Chapter Fifteen #2
Nonetheless, Livy nearly changed her mind when she realized how exalted some of the ladies were.
Jenna—the group insisted on first names—was so merry and so approachable that it was easy to forget she was married to a man who was in line to become a duke, and though Pauline was already a viscountess, she had confided she was a country girl at heart.
But almost everyone in the group was titled, and one—her name was Margaret—was a countess. Surely, they would not care about the fate of a couple of merchant’s sons, one of whom was not even legitimate?
Even the ladies who lacked titles were clearly well-bred, though Livy supposed that she and Cilla presented well to those who didn’t know their background.
There were two Miss Worthingtons, a Miss Wharton (who must be a younger sister of Lord Wharton), and a Mrs. Paddimore, who was a widow and apparently the dearest friend of the countess.
Lady Thornstead, as hostess, called the meeting to order several minutes after Livy and Cilla arrived.
“Pauline is going to read us one of her poems,” she said, “then Margaret will give us a report on our donations to the clinic. We shall have afternoon tea after that, and then Eva is going to lead the discussion on our book for the month, Caroline Lamb’s Glenarvon.
After that, we shall open the floor to anyone who wishes to raise a particular issue.
As always, we shall end the meeting with deciding the hostess and agenda for next week. Pauline, if you would?”
She waved a graceful hand at Lady Wharton, who stood and clasped her hand behind her back.
The poem was a sweet and rather sentimental panegyric, from the point of view of a mother cat, to the kittens who were one by one leaving her nest in the straw of the stable loft, to go to new homes.
As Livy listened, she resolved that she would accept the invitation to raise an issue, and in the meantime, she would relax and enjoy herself.
It was a pleasant afternoon. Everyone praised the poet, and then Margaret, Countess Charmain, spoke briefly about how sums of money donated by the group had been spent to buy supplies for a medical clinic in the slums. Apparently, the women had also donated blankets, and these had been much appreciated.
Over tea, one of the other women whispered that Margaret was an herbalist, who worked with the doctors at the clinic and supplied them with herbal remedies from her garden.
“Does her husband not object?” Livy whispered back, but the countess was that rare creature, a single woman with her own title and her own fortune! Livy was very impressed.
Livy and Cilla had read Glenarvon last year when it was first published and could give their opinions about the heroine and the hero.
The group was split into two camps over the story of seduction and betrayal, and the sisters found themselves on opposite sides.
Livy and her allies thought the heroine over-melodramatic and the hero unlikely.
Cilla’s side claimed that the heroine had been driven into melodrama by the hero’s manipulation.
As for those denizens of the fashionable world that had been caricatured in it, the Wintergreen sisters had no personal experience to go on, but knew only what the newspapers had said.
Finally, Jenna announced that it was time to open the floor.
Livy put up a hand quickly, before she lost her nerve. “Ladies, I want to ask for your advice,” she began.
“Of course,” said Pauline. “How can we help?”
She laid out the whole story. How they had met someone who had been seduced with promises of marriage and then abandoned. How the man lived near Marplehurst Hall, and was therefore a fair target for a Misrule Night shaming in the village’s tradition.
Pauline took over to explain the tradition of Misrule Night in Marplestead, the nearest village to the Hall.
“Brentwood Court, where I live, is nearer to Fenton, the third of the three villages in the area,” she explained.
“I have never been to a Misrule Night, though I believe some of the Fenton villagers go. It was Colin Sanderson, wasn’t it?
It is not the first time he has been implicated in seducing an innocent, and the party he held last Christmas when his wife was away was notorious. ”
Livy nodded, and one of the other women commented, “It sounds like he deserved whatever you did to him.”
“Except that we got the wrong man,” Livy confessed. She told them the story of how Bane stopped the rumpus, and how Colin had tried, and was still trying, to use the tale of the shaming to blame his brothers for his own misbehavior.
“I have heard the gossip,” said one of the ladies, and several others nodded their heads.
“Are you saying that one brother is a rakehell and a profligate and the other two are not?” The speaker sounded doubtful, and even slightly scornful.
“According to my husband,” said Jenna, “that is correct. He has known the Sanderson brothers for many years, as Lord Marple was his godfather, and he has been visiting Marplehurst Hall since he was a child. Drake and Bane Sanderson are close to him in age, but Colin is eight years older, and was off doing young-man things when the other boys were building tree houses and chasing footballs. Even then, Garry says, there were rumors that Mrs. Sanderson chose only old maids because her husband and her oldest stepson could not be trusted to keep their hands to themselves.”
