Chapter 3 #2
I nodded. “I’m well.” It was not unusual for me or my siblings to get a small cut or scrape when we were playing, especially when I was younger. Truly, it didn’t even hurt very much. I was more embarrassed and worried that the blood might get on my gown.
“My poor friend, you were bleeding so much! How stoic you are.” Her eyes were wide, but then she tilted her head. “Are you really in pain? Do you want to go home?”
“No, no. It is nothing. Let us go on with our walk and pretend nothing happened.”
“Quite right.” Juliet took my uninjured arm and faced forward. “We shall not let that shockingly ill-mannered goose ruin our day.”
I nearly laughed at Juliet calling a goose ill-mannered, but I saw that she was serious.
Mr. Beaumont was watching me as he walked a few feet to my right. He looked away when I caught his eye. But for a moment, I thought he was also amused.
Meanwhile, Juliet was going on and on about the swans and how well-mannered they were compared to geese.
“A swan is so elegant, so unlike a gawky old goose. Just see how demure and polite the swan is, while the goose runs about like a mad thing, biting well-bred ladies on the hand.”
“So true,” I declared, but I couldn’t hide my smile.
“And you, my friend, have borne it with the utmost grace. Smiling, even, as if you did not feel that wicked goose slice your flesh like a knife.”
I heard a chuckle. Juliet heard it too, for she stopped mid-stride and stared hard at her brother, who had turned his face away from us.
“Jeremy Beaumont, don’t you dare laugh at me or my friend, who was wounded and dripping blood just moments ago.” Juliet glared at her brother.
Finally, he turned toward us with his lips pressed firmly together.
“I quite agree with you, that Miss Moore has borne with the goose’s bad manners with great equanimity.”
I wasn’t sure what equanimity was, but I surmised that he was making light of his sister’s dramatic characterization of the incident.
“Rude.” Juliet turned to me and said, “Pay no heed to my brother. Next time I shall have one of the servants accompany us.”
“No, I shall accompany you.” His tone brooked no argument.
“He doesn’t trust the servants.” Juliet said this as an aside to me.
“It is not that I do not trust the servants,” Mr. Beaumont said. “I simply trust my own supervision more.”
It occurred to me that he probably didn’t trust me or my character, and that was why he was being so fastidious. He and Juliet had only just met me, after all. But I kept my thoughts to myself, as I wasn’t accustomed to being distrusted.
I didn’t like how it made me feel.
If I was right, then Jeremy Beaumont was as shockingly ill-mannered as the goose.
“Mrs. Kendall is giving a ball,” I told Juliet the next day as we took our walk, Jeremy Beaumont accompanying us.
“Oh, that is wonderful! If I could go to a ball every night, I don’t think I would get tired of dancing for at least a year.”
Fortunately, her home was very near the Kendalls’, which made it convenient for us to spend time together and also made it convenient for her brother to allow her to spend the rest of the day with me there. He said he would return later to walk her home, and he left us.
Mrs. Kendall ordered tea, and the three of us discussed the ball and going shopping the next day. We also planned to go to a music concert and attend a theatrical in the coming week to pass the time before the ball.
“Do you have any travel books or books about other countries?” Juliet asked Mrs. Kendall when we’d finished our tea.
“Come into the library. We shall look through Mr. Kendall’s bookshelves.”
Mrs. Kendall led us into the room and together we found books about the flora and fauna of far-flung places such as America, Australia, and the Far East.
We passed an hour happily looking through the books and planning trips we’d probably never take, but it seemed to be a pastime of Juliet’s, discussing exciting trips to exotic lands.
We imagined scenarios in which we would meet a handsome gentleman, perhaps an Italian or Frenchman, and he would offer to show us around the country.
He’d fall madly in love with us and beg us to marry him and stay in France or Italy or Greece, and then we’d discover he was a prince or count or marquis.
“I certainly hope I shall be invited to spend the summer with you in your French chateau,” Mrs. Kendall said.
“Of course,” we said.
“You will always be invited,” I added, as if I really believed it would happen.
The servant announced Mr. Jeremy Beaumont, and he stepped into the room.
“Mr. Beaumont!” Mrs. Kendall said with more enthusiasm and volume than the situation or the size of the room warranted. “How good of you to come.”
“I came to walk my sister home.” His demeanor formed a stark contrast to Mrs. Kendall’s.
“We were just discussing the trips we want to take someday,” Juliet said, then turned to Mrs. Kendall. “Look at this Spanish castle. Wouldn’t you and Mr. Kendall like to explore it?”
Mrs. Kendall and Juliet began to discuss a trip to Spain and whether or not Mr. Kendall would accompany them. “He’s not particularly curious about foreign places,” Mrs. Kendall said.
I noticed Mr. Beaumont eyeing me as I looked through a book about France.
“Expecting to go on a trip soon, Miss Moore?”
“Perhaps.”
Did he think I couldn’t see the wry contempt on his face or hear it in his voice?
“I don’t suppose your family has taken you out of the country.”
“What do you mean by that?” I challenged him with everything at my disposal—my expression, my tone, and my words—while placing my hand impertinently on my hip.
“Only that I imagine your only chance of seeing—” He pointedly looked at the book I was holding—“France is to go with my sister.”
How dare he be so condescending? He never would have said such things if Juliet had not been too occupied with her conversation with Mrs. Kendall to hear him.
“Are you always so rude?”
“Do you deny it?”
I could have told him that we were only dreaming of foreign lands as a way to pass the time in a pleasant way, that I had no intention of trying to coerce his sister into taking me to France or anywhere else.
But only children explained themselves, and I was an adult who would not explain anything to this arrogant—
“All I want from your sister is her friendship, and from you I want nothing. At all. Ever.” I said the words quietly and with a very insincere smile, laughing inside at his surprised, indignant expression.
“Hm. Are you sure of that?”
It was my turn to be surprised and indignant. “You wish you were so fortunate,” I shot back. A childish thing to say, perhaps, but it was the first thing that came to my mind. “You are rude. Do not speak to me.”
“I certainly—”
“What are you two talking of?” Juliet’s face showed mild concern as she looked from her brother to me and back again.
“Just about how pleasantly we have passed the time,” I said, smiling reassuringly at Juliet, “dreaming about foreign lands and planning imaginary trips.”
Juliet’s look of excitement returned. “Indeed, we have planned trips to Greece, France, Germany, and Constantinople. I feel as if I am a world traveler already.” She turned from her brother to me.
“Our father promised to take me to the Continent when I turned one-and-twenty, which was more than a year ago, but now I have to hope that my brother will take me.” She turned a pointed look at her brother.
His expression was bland and unreadable. “Maybe in a year or two.”
I would not hate him, I told myself, both because God wanted us to forgive and even love our enemies and because Juliet was my friend, and I couldn’t hate someone she loved.
He was her brother, after all. But I had never been so ill-treated in my life.
To accuse me of trying to take advantage of Juliet because I was poorer than she?
It was intolerable and nearly unbelievable!
Somehow I had to tolerate him if I wished to spend time with Juliet. Though it went against my nature, I must be civil and disguise my true feelings.
As they were taking their leave, Juliet squeezed my hands. “I shall see you tomorrow.”
“Yes, I shall see you for our walk.” I gave her my brightest, most sincere smile.
Mr. Beaumont was watching me. As soon as Juliet turned to go, I spun on my heel and walked away, refusing to bid him farewell.