Authors: Rachel Francis
“I wish I had someone to dote upon me,” said Bridget.
“You do.
Papa gave you a handsome pony for your birthday,” said Emily, pressing the package into Bridget’s hands.
“It’s not gifts I want, it’s to be valued by one I love,” said Bridget.
“We all love and value you.”
They strolled down the road out of Tripton, content with the day’s work so far.
“You know it is not equivalent to one’s spouse.
If I could have someone look at me the way Papa sees our mother, I should be very happy.”
“Have you been reading an abundance of romances again?
You know what Mama said--“
A passing
carriage wheel flung a rain of slick mud high in the air, which landed in the only proper place—Emily’s dress.
She froze in horror as it absorbed a brown most unbecoming to females of elegance.
Shielded from the onslaught, Bridget gaped at the sludge dripping off her sister’s clothing.
Were she not born into a respectable family, Emily may have let slip a word worse than the color now soaking through her undergarments.
As it was, she couldn’t speak without fear of humiliating herself further.
The carriage came to a sloshy halt when the occupant became aware of the condition inflicted on her.
A man alighted from the vehicle, pleasing in stature, with a charming face and manners.
He addressed them straight away, after dodging over several more puddles in the street.
“My most severe apologies, Miss.
I will have another dress made for you in recompense, or this one professionally laundered should it be a favorite,” he said.
Jaw wide open, Emily made no reply.
“Excuse my sister, she must still be in shock,” said Bridget, nudging Emily out of her embarrassment.
Looking between her sister, the gentleman, and the ground, Emily worked to gather her wits.
“Yes, excuse me, I must get home before I catch cold.
Please do not trouble yourself,” she said, giving a short curtsy.
Nothing would have assisted her more than for the gentleman to ignore what had happened.
“May I have your name so that I might endeavor to please you, when you are in better spirits?”
“Miss Worthing, and this is my sister, Miss Bridget Worthing.”
The man colored at hearing their names.
“I am Mr. Wingrave, and I insist upon your joining me in the carriage.
I will usher you home.”
“No, please, I can still walk,” said Emily.
A faint shiver betrayed her play at bravery.
“No, Miss Worthing, I will have this courtesy.
I shall think you very ill-mannered if you do not accept.”
His gallant smile and attempt at humor lengthened Emily’s temper.
“Come sister, we would not want to fall in the opinion of an acquaintance just made,” said Bridget.
Finally, Miss Worthing accepted and even allowed Mr. Wingrave to assist her over puddles to the carriage door.
They settled into an awkward acceptance of their situation.
“So, Miss Worthing, where shall I direct the driver?”
“To Charlton, please,” said Emily.
Mr. Wingrave gave the direction, and the driver coaxed the horses into a gentle start.
Bridget politely conversed with him when Emily could think of nothing to say.
“You are passing through the neighborhood?” she inquired.
“No, I’ve taken a house, Reddester Hall, a few miles out on the other side of Tripton.”
“We’ve all expressed our sadness at its being empty so long.
I’m glad someone has taken it.”
“It’s a fine house.
Mr. Roland Worthing is your father, I presume?” said Mr. Wingrave.
“Yes, you know of him?” said Emily.
Mr. Wingrave’s easy manners and shelter from the cold wind softened her reserve.
“It’s difficult to pass through this county without hearing of him.”
“Papa is a good man,” said Bridget.
“I’m pleased to hear it,” said Mr. Wingrave.
He sat back in thought.
Bridget kept up friendly chatter about the weather until the carriage stopped in front of Charlton House.
“Miss Worthing, I hope you can forgive the unhappy circumstance of our meeting, and remember only that we met as friends today,” said Mr. Wingrave once he had handed them down.
“Thank you, Mr. Wingrave, I shall try,” she said.
The great door of the house opened to Mr. Worthing’s joyous welcome.
“Girls!
Girls!
Are you back with Mrs. Worthing’s present?
Why, Emily, what happened to you?”
“I stood too close to the road, Papa,” said Emily, blushing again at her dress.
“Is that you, Mr. Wingrave?
What brings you to Charlton?”
Emily and Bridget lifted their heads at their father’s familiar greeting.
The two men conversed as respected equals, unexpected for one of Mr. Wingrave’s age.
“I apologize, Mr. Worthing, for calling unannounced, but I am the one who ruined Miss Worthing’s dress.”
“Oh.
Well, Mrs. Worthing will be happy to hear she was ferried quickly home.
You are still attending our ball Saturday eve?”
Emily squinted at her father’s casual dismissal of her plight.
“I was delighted to receive an invitation so soon after arriving, and will be even more so Saturday night, if I may engage Miss Worthing for the first dance,” said Mr. Wingrave.
Forced to be courteous in front of her father, who looked on her in anticipation, Emily said, “You may, thank you.”
“Excellent, I shall see you all then.
Farewell,” he said, bowing and returning to his carriage.
“You should have been more accommodating, Emily,” said Bridget, “A handsome man offers you any redress and you could not find your tongue?
