CHAPTER 10 #2
“Now, dear, allow this old married woman to explain. Men never think the way they ought when we meet them. No one has yet presented them with better views. It is our duty to broaden their minds on matters to which they have never applied themselves. It is part of what wives do, you see. It is our great mission.”
She looked to Eva for agreement.
“Cousin Sarah is the voice of experience, Rebecca. You would be wise to listen to her.”
Rebecca pouted and picked at her skirt absently. “I thought Mr. Trenton more attractive.”
Sarah sighed. “My dear, Mr. Trenton is a clerk in my husband’s office, and is unlikely to ever be more. He does not have a head for business. I only invited him and Mr. Bellows because it would be too obvious if I only invited Mr. Mansfield.”
“I still like Mr. Trenton better. He is quite soulful. He writes poetry. Did you know that?”
“Oh, good heavens.” Sarah turned to Eva, desperately.
“Rebecca, other than his views on women’s education—and please let me remind you that our father had the same views, as did our brother, so hence, neither of us had much schooling beyond the norm given to women today—besides that, why does Mr. Mansfield not find favor with you?”
Rebecca thought about it. “He is too big.”
“Too big?” Sarah exclaimed. “He is certainly bigger than that skinny Mr. Trenton, but he is not monstrous.”
“Still—he is big and I suspect he is gruff and rough. I should always be afraid of him. Even the way he looks at me makes me uncomfortable. Even Mr. Bellows is better, although he is boring.”
Sarah’s gaze slid sideways to Rebecca. Her expression no longer revealed exasperation, but comprehension.
She took Rebecca’s hand. “There is no reason to be afraid of Mr. Mansfield, my dear cousin. Beneath all that masculine bravado, he is very kind. Should he call on you here, I want you to agree to see him. I will be with you, so you have no reason to object. You should not discard a man worth two thousand a year and likely to be worth much more in the future on the basis of one argument over women’s education. Don’t you agree, Eva?”
“I do agree.”
Rebecca nodded, but sighed mightily while she did. When the gentlemen soon joined them, Rebecca did manage to engage the poetic Mr. Trenton in private conversation. If Mr. Mansfield cared, or even noticed, he did not show it. Instead he drew Eva into conversation about her family.
“The two of you are alone, Wesley said.”
“Yes. We lost my brother a year ago.”
“Have you no other family nearby, where you could live?” As soon as he asked he realized his error. He glanced at Sarah and flushed.
“I chose not to impose on Mr. and Mrs. Rockport. I was of age, and able to manage things. I did not even seek to move here. I am fond of Langdon’s End. It is my home.”
Gareth had disengaged from continued discussions with Wesley and now sidled over to sit with them. “It is a charming town, with a fine lake on its east. But if the city keeps growing, it will probably be absorbed by Birmingham.”
“I know it well. I have visited often. Some friends of mine live there. Mr. and Mrs. Siddles. Perhaps you know them,” Mr. Mansfield said.
“I have not had the pleasure,” Eva said. “And Mr. Fitzallen is new to the region.”
“No doubt you both move in different circles from the Siddles,” Mr. Mansfield said, as if he had made another error.
“I have not been moving in any circles for some time. My brother was ill for years before he passed, and his care occupied most of my time.”
Mr. Mansfield frowned sympathetically. “Consumption?”
“Pistol ball.”
“I trust the hand that held that pistol saw justice.”
“My brother refused to lay down information, to my consternation.”
“It is a tragic story,” Mr. Mansfield said. “Not only that he perished while still young, but that he left two sisters to fend for themselves, with no protection.” His gaze drifted to Rebecca. Her conversation with her poet had lagged. Mr. Mansfield excused himself and wandered in her direction.
“So what really happened to your brother?” Gareth asked.
“As I said, he never explained. Not even to me.”
“Yet you must have an idea. If my brother came home with a pistol ball inside him, I would at least learn what I could.”
“You are too inquisitive about my family’s affairs, I think.”
“Come now. I am not Mr. Mansfield, whom you want thinking well of your family. I am your friend Gareth, who has seen you half-naked. So, was it a duel, do you think?”
She really wished he would not talk about the naked part so casually, as if it were nothing to keep a secret. “I do not think it was a duel, although I allowed the doctor to believe that.”
“It would explain your brother’s refusal to speak of it. He could not make accusations without implicating himself in a crime.”
“Exactly. Only, I do not see Nigel dueling. I may do his memory a disservice, but I suspect that a night riding between taverns and getting drunk with some friends somehow took a bad turn. He was often gone from home at night in those days.”
“The Langdon’s End version of a young blood, you mean.”
“Yes. I think one of those friends lost his head over something and shot Nigel.”
“It was probably over a woman.”
She turned on him. “Not every man spends all of his time pursuing women. Not every man’s misfortune starts with one.”
