A Matter of Choice

Chapter Forty-Six

March gave way to April. The golden forsythia had bloomed its fill and was now replaced by flowering quince. The buds of the earliest azaleas and rhododendrons were breaking with colour and the beds of tulips were alive with red and yellow and white. In the mornings, Emily took joy in discoveries of fresh new leaves unfurled and the sweet song of the lark trilling overhead as she walked the verdant pathways. During the afternoons, she and Ruth were very much occupied with setting up the school in the renovated cottage. Olivia was a willing and regular helper, often driving Emily and Ruth in her chariot, but on occasion being delivered by her brother who would always come in and observe the proceedings.

Emily felt herself repeatedly singled out. Percy would join the girls on walks, pluck flowers from the hedgerow and present them to her, quote snippets of poetry in a low voice that only she could hear. He would ask her what she thought of his waistcoat and how she liked a new tying of his cravat as if her opinion meant something to him, and when she had mentioned how much she liked green, he immediately rode to London to order a new coat from Weston. He had even taken to paying morning visits at Barstow Hall with his sister in tow, and Mrs. Sidford was beginning to smile upon her daughter again.

"We must invite that charming Mr. Braithwaite and his sister to dine with us some night," said Maude Sidford who, in truth, rarely held dinner parties because she preferred that other of her neighbours should be put to the expense, as she was always ensured of an invite.

Emily looked at her mother, startled. "I would prefer not."

"Nonsense my dear. The gentleman is very taken with you. He is perhaps not as good a catch as Lord Ralph," here the bitterness was still evident in her voice, "but he is to inherit a sizeable estate in the north and should do very nicely for you."

"Mother, I did not break my engagement with Lord Ralph only to accept the hand of another gentleman who is equally abhorrent to me." Emily spoke softly but firmly, and held her mother's eyes in challenge the whole time.

"I had hoped you would desist from behaving in this tiresome manner," said Mrs. Sidford. "You have a duty to your family to marry well."

"I have a duty to myself not to marry without affection," said Emily.

"You are not in a position to be so fastidious in your choice," interposed the general. "When the young man returns from London, let him come to dine. I expect you to show him a good table, Maude."

"We will have to invite his sister too," said Mrs. Sidford with a frown. "Well, no matter. Letty and I shall entertain her, leaving the field open for Mr. Braithwaite with Emily. A new gown is in order. What do you think, Emily? Blue? Or would you rather a pale sprigged muslin?"

"There is no need for a new gown, mother. I can either wear the coffee cream or the moss-green muslin. It is of no import."

"Such drab choices! I will have Letty re-trim the cream gown to brighten it up," said Mrs. Sidford with decision. Emily sighed and resumed her stitchery. She was making a sampler, with a recurring pattern of oak leaves and forget-me-nots.

The evening of the dinner arrived, and Emily allowed herself to be dressed just as her mother wished. The cream muslin had been trimmed with silken knots of bright yellow and heather pink. Ribbons were wound through her hair and she wore a ruby pendant about her neck.

Emily greeted her friend with sincere pleasure, and then coolly extended her hand towards her brother. Percy bowed deeply over it, and then raised it to his lips as Maude Sidford looked on encouragingly. Emily retrieved her hand as quickly as possible, and turned to speak with Olivia. She was given that short time before the meal to please herself, but the dinner and remainder of the evening were so arranged that Emily was forever in Mr. Braithwaite's company. Even when she played he sat next to her and turned her pages, all the time whispering little compliments on her looks and her dress. The evening could not end soon enough.

The next morning, Emily retreated to the garden as soon as possible. Hearing her mother rhapsodise about the success of the dinner party was more than she could willingly endure. Emily held her face up to the sun and let its warmth seep through her, bringing her as near to contentment as she had been in a long time. Whenever she was out of doors she felt all the closer to James. Emily knew this was foolish as Bedfordshire was still as distant from her garden as it was from her drawing room, but she believed that they were both breathing in the same clean air. She heard a rustle of the bushes and turned, her heart beating high in her chest. But instead of the corporeal embodiment of her daydream, she found herself staring into the eyes of Percival Braithwaite. He was much closer than she could ever have imagined.

"Miss Sidford." He said it with a sigh.

