Page 38 of A Lady's Wager
And yet…
There was a thinness to her life that hung just outside the window of her mind. A sense that she had not quite accomplished all that she wanted to accomplish. Yet she had accomplished so much that she was proud of. She had wonderful friends, respect of her peers, opportunities, travel…and a perpetual question as to whether she had ever been truly loved.
Trappings and fripperies were not silencing those things as they once did. She blamed Mr. Firth. Ever since that night allthose weeks ago, the discomfort with her life had felt closer, brighter, harder to ignore.
She shook her head, irritated at the thoughts while at the same time remembering Elizabeth’s theory that one feeling might mask another. Was her irritation actually the fear of admitting such things? Of looking too closely into the void of what she’d never found? Fulfillment with a man. A trusting relationship where she was wanted and loved. Could that be more important than the other things she had accomplished?
Sometimes she looked at married couples who had grown into such comfort with one another and wondered what that might be like. Facing such thoughts raised her fears and hesitations, however, and reminded her of all the reasons she was determined to remain independent. No matter the handsome man and fluttering feelings and the inability to ignore where he was in any space at any given time.
“Oh, Elizabeth,” she said softly, resting her open fan on her lap and looking at the oriental flowers painted across the paper. “Sometimes the thoughts in my head are exhausting.”
Elizabeth’s quick clearing of her throat drew Etta’s attention, giving her precious seconds to set herself to rights before the very subject of her thoughts was upon them.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Pettengill, Mrs. Markshire.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Firth,” Elizabeth said for them both. “How nice to see you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Pettengill.” He looked at Etta, but she felt rather overwhelmed by all the thoughts she’d let in during the minutes before his approach. She nodded politely and looked away, pretending to be absorbed in the young people’s games.
“How are you liking London?” Elizabeth asked him.
Etta already knew the answer because she and Mr. Firth had discussed this topic last week at the Forsham dinner when he was suddenly at her side for no particular reason.She remembered that when he’d excused himself after a few minutes, his shoulder had brushed hers accidentally and she’d felt it shiver through her. She only listened to his answer now with half an ear, looking pointedly away as the small talk continued while the confusing feelings in her chest morphed into one that was easily identified and perfectly comfortable for her to act upon—annoyance. She’d gone soft and allowed Rachel to take more control than she should have—that must stop. She’d also gone soft in her determination to want anything more than she had—that must stop too.
“Well,” she said suddenly, standing quickly enough that both Elizabeth and Mr. Firth started. “I do believe it is time for us to go, good day.” She marched away from them and called for Rachel. Several young people looked her direction, then at Rachel as she obediently broke away from the group.
“Yes, Auntie Etta? What is it?”
“It is time to go,” Etta said.
“Our game is not yet finished,” Rachel protested. “Perhaps in a quarter of an hour.”
“Rachel,” Etta said, fixing her with a look that Women of a Certain Age had mastered. She spoke slowly, enunciating each word. “It is time to go. I expect you at the carriage in five minutes.”
She turned on her heel to avoid another protest and moved toward the drive, aware with every step exactly where Mr. Firth’s placement was to her and knowing without a doubt that he was watching her just as she so often watched him.
“MR. WINFRED HAS ASKED ABIGAILHorsley to marry him!”
Etta looked up from her morning paper, as surprised by Rachel bursting into her room unannounced as she was by the news Rachel had just trumpeted.
“Abigail Horsley?” Etta said as Rachel threw herself backward across the foot of Etta’s bed. It was a Friday morning, and they did not have an event until three, so Etta was taking the morning to herself. Or such had been her plan. “She has been here in London less than a month, and she is so…pale,” Etta said. The girl blended so well with the pastels afforded to debutantes that she often looked like a ghost amid the other girls.
“I know!” Rachel wailed, throwing a hand over her eyes. Truly, Etta had never seen Rachel so animated. “He had been so attentive to me before she arrived, and I thought that once he realized how insipid and dull she was, he would see me in an even better light.”
“You need not be critical of other girls to feel good about yourself,” Etta chided softly, surprised again as she had not seen such judgement from Rachel before. Never mind that Etta had thought the same thing. It was one thing to think a thing,however, quite another to say it out loud where people could flog you with it.
Rachel stayed in Etta’s room for a full half hour talking through her disappointment, and when she left, Etta felt a new sense of satisfaction. To be the receiver of Rachel’s sorrows helped center her concerns over Rachel’s increasing independence. And hopefully, this loss of Mr. Winfred’s attention would help Rachel understand the stakes. Parliament would end soon. More and more engagements were being announced. It would not be the worst thing in the world for Rachel not to make a match—two of Etta’s sponsors made their matches on their second Season—but she would like the girl to find success this time around if possible.
Two days after Rachel burst into Etta’s room, Mr. Rigby left Town for his grandmother’s birthday celebration in Sussex. Rachel became very quiet, and the following evening claimed she was too tired to go to the ball they had been planning to attend. She spent the night alone in her room while Etta caught up on correspondence. Mr. Reed Firth sent her flowers the next day, and Etta would have read the note that accompanied the arrangement if her staff had done their job and alerted her before taking it to Rachel. Etta sent Lowry to find the note when they were out that evening, but upon her return, Lowry claimed the note was nowhere to be found.
Despite the rousing of their connection that Etta had felt the week before when Rachel had shared her disappointment over Mr. Winfred’s engagement, tension began to set in between them again. Rachel only wanted to go to the events Lydia attended, most of which had Reed Firth on hand as well—and Mr. Firth too. When Etta forced Rachel to go to events without her friend, Rachel kept herself apart from the main crowds, not putting herself forward to dance and sometimes disappearing into a library or garden or someplace she could be alone.Etta counted the days for Mr. Rigby’s return, as she was sure the young man’s renewed attention would be just what Rachel needed. She talked at length with Elizabeth about how to best strategize a restoration of spirits in her young charge. And how to keep Mr. Reed Firth as far away as possible while Rachel was so out of sorts. She would be even more vulnerable in her melancholy.
All these things were on Etta’s mind when they attended a musical performance at the Royal Opera House. Rachel was not terribly keen about music, and Etta had to keep tapping her with her fan to remind Rachel to sit up straight and at least look attentive to the evening. At intermission, Rachel darted out of their box before Etta could contain her. With a heavy breath, Etta stood and followed at a more decorous pace. There were refreshments in the gallery, and Etta narrowed her eyes when she saw Rachel deep in conversation with Reed Firth. She was waylaid on her way to interrupt them by Mr. and Mrs. Willington, and by the time she was able to end that conversation, Rachel was talking with a group of young women, and Reed Firth was on the other side of the room. Etta looked between them, trying to sort what was happening and feeling very—very—tired. It was good to see Rachel socializing with her friends, but Etta could not help but feel unsettled.
“Confounding, isn’t it?”
Etta knew the voice of Wynn Firth by now and took instant offense at the tone, though she did not show it as she turned to face him and gave as polite a smile as she could gather.
“Good evening, Mr. Firth.”
