A Mismatch Made in London

Chapter 1

I concentrated on putting the finishing touch of red paint on the paper soldier I was making for Matthew. I’d pasted on the paper hat and jacket, and now I waved it in the air to dry.

Matthew ran into the bedroom I shared with two of my sisters. Holding up the little sword and the horse I’d made for him earlier, he grabbed the finished soldier out of my hand.

“Now I can cut my enemies to ribbons!”

Ten-year-old Nathaniel ran into the room holding a similar horse and rider. “No, you won’t! I shall cut you to ribbons!”

“Attack!” Matthew cried.

They crashed their paper soldiers into each other, with many battle noises supplied verbally as they each claimed victory over the other.

“’Melia.” Diana, who was two years old and always left off the first syllable of my name, toddled into my room with tears on her cheeks.

“What’s the matter, darling?”

I could barely hear myself speak with the ruckus our brothers were making. I picked Diana up and carried her outside.

Before I could say another word, she laid her head on my shoulder and closed her eyes.

My heart melted at the downy head resting against my chest. I lightly kissed her blond hair and sank down in the hammock that Father had strung between two trees.

I settled my little sister more comfortably in the crook of my arm, then I gazed up through the leaves, enjoying the way the sunlight filtered and flickered its way through.

Our baby brother had kept me awake for what seemed like hours the night before. I must have been tired, because when I heard someone calling, “Amelia!” I opened my eyes and realized I’d fallen asleep.

Diana was heavy on my arm, sleeping peacefully and drooling, creating a wet spot on my dress.

I raised my available arm and waved to Lavinia.

“Amelia, there you are. Mama wants you inside,” my sister said, stopping and putting her hands on her hips.

I waved her over and carefully stood up, trying not to jostle Diana too much, then handed her off to Lavinia, who accepted her very casually, letting her head loll around as if she didn’t care if she woke up. But Diana slept on, her head now on Lavinia’s shoulder.

“A letter arrived from Aunt Kendall, and Mama wants you.”

Eight years younger, Lavie was my closest sister in age, but our personalities were very different.

Sometimes I envied my sister’s ability to always seem so sure of herself and never get upset.

I was the oldest girl, and I should be the self-assured one.

But I seemed to possess all of Mama’s feeling and sensitivity and less of my sister’s calm reason.

It could be a bit demoralizing.

“There you are, Amelia.” Mother’s wide eyes and smile told me it was good news as she shook the letter at me.

“Your aunt and uncle have invited you to London for the Season! What do you think of that? I had begun to think that they never would, as you are two and twenty years old now, but thankfully, still as pretty as you were at sixteen.” Her eyes were misty as she gave me a wistful smile.

She began to speak of new dresses once I reached London. Meanwhile, I began to read the letter, the principal point of which was:

“We will be at Woodbank on the 6th of March, as Mr. Kendall must be back for the continuing session of Parliament, and shall take dear Amelia with us if you can spare her.”

Mrs. Kendall was my mother’s sister, who had married very well indeed, outdoing both of her sisters when she wed Mr. Oliver Kendall, a landed gentleman who’d won a seat in the House of Commons.

I had to admit, my uncle frightened me a bit.

When I was a child, it was because he was so serious and gruff.

As I grew older, I understood more about what it meant to be a member of Parliament.

I also understood that I was only a country girl from Buckinghamshire, and though my father was a landed gentleman, he had twelve children to provide for, and therefore my dowry would be small.

“You are a lovely girl, and there are many young men who will fall in love with you,” Mother was saying, interrupting my reading of the letter, which did not mention me again anyway.

“Are you sure you can spare me? Who will help with Diana and the others?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I can hire another servant, if need be. And Lavinia can help more. We shall do very well, though you are my best helper.”

I hated to think of baby Diana crying and wondering where I was, for I knew Lavinia would not hold her when she was fretful nor rock her to sleep.

Mother clasped her hands, her eyes darting about the room as she seemed to be thinking about several things at once. “You must flirt, but do it discreetly and never offend anyone. Protect your reputation at all costs; don’t go anywhere alone with a man.”

