Authors: Rachel Francis
“Me, too?” said Genevieve.
“Especially you, Miss Genevieve.”
She smiled enough for all of them.
“Miss Wingrave, will you do me the supreme honor of reserving a dance?” said Peter.
“Do you need to ask, Peter?
Of course, I will dance with you,” laughed Mary.
“I will always ask,” he replied.
Mary blushed and giggled at his intentional statement.
Unable to stomach the romantic mood permeating the room, Emily spied the garden in full bloom below her.
“Bridget, I have not yet walked in the garden since the flowers blossomed, I shall not be gone long,” she said.
Everyone in the room had paired off with the exception of Genevieve who amused herself with sketching Jonah.
Even Mr. Sheridan had gained the notice, if not the regard of Miss Morley.
Emily breathed in the fresh scent of summer flowers as soon as she stepped out.
She wandered here and there, finding fallen petals to press.
Next to flowing water, gardens were the best place for contemplation.
Nature had the unique effect of bringing reality and fantasy together.
Behind every lush curtain of vegetation it could be imagined that a magical kingdom rests, though it was not disappointing when the scene turned out to be a fountain or fallen log covered in moss because those could also hold secrets.
Around that next vine ridden wall, Mr. Wingrave could be waiting.
When he was not, Emily felt more hopeless than ever, that the fantasy of nature might be an illusion.
“Emily?”
She whirled in the other direction.
“Mr. Wingrave?”
Magic replaced flesh and there he was, though not as joyful as she conjured.
“You did it again,” he said.
“Did what, sir?”
“You would not accuse me with your eyes of keeping things from you.”
“Then you are more concerned with what I did not do.”
“It is what you did do, by keeping my punishment from me,” said Mr. Wingrave.
“Why would I punish you?
You have done nothing wrong,” said Emily.
“But I have, can you not see that?”
“No, I cannot.
However much of yourself you choose to conceal is your business.
You’ve made me one promise, and last I counted it remained unbroken.”
“One can promise without using words, by their actions,” he said.
“That is the fault of the observer if they assume an obligation that has not been verbally given,” said Emily.
He advanced on her, gaining admittance to the personal sphere in which no one ventured unless they could be certain of acceptance.
“That is all well in theory, but once again your naiveté shows through the hard and fast principles which you hold.”
Emily saw movement from the window, curtains moved, and she caught a glimpse of Miss Morley’s dress before it vanished.
“Have it your own way, Mr. Wingrave.
Feel all the accusations you think I should be giving you, I give you leave to speak for me in this instance,” she said.
“That will not be enough.”
Mr. Wingrave wavered, leaning forward, then back.
“Elijah!
Miss Worthing!
I would have you play a song for us,” called Mary, “I’m afraid poor Genevieve’s fingers are exhausted from sketching.”
Emily did not allow herself to be alone with Mr. Wingrave after that, but always he watched her, dark eyes cataloguing her movements and expressions.
She relented and visited Reddester with her siblings under the stern command of herself to keep him at a distance.
His frustration was at times, visible and heart-wrenching, but Emily had no other options.
Without a proposal, their friendship has reached its plateau.
“Elijah, I would speak with you privately,” said Mary after seeing the Worthings off.
She had seen more affection today than she had ever witnessed on her brother’s part.
“Is it very important, Mary?”
“Yes, to the library, where we can be alone.”
She led him, weary and impossibly unhappy, to the book-lined room.
The collection did not come close to rivaling the Worthings’, but it had a respectable selection.
Through the pain, Mr. Wingrave noted that he should go about improving it for the pleasure of Emily.
“I fear you are getting too close to Miss Worthing,” said Mary, “You know that is not wise.”
“Then why are we here, sister?
Was it not to see the Worthings?”
“Yes, but too much intimacy is unadvisable, given our purpose here.”
“I did not see you exercise restraint when familiarizing yourself with Peter Worthing,” said Mr. Wingrave.
Her face glowed bright pink.
“I know.
I am sorry.”
“Do not worry about me, sister.
Miss Worthing and I understand one another.”
“You cannot be good friends with her.
We will always have to keep our distance.
You do know this?”
“I do not see the harm in friendship,” said Mr. Wingrave.
“I know, brother.
It would not stay a friendship,” said Mary.
“You ask too much,” he said.
She closed her eyes against the flow of saltwater, but sadness prevailed and it splashed on her dress.
Mr. Wingrave cursed at himself and held her until she could cease crying.
“A few more weeks and I feel Mr. Annesley will ask me to marry him,” said Bridget.
She and Emily arranged each other’s hair the day of the ball, and made endless changes to the accessories of their gowns.
“That is definitely the course he’s on,” said Emily.
“I am frightened, Emily.”
“Why?
Do you not love him?”
Alarmed, Emily leaned to the side so that she might see Bridget in the mirror.
“I do.
He laughs with me and delights in the same things.
I miss him terribly when he is gone.
His family is so high in social circles though, how will I cope?
I hate pretension,” said Bridget.
“There will be some that dislike my dear sister no matter the effort she puts forth, they will not be pleased.
Your objective would be to please Mr. Annesley and no one else.
