Chapter Twenty-Two #2
The first lie had been telling Mrs. Dere no harm had been done by Mr. Hearne’s reappearance, whether or not it would have a sequel.
Because how could it not do harm, for him to ask her pardon and to kiss her?
She had been too angry yesterday for pardon, but time would do its work, and the kiss would do its work.
“But how can I possibly pardon him, when he still gave no reason for his actions?” she demanded of the summer air. “And when he insulted me by kissing me?”
But, no, that was another lie. Because Frances did not feel insulted. She ought to, though. Had anyone else taken such a liberty, anyone at all, she would have been speechless with rage, rather than…undone.
Did he, after all, care for her?
And did she, despite all, care for him?
She feared very much she did.
“But you don’t even know who he actually is!
” she scolded herself. “You think, ah ha, I learned to like him well enough this summer, except for his stupidity—a very great ‘except’—an ‘except’ you thought insurmountable—but then it turns out he has brains enough, so now you think you do like him, altogether, on second thought? But you can’t!
Because who is Adam Hearne? Foolish girl, you have become fond of a phantom—of a role he played, just as he played Bottom.
Wake up, Frances Barstow, or you will be the one wearing an ass’s head! ”
It was, as self-counsel went, exceedingly wise and exceedingly reasonable, and she ought to be thoroughly persuaded by it.
But as she turned from Redhead Lane into Kames Sheephouse Lane, Frances suspected that, if not for the fact that she might never see Mr. Hearne again, she might be in danger of great unhappiness.
As it was, she could only pray that the proverb would eventually prove true: out of sight, out of mind.
There was no need to be announced at Greenwood Hall, for Frances no sooner pulled up at the top of the drive than a head popped out from around the side of the house, to be followed by the rest of Miss Jane Eveleigh.
“Frances! Good morning. Come, Symond, and hold the pony’s head, while you fetch a groom, Biddles,” she prodded the gardener and his assistant.
“And don’t go in the house, and don’t have anyone announce Miss Barstow is here.
” With these extraordinary commands, she snatched Frances’ hand as soon as she descended from the cart and hurried her away into the nearby walled garden.
“How did you know I was coming?” Frances asked when Jane shut the garden door behind them. “And why must we be so secret?”
“I was on the point of walking to Iffley in search of you, and I don’t want to be overheard.
Come and sit on this bench. Papa and Mama are still in a twitter over the gentlemen’s departure, you know, and then we hear of Mr. Hearne coming back!
You must tell me all, and in return I will tell you something not even Annabel knows yet. ”
“Where is Miss Jarvis?”
“Who knows? Who cares? I got away from her by saying I had a headache and was going to lie down. Now don’t beat about the bush. What happened yesterday?”
Once again Frances told a tidy version of events, ending with, “And who knows if we will ever see him again? Though you might, Jane, when you return to Oxford. See him passing in the streets or at the bookseller’s or the market.”
“If I do, I will duck behind something until he is gone,” declared Jane.
“Have you, too, decided you will not forgive him for his deception? I thought you might relent because you liked him.”
“I did like him,” Jane returned roundly. “I do not deny it. He is quite the handsomest man I’ve ever seen and has a very nice speaking voice and is a good actor. I would have married him at once, if he asked me.”
“But now you wouldn’t?” Frances pressed. “Because you’re angry with him?”
Tugging one of the hydrangea clusters toward her, Jane began to pluck off individual petals.
“No, it’s not that. I mean, what a good laugh they must have had at us.
I know I would have, if I were in their place.
Mama is furious, but I could hardly believe it at first. He was so very stupid!
That is to say, so very convincingly stupid.
” Having denuded the center of the flower, she let it swing back.
“But, no. I wouldn’t want him now. I don’t want a husband who is cleverer than I am. ”
“What? You can’t mean that.”
“Of course I mean it,” said Jane. “I must rule the house, just as Mama rules over Papa and Mrs. Dere over the baron. You see how thoughtless and mischievous men can be, left to themselves.”
“Not all men,” Frances was compelled to say. “There are many thoughtful and trustworthy men.” Alas that Mr. Hearne was not among them!
“Hmm.”
“You might, perhaps, rule over Mr. Midgecomb,” Frances suggested, aware of warmth flooding her. She was registering what Jane had just confessed—that she no longer wanted Mr. Hearne! Not that it did or should make any difference, since Frances would never see him again, but still…
Frances was not the only one to color. Jane cast sharp glances right and left before withdrawing something from her sleeve. “Speak of the devil. This is my secret. Look at this,” she whispered. “I found it slipped under my door yesterday, and nobody knows of it but me and now you.”
It was brief.
