Chapter 18
"Another letter for you, miss. Though this one looks..." Mary hesitated in the doorway of Eveline's small sitting room, holding an expensive-looking correspondence with obvious reluctance, "rather imposing."
Eveline looked up from the contracts spread across her desk, Cadwell's publishing agreement, the British Museum's consulting terms, Adrian's comprehensive position that seemed too generous to be real.
She'd been comparing figures and obligations for the better part of the morning, trying to approach her future with the same analytical precision she brought to translation work.
"Imposing or ominous?" she asked, accepting the letter. The paper was indeed fine, cream-colored stock that whispered of wealth and privilege.
"Both, if I'm being honest, miss." Mary twisted her apron between nervous fingers. "The lady who sent her footman to deliver it was in the finest carriage I've ever seen. All matched grays and silver fittings."
The seal confirmed Eveline's suspicions: Mrs. Granger-Ashton, one of society's more formidable matrons. She'd danced around Eveline's father years ago, before settling for a wealthy baronet with convenient habits of absence.
"Thank you, Mary. That will be all."
Eveline waited until the maid departed before breaking the seal, though something in her stomach suggested this would not be pleasant reading. The handwriting was elegantly formed, the kind that came from years of expensive governesses and nothing more taxing to write than invitation acceptances.
Dear Miss Whitcombe,
Word of your unfortunate circumstances has reached me, and I find myself in the position of being able to offer assistance. As you may know, my three daughters are in need of consistent companion; one who can provide appropriate guidance as they navigate their entry into society.
Eveline's jaw tightened. Companion. Not governess, not tutor, but companion—that careful word that meant neither servant nor equal, forever suspended between stairs.
Given your evident education and what I'm told was once a respectable, if modest, background, you would seem suited for such a position. The terms I propose are as follows:
*- Annual salary of twenty pounds, paid quarterly
Accommodation in the blue room (third floor, east wing)
Meals taken with the upper servants to maintain appropriate boundaries
Half-day free weekly, every other Sunday to attend church
Duties to include: chaperoning my daughters at approved events, reading aloud during their needlework, correspondence assistance, and light mending as required*
Twenty pounds. The Harringtons had offered sixty. But of course, the Harringtons were merchants who didn't understand the delicate calculations of charity versus employment.
I trust that, given your present circumstances, you will find these terms more than generous.
A woman in your position cannot expect to maintain all the privileges of untainted reputation, but I am prepared to overlook the recent unpleasantness provided you conduct yourself with appropriate gratitude and discretion.
Should you accept, you may begin Monday next. I will expect a written response by tomorrow morning, as I have several other candidates to consider should you decline.
Mrs. Horace Granger-Ashton
Post Scriptum: You would, naturally, be expected to avoid any mention of your previous... scholarly pursuits. My daughters require a model of proper feminine accomplishment, not dangerous intellectual pretensions.
Eveline set down the letter with trembling hands.
Not from distress, but from pure, crystalline fury.
This was what awaited her, not just in Manchester, but everywhere.
Each position would be slightly worse than the last, each employer a bit more confident in their charity, until she was grateful for scraps and called it kindness.
A knock interrupted her spiraling thoughts. "Come," she called, expecting Mary again.
Instead, Harriet entered, looking unusually pale beneath her bonnet. "I'm sorry to arrive unannounced, but my aunt summoned me rather urgently this morning, and I've just come from..." She stopped, taking in Eveline's expression. "What's happened?"
"Read this." Eveline handed over the letter. "See what my future holds according to Mrs. Granger-Ashton."
Harriet sank into the opposite chair, scanning the letter with increasing indignation. "Twenty pounds per annum? Light mending? Meals with the servants? This is insulting beyond measure!"
"This is reality. A month ago, I had my pick of positions, modest though they were. Now? Now I'm meant to be grateful for the privilege of darning stockings for women who wouldn't acknowledge me in the street."
"You cannot seriously consider..."
"Of course I'm not considering it." Eveline rose, pacing to the window.
"But don't you see? This is what comes next.
Manchester is just the beginning. Once I'm there, once I'm established as a governess grateful for employment despite my scandal, the next position will be worse. And the next worse still."
