When had I decided I didn’t need attentiveness?
Mama set down her knitting. The pale-blue booties she was making for Mrs. Johnson’s baby-to-come were almost complete. “How’s Mr. Marks today? Will he be running a little late?”
“He’s fine.” The words left my throat, easy and sweet. I hid the disappointment stewing in my stomach. “He apologized for missing church Sunday.”
“He’s a hard-working man.” Mama unrolled her knitting wool. Her voice was very even. She should be disappointed from all the work she and Mrs. Fitterwall had done to prepare teacakes and biscuits for my tea.
I tweaked my spectacles and took a closer look at Mama. The woman didn’t have on a mobcap. In fact, her typical walking gown was replaced with a resplendent burgundy carriage gown. “Mama, are you going to visit Mrs. Carter? Is her gout still bothering her?”
“Not today. But I may later in the week.”
That was too succinct of an answer. Mama wasn’t one to run on, but she seemed to be turning and looking at the clock on the mantle. “You look very pretty today, Ruth. Emerald green suits you.”
I had dressed with a little flair. I wanted Mr. Marks to notice me. I liked the color, liked the way the gown nipped at my waist, the fullness at my hips. Yes, I’d dressed for him and for me.
Well, this would be the perfect clothing for knitting. “Thank you, Mama.”
“Will Mr. Marks be here soon?”
My gaze dropped to the note in my lap. Having to saynothawed my frozen smile. “No tea today.”
“You were going to be in the formal dining room with him?”
The surprise in my mother’s voice shook the confidence I had, my resolve in accepting Marks’s absence. “I’ll make great progress on my knitting.”
“If you accept him, how much of your life will be spent waiting?”
“I don’t know.” I held my breath for a moment. “I think that this is not going to work.”
One. Two. Three. I waited, counting the seconds before she admonished me for being foolish, of losing this respectable man.
But she said nothing.
She looked over her shoulder toward the clock.
“Mama, do you have anything to say?”
Head down, her tidy gray locks looking shiny and satiny, Mama looped woolen yarn about her needles. “Read your letter. You must know where you stand.”
I made up fanciful reasons in my head—A burning building, a lost orphan, ten other widows in dire straits. I pulled at the ribbon and unfolded the letter. “Books. He has to study case law. He thinks he may show next week, definitely next week.”
“Will he show up for his own wedding day?”
Ah, the tigress did have an opinion. She’d approved of the barrister at Yuletide, but was she like Papa, rooting for the baron now?
Ester barreled into the parlor, her hands full of charcoals. “Did I leave my sketchbook in here? Ruth, I thought you’d be upstairs having tea with the handsome barrister.”
“No. Not today. Something has come up for him.” Again.
My sister offered me a small smile and patted me on the shoulder. “He’s a busy man. You see how long Bex’s days are.”
But her man always came home to her and acted as if he hated to be parted from her. I was happy for my sister, truly happy. I merely wondered if I’d ever be as fortunate. When would my Job’s luck turn good?
Maybe it had started to change, but I’d let my fears chase Wycliff away. He’d said to write to him. Maybe I should.
“Why don’t you and Ruth enjoy the tea upstairs?” Mama said. “I can—
“What is he doing here?” Ester bolted to the window. “Why?”