“Dear Miss Eveleigh,” read the note, “Words cannot express my regret at the way this enchanted interlude has ended. I will say again, as I said to your esteemed parents, that my friends and I apologize most humbly for allowing you to think Mr. Adam Hearne suffered from slowness of mind. There was no harm intended in the ruse. In fact I hoped, if Adam presented himself in a worse light, I might shine the brighter in comparison. And for you, Miss Eveleigh, I wished to shine. For the same reason, in hopes of exciting your devotion, I encouraged Miss Barstow in her interest in me.” (Frances inhaled so sharply here she gave herself hiccups.) “You know now the sorry results. But if I have not irredeemably spoiled my chances and lost your good opinion, I cling to hope. I cannot do otherwise. When you and your family return to Oriel, I will gather my courage and call upon your father. I pray it will be soon. You know what I would like to ask him. Dear Miss Eveleigh, I know I can expect no reply, but I only ask that you will believe in the unwavering attachment of your most humble servant, Miles Midgecomb.”
“Heavens,” hiccupped Frances. She was looking at Jane but not thinking of Jane. If Mr. Midgecomb hoped he would shine in comparison with a stupid Mr. Hearne, could it possibly be that he had asked Mr. Hearne to play the role? Just as he asked him to play Bottom?
Holding her breath, she gave her breastbone a thump. She hated to speak when another unpredictable hic! was sure to burst from her, but she could not wait for the fit to pass.
“Do you think he will still—hic!—love you in September?”
“September?” Jane laughed. “We won’t wait so long. Mama talks of returning in August. Possibly even in a fortnight’s time. She says Greenwood Hall has bad memories for her now.”
“Oh! Then what-what will you say when he comes?”
Jane stared. “I will say No, of course! Just because I don’t want Mr. Hearne anymore doesn’t mean I therefore want Mr. Midgecomb.
I never did particularly want Mr. Midgecomb.
Though he was right about his pretended interest in you exciting a response in me.
That did vex me. Because I found that, having been preferred, I would have liked to go on so.
Does that make any sense? And do stop hiccupping. ”
“I can’t h-help it. I am astonished.”
“What is so astonishing? I don’t want one man because I think he will be too much trouble, and the other one I’ve never wanted.”
“Will you show the note to your parents?”
Shrugging, Jane made a face. “I don’t see why I would.
Think about it, Frances. If I showed the note to Mama today and told her I intended to refuse him, she would rejoice and thunder against Mr. Midgecomb and his wiles.
But time would pass, in which she would ponder the situation further, and I would sit there and sit there, still unmarried.
The next thing you knew, and before we returned to Oriel, I daresay she would have changed her tune.
Then it would be ‘boys will be boys’ and had I thought properly about this?
And when I remained firm in refusing to consider him, I would then become her target! ”
“Hadn’t you better get word to him somehow, then? You might tell him he shouldn’t nurse any hope. It would spare him the pain of making his offer.”
Jane’s grimace metamorphosed into a pout. “Why should I do that? Young ladies aren’t supposed to write to young men. Oh, don’t look at me like that, Frances. You needn’t be so virtuous! As if you wouldn’t want to collect a marriage proposal, even if you had no intention of accepting it.”
Frances’ lips parted to defend herself, but nothing emerged.
Because—was it possible Jane spoke the truth?
It was! Because wouldn’t Frances rather the marriage proposal from Mr. Hearne had been genuine, even if he was a liar and she couldn’t—wouldn’t—accept it?
Didn’t it gall her that it had not been genuine? That possibly nothing had?
Fortunately Jane Eveleigh was too wrapped up in her own visions to notice Frances’ troubles.
“It’s better this way,” she sighed. “Now, if he changes his mind and doesn’t come, no one will be the wiser.
But if he does come, I will get the delight of my first offer and will have been spared Mama troubling me in the interim.
” Her blue eyes brightened. “You ought to come and stay with us when we go back, Frances! Mama will not be able to give vent to her unhappiness if you are there.”
“But will she be unhappy?” asked Frances, avoiding a direct answer to the invitation. “I thought you weren’t going to show her the note.”
“I’m not, but I know how Mama’s mind works. Her anger will fade away, and if he makes this earnest offer, all will be forgiven. You wait and see. Will you come? The more I think about it, the more I like the idea.”
The temptation was great. Not because she liked Jane Eveleigh so much, though she liked her better than she had two days earlier, but because then she might chance to see Mr. Hearne again.
Frances shook her head, trying to will her heart into hardness. Why, she was as bad as Mrs. Eveleigh, if she would draw a veil over all that had gone before. She didn’t even truly know Mr. Hearne, so even if she saw him in Oxford or he came with Mr. Midgecomb to the Eveleighs’—
If she went to Oxford, it would look like she was chasing him. And I would be.
“I might be a bad memory for Mrs. Eveleigh as well,” Frances answered regretfully. “I had better not. But we might correspond.”