"Mr. Braithwaite! Whatever are you doing here?"

"Your mother told me I would find you in the garden."

"We must return to the drawing room at once," said Emily, stepping forward.

"Miss Sidford, please stop. You must allow me to speak!" Percy caught her hand and held it, gazing at her earnestly.

"I have no wish to hear you!" cried Emily. "Please let me go."

"Your modesty is becoming, my love," whispered Percy in her ear. Emily froze. "Do you not know how much I have come to care for you? I know I flirted shamelessly when I first came to Barstow, but now I think only of you. You are the embodiment of all that I have ever wanted in a wife. Say that you will not disappoint me and all my dreams will be answered!" He pulled her close into his arms and Emily began to shake.

"No! Leave me be."

Percy let go of Emily, and led her to sit on a bench. "I'm sorry if I frightened you," he said. "I have no wish to harm you. All I want is your happiness, and my own."

Emily felt relief flood through her. He was not going to behave indecently as Lord Ralph had. She raised her head and looked into his eyes. "I thank you for your offer. I have no desire to marry at present."

"Have I been too previous?" he asked, taking her hand again. "Shall I give you more time to fall in love with me?"

"I cannot love you," said Emily. "Not ever. Do not waste your time on me."

Emily's words caused Percy to first turn white, and then the colour rose high in his cheeks. "Those are cruel words to one who has just expressed his love to you. Have you no thought for my feelings?"

"Forgive me," sad Emily, "but I believe the love you profess will quickly fade. I thank you for your openness with me, and your respect for my honour, and I will, in turn, give you some information that should soon ease the pain you are putting yourself through."

"What on earth could you tell me that would stop the pain of knowing you do not love me?"

"Mr. Braithwaite, the time has come for frankness. I know you think me rich, but it is not the case. Indeed my parents have frittered and gambled our entire fortune away. If I agreed to marry you, you would have become ensnared in a very unequal match. I trust you to keep this to yourself, as I will keep to myself all that you have told me this morning. Let it be as if this meeting between us did not happen."

"You are penniless?" asked Percy, much affected.

"It is the honest truth."

"I thank you for telling me. Do not think that my love is insincere. I have the deepest regard for you and respect all your good qualities, but did does put a different complexion on the matter," said Percy, a trifle shamefacedly.

"I rather thought you would see it that way," said Emily tightly.

"You have my word that I will not tell a soul," said Percy hurriedly. "Now I must leave you. Please give my regards to your good parents. I do not think I ought to return to the house."

Emily nodded, and Percy, unsure quite how to go on, raised her hand to his lips again and kissed it perfunctorily. He then kept his head ducked to avoid her eyes and walked off. When he was safely out of sight, Emily sank back on the bench and let her tears flow. She hoped never again to be in the position to receive an unwanted proposal. It was difficult to have to listen to all those words of love, no matter how insincere, from persons who had not the least understanding of her, or to have to guard against unwanted romantic overtures. She decided that she was in need of a walk to the gate. She had to bring peace to her heart, lift her spirits and find the confidence to face her parents as if nothing had taken place.

Olivia saw Percy make straight for his room upon his return. She knew where he had been and what he had intended to do, and from the way he was walking she knew he had been unsuccessful. It was a foregone conclusion, of course, because Olivia had a very good idea of exactly whom Emily favoured, but she was impatient to hear her brother's report before he had laced it with false bravado. She ran up after him and entered his room behind him without knocking.

"The vulture come to pick at the corpse?" he asked as he shrugged off his new green coat.

"Oh Percy! You should have listened to me and saved yourself this hurt." Olivia gave him a comforting look. He was a selfish fool, but he was her brother and she did love him.

"On the contrary," said Percy. "Your friend has been very kind to me. I was just rescued from being leg-shackled to a little mouse with nothing to recommend her but her goodness. It was a very near thing. I am greatly indebted to her." He sat on the bed and put his head in his hands.

Olivia did not understand the full import of what Percy was telling her, but he refused to elucidate. She had never before seen him so affected by a girl.

"As she told me, my feelings will soon pass, so you don't have to be too sorry for me, sister dear. Instead we should drink to the fact that I proposed to a lady of such honour," said Percy with a rueful smile. He picked up his coat and tossed it to her. "Here - give this to one of your benighted poor -- I have no further use for it." He went to his closet and instead put on a coat of royal blue. "I feel much more the thing now," he said, looking in the mirror, and tweaking the folds of his neck-cloth.

