Page 45 of A Lady's Wager
“I knew it would be additional security to Lydia to have him with her—she’s had a difficult time since Laura’s death. I knew she wasn’t ready but feared she never would be if she did not start. I suppose I made her come as well—what a selfish man I am.”
“You are not selfish for wanting her to find a match,” Etta reassured him. “Is that why you did the first half of the Season in Manchester?”
Mr. Firth was silent for a long time. Perhaps a full minute, sparking Etta’s curiosity all the more. There was a somberness about him that she had never seen before. “I chose Manchester. A woman I had interest in was there, and I wanted to explore the prospect of more than a letter-writing campaign between us. The feelings between us did not develop as I thought they might, so we came to London to try my hand there.”
Etta blinked at his back silhouetted in the window and prickles of realization moved up and down her spine. “Your hand?”
She watched Mr. Firth’s shoulders raise and lower as he took a deep breath and then let it out. “That’s the funny thing about love,” he said to the glass. “Once you’ve had it, life feels quite empty without it.” He turned from the window and faced her. “It has been five years since Laura passed, and I have known for at least the last three that I was ready to love again, but my children were not. I decided it was time for all of us to move forward. It was easy to credit our coming to London—and Manchester, for that matter—to them, but it was a poor plan. Neither of them was ready—Reed hasn’t expressed any interest in marriage at all.”
Etta knew that her surprise was showing on her face. “But he has been so attentive to Rachel, and that first night you confronted me for having interfered.”
“He knew so few people in London; Rachel was an important connection for both of them, based on our disadvantage in Town,” Mr. Firth explained, no malice in his voice. “I feared that if he did not get your good opinion, both of their prospects would be affected.” He raised a hand to his forehead and closed hiseyes. “If I’d known that he might…that it was even a risk, I would not have done this. Not for—”
“Father?”
Mr. Firth, who was already facing the doorway, opened his eyes wide and dropped his hand from his forehead as he looked past Etta. Etta spun around and stared at the young man she’d been trying to keep away from Rachel.
“Mrs. Markshire?” Reed said with even more surprise, his demeanor returning to that of the awkward young man she’d observed with distrust so many times before. His hair was sweaty and his jacket was rumpled; there were bits of grass stuck to his wet boots. “What are you doing here? Is everything alright?”
“JONATHAN RIGBY,” ETTA SAID UNDERher breath as she stared at the rug beneath her shoes. They were sitting around a tea tray that she had not yet touched despite her hunger. She looked up at Reed. “Are you certain?”
“Well, um, no,” he glanced at his father, then back to her. “I’m not certain, but if I had to hazard a guess, it would be him. She talked about him all the time, and at the Carters’ party, they were both gone for some time, then returned from separate entrances. We all suspected…something, and Rachel was broken up when he left London.”
Etta thought back to the night Rachel had been so sad over dinner. She’d assumed it was because of Mr. Winfred’s engagement, but it was within the same timeframe that Mr. Rigby had left London. Gracious. She’d had it all wrong.
“You should have told someone of their particular attentions to each other,” Mr. Firth said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
Reed laughed, then looked at Etta and sobered quickly. “That simply is not done. We are grown.”
“Rachel is not,” Etta interjected.
“With all due respect, ma’am, if she is grown enough to find a husband, she is grown enough to dally in the garden if she chooses.”
“She does not know her own mind,” Etta countered hotly, unimpressed with this boy’s cheekiness.
Mr. Firth stood, interrupting the dialogue. “Well, we’d best start for the Straw Hen. If we leave now, we ought to arrive by nightfall.”
Reed Firth also stood, and Etta followed suit. “Is there anything I can do to help?” Reed asked.
Mr. Firth and Etta exchanged glances. Mr. Firth turned back to his son and spoke. “Do not inform your friends of what’s happened. A girl’s reputation is a fragile thing.”
“Of course,” Reed said, nodding. He turned hesitantly to Etta. “Rachel is a good person, Mrs. Markshire, please do not be too angry with her.”
“And Mr. Rigby?” Etta asked. “Should I be angry with him?”
Young Mr. Firth looked away, and the weight of the circumstances filled her with uncertainty and embarrassment. She had not known what was happening in her own household. She had accused an innocent young man, and his father had gone to great lengths to help her, only to have been right about his son’s character all along.
She had been a complete fool.
Mr. Firth clapped his son on the back and excused him to return to his friends. As soon as he’d left the room, Mr. Firth picked up a plate and began to pile it high with items from the tray. Etta watched him, waiting for him to look at her with anger and righteous indignation for what she’d done.
“You might as well do the same,” he said, adding two biscuits to his plate and nodding at the empty plate on the tray. “We won’t have a meal until we reach the inn.”
“You do not owe me anything, Mr. Firth, and I…I owe you a deep apology for accusing Reed and…all the things I said in the carriage. I am beyond humiliated.”
“Apology accepted,” he said. “Our grooms are gathering information, and we need to meet them at the inn.”
She stared at him. “You’ll continue to help me?” She really had no options if he chose not to—it was his carriage, his grooms, his plan.