Though you are so charming, I cannot think that the majority of the Annesley family will not fall in love with you in much the same way their son has,” said Emily.
Bridget sighed.
“Thank you.
I forgot my priorities.
What of you sister?
What of Mr. Wingrave?”
“What of Mr. Wingrave...”
“Yes, you cannot fool me now.
I know you feel something for him.
Would you marry, if he were the one asking?”
“I’ve asked myself that question without any success, so it does not astonish me that I have nothing to tell you,” said Emily.
“You falter on your mission!
That is a good sign indeed.”
“Only you would celebrate the downfall of my principles.”
Bridget turned full round to accuse her sister.
“’I celebrate the downfall of your fear.
I believe you and Anne have agreed on this too long.
It may be her way, but I do not think it was yours.
I think you used it as a shield until the right man came along because you did not know how to deny the ones who coveted your beauty.”
“What a speech!
Have I been figured out, dear Bridget?” laughed Emily.
“You have.
That prickly demeanor you so often don is a mirage, hiding the sweet, loving woman underneath that would sooner cut off her arm than pain her loved ones.”
“Enough of this, silly girl, hold still that I may finish your curls.
Be happy with your own triumph and do not take up matchmaking to spread your joy.
We can all see it shine from you,” said Emily.
Bridget twisted in obedience.
“You can fend me off no longer.
I know the truth.”
Emily was not so careful with the pins after that, earning her several suspicious glares.
With a thudding heart and wild eyes, Emily weaseled past the greeting line after paying her respects to Anne.
Miss Barham easily released Emily as she was in deep conversation with a new gentleman neighbor.
Barham Park was equal in grandeur to Charlton with the exception of Mrs. Barham’s penchant for art depicting violence, scenes of womanly figures wielding weapons stuck into the chests of their adversaries, usually men.
The part of Emily that was not searching for the Wingraves wondered why Mrs. Barham had not taken the same stance as her daughter and refused men altogether.
She spotted Jonah and Mary conversing with Mr. Annesley by the refreshments, but before Emily could capitalize on this knowledge, a voice sounded too near her ear.
“It is a pleasure to see you here, Miss Emily,” said Mr. Jude.
“Miss Worthing, if you please, sir,” she replied, backing away.
His arrogant grin did not give way under her reproach, a frustrating defense he had perfected.
“As you wish, Miss Worthing.
Do let me know when the other is acceptable to you, for I much prefer your given name.
It rings like church bells,” he said.
Emily kept more than a proper distance from Mr. Jude, though he constantly sought excuses to move closer, which continued until she bumped into a wall.
“I do hope to have the pleasure of dancing with you again.”
His proximity became alarming to her then.
Mr. Jude did not know boundaries, did not respect signals given.
Though she had to agree he was handsome, ugliness shown through his features, a want of propriety and character.
Emily scowled into her hands.
“I have already promised several dances to another gentleman, sir,” said Emily.
“That is inhumane of you, Miss Worthing!
To come to a ball already spoken for?
Who, pray tell, has taken such measures against me?” he asked.
“I have.”
Jude Annesley could have shivered out of his clothing at the sound of Mr. Wingrave’s voice.
“Pardon,” Jude whispered, then made haste away from them.
Emily took in many upset breaths.
Mr. Wingrave lifted her face so that he could see into her eyes, ignoring the raised eyebrows around them.
“Are you well?” he asked.
Emily shook her head.
“Let us take in some fresh air.”
He led her out into one of the courtyards, lit for the ball.
“Thank you, for refusing him.
Even if he made you suffer for it,” said Mr. Wingrave.
“Even before your request, I had already decided that Jude Annesley was not a good sort of man.”
They were virtually alone outside; the rest of the guests had begun dancing and weren’t yet intoxicated enough to need the cool night air.
The silence became weighted with the thoughts neither dared speak aloud.
“I need to explain myself and my behavior to you.”
“I don’t know if I can hear what you have to say,” said Emily.
“You will hear it, Emily Worthing, or I will drop to my knee this instant and horrify you further,” he said.
She gasped, uncovered emotions rippling through her heart.
“That is cruel.”
Emily bit her lip against tears.
“Not as cruel as what I must tell you next.”
“Why say anything then?
Why do you toy with me?” she accused.
“
Does not my voice give me away?
Am I not clear in every instance?
I ache for the day when I might hear you say my name with affection.
I go mad imagining you around every corner of my house, making it your own, but
I cannot ever, under any circumstances, propose to you.
It would be the ultimate sacrifice of my family to do so,” said Mr. Wingrave.
His expression pleaded with her to understand.
“You must know then, what I have said without speaking.
Leave me,” said Emily.
She hugged her arms close to her torso, holding herself together with the last of her strength.
“I will not.
I would stay your friend forever before I wed another.”
“A lifetime of of restraint?
This is what you offer me?”
Anger overshadowed hurt.
“It is all I have to offer,” said Mr. Wingrave.
“I cannot promise to accept this always.
It is unfair,” said Emily.
“I am ashamed to have brought these feelings upon us knowing that I could not deliver on any expectations.
I could not keep myself from you from the first, and now I bring you misery instead of joy, but do you believe me, when I say that I love--“