Olivia looked at the coat in her hands. "What am I to do with this? A beggar or a labourer cannot wear a garment of such quality."

"Oh, give it to Turnbull with my regards!" said Percy. "I'll not see him before I leave."

"Where are you going?" she asked in concern. "I'm not ready to leave yet."

"Nor are you invited. I'm going up north to Colhaven. It will keep me in my uncle's good graces and take me far away from the general and his avaricious wife. Come, let us break the good news to Sir Edward."

"You are incorrigible, Percy," said his sister, and she gave him a gentle kiss on his cheek as she took his arm.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Two weeks after Mr. Braithwaite had departed for Cumbria, Mrs. Sidford was still lamenting that he had not come up to scratch, and taking every opportunity to admonish Emily for not behaving in a more encouraging manner. For her part, Emily bore it patiently, relieved that she had been asked nothing direct about the visit in the garden, and had not been forced to lie to her parents. Whenever Olivia visited, Mrs. Sidford was all ingratiating condescension towards her, enquiring constantly about her brother and his expected return. Olivia's sympathies for Emily grew, and she began formulating a plan that she hoped would relieve her present suffering, and help forward her future happiness. One Wednesday morning while she and Emily were walking in the garden, Olivia put forward her proposition.

"You know I have stayed much longer with my aunt and uncle than I had ever intended," said Olivia, "and my mother misses me dreadfully. She has written again asking me to join her in London."

"Your mother has a greater claim on you than Sir Edward and Lady Warrington," said Emily, "but I am certain they will miss you when you go. As will I."

"My mother has given me permission to invite a friend. Would you like to accompany me there for a month?" Olivia smiled at Emily eagerly. "I think a change of place would do you good, and I would be very glad of your company."

Emily walked on in silence for some time. Her friendship with Olivia was quite new. They did not have the depth of feeling and understanding in their relationship as she had with Ruth, but she sensed a sincerity in Olivia's request that she felt bound to honour. London did not hold much appeal to her, however escape from the oppression of her home and her parents' criticisms was a strong temptation. Emily absently pulled a leaf from a shrub as she passed, and crushed it between her fingers. Did she and Olivia have enough in common to spend so much time together? How would she occupy herself there? Could she bear to trade the freedom of walking in the fresh outdoors for the crowded streets of the city?

"I do not know that I will make the gayest of companions," she said. "I do not take much delight in society."

"I think we shall deal famously," said Olivia. "You shall sit quietly allowing me to rattle on in my impetuous way. For every soirée you will be obliged to attend you may drag me off to a museum or botanical garden. It will be a most enriching experience for both of us!"

Emily laughed. A month in the city might be just the thing for her to take her mind off her troubles. But what if James should return while she was gone? Emily chided herself for foolishness immediately. James had been gone for nearly two months now. He was busy running an estate and forgetting her. No, that was not quite fair. He had told her he would never forget her, and she fervently hoped that it was true - that somewhere deep inside him he held her memory precious and inviolate just as she held his. But there was no reason for him to come running back. He was just as much lost to her now as ever. It was as vain a hope to think he would return as to secretly imagine that he would somehow be in London while she was there. But she could not help imagining that either.

"Please say you will consider it," said Olivia earnestly.

"I must ask my mother," said Emily.

"Then let us go right now and do so," said Olivia, taking her by the arm and leading her towards the house.

Mrs. Sidford was not averse to the plan at all. Not only would Emily have a trip to London at no expense to the General, there was the possibility that she would again be thrown together with Mr. Braithwaite, and if not he, there would be many gentlemen for her to meet at all the parties she would attend. She agreed with alacrity and immediately began to plan all the necessary additions to Emily's wardrobe. Her schemes were thwarted somewhat, however, by the short time available before the two girls were to depart. They were to leave on the second of May, giving less than a week for preparations.

It was decided to make one new evening gown and a new walking dress, although Emily thought both were unnecessary. The next few days were spent in a frenzy of patterns and fabric and lace. Emily felt she was forever draped in cloth that was being continually adjusted and pinned. Mrs. Sidford came and supervised the work, making all manner of recommendations. As they no longer had to please Lady Prescott, she felt that she could impose her ideas of more elaborate and showy styles and trimmings but Emily stood firm on her choice for simplicity and understated elegance.

