be a good influence on her.”
I nearly choked on my sip of tea and had to clear my throat several times before I could respond. “Oh?”
My mother didn’t seem to notice my surprise. “I’m sure you can see that Delia has become rather …willfulsince you left. Perhaps I indulged her too much as a girl, but that doesn’t really account for some of her behavior,” she added, lowering her voice.
I glanced over at the children, who were in another corner of the room with Dolly.
“What kind of behavior?” But even as I asked the question, I had a fair idea.
“I don’t care so much about the painting,” my mother insisted. “Lots of ladies paint. It’s just that some of the people she has surrounded herself with are not quite—”
“A bunch of bloody bohemians,” my father suddenly interjected.
I managed to hold back my laugh, as he clearly wasn’t trying to make a joke. There was a sharpness in his gaze now that had been missing for most of the evening. “Well, that can’t be terribly surprising for an artist.”
My mother scowled. “Things have changed while you were away. I don’t know what to make of this younger generation. The women refuse to marry, they live on their own, theywork. And these are girls like your sister! Girls from good families who should know better.”
“I see,” I said slowly, though my reaction was far different than my parents. It appeared my sister had bucked even more conventions than I had. Frankly, I was thrilled for her.
“Try to talk some sense into her, will you?” my mother pleaded.
“I’m not really sure what you want me to say.”
She huffed in exasperation. “Tell her about the joys of having a family. Of being a wife. A mother. Perhaps if she spends more time with you and Tommy, she will see what she is missing out on.”
I very much wanted to point out that, technically, I was no longer a wife, given that my beloved husband had died quite suddenly and that I would wish that pain on no one, but I could see her point. “Perhaps she just needs to meet the right person,” I offered gently.
“That is not the issue,” my mother insisted. “She was the most popular girl of her season. She had half a dozen marriageproposals from the most eligible men in London and turned every single one of them down.”
“She was very young then,” I pointed out. As I recalled, Delia had been only seventeen for her coming out.
“And now she is even older than you when you married,” my mother countered.
I pursed my lips. She had made up her mind, and there was no arguing my way out of this. “Fine,” I relented. “I will speak with her about her future. But I can’t promise anything.”
Nevertheless, my mother looked relieved. “She will listen to you. Delia rather idolizes you now,” she added with a laugh.
