Chapter Eighteen #2
“Oh, Mrs. Dere.” A spasm of affection for the woman surprised Frances.
She was haughty, yes. She could be difficult, to be sure.
Overbearing, condescending—any number of “ings”!
—and she kept the poor baron on a tight rein at Perryfield.
But there was no denying she meant well and that her loyalty to Frances was genuine.
“Oh, Mrs. Dere,” she said again, “not everyone would call him a fool if he preferred Jane. Remember, Miss Eveleigh does have her portion.”
“Portion, fiddlestick. If he were a poor man and you an extravagant girl, this would present an obstacle. As it is…” she shrugged. “If I were asked to wager upon it, I would say Miss Eveleigh’s feelings are neither here nor there because Mr. Hearne already likes you.”
Why did these words flood Frances with pleasure? They should not. They could change nothing. Frances already knew he liked her—he had said so. And Frances had already refused him because how could she do otherwise? But to hear shrewd Mrs. Dere make such a pronouncement pleased her all the same.
It was all so confusing.
“He might have had an ass’s head upon his own yesterday,” Mrs. Dere went on complacently, “but I could see his eyes when you circled him and petted him and gave your speech.”
“He was acting,” Frances croaked.
“He was not. Because if you listen to the scene, Titania is enamored with Bottom, but in the play Bottom never seems to return her affections. Mr. Hearne, on the other hand, was returning your affections, although you were acting.”
Frances could think of no reply to this. It was all nonsense. Because it didn’t matter in the end, did it? She couldn’t marry a dunce. She couldn’t!
“I am not angry with you,” Mrs. Dere rejoined, taking Frances’ nearer hand between both her own.
“And I thank you for being honest. It is another of your strengths. I ask only what I asked before: that you will preserve an open mind toward Mr. Hearne. If you like him the same amount as the others, but not enough to marry, let that be enough for now.”
This kindness and trust forced another bit of truth from Frances. “Madam, I had better tell you then that the Eveleighs—when Jane admitted she liked Mr. Hearne, and I admitted I didn’t—they asked if I might…leave him for Jane, and I said I would.”
Then the fire blazed up in Alice Dere’s blue eyes!
“Firstly, the man is not a serving of fish, to be handed about from person to person. Secondly, what are you to do if Mr. Hearne offers for you? Refuse him, simply because Jane Eveleigh has planted the Eveleigh colors on him, whether or not she has any right to?”
Scarlet washed over Frances’ face. It could no more be prevented than the tide. And Mrs. Dere being Mrs. Dere, this did not escape her notice.
“What is it?”
Frances shook her head. In her confessional mood, she could feel the final truth already rising to her lips.
“What is it?” asked her companion again. “What do you want to tell me?”
It burst from her. “Mr. Hearne did—already did offer for me. And—I said no, thank you.”
Mrs. Dere sucked in her breath. “When was this? Before or after the Eveleighs told you to desist?”
“After. Almost directly afterward. It was a few days ago. A week, perhaps. Before we danced at Perryfield.” Briefly, she described the scene at Iffley Cottage.
“I didn’t even know if he was asking anything at first!
You know how he is. And the odd way he phrased it, it could have been simply making conversation.
But it turned out to be a genuine offer.
Either way, even if I had not promised the Eveleighs, I could not accept him, Mrs. Dere.
Not feeling how I feel—or don’t feel—about him.
” She knew she was babbling, but Mrs. Dere’s continued stillness left her with no choice but to try to explain herself.
“I didn’t tell you of it because I knew you wanted—I knew what you wanted in this situation, and I feared disappointing you.”
“How did he take your answer?”
“I—he—politely enough. He did ask me at Perryfield if I might be more specific as to why I refused him, and I said pretty much what I have been saying to you. That is, I gave him three reasons. My contentment with my current state. How little I knew him. And thirdly, that I hoped for a husband with a mind more—in harmony—with my own.” This made her color come and go again, as she remembered Mr. Hearne’s little remark about congenial and uncongenial minds.
“I see,” said Mrs. Dere. “I suppose he gave his reasons as well? For asking you, I mean.”
Frances nodded, her gaze dropping to her gloved hands, which still held Chauncey’s reins.
The plump pony was trying to lower his head to graze, and she tightened her hold, lest he get tangled in his harness.
“Yes, madam,” she answered quietly. “He said he thought me agreeable. Or that I had an agreeable mind, or something. And that he—liked my looks and my family.” She suspected Mrs. Dere would interpret “family” to include the Deres of Perryfield, when Frances did not think Mr. Hearne referred to them, but she let it lie.
Chauncey strained again, and when Frances pulled him up, her companion said, “We had better turn back. He cannot stand much longer. Never mind Cowley today.”
“Yes, madam.”
Several minutes went by, and they were passing Church Field before Mrs. Dere spoke again. “What can I say? He continues to grow in my estimation, if he can value you so. Tell me, has he raised the subject since that time?”
“He has not.”
Here Mrs. Dere actually sighed, which was more effective than a lengthy reproof because Mrs. Dere never sighed. She had even once told Frances that sighing smacked of self-pity and expressed nothing which could not be better and more politely put in words.
“I suppose you are upset with me,” Frances ventured, determined to have the whole trouble out.
“I cannot deny I am disappointed. A girl like you, in your position, cannot afford to be cavalier with her opportunities, even with the friendship of the baron and me. We are somewhat retired in Iffley, and it may be some time before further chances come your way, especially if Jane Eveleigh makes off with Mr. Hearne, following your refusal to have him.”
“What do you mean ‘especially’?” Frances asked. “Even if Jane did not succeed in winning Mr. Hearne’s affections, I don’t suppose the Eveleighs would rent Greenwood Hall next summer and invite a new group of eligible young men.”
“No,” conceded Mrs. Dere, still subdued. “They would try something else. Dorothy would take her daughter to London in the spring, perhaps. Or simply make up to any promising young Oxford men they pass in the street. There will be someone for Jane Eveleigh. Not an Adam Hearne, perhaps, but someone.”
“I might spend time in Oxford with Della and Gerard at their school,” Frances suggested, referring to her oldest sister and brother-in-law.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Dere raised a lofty brow at this, looking more like herself.
“So you might. But who exactly would you meet at Keele’s, besides boys too young for you and their married fathers?
Nor could Mrs. Weatherill escort you to any assemblies, with her duties and her expectant condition.
No, Frances, if this summer is a failure, we will be back at our starting point and have it all to do over. ”