Page 3 of Miss Determined
The DeWitt ladies needed a miracle. “Why don’t you ring for one? I could use a sandwich or two.”
“I must rehearse my Clementi.” Diana tipped her chin up in what she clearly believed was the essence of feminine self-possession and sashayed from the room.
“One ought not to hate,” Grandmama said from the depths of her favorite chair, “but that sonatina has worn out its welcome with me. Diana’s plan is worth considering.”
Amaryllis reached the end of a row and stashed her knitting into her workbasket. “I agree, but Mama cannot be swayed. She’s very loyal to Papa’s memory.” Then too, convention declared that the oldest sister married first, and Lissa was, by a pathetically wide margin, the oldest.
“You are a diplomat,” Grandmama said, her embroidery needle moving in a slow, graceful rhythm. “You get that from your father, along with your considerable settlements.”
“I wish I could keep the diplomacy and give the money back.” Along with Papa’s nose, another difficult legacy. His stubbornness made the list, too, as did his loyalty to family. How much easier life would be if Lissa could simply take Grandmama to Paris and knit shawls by the dozen.
“I had three Seasons,” Grandmama said, a point she raised frequently. “Many girls would envy you those settlements, Lissa. It could be worse.”
“You’re right, of course. I could be five years older, five inches taller, or have five thousand pounds more a year. My hair could be flaming orange instead of dark red, and I could be inclined to tittering.”
Grandmama smiled at her embroidery. “You’re testy when you’re peckish.”
“I am peckish. I’m also plain, common, and tall. Dangling after heirs and Honorables is beyond me.” Lissa knew that now, after last year’s disastrous, interminable Season at an age considered antediluvian by Mayfair standards. Her initial foray into fashionable Society at eighteen, equally disastrous, had been cut short by Papa’s death.
One still had to try, though, in the circumstances. Mama was right about that.
“Your grandfather was nine years older than I.” Grandmama smoothed her fingers over a butterfly rendered in imperial blue thread. “We weren’t a love match, but we had a grand time together. You must be willing to compromise and see the best in a fellow. Then the babies come along, and you are a family, not merely husband and wife.”
Diana’s sonatina blasted forth from the music room, filling the air with adolescent pique in the key of C major. Di had her party pieces, and Grandmama had her familiar refrains too.
But I am not yet immured in Mayfair.“Do you need anything, Grandmama? A fresh pot, a tray?”
“Not a thing, dear. You want some sunshine, methinks, and if you don’t escape now, your mother will soon be here making her lists and schedules and budgets. That child’s pounding would wake the dead.”
Beyond the parlor windows, the afternoon looked warmer than it was—bright, early-spring sunshine poured down on trees that had yet to leaf out. Crocuses had given way to daffodils, and a time of year that ought to be full of hope and promise instead bore a weight of dread.
Lissa added a log to the fire—they burned wood out here in Berkshire. “Grandmama, did you ever think of running away?”
Grandmama’s needle halted above the fabric. “Your dear brother ran away. That strategy has little to recommend it for those left to deal with the consequences.”
“Agreed.” Though any day, Gavin might come toddling up the lane, proffering an explanation for his extended absence. Corsairs, a blow to the head, illness,something…“I’m away for a ramble before Diana’s sonatina parts me from my wits.”
“If only she were as devoted to the andante as she is to the spiritoso, and God spare us from the day she tackles the vivace. Give my regards to our Mr. Heyward.”
“If I see him, I will.”
Grandmama held up her hoop. “You could marry him, Lissa. He’s a sweet fellow and of age.”
That plan was even more farfetched than Diana’s. “We’re friends, nothing more, and I would not take advantage of Phillip by marrying him.” Assuming the solicitors, trustees, and other meddlers didn’t object first.
“Go see your friend, then, and I will look for you at supper.”
Supper, with Mama’s prattling, Diana’s sulking, and poor Caroline’s trying to make sense of the spatting between her elders. Grandmama generally kept her peace at meals, unless somebody disrespected Papa’s memory.
“Don’t let them wait supper for me. Phillip and I will pay a call on the brood mares’ pasture.”
Grandmama resumed her stitching. “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.Old Time is still a-flying.”
The rest of the verse popped into Lissa’s head.And this same flower that smiles today, Tomorrow will be dying.
“You’re sure you don’t need anything, Grandmama?”
“Be off with you.”
