Chapter 14 #2
L ater in the morning, Pandora ventured downstairs in a lavender dress of delicately ribbed grosgrain silk, with layered white underskirts that had been pulled back into a cascade of flounces.
Ida, despite her earlier cantankerous attitude, had brought up tea and toast for Pandora, and had taken special pains to arrange her hair.
After curling the long dark locks with hot tongs, Ida had carefully pinned it up at the crown of her head into a mass of ringlets and clusters.
Whenever a lock of Pandora’s obstinately straight hair had refused to hold a curl, Ida had misted it with quince seed tonic, resulting in a coil as sturdy as a steel spring.
As a finishing touch, the lady’s maid had accented the style with a few randomly placed pearls affixed to silver pins.
“Thank you, Ida,” Pandora had said, viewing the results in the looking glass with the aid of a hand mirror. “You’re the only person my hair has ever obeyed.” After a pause, she had added humbly, “I’m sorry I lose things. I’m sure it would drive anyone mad to have to look after me.”
“Keeps me in a job,” Ida had said philosophically. “But don’t apologize, milady—you should never tell a servant you’re sorry. It upsets the order of things.”
“But what if I feel so sorry that I must say it or burst?”
“You can’t.”
“Yes, I can. I’ll look at you and tap my forehead with three fingertips—like this. There—that’s our signal for ‘I’m sorry.’” Enthused by the idea, Pandora had continued, “I could come up with other signals—we’ll have our own language! ”
“Milady,” Ida had begged, “ please don’t be so odd.”
The house was bright with slants of sunlight, now that the storm had cleared.
Although no one was in sight, Pandora heard the bustling of servants in various rooms as she walked along the hallway.
There was the rattle of a coal scuttle, the swishing of carpet brooms, the scrape of scouring paper on fire irons.
All the industry taking place around her made Pandora long to return home and resume work on her board game business.
It was time to visit potential locations for a small factory space, and meet with her printer, and begin to interview prospective employees.
The door of the study had been left open.
As Pandora approached the threshold, her pulse escalated until she could feel it beating at her throat, wrists, and knees.
She hardly knew how to face Gabriel, after the things they’d done last night.
Stopping at the side of the doorway, she peeked around the edge of the jamb.
Gabriel was sitting at a heavy walnut desk, his profile edged in sunlight.
He was reading a document with a slight frown of concentration, pausing to write on a scrap of notepaper.
Dressed in a morning suit, with his hair neatly brushed and his face clean-shaven, he looked as fresh as a new-minted sovereign.
Although Pandora made no movement or sound, Gabriel’s gaze flickered to her. His slow smile made her lightheaded. “Come in,” he said, pushing back from the desk.
Feeling acutely self-conscious, Pandora approached him with flaming cheeks. “I was on my way to—well, I’m just wandering, but—I wanted to ask you about my slipper. Did you find it? Do you have it?”
He stood and looked down at her, his eyes like hot starlight, and for a moment all she could think of was the lick of firelight on shadowed skin. “I have the slipper,” he said.
“Oh, thank goodness. Because my lady’s maid is on the brink of reporting it to Scotland Yard.”
“That’s too bad. I’ve already decided to keep it.”
“No, you can only do that if it’s a dainty glass slipper. If it’s a big floppy slipper made out of fuzzy wool, you have to give it back.”
“I’ll consider it.” After glancing at the doorway to make certain they were unobserved, Gabriel bent to steal a swift kiss. “Will you talk with me for a few minutes? Or let me wander with you. There’s something important I want to discuss.”
Pandora’s stomach did a somersault. “You’re not going to propose, are you?”
His lips twitched. “Not right now.”
“Then yes, you can walk with me.”
“Outside? Through the gardens?”
She nodded.
As they exited from the side of the house and set out on a finely graveled walk, Gabriel seemed relaxed, his expression carefully neutral, but there was no hiding the faint pull of tension between his brows.
“What do you want to discuss?” Pandora asked.
“A letter I received this morning. It’s from Mr. Chester Litchfield, a solicitor in Brighton.
He represented Phoebe in a dispute with her in-laws over some provisions in her late husband’s will.
Litchfield is well versed in the property law, so I wrote to him immediately after I learned about your board game business.