“It is other bodily parts that cause the trouble,” said one of the married ladies.
Livy grimaced. And isn’t that the truth!
“You said you wanted advice. About what,” Jenna asked.
“My question is, should I share the story of Misrule Night? And will it help the two younger Sanderson brothers or harm them?”
“What are the Sanderson brothers to you?” asked Margaret. “I suppose what I want to know is whether your motivation is justice or something more personal.”
Cilla answered. “For me, it is both. I hope I would be concerned about anyone who was being persecuted with a farrago of lies. But also, Mr. Drake Sanderson is courting me, and I like him very much.”
“And you, Livy?” said Margaret. “We know that Mr. Bane Sanderson is courting you. Do you feel about him as your sister does about his brother?”
“How can one know?” It was a cry from Livy’s heart.
“When we marry, we put our lives into the hands of our husbands, and if one makes a mistake… ‘A man may smile and smile and be a villain.’ Didn’t Shakespeare say that?
It certainly applies to Mr. Curston, who has also announced his intention of marrying me.
He tries to flatter me, but with compliments that mean nothing, for he does not notice me at all.
And the things I hear about him confirm that he is horrid—for one, he was at Colin Sanderson’s party.
He is friends with my cousin Lord Marple, who is a bully and a spoilt boy.
Marriage is too big a risk, or so I have always thought. ”
“But Bane Sanderson is giving you second thoughts.” Jenna made it a statement, not a question, but Livy answered it. “Yes. No. I don’t know.” The last three words were almost a wail.
Bane confused her. She responded to his kindness, his respect, even his teasing—for she had known from the first that the arguments they had every time they met were intended as entertainment, by them both.
She admired him, too. “My mother did it,” he had said about his face. Just the facts. No bitterness or anger, even against the father who neglected him and the stepmother who despised him.
On the other hand, he was a man. How was she to know whether he was just after her dowry? Or whether he would turn into a bully and a tyrant behind closed doors?
“I like him,” she admitted. “But I am… cautious.”
“Afraid,” accused Mrs. Paddimore—Regina, rather.
“And who can blame you? When we marry, we give ourselves, our property, our future children—if we are blessed with children—our happiness, all into the hands of a man. He has all the legal power in the marriage, and we have only what we are permitted.”
“We marry so we can have children,” said another of the women, “and children make it worthwhile.”
“Or we refuse to marry so we do not have children,” said another. “Children might be one’s reward for marriage and childbirth, but I can enjoy my nieces and nephews without risking either.”
Jenna spoke from the perspective of the happily married. “If we are fortunate, we marry a kind man who respects us. A man who will be our partner and our friend, as well as our lover.”
“But how is a person to know?” Livy asked.
“It is harder when we have more to offer than ourselves,” Margaret said.
“That is why I am still single, in fact. Perhaps some of my suitors have wanted more than my fortune and my title, but most of them were single-mindedly in pursuit of what I would bring to them, with never a thought of what they would bring to me.”
“We have our intelligence,” said Pauline.
“Margaret, you have used it to assess your suitors and have found them wanting. And Livy, you have already rejected Mr. Curston, and I applaud your good sense. Cilla, the same applies to Lord Marple. Neither of those gentlemen evidence any interest in settling down and being good husbands.”
“That is true,” said Jenna. “And we have our feelings. Are our doubts based on our personal fears, or on something that the suitor has said or done? Let us trust our own instincts, particularly if a suitor seems intellectually a good match but we just cannot warm to them. At the same time, let us not allow our feelings to override our good sense.”
“Lastly,” said one of the other married ladies, “we have advisors. Our parents, perhaps, or our friends. People who can give their opinions about our suitors, and perhaps even investigate finances or behavior. If I had taken advice, my first marriage would never have happened. Though, to give Fairburn credit, at least he had the courtesy to catch an ague in one of his low dives, and die of it.”
“Christiana,” said Pauline, “we all love you, but you are giving Livy and Cilla a misguided opinion of you.”
Livy smirked. She had a feeling that she and Christiana had a very similar outlook on the world. As to the advice? It was practical and reassuring. She would have to give the whole Bane thing further thought. But perhaps—just perhaps—he might be worth taking the risk.