Chapter Four #3
The lady across the table smiled at her. “It’s my favorite, as well. We have something in common already.”
She was pretty, her dark brown hair in a perfect braided bun that must have taken her maid an hour to pin together, and her eyelashes looked long and fluttery above her pretty blue eyes.
Her mouth was a little skinny, her lips either flattened or very narrow.
It made Rebecca want to curl her own lips into her mouth.
“Are you going to marry Papa?” she asked, as Butler led Bradley back into the room and they set platters of tiny sandwiches and fruit and jams and squares of bread and crackers on the table.
The lady chuckled. “Oh, goodness. It’s a bit early to answer that question, I’m afraid.
I certainly like and admire your father, as I hope he likes me, but first we must learn if we’re compatible, if our alliance would indeed be a benefit to all parties.
” She leaned across the table. “And he has to ask me, first,” she whispered, her smile deepening.
“Well said, Pauline.” Her father lifted his glass of Madeira and toasted Lady Pauline.
“What should I call you, my lady?” Lady Pauline asked. “I hope we’re going to become good friends, after all.”
“I’m Becks,” Rebecca said, reaching for a sandwich.
It went on like that for an hour, with one grown-up or the other asking something silly like “Do you enjoy the theater?” or “What is your opinion on the Corn Laws?” Her father nodded a great deal, which probably meant he was happy with the answers Pauline—Lady Pauline, since Rebecca hadn’t been given permission to go without using the formal address—gave.
Rebecca thought she could have given the same answers without even knowing what the Corn Laws were, because it seemed obvious what her papa preferred, but no one asked her.
In fact, they didn’t talk to her much at all. She set her fourth tiny sandwich down on her plate. “I like little sandwiches,” she stated. “Do you think they were originally made small so faeries could eat them?”
“I believe they came to be so people chatting wouldn’t be forced to walk about with half-eaten food in their hands,” the lady said, giving a quick smile that showed all her teeth and then popping half a sandwich into her mouth like she needed to prove her point.
“Then why don’t bakers make tiny loaves of bread?”
“Larger loaves are more convenient for selling and purchasing,” Lady Pauline returned, her voice brisk. “Beckett, have you ever been up in a hot-air balloon?”
“I—”
“They aren’t more convenient,” Rebecca broke in.
“That’s silly. I think the little sandwiches are new, and we’re still accustomed to big bread, so no one’s changed the way they bake it.
I would open a bakery that baked small loaves and big loaves, so people who wanted tiny sandwiches wouldn’t have to purchase so much extra bread. ”
“You’re a marquis’s daughter, dear. You won’t be opening a bakery.
” Lady Pauline gave a little laugh, leaning toward her papa.
“I only ask about the balloon because there’s presently one at Vauxhall Gardens, taking daring passengers into the sky for two shillings.
It sounds terrifying, but terribly romantic at the same time. ”
“I’m accustomed to keeping at least one foot on the ground most of the time,” Papa commented, smiling back at her, “but I could possibly be lured into seeing London from the sky.”
Well, maybe Rebecca wanted to see London from the sky, too. She’d hardly seen any of it even from the ground. “Do you think we could see all the way to Lincolnshire?” she asked. “Or to the ocean?”
“I have no idea, Cricket. We’ll have to find out.”
“Oh, yes. The three of us. Delightful,” Lady Pauline commented, taking a little sip of her Madeira.
Butler walked into the room again, the silver tray that sat by the front door in his hand. “My lord, you have a note from Lord Nyfeld. His man is awaiting an answer.”
Her father pushed away from the table and stood. “Excuse me for a moment, if you would,” he said, taking the note from the tray before he left, Butler behind him.
Lady Pauline glanced up and smiled at Bradley. “Would you fetch me a lemonade?”
“My lady.” Bradley trotted off in the direction of the kitchen.
“So, Rebecca,” the lady said, making her smile even bigger. “What do you think of me thus far?”
“You smile too much,” Rebecca said, nibbling on a slice of orange. “With your teeth. Like this.” She gave a toothy smile. “It reminds me of a wolf.”
“Really,” Lady Pauline said, her toothy smile growing. “That’s what you think of me? That I smile like a wolf?”
Rebecca shrugged. “You asked me.”
“And you wish to open a bakery? What does your father think of that?”
“I don’t want to open a bakery.” Rebecca reached over for another orange slice. “I’m a magnificent portraitist. Though I suppose my studio could be above a bakery. That would smell heavenly all the time.”
“Ah. Not just a portraitist. A magnificent portraitist. You’ve studied art, then? And apprenticed with the great masters here and abroad? Who do you claim as your main inspiration?”
The questions made Rebecca scowl. “I’m nine years old.
I haven’t had time to go abroad. But I’m a good drawer, and I like colors.
Oh, and I think my inspiration is Mr. Gainsborough.
He’s quite good, if a little … too fond of rosy cheeks.
Everyone he paints looks as if they’ve just come inside out of a stiff wind. ”
“My. You have an opinion about everything, don’t you?”
“Don’t you? And Papa isn’t fond of heights. You shouldn’t ask him to go up in a balloon.”
“I know he isn’t fond of heights,” Lady Pauline returned. “That’s why I want him to go with me. I’ll comfort him.” She set her napkin aside. “So you will uninvite yourself, Becks, and allow the adults to do as they will.”
“You’ll look funny comforting him when he casts up his accounts all over the front of your dress.” Rebecca giggled at the thought, peeling the skin off the back of the orange slice and popping the fruit into her mouth.
“I’ll make a bargain with you, dear. I’ll show my teeth as I please, go with your father about London as I please, and marry him if I please.
You will stop thinking that you should have any say about what makes him happy or comforted.
He’s been alone and miserable for nine years because of you.
You killed your own mother. His wife. You owe him some happiness, before you suck every last ounce of it away like a leech.
” She leaned forward. “I know what makes a man happy. I’m the wife he wants.
Has he ever had you sit for luncheon with any other female?
” She lifted an eyebrow. “I didn’t think so.
Don’t ruin it for him. And do not argue with me in front of him.
If he thinks you don’t approve his choice, you will continue to be the reason for his misery. You don’t want that, do you?”
The orange slice went down the wrong way.
Coughing, Rebecca gasped for air. She pounded at her own chest, but the orange didn’t budge. From a distance she heard her father calling her name, and then abruptly Lady Pauline grabbed her out of her chair, bending her over and pounding on her back. Hard.
The orange slice splatted to the floor as her papa charged back into the small dining room and scooped her into his arms. Rebecca panted for breath, her eyes tearing because of the orange and for other reasons, while Papa thanked Lady Pauline for saving her.
That seemed quite unfair, since Pauline had been the one to make her choke, but Rebecca didn’t say anything about that.
She needed to think about things. And figure out if her father had been as miserable as the lady said, and if he did need a wife to save him from being miserable.
Because she did want him to be happy, and her mother had died an hour after she was born.
She didn’t think that made her a murderer, and no one had ever said that before, but she needed to ask someone. Eddie. He would know.