I asked him to find a way for you to legally maintain control over your company as a married woman. ”
Surprised and uneasy, Pandora veered to the side of the path. She affected interest in a six-foot-tall shrub that bore massive white flowers the size of camellias. “What was Mr. Litchfield’s response?”
Gabriel approached her from behind. “He didn’t give the answers I wanted.”
Pandora’s shoulders drooped slightly, but she remained silent as he continued.
“As Litchfield put it,” Gabriel continued, “once a woman marries, she becomes more or less ‘civilly dead.’ She can’t legally enter into a contract with anyone, which means that even if she owns land, she can’t rent it out or build upon it.
Even if property has been secured to her as a separate estate, her husband receives all the interest and profits.
In the view of the government, a woman who tries to own anything separately from her husband is, in essence, stealing from him. ”
“I already knew that.” Pandora wandered to the other side of the path to stare blindly at a bed of yellow primroses. What was the meaning of primroses? Chastity? No, that was orange blossoms... Was it constancy?...
Gabriel was still speaking. “Litchfield believes property law will continue to be reformed in the future. But as things stand now, the moment after the marriage vows are spoken, you’ll lose your legal independence and control of your business.
However—” He paused. “Don’t start drifting. This next part is important.”
“I wasn’t drifting. I was only trying to remember what primroses mean. Would it be innocence, or is that for daisies? I think it’s for—”
“I can’t live without you.”
Pandora turned to face him sharply, her eyes wide.
“The meaning of primroses,” Gabriel said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“How do you know that? ”
He looked wry. “My sisters often discuss drivel like flower symbolism. No matter how I try to ignore it, some of it seeps through. Now, back to Litchfield—he said that according to a recent amendment of the Married Women’s Property Act, if you earn a salary, you’ll be able to keep it.”
Pandora blinked and focused on him alertly. “ Any amount of earnings?”
“As long as you’re seen to perform work that would justify it.”
“What does that mean?”
“In your case, you would have to take an active interest in the management of the company. You could also keep an annual bonus payment. I’ll ask Litchfield about sales commissions and a pension—you may be able to retain those as well.
Here’s how we would structure it: Upon our marriage, when your business automatically transfers to me, I’ll put it in trust for you and hire you as the company president. ”
“But... what about legal contracts? If I can’t sign anything, how could I enter into agreements with suppliers and stores, and how could I hire people—”
“We could hire a manager to assist you, on condition that he always comply with your wishes.”
“What about the company’s profits? They would go to you, wouldn’t they?”
“Not if you folded them back into the business.”
Pandora stared at him fixedly, her mind working over the idea, trying to comprehend what such a future would look and feel like.
The arrangement would give her more independence and authority than the law had ever intended a married woman to have.
But she still wouldn’t be able to employ or fire anyone, or sign checks, or make decisions on her own.
She would have to ask a male manager to sign contracts and agree to business deals on her behalf, as if she were a toddler.
It would be difficult to negotiate for goods and services, because everyone would know that the ultimate authority lay not with her, but her husband.
It wouldn’t be ownership, but it would have the appearance of it. Rather like wearing a tiara and asking everyone to pretend she was royalty, when they all knew it was a sham.
Tearing her gaze from him, Pandora quivered with frustration. “Why can’t I own my business the way a man would, so no one could take it away from me?”
“I won’t let anyone take it from you.”
“That’s not the same. It’s all convoluted. It’s compromised.”
“It’s not perfect,” Gabriel agreed quietly.
Pandora paced in a small, tight circle. “Do you want to know why I love board games? The rules make sense, and they’re the same for everyone. The players are equal.”
“Life isn’t like that.”
“It certainly isn’t for women,” she said acidly.
“Pandora... we’ll set our own rules. I’ll never treat you as anything less than my equal.”
“I believe you. But to the rest of the world, I would be legally nonexistent.”
Gabriel reached out and caught lightly at her upper arm, interrupting her pacing.
There was a ragged edge to his calmness now, like a hem that was coming unstitched.
“You’ll be able to do the work you love.
You’ll be a wealthy woman. You’ll be treated with respect and affection.
You’ll—damn it, I’m not going to plead like a street beggar holding out his cap.
There’s a way for you to have most of what you want—isn’t that enough? ”