"You do not understand, my dear, that this is all going to be new for you," said her mother. "Previous to this you were always engaged and never had to really exert yourself to impress a gentleman, but now you are upon a very different footing. You must dress to attract and be outgoing or no one of any worth will take note of you. And there will be so many other finely dressed young ladies, you really must do something to call attention to yourself."

Emily continued to set her fine stitches into the seam she was sewing. The whole idea of putting herself on display to make a good catch was abhorrent to her. That was not her reason for going to London.

Aunt Letty, realising that Emily was not about to respond to her mother, turned to Maude Sidford and said, "If all the young ladies will be outdoing themselves with elaborate designs then our Emily will show them up with her elegant styles."

"There is something in that," said Maude thoughtfully. "But, oh! How I wish I were going with you, Emily, so that I could advise you as to who would be more worthwhile to attract. I wouldn't want you wasting your time on some loose screw without a feather to fly with!"

"Mother," said Emily patiently. "I am going to London to keep Olivia company, not to catch a husband."

"Emily, what is it you think young ladies go to London for if not to catch a husband? You can be sure of it that is Miss Rutherford's reason for going. Have you not noticed that it was only after Lord Ralph began paying his attentions to that Senorita Fuentes so markedly that your little friend decided to go to London. I'm sure her hopes were upset." There was still quite a bit of bitterness in the mention of Lord Ralph. It annoyed Maude Sidford to think how quickly he had diverted his attentions from her daughter to the sultry Spaniard.

Emily turned her attention to Alice who was asking a question about the placing of some ribbons that she was trimming one of Emily's older gowns with. She let her mother's voice drone on and blessed the fact that in two days she was going to be on the road to London. She looked at the unfinished gown in her hands and sighed. Two days of industrious sewing! She threaded her needle and resumed stitching.

Alice could barely contain her excitement as she watched the stable lads strap the bandboxes and trunks to the roof of Miss Rutherford's travelling carriage. She could scarcely believe that she was attending Miss Sidford to London. She followed the two young ladies up the steps and into the luxurious leather interior. As the equipage began moving down the drive, she gazed out the window at all the familiar sights, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. London! And in such a coach.

Elsewhere in England, another person was setting out upon a journey. It wasn't as long of a trip, and he wasn't riding in style as they were, but he did share the same feeling of eagerness to be on the road as the passengers of that carriage. James was at last making his trip home to Huntingdon. He had been two months in Bedfordshire organising labour crews and now that planting was well underway and he had foremen that he could trust, he was able to leave the estate for a week without qualm.

Sophocles galloped steadily along the highway as James let him have his head and relished the feel of the wind blowing his dark hair back from his brow. He remembered his last trip when had ridden through the rain, the fresh bite of pain driving him on in his attempt to escape his emptiness. He was still hollow, but he had become accustomed to it. The biting hurt had turned into a constant dull ache that could not be relieved, but only pushed temporarily aside by industrious activity.

They came upon Huntsfield as the sun was slipping through the trees to the horizon. James' breath caught in his chest at the sight of the familiar fields gilded by the last light of evening. As the sun finally dipped out of sight, streaks of red flamed across the sky, the oaks burning dark silhouettes in the fire. For the first time James did not feel that pull of home as he entered the drive and made for the stables. This was only a house of mortar and stone. It had once cradled him with all its warmth, but it had lost its power over him. Now there was only one place he belonged -- the very place he could no longer be. He gave Sophocles over to Jacob and walked up to the house, knowing that he had a hurdle to face. He could not be as transparent with his parents and Mary as he had been with George. But he was stronger now than he had been that day, and more accustomed to his burden.

Mary was descending the staircase as James entered the hall. The moment she laid eyes on James she knew that a great change had been wrought in him and that he was struggling under some deep sorrow. She rushed up to him and threw herself into his arms. He hugged her tightly.

"I have missed you so," cried Mary.

"And I you," said James. "Shall we go in to mother and father?"

