Chapter 20 #2
“To my knowledge, Mr. Dalrymple has not asked to court our dear Jane. If he had, the conversation in the parlor would have gone quite differently.”
Isabel nodded. “I like him very much, I am not sure if I love him. My feelings are growing. I think I would have allowed him to really kiss me today if he wanted, but—” Isabel bit her lip.
Telling one’s mother about a man’s first romantic gesture, well, not his first, but the first inkling of a kiss, seemed wrong.
One should tell her best friend. But George was married now and far away in the colonies.
Phil had a husband, a baby, and had her own concerns.
Jane—dear Jane was lovely but would be scandalized by talk of kisses.
Alex was tucked away in Bath. Mamma, in many ways, was her best friend.
“—he kissed me on the forehead instead.”
Unbidden, her fingers moved to her hairline to the spot his lips had touched.
Mamma smiled. “I think I will like having Mr. Dalrymple as a son-in-law very much if he can bring such a smile to your face.”
Isabel dropped her hand. “I am not sure if I can marry him though.”
“Why not?”
“I have witnessed the tension between you and Susanna. Mrs. Dalrymple and I are so different.” The words tumbled out before Isabel could stop them.
She’d been holding them in for weeks, watching Mrs. Dalrymple’s stilted conversation and awkward formality, remembering how Susanna had started out trying so hard and had ended up.
.. Wherever she was now. Locked in rooms. Destroying paintings.
Unable to cope with motherhood. She did not want to be locked up like Susanna.
Mamma moved to the bed beside Isabel and took her hand.
“All daughters and mothers-in-law, or at least most of them, have some degree of difficulty. Living under the same roof can make matters worse. It took several afternoons of tea when I first met Deborah to understand why Edward loved her and how I could, too. However, she knew she was marrying a second son and was willing to step down in society. Which said much about her and their relationship. Also, Deborah has not lived with us for more than a month at a time when we have not been in Town, where she is free to see her own mother as much as she wishes. Now that the war is over and Edward is home all the time, we get along quite well. In fact, she and Edward have asked me to come live with them this winter as she enters her confinement and her mother’s eyesight is failing.
So Deborah’s situation is very different from Susanna’s, who always knew she would have to take on my role someday. ”
“Is that so different than Susanna?”
“No, Susanna had to leave her family and live in a house where she was given some responsibilities of being the lady of the house, but it was not truly hers until your father died. Even now, she is not free to be her own mistress as I am always here. Mrs. Dalrymple chooses to live with her daughter. In two years, she has never visited. I do not know her relationship with her son, but they are not close. She is not the mistress of his home, which means his bride will not have to balance her role as wife and mistress of the house as Susanna has.”
“So I should not worry overmuch?” Isabel heard the uncertainty in her own voice.
How could she not worry when she’d watched Susanna unravel?
These past two years, and especially this past month gave Isabel caution.
She learned what her sister-in-law had not before her wedding.
One did not just marry the man. She married the family.
“You need to try to be friends with his mother, as you will inevitably be together from time to time. Mr. Dalrymple is responsible for his mother’s livelihood in her old age, and he may choose to have her live under his protection as she grows older.”
The words ‘may choose’ did little to comfort. What if Mrs. Dalrymple did choose to live with them? What if Isabel found herself navigating the same impossible balance Susanna had failed at? What if she too ended up locking doors and destroying things in the night?
“She is ridiculous about some things.” The invitation, the garish dresses, and the awkward conversations.
“You would be too if you were the chandler’s daughter and suddenly you had all the wealth of the Duke of Aylton.
Unlike you, she had no training to lean on.
One day, she is living in a modest house with a maid of all work as her only help, and the next, she is moved to an estate with servants ,where the housekeeper may have been more educated than her.
Then Mrs. Dalrymple was expected to mingle with the ton who do not approve of her simply because the money that purchased her dress comes from trade and investments that her husband has been more successful in making than most of the members of the peerage. ”
“The housekeeper more educated?”
“Yes. A good housekeeper can read, write, and do sums. An excellent housekeeper has some knowledge of French, enough to transcribe recipes, and deal with a French-born cook. Since most village children only receive a rudimentary education, it is likely that Mrs. Dalrymple had a great disadvantage when her husband elevated them.”
Sympathy warred with Isabel’s fear. To be thrust into a world one didn’t understand, surrounded by servants who knew more than you did, expected to perform a role for which you had no training.
.. No wonder Mrs. Dalrymple seemed awkward and defensive.
Perhaps she too was afraid. “Are you saying I am judging too harshly?”
“Perhaps. You have had few interactions with her, and one poorly written invitation does not mean she did not care.”
“I will work to understand her better, next time we meet.”
“Good, I expect her and Mr. Dalrymple for supper tonight. I believe the two of you have much to talk about.”
Isabel opened her mouth, but no words came out. Tonight. She would see Victor tonight, and they would have to discuss...what? Sir Lightwood’s blackmail? Their courtship? Or would he feel compelled to propose to save her from scandal?
Mamma patted her hand. “You have had a full morning. Perhaps you would like to go paint. I know the light isn’t very good today, but you can use the library.”
How was she supposed to pretend it was a normal Saturday afternoon?
When everything had changed? Though Victor had yet to finish asking her, she now had an understanding with him.
Isabel stared out of her window. She’d painted the yard a million times.
But she’d never painted a hat with a squirrel in it.