Chapter 5
Five
“I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Not at all.” I pressed a hand to my heart.
“I wanted to apologize for my manner last evening. I was morose, thinking of regrets, of things better left in the past.” He stopped and faced me, his hands clasped behind his back.
And though it was nearly as late as it had been when we’d spoken on the roof, there was enough light that I could see his expression.
His gaze was steady and his features calm.
“You will forgive me if I made you uncomfortable.”
“I was not uncomfortable.” I wanted to say that it was the best, most honest conversation I’d ever had with a man, but that would probably make him uncomfortable.
We stood in silence for a moment, listening to a lone bird singing in a nearby tree. He broke in by saying, “Thank you for stopping to assist the lady and gentleman who overturned in their carriage. It was very good of you.”
“I like to be of service to others when I can.”
“You were not afraid to assist in spite of the blood and hysterics, and I was impressed by your composure. Most ladies would have swooned at the sight of blood, or at least would have been afraid to involve themselves.”
“Perhaps that is because society expects ladies to swoon and be afraid.”
He raised his brows. “But you do not concern yourself with what society expects, Miss Robbins?”
“I care about propriety, but not enough to do things that don’t seem sensible, or when common decency demands something other than what society expects.”
He smiled, his eyes brightening. “What do they teach at that school of yours?”
“Forgive me if I’m being improper.”
“Do you think you’re being improper?”
“No, only honest.”
“I like honesty. There is very little of it these days, as society makes cowards out of men and women alike.”
“Cowards?”
“No one wants to be accused of being different, of holding a different viewpoint or doing something other than what’s expected of them.”
I nodded, hoping he would go on.
“For example, it is expected that I shall be a cold, unfeeling sort of man, just like my father and mother were, that I shall ignore the people who do the most for me, who care about me and treat me well.” A bitter tone entered his voice as he stared past me for a moment.
“It is expected that I shall marry a woman from a prominent family and refuse to love her. Nor am I expected to love my own children, but to disdain them until they are seventeen or eighteen years old, then suddenly treat them like slight acquaintances who should know everything about life without anyone ever having taught them. Ah.” He closed his eyes and turned slightly away from me, running a hand through his hair and causing it to stick up in several places.
“I understand.” I held my breath, longing to know more, feeling as if he was expressing just what I had felt many times before, even though our places in life were worlds apart.
He sighed, still staring off into the trees.
Finally, he continued. “Forgive me. It is not my way to talk so much. My nursemaid died a month ago, and I suppose . . . she was the closest thing to a mother I had, the most virtuous, purehearted human being I have ever known, and yet I am expected to feel indifferent to her because she was a servant. It is ironic, is it not, Miss Robbins?”
“I am very sorry. It must be very hard to lose someone who meant so much to you.”
His jaw hardened, and a muscle in his cheek twitched.
I quickly went on. “I have never had a servant, but I think we should love the people who love us. God commands that we love everyone, but if someone sacrifices of themselves, generously giving for our good, I believe we should love them most especially, servant or not. But as for grief, I think our society must be very different from the society of the Bible, as people wailed and threw ashes on their heads, sitting in sackcloth whenever someone they loved died. And yet we are expected not to shed a single tear.”
The way his expression changed as he listened to my words, as if he were truly reacting to what I was saying with understanding and agreement, made my heart lift.
Wouldn’t Susan shake her head at me and Hattie’s eyes widen in shock if they heard me conversing with Lord Brookhaven as if I were his equal?
“Perhaps we simply do not love to the extent that they did,” he said, eyeing me.
“Or perhaps we are just expected not to show it. We always must be so dignified and proper, though I do not know who decided that the show of emotion was undignified.”
“Perhaps we shall start a new movement, to show emotion and not care who sees. Would you be able to support such a stance, Miss Robbins?”
“I would like that very much. However, to scream and wail anywhere and at any time, becoming violent whenever one is angry, would make for a rather chaotic society. There must be moderation, I think. But I would like to see more authenticity.”
A tiny smile graced his lips.
“The challenge is how to preserve authenticity in emotion while remaining considerate of the feelings of others. No one wants to be around someone who cannot control themselves.”
His grin grew bigger, with a rakish, one-sided quirk. “You have thought this through before today, Miss Robbins.”
“I have.” I allowed myself to smile back.
We stood in silence again. He stared everywhere around us except at me.
I, on the other hand, allowed myself to look at him, imagining I was describing Lord Brookhaven in a letter to my friends.
He is tall and wears his clothes well, though he’s no fop.
His dark hair and heavy black eyebrows enhance the melancholy look about his eyes, as if he is wiser and sadder than other young men.
He has blue eyes and a Roman nose, with a masculine jawline and chin, a heavy forehead and rectangular face.
He could almost be said to have perfect features if it were not for his slightly overlapping teeth and the ironic way he has of smiling and talking out of only one side of his mouth.
But I consider him handsome, more handsome than any other man I ever saw.
I might be partial to him because he was my employer and because of the friendly way he spoke to me, but I could not attribute it solely to that.
Some women preferred men who were thin and boyish, with blond hair and delicate features, but those characteristics did not appeal to me.
I also was unwilling to overlook a large age difference, as some women were wont to do, marrying someone old enough to be their grandfather.
I could possibly overlook some things if he was a good man—character was more important than anything else, of course—but I hoped the man I married would be young like me.
Why was I thinking about this? Lord Brookhaven was so far above my station as to probably not even see me as a woman, and I likewise could not see him as an eligible man.
He broke the silence.
“My father sent my nurse Addy away when I was at school, dismissed her with a yearly allowance that was hardly enough money to buy food, with nothing left over for lodging. Therefore she had to live with and care for her sister, who had consumption. And she soon became ill herself. She died of the same malady as her sister.”
“I am so sorry.”
“As soon as I discovered what manner of life she was living, I sent money and made certain she had the best care, but of course, she never recovered.”
“That was very kind of you. I am sure she knew how much you cared for her and she was comforted by that,” I said.
“No more than she deserved, as she is my example of a good mother. But perhaps it is thoughtless of me to speak of such a thing with you. You are an orphan and never knew your mother, I suppose.”
“I don’t remember my mother, nor any of my family, except for the haziest memory of her lying sick. But I don’t mind hearing about yours.”
He gave me a look so warm and compassionate that it quite took my breath away.
We were quiet for a minute. Then, in a more businesslike tone, he said, “I did want to reiterate that I appreciated your assistance after the accident, even if Mr. and Miss Skidmore did not take the time to thank you. You were of great help.”
“Of course, my lord. It was no trouble.”
“And I would like to receive a report from you of the children’s progress every Friday afternoon. If there are any books or materials you need for their instruction, you can give me your list at that time.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And if you wish them to take some of their lessons out of doors, you may. Children need fresh air and sunshine.”
“Thank you, sir. I agree.”
“And you found the post office all right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“In future, allow me to frank your letters. Place them in the mail tray with the rest. Mrs. Merryweather will show you. That is all. You will forgive me for interrupting your walk.” Lord Brookhaven went toward the house, not looking back, and I watched him go.
I thought meeting an earl would be interesting, but he was so much more than I’d imagined.
Not a dandy, nor a thoughtless man-child bent on destroying himself with drink and gambling.
Though he might be a bit arrogant, he did have reason to be, and yet I did not find him off-putting.
In short, he was not like any of the stories I’d heard about titled young men.
It was only too bad he wasn’t the vicar, steward, or head gardener.
I smiled to myself, then followed a safe distance behind.
On Sunday, I walked to church with the rest of the servants, though no one spoke to or walked with me.