Chapter 22
THE NEXT MORNING, as Ella joined the guests already gathered on the forecourt to prepare for the hunt, cautious optimism flared. The clear blue sky welcomed her, and the goldfinch’s song entranced her. Despite the turmoil of the last few days, a renewed sense of purpose infused her.
Perhaps her interaction with Mr. Rowe the previous night—and the encouraging sense of solidarity she felt with him—had something to do with it.
As she made her way through guests and servants, Ella set her sights on Phoebe and Miss Sutton, who were standing at the east edge of the drive.
“How charming you look this morning!” called Miss Sutton as Ella drew nearer.
Eager to put the perceived disharmony from the previous evening behind them, Ella smiled. “Thank you. As do you both.”
“’Tis the fresh air.” Miss Sutton lifted her face to the sky, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply.
“What wonders it does for the soul.” When she opened her eyes, she used her hand to shield them from the sunlight and turned to the forecourt.
“And how handsome the gentlemen look in their hunting attire!”
Ella turned as more of the men filtered through the stable yard gate, leading their horses, their riding boots shiny from the morning dew.
Hunting dogs raced about them, barking and weaving amongst the horses.
The refreshing breeze flapped their riding coats and carried their boisterous laughter, making them seem more like schoolboys than grown men on the verge of a hunt.
“I suppose there could be only one man drawing your attention, Miss Wilde.”
Shocked at Miss Sutton’s odd—and personal—statement, Ella winced. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Oh, don’t you?” Miss Sutton’s giggle seemed harmless. “I am, of course, referring to Mr. Abernathy. One could not help but notice his amorous attention toward you last night during the demonstration.”
Fire coursed through Ella. The nerve to comment on something so intimate. To someone she barely knew!
“There, do you not see him?” Miss Sutton nodded in Mr. Abernathy’s direction.
“I fear you’ve misinterpreted the situation, Miss Sutton,” blurted Ella, refusing even to glance at the man in question. “I’ve no interest in anyone.”
“La, isn’t that what we all say?” teased Miss Sutton. “But look.”
Ella’s stomach knotted, and she steeled herself as she turned to see Mr. Abernathy approaching.
Mr. Abernathy was not dressed for a hunt.
Instead of breeches, ill-fitting trousers hugged his long legs, and leather pumps, each boasting a bright brass buckle, enclosed his narrow feet.
As he drew closer, he lifted his seemingly too-tall beaver hat, and the morning sun highlighted the silver glint of his otherwise brown hair.
His bow was ostentatiously low. “Ladies.”
“Do you not intend to hunt today, Mr. Abernathy?” inquired Miss Sutton.
“Indeed, no. I believe the other gentlemen have that task all but covered, and I hope to spend my day in much more pleasant ways.”
“I don’t blame you, sir,” corroborated Miss Sutton. “I agree—it is such a vile way to spend the day when there are such lovely grounds to be explored.”
Ella blinked, astounded. What was happening? Miss Sutton was acting as hostess, and Phoebe’s silence was unprecedented.
When did Ella lose control?
In a sudden change of topic, Mr. Abernathy shifted to face Ella and fully extended his arm toward her.
“I was hoping, Miss Wilde, that you would do me the honor of showing me the formal garden. Your father claims that no one is better acquainted with it than you, and I’m exceedingly fond of such things. ”
Panic clutched her as she stared at his offered arm.
He clearly intended her to take it. From the corner of her eye, she spied Mr. Rowe crossing the yard to the main gate, chatting intently with Mr. Templeton.
She wanted to run. She wanted to gather her skirts and race through the meadows to the woodlands and hide among the oaks, just as she had when she was a girl.
But there was no running away from this.
Regardless of her own personal desires, the realities of life were happening all around her.
The best she could do in this moment—in any moment—was to try to keep the promises she made to her father and do her duty.
Her cheeks ached at the forced smile as she placed her hand atop his arm.
“Of course, Mr. Abernathy. I’d be delighted. ”
Under normal circumstances, Ella could think of no lovelier way to pass the early morning hours.
The dew still clung to the grasses, like diamonds scattered in every direction.
Purple-hued aster and delicate rose hydrangeas bent and swayed in the gentle breeze, and bees hummed above them.
As much as she tried, however, not even the loveliest thought could negate the fact that she was here alone with Mr. Abernathy.
Compared to Mr. Rowe, Mr. Abernathy seemed lackluster in every way.