“Of course, Mother. I would never—”

“And take your aunt’s advice. She will tell you with whom to flirt and the gentlemen who would make the best match for you.”

“Very well,” I said, although I was a bit shocked—and also amused—at the thought of flirting with someone because my aunt told me I should.

“And your cousin Algernon is your uncle’s heir. You could hardly do better than him, so if he pays his attentions to you—”

“Mother, no. Algernon?”

“I know he is your cousin.”

“And I’ve known him since we were babies.”

“But people marry their cousins. You know that. There is nothing wrong with it.”

“Yes, but . . . no. I cannot.”

“Well, there are many other gentlemen in London in possession of large fortunes.” Mother’s smile faded as she grew serious again.

“Though your father does very well and we are favorably situated, you know that he has been reluctant to make any investments since that one which did not turn out well.”

We were the principal family in our village, and I grew up thinking we were wealthy, but the truth was that our village was very small and Father had lost quite a bit of money when he invested in a business interest of his uncle’s several years before.

And with twelve children, there wasn’t enough to give every daughter a large enough dowry to make us tempting to most young gentlemen.

Mother went on. “By the time your sisters are of age, I’m not sure your father will be able to offer them anything.”

Mother’s face looked pinched, and I noticed for the first time the little wrinkles around her eyes and the creases on either side of her mouth.

“I don’t wish to upset you, and I know you shall do your best to make a good match in London, but I wanted you to know just how much use you could be to your family, your sisters in particular, if you were to marry well.”

“Yes, of course, Mama. I shall do my best.”

I wanted to ask her if it was all right to marry someone who was not so wealthy, and whether I could marry for love, but I stopped myself.

After all, I cared about my siblings too much not to at least consider the fact that they would have a much better chance of marrying well if I first married well myself.

Nevertheless, I wasn’t sure I could sell myself in that way.

Oh, I knew my mother would be horrified, as would every other member of good society, if I were to characterize marriage in terms of “selling myself.” After all, a lady was expected to marry as well as she could manage, to make the best match in terms of fortune and rank, and everyone would think more of her, not less.

But I wanted a marriage of love and mutual respect, of romantic attachment and affection, as well as healthy, happy children; I wanted what my parents had.

That was what I dreamed of, and I wasn’t sure I could pretend to love and respect someone who didn’t love and respect me.

Would I be able to sacrifice love in favor of wealth?

But a good match was a good match, and a husband generally wanted the same things I wanted, did he not?

Which was healthy children and a harmonious and happy home.

Certainly, I didn’t wish to saddle myself with someone who would cause me shame and embarrassment, such as a man who would keep a paramour, say disrespectful things to me in public, or equally hurtful, ignore me.

I wasn’t supposed to even know about paramours and the immoral behavior of gentlemen, but I read the newspapers, including the gossip columns that I’m sure Mother wouldn’t approve of me reading.

In truth, sometimes I’d feel a little sick after I read about the goings-on in London among what were supposed to be the best families.

But if being knowledgeable about such things kept me from being ignorant, and therefore prevented me from making a poor choice, then how could it be wrong?

Leastways, I was a woman grown and I didn’t wish to be naive.

Even the Bible told the truth about people’s wicked behavior.

And now I was about to be in London where so many wicked things happened. But I would be under the protection of my aunt and uncle, so I needn’t fear anything worse than a broken heart. I hoped.

Part of me would have liked to stay at home.

Here I felt comfortable, loved. My younger brothers counted on me to play games with them.

I liked it when they came asking me to make them some new toy soldiers or requesting that I take them to the pond to go fishing, since they weren’t allowed to go without me or one of the servants, who were always busy with their duties.

And when little Diana fell asleep in my arms or cried because she wanted me, not one of the maids, to put her down to sleep at night, I felt loved and needed.

If I went to London, who would take care of them the way I did?

But there was another part of me, a part that longed to dress in pretty clothes and go to parties and balls, to be seen and admired. I’d rarely been to London, or any large town, but I knew that life would be very different there.

The day before I was to go to London with Mr. and Mrs. Kendall, I met Father as I was leaving by the back door.

“Where’s my wee lass off to this spring morning?” Father narrowed his eyes at me.