Chapter 3- Margaret #2
Rachel grimaced, then said, “I suppose that explains what those ducks were up to in the park the other day—I threw several pebbles, as I was convinced the one was trying to murder the other. It seemed quite determined, even when I ran at them, yelling and flapping my arms.”
Margaret tilted her head, her forehead wrinkled. “You do have a lady’s maid, don’t you?”
“Yes. Sheila. Delightful girl.”
“And she follows you about?” At Rachel’s nod, Margaret added, “Does she happen to be hard of hearing or blind?”
“I’m her first charge. Doubtless she thinks my antics are normal.”
Margaret held her tongue but privately disagreed. One only had to look round a room of other ladies to ascertain that Rachel was her own kind of special.
“It’s a wonder that no one’s thought to record such a thing in an encyclopedia,” Rachel said.
“Perhaps they’re all disgusted with themselves, too embarrassed to acknowledge what they’ve done.
No wonder women in such a state are cloistered away!
It’s from the sheer shame of it.” Rachel blinked.
“And to think that my very sister has done such—she must have done—the presence of my niece belies her guilt!”
Margaret cast about for some way to redirect the conversation, but truthfully, she’d been shocked the first time she heard it, too.
Rachel nodded pertly. “After what you’ve disclosed to me today, I’m more determined than ever not to marry.” She pulled a piece of parchment from her tiny beaded purse. “In fact, I’ve come up with a list of ways to repel gentlemen’s advances.”
“I don’t think you’ll have to repel them—you simply tell them ever-so-politely that you aren’t interested.”
“With a dowry as large as mine? Do be serious.” Rachel tilted her head with sudden thought.
“Actually, your dowry is even larger than mine. You need to start working on your own list, lest you be cajoled into taking part in”—she flicked her hand and shuddered theatrically—“the process of having children.”
“I’d like to have children, eventually.”
Despite how it sounded, Margaret supposed it couldn’t be completely dreadful, as so many people had accomplished the task.
“If you’re determined to enter into the matrimonial state, I’ll not stop you. I won’t even cut our friendship off if you”—here, Rachel pressed her lips together and closed her eyes as if collecting herself for a moment— “decide to have children.”
“How gracious of you.” Margaret tried to bite back her smile, but her eyes still crinkled.
And this was the power of friendship, she supposed.
Only minutes ago, she’d felt she’d never smile again.
A scant quarter of an hour with Rachel and she felt almost returned to normal—if she ignored that swoop of fear in her stomach every time she remembered she’d lost an honest record of her inmost thoughts, that is.
“If you don’t wish to prepare a list of how to repel the gentlemen, then you should be making a list of the ones you wish to attract.”
Margaret wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think that’s how it works. The gentlemen are to decide.”
Rachel scoffed. “Are you truly going to let a man decide the course of your existence? Rubbish. If you won’t make a list, I shall make one for you.”
She crossed the room and sat at Margaret’s desk.
It was quite in shambles, with papers strewn everywhere.
Rachel carefully stacked the jumble of books and moved them from the desk to a nearby table, chose a piece of parchment and a pen from the rubble, then carelessly swept everything else to the ground.
Margaret rolled her eyes.
“Right,” Rachel said. “We’ll start with the most desirable, then move all the way down to the least acceptable.
First on the list is the Duke of Ettrick.
I’ve heard that he’s very handsome, as well as wealthy, and of an eligible age.
Rumor has it he intends to take a bride this year, as he’s never come to London during the Season before, and it stands to reason he’s coming for that purpose. ”
Margaret made a rude noise with her mouth and flopped to her stomach. “You might as well write the king at the top of the list, if you’re aiming that high.”
“Don’t be ridiculous—the king is unlikely to marry again.” Rachel jotted another name. “Right, after Ettrick is the Earl of Jamison. Less handsome, but still wealthy and very eligible.”
Margaret shook her head and muttered, “Start with the second sons of bankrupted barons—that’s who’ll be coming for me, and no one else, mark my words.”
“What was that?” Rachel lifted her head from her list.
“Nothing,” Margaret said quickly. “It’s only that my list is so dreadfully boring. I’d much rather work on yours. Have you considered all the ways animals in the wild repel attackers?”
“I hardly think I can go after the gentlemen with teeth or claws, lest they lock me up somewhere rather unpleasant. And none of those institutions have decent libraries—I’ve made inquiries.”
Margaret swallowed down her line of questions. She’d learned that any conversation with Rachel could very quickly end up a thousand miles from the original point it had originally been travelling. One had to put on blinders lest one be tempted down a side road that could lead nearly anywhere.
Margaret said, “I’m not talking about teeth and claws. I’m speaking of less-violent means of repulsion. When I looked up the chimpanzees in the encyclopedia, for example—”
Rachel interjected, eyes wide, “You can hardly expect me to throw—”
Margaret held up her hands. “Don’t even say it. I simply meant that I learned all animals have ways of attracting a mate. Perhaps if you look to the animal kingdom and see how they do it, you might consider practicing the reverse.”
“What a fascinating thought.” Rachel looked down at her navy dress. “I suppose my plumage is already appropriately somber.”
Margaret nodded but privately disagreed—even in a simple navy gown, Rachel’s beauty was obvious. She had large blue eyes, straight white teeth, and a slender nose with just the hint of an upturn at the end.
“Perhaps instead of rosewater, I might dab some vinegar behind my ears,” Rachel said, tapping her chin.
“That’s an…idea.” Margaret suddenly regretted steering the conversational horse down this particular lane.
Rachel canted her voice very low and said, “And maybe instead of speaking in my normal register, I could speak to them like this.”
Here, she devolved into a small coughing fit.
Margaret stood and rang the bell for tea service. “That would undoubtedly put any gentleman off courtship. The voice or the coughing—either one would suffice.”
Rachel said brightly, “And if they’re remarkably persistent, I’ll just hiss at them until they go away.”