Harriet was quiet for a long moment, her hands folded tightly in her lap. "Speaking of positions and gratitude," she said finally, her voice carefully controlled, "I have news of my own."
Something in her tone made Eveline turn from the window. "Harriet?"
"My aunt had a specific reason for summoning me. It seems she's been quite busy arranging my future." Harriet's laugh was brittle. "Mr. Geoffrey Malbrooke has made an offer for my hand. Or rather, he's made an offer to my aunt, who has accepted on my behalf pending my grateful acquiescence."
"Malbrooke?" Eveline returned to her seat, studying her friend's face. "The merchant with the shipping concerns?"
"The very wealthy merchant with extensive shipping concerns," Harriet corrected.
"Also forty-three years old, twice widowed, and in need of a hostess for his business entertainments.
My aunt was quite clear about the advantages; security, comfort, elevation in circumstance.
The fact that we've exchanged perhaps twenty words in our entire acquaintance is apparently irrelevant. "
"Harriet, you cannot..."
"Can't I?" Her friend's composure cracked slightly.
"I'm twenty-four, Eveline. My parents left me a pittance that dwindles each year.
I have two younger sisters who need help launching into society.
Mr. Malbrooke is kind enough, respectable, established.
He doesn't love me, nor I him, but he needs someone to manage his household and I need.
.." She paused, struggling for words. "I need not to be a burden any longer. "
They sat in silence, the weight of their respective futures pressing down like physical things. Through the window, London life continued its noisy progression, indifferent to the quiet desperation playing out in modest sitting rooms across the city.
"When must you answer?" Eveline asked finally.
"My aunt expects my gratitude by week's end.
Mr. Malbrooke wishes to announce the betrothal at his Christmas ball—apparently I'm to be something of a gift to myself.
" The bitterness in Harriet's voice could have etched glass.
"He's already shown my aunt fabric samples for my wedding clothes.
Silver gray and dove. Appropriate for a third wife, neither too youthful nor presuming to the grandeur of a first bride. "
"This is wrong. You know this is wrong."
"Is it?" Harriet rose abruptly, moving to examine Eveline's scattered contracts with forced interest. "A month ago, I would have said yes. It's a good match by any practical measure. Security, respectability, a household to run. Everything a woman of modest means should gratefully accept."
"But?"
"But then I watched you." Harriet turned, and Eveline was shocked to see tears in her usually composed friend's eyes.
"I watched you turn down Theodore Browne, who offered everything a ruined woman should want.
I watched you face down society's censure rather than diminish yourself.
I watched you refuse to be grateful for scraps when you deserve feasts. "
"That's different."
"How? How is it different?" Harriet's control shattered completely.
"Because you're brilliant and I'm merely adequate?
Because you have Latin and Greek while I have only watercolors and middling French?
We're both women trying to survive in a world that measures our worth by our marriageability, and we're both being asked to be grateful for cages! "
"You're not merely adequate," Eveline said fiercely. "You're clever and kind and loyal beyond measure. You deserve better than a man who sees you as convenient household management."
"And you deserve better than darning stockings for Granger-Ashton's insipid daughters.
" Harriet sank back into her chair, suddenly looking exhausted.
"Do you know what the worst part is? A piece of me, a terrible, practical piece, is tempted.
To never worry about money again, to have my own household, to help my sisters. .. It would be so easy to say yes."
"But you won't."
"Won't I?" Harriet pulled out her handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes with sharp, angry movements. "You at least have options now. These positions Adrian has arranged...they offer you a real future. What do I have? The slowly dwindling prospect of finding love before my pittance runs out entirely?"
Eveline moved to kneel beside her friend's chair, taking her hands.
"You have the knowledge that settling for Malbrooke would kill something vital in you.
I've watched you these past weeks, Harriet.
You're different—more alive, more yourself.
That's worth more than all the security his shipping fortune could provide. "
"Easy to say when one has a duke arranging publishing contracts and museum positions."
"Adrian didn't arrange my worth, he simply refused to let others ignore it. There's a difference."