“No, I have had no correspondence with Oswald since my sister-in-law died. I cannot claim that the emotional attachment between us was ever as close as I would have liked, but I hold the ten-year difference in our ages largely to blame for that. I cannot fault Oswald’s sense of family responsibility on your father’s death. You must allow that he was prompt to come to our support even though his own wife was ill at the time.”
“If ‘support’ includes copious criticism of all the arrangements and our entire style of living, then I cannot deny it,” Laura said hardily; then, repenting her uncharitable tongue, she swallowed her spleen and asked with spurious interest, “What news did your brother have to impart, Mama?”
“The family has put off its black gloves in the last month and they are already established in Mount Street. Oswald intends to introduce Sophia to society this spring, but a … a problem has arisen.”
“And what might that be?” Laura prompted after a pause in which her parent’s glance stayed on the fork she was pushing aimlessly around her plate.
“Oswald had counted on his aunt Lady Grantly’s assistance in the matter. You are aware that his mother’s sister moved into his home to look after the children following his wife’s death.” Laura nodded when her mother turned questioning eyes on her. “Well, it seems Lady Grantly has declined the office of playing chaperone to Sophia on the grounds of failing health. She feels her constitution will not support the added strain of all the social activities associated with a girl’s first season, so Oswald is constrained to find another sponsor to help him launch Sophia. He has asked that I — we — pay them an extended visit this spring so that I might chaperone you and Sophia as you make you come-outs together.”
Her mother’s tale had gained momentum in the telling and demanded increased concentration from Laura as she finally announced the startling proposition.
She should have seen it coming; shehadseen it coming, but Laura remained utterly still while she battled against the heartfelt protest that rose to her lips at the mere thought of giving up the freedom she’d enjoyed since her father’s death to place herself under the rule of the almost unknown uncle whose overbearing manner had raised instinctive demons of resistance in her at the time of her father’s obsequies. As a young girl she’d dreamed of the glamour of a London season, but in the aftermath of the bitter contest with her father over his prospective marriage plans for her she’d lost all desire to take part in the thinly disguised annual ritual of parading marriageable girls before eligible men at numerous social events with the object of matrimony in everyone’s mind. Truth to tell, she’d rather lost interest in marriage as the only desirable goal for a woman. She found life on the farm with her mother quite satisfying and she would resist any course that would curtail the precious autonomy she currently enjoyed.
Having admitted this to herself, Laura found her eyes drawn to her mother’s lovely face, its customary serenity replaced at the moment by an inner excitement that was all the more compelling for being under firm control. Her heart sank as she realised how much her mother really did wish to go to London for the season, even though she would be under a roof that was not her own. With a sickening sense of swimming against the tide, Laura felt obliged to make one attempt to avert this from happening.
“Mama, do you not feel that I am rather too long in the tooth for the sort of social circus my uncle Oswald envisions for Sophia?”
The astonishment on Mrs. Marsh’s face demolished that argument even before she opened her mouth. “You talk as though you were in your dotage, my love,” she protested. “You are just turned twenty, which means that Sophia will soon celebrate her nineteenth birthday. I hold this to be an advantage over the seventeen-year-olds who have not yet acquired your poise and assurance. In any case, I am persuaded no female is ever at her last prayers, since many gentlemen do not find fluffy-headed misses barely out of the schoolroom quite to their taste.”
“But I am not at all certain that I wish to marry, Mama. I am perfectly content with our life on the farm, and I must be here during the spring planting. However, I should not wish to stop you from doing this favour for your brother and niece if you would like to go to London,” she added swiftly. “It would make a pleasant change for you, no doubt.”
The result of this conciliatory speech was not what Laura would have desired. Tears sprang to her mother’s eyes and she cried, “If you have no thought of marrying, it is because of me, because your father and I made such a failure of our marriage. I know how disappointed you were when your father would not permit you to visit your godmother in London after that unfortunate business about Chester Hamilton. I thought … I hoped this offer from my brother would make it up to you, but if you do not wish to go, then of course we shall stay home.”
“But, Mama, I am persuaded there is no reason that you may not go to London without me,” Laura argued, feeling like a heartless monster at causing her parent so much distress.
“That is out of the question, my child. You cannot remain here without a respectable woman to lend you countenance, nor would I ever consider leaving you to slave on the farm while I whirled around London with a niece I scarcely know. We will say no more about it; the subject is closed. I shall write to Oswaldtomorrow. He must find someone else to chaperone Sophia this spring.”
“Oh, Mama, I would not for the world deny you what I know would give you pleasure — I am not such a selfish beast as that! You have not been away from the farm since my grandfather died and Uncle Oswald inherited your family home. If you really wish to perform this service for your half-brother, then of course we will go to London for a few weeks. I daresay I shall enjoy the city excessively.”
Laura tried to infuse her capitulation with enough enthusiasm to drive away the doubt writ plainly on her mother’s face at first. By dredging up memories of famous places that she then professed to be dying to visit in the capital, she thought she had succeeded by the time they left the dining room.
Laura was still reeling from the realisation that, for the second time in less than a year and a half, her life had been dramatically changed from one moment to the next. For all practical purposes her father’s sudden death had left her with the responsibility for running the farm that would belong to her outright on her twenty-fifth birthday, though her mother had been granted the life tenancy. She relied on Mr. Judson’s long experience and informed advice, but the final decision was hers to make in all matters apart from the day-to-day management of the household affairs, which had always been her mother’s provenance. That she had assumed this responsibility by default of specific instructions left by her father had only gradually become apparent. It had happened one small practical decision at a time, adding up to a tacit governance accepted by her mother and acknowledged by all who had worked for her father.