His words. His appearance. Mr. Rowe made her feel alive in every sense of the word, and Mr. Abernathy’s presence, whether he intended it or not, made her feel like a child, as if she were incapable of forming her own thoughts and opinions.
But she had promised her father that she would try. And try she would.
She’d employ one of the only bits of social advice that her mother had given her, which was simply to ask questions when she didn’t know what to say. “Are you fond of gardening, Mr. Abernathy?”
“Immensely.”
His response gave her very little to respond to, so she proceeded to the next question in her queue. “Have you visited the Vauxhall Gardens in London?”
“I was there not even a fortnight ago. Brilliant layout.”
It had been months since she’d last been to the beautiful garden with Mr. Rawlston when the spring tulips and daffodils dotted the space.
She forced the memory to subside so she could focus on the task at hand.
“Are you fond of the formal layout of such gardens, or do you prefer a more natural layout?”
“Certainly a more manicured design.” He paused on their path and turned to a clump of delicate white oxeye daisies. “Take those, for instance.”
“Leucanthemum vulgare,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Leucanthemum vulgare,” she repeated. “It’s the botanical name for the oxeye daisy.”
“How clever of you to know that! Now, if it were me, I would not plant the daisies here at all. I would put them there, along that stone fence. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”
It dawned on her that this was the first time they’d had a conversation. A real conversation about something they both seemed interested in. Perhaps, if she tried hard enough, she could find some common ground with him.
They walked farther into the north garden until the sounds of horses, men, and dogs had completely faded, and after several moments of strolling, he stopped abruptly. “Do you see your future here at Keatley Hall, Miss Wilde?”
“My future?”
“Yes. Your future. I’m sure you have a strong attachment to this place.”
“I do.”
“It is a lovely thought, is it not, to think of your children growing up in the same house as their ancestors? Such a sense of continuity.” He bent down and snapped a small white rose from its stem.
The rose did not tear away completely, as he had likely intended, and instead the delicate stem splintered.
He chuckled at the failed action and then, as if quite pleased with himself, handed her the rose.
She accepted the damaged flower and offered him a weak smile.
“Your father shared with me that he informed you of the conversations we have had about the future of the Keatley Hall School for Boys and all that would entail.”
All that would entail.
He was talking about her. About marriage.
She looked around, hoping for a diversion to save her from this conversation. Suddenly the sun that had been so lovely seemed harsh, the gardens seemed so isolated.
She remained silent.
“I know such a future may not be the one you had envisioned, but we should probably, at some point, discuss it. Your father is anxious for closure and security.”
The disapproval she’d felt from him the previous night weighed heavily on her mind, and the current tone of his voice was practical and transactional. Was this the moment? Was Mr. Abernathy going to propose?
The thought incited a panic within her, and Ella’s ears rang with such intensity that she felt almost faint.
“What are your thoughts on the matter?” he prompted.
“I-I’m afraid I’ve not had time to come to a conclusion on it.”
His tone neither persuasive nor emotional, he said, “It is your father’s desire that we should marry, and the Society members are already speaking of it.
Even though you might not consider me the most fitting man for a husband, I am a fitting man for the school.
I’ve dedicated my life to it, and I hope that we can, in time, figure out a way to make this plan viable for us both.
But I must add, if this is something that would even be considered a possibility, I would suggest you employ a little more decorum. ”
She stopped abruptly at the accusation. “Decorum?”
He clicked his tongue disparagingly. “Arguing with the guest speaker in a public forum. Talking alone with a young man in the conservatory. It does not paint you—or the school—in the best light. And tomorrow is the visit to the site where you want to open a girls school, am I right?”
At his criticism of her behavior, her panic gave way to anger.
She refused to be reprimanded and steadied her voice.
“You’re right, Mr. Abernathy. I intend to teach young ladies to think for themselves and to question the norms around them.
They should embrace their abilities and contribute to the intellectual community.
I was fortunate enough to have my mother to guide me in such matters. I hope to continue her passions.”
Satisfied that she had made her point, she continued walking beside Mr. Abernathy along the curved path in silence until he paraded a lengthy list of neutral topics, from the new species of turtles discovered off the Italian coast to the plans to build a new dovecote on his property.
She listened politely, responded when needed, and kept her expression engaged.
If it weren’t for her father’s request, she’d find a way to break free from Mr. Abernathy and his oppressive views. In the meantime she had to be true to herself—and her mother’s memory.