“How true. I should not have jumped to that conclusion. Did he have strong political views that might lead to a deadly argument? Convictions for which he would risk his life rather than back down?”
His steady gaze said he had already guessed the answer. Nigel had no particular views that she knew about. His only goal had been to enjoy his youth while he had it. The truth was Nigel was more interested in carousing with friends than tending to the family’s already limited estate.
She had long ago stopped trying to explain away that wound. Everyone in Langdon’s End had concluded the same as she quickly enough anyway— That her brother’s refusal to speak of it only confirmed the likelihood that the story would not put him in a good light.
“Are you remaining in Birmingham much longer?” she asked, to change the subject. Thinking about Nigel did not make her happy or even nostalgic. An unforgivable bitterness colored many of the memories—expressed in his vocal hostility, born of his infirmity, and her silent resentments.
“I was going to stay another day, but have decided to return to Albany Lodge tomorrow. And you?”
She looked to where Rebecca, sitting stiffly on the edge of a settee, tolerated the conversation of Mr. Mansfield who sat on a chair in front of her. “I do not know yet. At least another day. Perhaps more.”
Wesley approached them then. Gareth’s expression welcomed their host.
“I will call on you when you return home, unless you forbid it. We are still friends, I trust,” Gareth whispered just before Wesley sat in the chair on his other side.
“I do not think you should,” she whispered back. “You must not.”
But he had already turned toward Wesley by then, and she did not know if he had heard her.
* * *
That night while Eva prepared for bed, Sarah slipped into her bedchamber. “If Rebecca ruins this chance with Mr. Mansfield, I will be very vexed, Eva. I chose him with great thought and care.”
“We are both so grateful to you that I am sure neither of us wants you vexed. However, you speak of a chance when there is no indication at all that the man favors her any more than she favors him. I do not think he will call.”
“Nonsense. He will be here tomorrow. He knows you are both supposed to leave in two days. If he comes as I expect, you must leave Rebecca here with me at least a week longer. You can stay, too, of course.”
“I should return home. There are things I must do there. If Rebecca wants to stay, however, I will permit it.”
Content with her plans, Sarah turned to the door.
“I still think you are being too optimistic about Mr. Mansfield,” Eva said.
“He makes her uncomfortable, Eva. Those were her words. When he looks at her, she is uncomfortable. She is too young to know what she is really feeling. Oh, you do not know either, do you? Trust me that her discomfort is not the normal kind, but speaks well of the prospects.”
“I understand what you refer to, Sarah. However, it is Mr. Mansfield whose interest I doubt. Among other things, he probably will care when he learns she has almost no fortune. For another, he made it clear tonight that he does not approve of clever women, and Rebecca is very well-read and quite opinionated.”
“Oh, Eva, you are adorable. She has rare beauty, and she has gentle blood. He would want her even if she were a confirmed radical and bluestocking and owned one dress. Tonight all he is thinking is how he can claim the prize before the serious competition understands a contest is at hand.” She opened the door.
“If you anticipate callers, what time do you think it will be? I want to buy some canvases and brushes to take home with me tomorrow morning.”
“He will be early, but not too early. Two o’clock I would think. Why do you want painting materials? Do you dab?”
“It is my favorite pastime. I want to start some views very soon.”
“Take the carriage, then. I will have no use for it tomorrow.”
After Sarah left, Eva got into bed and gazed up at the canopy. She had not even tried to paint a view for over a year, after it became obvious that Mr. Stevenson’s patrons had no interest in them. Her last visit to his shop hardly encouraged her to take them up again.
All the same, she itched to paint one, even though it made no sense financially.
It would be her own creation, not a copy of someone else’s.
She experienced much more drama when doing her own work.
Copying produced pleasant melodies in her heart.
Her own compositions played like symphonies.
She missed that, and since she had enough money to buy an extra bit of canvas, she could afford to indulge herself.
Mr. Stevenson’s glee about the recent big sale entered her mind.
So did the sight of him counting out twenty pounds.
She needed to continue the copies, too, of course.
Which meant she needed a new source of paintings, now that Gareth lived at Albany Lodge.
She thought she knew where she might find some others to borrow.
As soon as she returned to Langdon’s End, she would take steps to arrange that.
Thinking about the paintings led her to thinking about the ones she had already borrowed, which in turn led her to thinking about the day she had returned the last one.
She cursed as her body came alive in the night, reliving too well the sensations Gareth had called forth.
She dared not close her eyes, because if she did, she saw him standing there, his chest bare, then wearing nothing at all as she peered around a doorjamb.
Her body’s sensitivity grew while fantasy hands caressed her most indecently.
He had taunted her at the music performance after she said she had not enjoyed his kisses. Even as he apologized, he made sure her body admitted the lie. Damn him and his conceit. He did not only guess what she suffered if she allowed the memories to have their way. He knew.