And now a letter had arrived that had to all intents and purpose stripped her of her accustomed responsibility and independence for the immediate future, at least as far as daily decision-making was concerned. She would not be present tooversee the planting, purchase supplies or direct the activities of those who worked on the property. She would be residing in a London town house, subject to the will of a man who was little better than a stranger, and one not particularly well disposed in her favour. Dawning comprehension of what her sacrifice would entail threatened to cast her into a fit of the dismals.
Something akin to panic set her stomach churning as she sought to make sense of her mother’s conversation, which degenerated into a fragmented monologue detailing a myriad duties to be performed before leaving for London, plus a list of essential items to be added to their wardrobes for the new life they would be leading in town. Laura’s contributions were less than minimal; her reading matter in the past year had been concerned mainly with crop rotation and soil enrichment, and had not included any fashion journals that came into the house unless she was specifically directed to an article by her mother.
“Mama, how can we possibly afford the kind of clothes you have been describing?” she blurted out when the sheer volume of Mrs. Marsh’s listings finally penetrated her preoccupation with her own personal concerns for her surrendered autonomy.
Her mother’s laugh sounded oddly youthful in Laura’s ears. “Have I been prattling on as though expense were no consideration, dearest? I beg you to believe I am not so idiotic as that, but we are not paupers either, and what with it being winter and all, we have neither of us purchased any new clothes since our mourning period ended. Certainly some additions to our wardrobes would have been necessary even were we to remain in the country.”
“Yes, but not elaborate gowns for going to the opera or balls or the theatre, and not —”
“No, but Oswald has very generously offered to underwrite our needs for the season.” Seeing the frown that descended on her daughter’s brow, Mrs. Marsh continued persuasively, “You havesaid yourself that I shall be performing a signal service for my brother in agreeing to oversee Sophia’s come-out, dearest, so it must be a source of satisfaction to you to know that he considers himself to be in my debt.”
“But not in mine, Mama. I am at best a necessary evil to my uncle. I cannot feel comfortable about accepting expensive gifts from one who is not bound to me by close ties of affection.”
“Indeed, you do your uncle less than justice when you ascribe such feelings to him, Laura. That would be to deny the real sense of family obligation that he possesses.” Mrs. Marsh drew a sheet of paper from her workbag and unfolded it. “After requesting my assistance with Sophia, he writes,Naturally you will wish to introduce your own daughter to society if she cares to accompany you. It will be my duty and pleasure to augment your wardrobes to meet the requirements of a London season. I do not deem it impossible to achieve a respectable connection for Laura. Though she might be thought to be past the first blush of her youth, she is fortunate in favouring you to some extent, and I well recall that you were considered a success during your own come-out. You see, my love, your uncle does indeed consider himselfin loco parentisfor you.”
Laura murmured a weak acknowledgment. Nothing in Sir Oswald’s tepid offer negated her innate conviction that he was merely making a virtue of necessity by concealing a personal disaffection for his half-niece. He was shrewd enough to take his sister’s measure and desperate enough to assume the only posture that would elicit her cooperation in his plans for Sophia. Sinking her pride in a temporary accommodation with her uncle, no matter how distasteful, weighed less than a feather when set in the balance against twenty years of sacrifice on her mother’s part for her daughter’s sake.
Buoyed by her resolution, Laura mustered the grace to go along with all her parent’s preparations for departure with theappearance of pleasure, though it was grim determination rather than nobility of character that supplied the necessary spur. Their peculiar family circumstances having resulted in a restricted social life in the past, Laura had never developed much of an interest in fashion. Among the local matrons it was generally conceded that Annabelle Marsh possessed exquisite taste, and Laura had been the beneficiary of her mother’s unerring eye for what best became her. She was quite content to prolong her reliance on her mother’s judgment, deferring to her suggestions as a matter of course until Mrs. Marsh turned to her at breakfast one morning, saying anxiously, “Believe me, dearest, I have no desire to come the dictator over you. If you prefer the green sprigged muslin to the blue, please tell Mrs. Plunkett when she arrives. I only mentioned the blue because your straw bonnet has blue ribbons. That is easily remedied, you know.”
“No, Mama, I liked them equally well,” Laura assured her. The ladies had bespoken a couple of simple morning gowns to be made up immediately by a local seamstress who had obliged the Marsh family in the past. “You choose whichever you think most attractive when Mrs. Plunkett comes. I really must see Mr. Judson this morning. There is still much to decide before we leave.”
There was a multitude of small chores to be performed, minor decisions to be taken, farewell calls to be made in the neighbourhood, and instructions to be written out for the staff in their absence. They were occupied every hour of the day, and a considerable number of evening hours as well, with details pertaining to the move to London. Laura marvelled at the renewed energy displayed by her parent in the sennight between receiving Sir Oswald’s letter and the tentative date set for their departure; in fact, if hers had been a fanciful nature, she’d have declared that the invitation had made a new person of her mother, or a rejuvenated version at least. This new sparkle andalertness about her parent was Laura’s reward for her continued efforts at dissembling her own reluctance to embark on their London adventure. It took years from her age, a discovery that gave way to the irrelevant thought that were the flirtatious Lord Hastings to see Mrs. Marsh today, a repetition of his claim that she and her daughter looked enough alike to be twins would not seem much of an exaggeration at all.
At the thought, Laura’s lips curved into the first real smile she’d produced since committing herself to joining the army of husband-hunting girls about to be let loose on theton. She shuddered at this repulsive prospect but brought herself up short. She was committed, there was no going back, so it made sense to direct her thoughts to those aspects of her unwanted stay in London that would provide satisfaction, enlightenment or entertainment. She must keep reminding herself that there were scores of young ladies in towns and villages all over the land who would trade places with her in an instant.