Mary studied James in the light of the drawing room as he lovingly greeted his parents. He appeared very lean, and there was strain showing on his face. He smiled as he talked but in unguarded moments she observed such a bleak expression come into his eyes that it chilled her heart. She knew that all was not well with him. Ever since he had come away from Worcestershire she had noticed a change in his letters. The joy was somehow gone. She hoped that there was something she could do to help him during the short week he was to spend with them.

"I am afraid you are working too hard, son," said Sir Arthur as he bade James sit in a chair next to him by the fire. "You look peaked."

"I am fine, father," said James. "Just a little tired from my trip, perhaps."

"Nonsense James," said his mother. "You are not eating well enough, with no one to look after you. Your clothes are hanging on your frame."

"George's housekeeper takes good care of me, mother," said James. "Sometimes I am so occupied I forget to eat."

"You will eat well while you are here!" said Lady Warrington. "I will see to that! I have bespoken your favourite dishes for tonight's dinner and I will watch that you do them justice."

James smiled and settled back in his chair, comforted to be with his family again. He talked to Mary of his friend, Samuel Hastings, and his cousin who they were to visit on the morrow. At dinner he ate his fill under his mother's watchful eyes, even though his favourite dishes no longer held the appeal they once did. It seemed the flavour had gone out of almost everything.

"Did you know I shall be going to London shortly?" asked Mary.

"To prepare for the wedding?" asked James.

"Yes. Anne has chosen everything that I am to wear, but I must attend her milliners to be measured and fitted. It will be such a bore."

"But think," said her mother, "You will finally meet her lord and his lovely little daughter that we have heard so much about. Your father and I shall not meet him until they visit after the wedding."

"I think it so unfair that they are to be married in London and not here," said Mary. "Anne should have wanted you to be present."

"But you will be able to attend, and so too Randolph and Lucy. You know I do not like to leave your father. Anne will tell me all the glamorous details, and I can rely on you for the interesting anecdotes. Are you to go too James?"

"I have not yet decided," said James. "It depends how the work is going."

"Oh, please do come," cried Mary. "I shall be suffocating at Grosvenor Square."

James was unsure if he was willing to be subjected to the pomp and ceremony of a society wedding, or if Anne would truly want her steward brother to come. It would mean introducing him to all her new relatives in the peerage. James had never held any illusions about the peerage, but his opinion had recently worsened. Still, Anne was his sister, and his family had few representatives who would be able to attend. The decision did not need to be made yet, and James gladly left it for another day.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Mrs. Rutherford was a small, bird-like woman who had buried two husbands after having been bestowed with a child and a fortune from each of them. Not needing more money, and being well satisfied with her two darlings, she settled back to enjoy a life of leisure, pleasant flirtations, and the flattering attentions of various doctors for all her interesting symptoms. When not in London, she graced the drawing rooms of Brighton and Bath, spending little time in the Rutherford family home in Sussex. The country was much too flat for her; she enjoyed company and gossip, and if it would not come to her she would go to it.

"Darling Olivia, I have missed you so," she cried as she fluttered over to her from the divan she had been reposing upon. She held her at arm's length and looked at her, exclaiming at how her face had become so brown from being in the country so long. "You must bathe your face in milk my dear to reclaim your porcelain complexion - in no time you will look lovelier than ever and all of London will be at your feet! Is this your little friend?"

Emily smiled as Olivia performed the introductions. She was a full six inches taller than the petite woman who had just referred to her as little.

"You have managed to stay much paler than my foolish girl. I blame it on the new style of bonnets -- the brims are so small these days. And she has probably given up carrying a parasol! I had feared you would become too countrified, my pet. We shall attend to shopping in the morning and set you up in the finest styles. I have been perusing these catalogues and you will see there are the prettiest parasols imaginable. Come, sit down and have some tea! The two of you must be utterly exhausted after such a wearying trip. I find it takes me nigh on two days to recover from being tossed about in a chaise for miles on end!"

The girls both thanked Mrs. Rutherford and sat as she called a servant to serve the tea. There were delicate finger sandwiches and dainty cakes. Mrs. Rutherford was served a sherry glass with a cloudy liquid in it instead of tea.

"Vinegar," she explained to the girls. "It tastes most vile but is wonderful for the constitution, and thins the blood too. My health is very precarious and I must try what I can to remain in this world for my children; besides it is all the crack these days!" She tossed it back with an expression of distaste and then called the servant for some Madeira. "My dear Miss Sidford, I hear your father is a military man! I do love a man in uniform -- I have been tempted many a time, but long ago I decided against marrying again - instead I have this dear, sweet lapdog. Her name is Emerald, and she is my little treasure."

Emily hadn't noticed the little scruff of white fur that was sleeping upon a silken cushion next to her hostess. It raised its head and peered at her with large eyes set in a flat face. Mrs. Rutherford took one of the slivers of sandwiches and held it out for the tiny thing to eat.

"Oh, mama! She is so sweet," cried Olivia, "but whatever happened to Sentinel?"

"That silly creature yapped so much my nerves were in shatters. I sent him off to the country, and then I was so desolated that my dear friend, Lord Sandhurst, made me a gift of this precious bundle! I simply adore her. She loves music - do you play, my dear?" She turned to Emily with a little tilt of her head and appraised her momentarily. "Of course you do! All young ladies have the talent! The two of you must give me a duet this evening, but first you need to rest. If you have finished your tea I will have you shown to your rooms -- of course your room is the same, Olivia dear, but I have put Miss Sidford in the green room."

She rushed the girls upstairs with more hugs and kisses for Olivia, and then settled back down on her little nest of a divan, and stroked Emerald's head.

As Emily went up the stairs she reflected that she did not have to worry about making conversation. Olivia's mother was so loquacious that there was hardly any need of even answering her. The room she was shown to was much more to her taste than she could have ever expected. It was not nearly as ornate as anything she had already seen in the entrance hall and drawing room, or even the staircase. The mahogany bed had pale green curtains tied back with velvet sashes. The counterpane was delicately flowered with yellow columbine, and a number of satin pillows were tumbled at the headboard. Long curtains the colour of tender young leaves were held back from the window allowing the afternoon sun to stream in. The window looked out onto the tiny city garden where the small shrubs and flowerbeds bloomed in profusion.

Emily sighed. It was a lovely room, but her heavy heart had travelled with her. Alice had already unpacked all her bags and set her toiletries upon the dressing table. She was nowhere to be seen, and Emily hoped that she was resting somewhere in the house. Emily lay down upon the pretty bedspread, and traced the design of the flowers with her finger. Where was he now? Out upon the fields, looking across the sprouting landscape, or in his office taking care of the business of the day, filling ledgers with numbers? Her eyes became heavy and she drifted off to sleep with visions of Sophocles riding towards her, and a hand reaching down to pull her up as they slowly passed by.

Mary and James walked in the meadow. The sun was bright in a clear sky, and wild flowers danced about their feet. The fields stretched out, a patchwork of hedge and stone, and dark ploughed soil with the green of fresh crops breaking the earth.

"There is so much that I could do with this if only Randolph would let me," said James. Mary could hear the wistful tinge to his voice. "You should see Wortham, and what it has now become, in less than a year. It was choked and parched and crumbling to ruin when I arrived in September. Everything was either overgrown or falling down. How I long to see the fields I planned out thriving now as I know they must be."

"You really miss it, don't you?" asked Mary. "Why do you not go back?"

"Robbie Turnbull is a good lad. I know he has it well in hand," said James with a sigh. "Let us talk of something else. Tell me about your friends. Is Miss Farnham still hopelessly in love with Hastings? I warned you two that no good would come out of your meddling."

Mary eyed her brother. There was more to his sadness than a mere longing to see the growing fields of his uncle's estate, she was sure of that, but he had never hinted at an attachment of another sort and she was not about to pry. Instead, she would do all she could to ensure that his visit home was as carefree as possible. "Louisa Farnham is a silly goose. I have not the least patience with her. He only needs to call on her once a week and she thinks Mr. Hastings is attracted to her. I see him much more often than that and I'm not foolish enough to think it means anything more but friendship. He has committed no special attention to her, I assure you. She has enough other suitors who are perfectly acceptable, so I see no reason for her to latch on to him. It is not our doing at all, James. It is just her romantic nonsense."

"And what about Smorsely?" James smirked at his sister, his green eyes twinkling for once.

Mary stuck out her tongue at him. "He is still a cross that I must bear. His latest poem had Viola, Mr. Hastings and I in whoops! If only it weren't all aimed at me I would find it much more amusing. Oh look, they are come at last!"

Two horses could now clearly be seen cantering across the pasture. As they neared, James waved and ran forward to greet his friend. Mary stood back and watched, a happy smile upon her face. The riders dismounted and James and Viola were introduced. Even though Viola was a few years older than James, Mary had had hopes that when the two met they would discover they were perfect for each other; but as she watched, Mary realised that all her hopes had been in vain. Even if James' heart had been whole, he probably would only have showed Viola the same friendly courtesy he did now and thought no more of her. But Mary was now quite certain that his heart was lost, wandering somewhere in Worcester, unrequited and alone, and she felt a deep pang of love for her brother. If there was anything she could do to help relieve his heartache she would do it. She walked forward and joined them.

"Miss Warrington, your fondest wish has finally come true," said Samuel Hastings, a warm smile gracing his face. "You have your brother back with you again."

"Yes, but he will be gone so soon that in no time I will be crying on your shoulder," said Mary with a laugh.

"I am prepared," said Samuel, "My shoulders are well padded. I had this coat specially made, knowing your propensity for crying!"

"Jobbernoll! I never cry!"

"Chucklehead!"

"As you see," said Viola to James, "they get along as well as ever."

"Have you any more poems for us to read?" teased Samuel. "I would dearly love a laugh. Warrington, you should have read the last one. It was a thing of rare perfection. ‘Your beauty in the glorious morn makes me glad that I was born. Your eyes, your face, your sweetest smile . . .'"

"You have it memorised then?" said Mary, her cheeks flaming. "I suppose you wish you could be half so eloquent!"

"As luck would have it, my eloquence falls far short of that, and I am ever happy for it." Samuel reached out and pinched Mary's chin. "What puzzles me is why you have not yet put the poor fellow out of his misery and accepted him!"

"Providence has kept me from ever being alone with him, thank goodness," said Mary, taking his hand away and giving him a rap on his knuckles. "And I know that both you and Viola have had much to do with that, but please don't wish any more of his fatuous poetry upon me. I can well do without it."

"So can we all," said Viola, looking at her cousin accusingly. "When next you quote poetry, I would rather hear Scott. My sensibilities are a trifle more refined than yours."

"I have quoted enough poetry to last me for a few days at least," said Samuel laughing. "What I would prefer is the two of you playing together at the pianoforte. Warrington, did your sister tell you how much her playing has improved since Viola has come into our midst? It used to be quite painful to hear, but now I can bear it with equanimity!"

"I suppose that is why you are always begging us to play for you, just so that you can bear it as a penance of some sort," Mary shot back.

"You have the right of me," said Samuel. "I am merely attempting to save my soul."

"Your soul must be in dire need, cousin dear," retorted Viola, "because you put yourself through that suffering every chance you get. Mr. Warrington, you must know that your sister was perfectly proficient before I came onto the scene."

"Our sister Anne is considered the finer pianist," said James, "but I have always preferred Mary's light touch. I have since, however, heard the most beautiful . . ." His voice trailed off and he turned away hastily.

"What were you saying, James?" asked Mary, her interest livened.

"Only that I have heard the piano played quite beautifully in Worcester, that is all. It is really of no moment. Hastings, you must tell me how you ended up rotating your crops. What did you plant on that south field finally?"

As they walked in a group with the horses, Samuel Hastings bore the brunt of the conversation and James and Mary became more contemplative. Mary was convinced in all certainty that James' unfinished comment about the beautiful piano playing had great significance. Somewhere there was a girl in Worcester who could play like a dream and who had stolen her brother's heart. But was she even worthy of him? How could she have hurt him so?

After James had recovered from the thought of Emily sitting and playing so evocatively for people who did not appreciate her special qualities in the slightest, he used his time watching Hastings and his sister. Their friendship had evidently deepened, but Samuel was being true to his word and giving her all the time in the world to grow to the realisation of what they truly meant to each other. James didn't doubt the eventual outcome of their friendship and was happy that Mary would be spared the kind of torture that he himself was going through. It warmed his heart and he felt happier than he had done in the last two months.

© 2002, 2003 Copyright held by the author.

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