And one of good fortune, too.”
“Because he is handsome and rich I should be grateful my clothes are ruined?”
“Of course not, but you must admit he could not control the state of the roads.
Besides, anyone who would still ask for a dance when you appear so disheveled must be charitable.”
Vexed and truly cold, Emily did not reply.
“Papa, why did you not tell us you had invited our new neighbors to the ball?” said Bridget.
“I thought it would be a fine surprise, knowing myself how amiable and handsome Mr. Wingrave is, to give everyone a good hour of gossip after their arrival,” said Mr. Worthing, “Emily, for goodness sake, has the mud affected your nerves?
Get inside and change clothes before you are too sick to dance.
Your mother wants you, when you are presentable.”
Mr. Worthing left them for his study.
“I am still shocked at your taciturn treatment of Mr. Wingrave, considering all that he did to make amends,” said Bridget.
The girls trudged up the stairs to their room.
“The horses did the most work,” replied Emily.
“Without man the horses would run free.”
“Bridget, if I need a lecture after I wash, I will call on you.”
“Fine, fine.
Hurry to see Mama.
I won’t show her the ribbons until you come,” said Bridget.
Emily nodded and closed the door behind her.
Nursing her wounded vanity and pride, Emily took in her image reflected by the mirror on her wall.
Logic told her that Mr. Wingrave would not think less of her for muddy clothes he caused, but the memory of his concerned expression caused a flash of heated embarrassment that overrode her logical assumptions.
She huffed and found clean things in her closet.
“Mama, you should have seen it!
Emily could barely speak,” said Bridget.
Emily favored her with a scathing look as she plumped Mrs. Worthing’s pillow.
“Just remember how loud you crow, Bridget, is often how loud you will be crowed at,” said Mrs. Worthing.
She sat up and stretched while Emily adjusted the bedclothes.
“Do you want to walk today, Mama?” said Emily.
“No, my dear.
Saving up my strength for tomorrow.
If I sit and talk, I’ll be able to stay downstairs longer.”
“The doctor said you were getting better, earlier today.
Is that true?” said Bridget.
“So far.
He has changed my diet and it seems to be improving my health, but we will have to wait to be sure.
I do not want to raise hope yet,” said Mrs. Worthing.
She laid back on her pillows and sighed.
“I understand that young man has asked you to dance, despite seeing you covered in mud.
That’s quite a compliment,” Mrs. Worthing continued.
“It is likely he didn’t want to make me feel as foolish as I looked,” said Emily, sitting on the edge of her mother’s bed.
“You think he was humoring you?” laughed Bridget.
“You do not think as highly of yourself as you should,” said Mrs. Worthing.
Emily focused on an imagined flaw in her skirt.
She gritted her teeth in annoyance.
Had he been motivated by beauty?
“I’d have my entire face covered with mud if it would keep him from approaching me for my physical charms,” she said.
Mrs. Worthing and Bridget laughed at her assertion.
“The mud monster of Charlton.
Papa would have to beg men to dance with you,” said Bridget.
“Really, Emily.
Your beauty shines from the inside.
Do not be so concerned if at first men are attracted to your face instead of your mind, for that will drive away all but the most serious of lovers,” Mrs. Worthing said.
“Mama!” cried Emily.
Bridget broke into giggles.
“Emily, is that you?” came a sweet voice from the hall.
The Worthing’s youngest child Genevieve rested her head against the door, dark curls framing her genuine expressions.
“Yes, dear.
Are you finished with lessons today?” said Emily.
“Not yet.
Ms. Pierce allowed me respite to come see Mama while she prepares the sheet music,” said Genevieve, “Why were you laughing Bridget?”
Emily cast a warning glance at her sister.
“Nothing of import, love.
Mama told us a fine joke,” Bridget said.
“Are you pleasing Ms. Pierce with your progress today?” inquired Mrs. Worthing, gesturing for her youngest to come sit at her bedside.
“I think I am.
She calls me bright.”
“Indeed you are.
We are all very proud of your accomplishments,” said Emily.
Genevieve smiled and replied, “You would be proud if I barely managed a song, just for the effort.”
“Such is love, clever girl.”
“Aren’t we all grateful she has given us something to dote upon other than a few ill notes?” said Bridget.
“Exceptionally grateful,” said Mrs. Worthing, “In fact, I told your father to put an instrument in my sitting room for tomorrow, so that my daughters could play for me during the ball.”
“I hope you mean Em and Gen.
Bridget might end the ball early.”
“Peter!” cried Bridget as the ladies turned to the door, “You abuse me!”
The eldest Worthing sibling stood handsome in a fresh coat.
He grinned like their father, and smiled like their mother, never too far from making them all laugh.
“If I encouraged you to do what you ought not to, it would be a disservice to a fair lady,” said Peter, as he stepped in to lean against the bedpost.
“I hope I taught my son better than to charm women by openly announcing their faults,” said Mrs. Worthing.
“Is it a fault to lack aptitude in a particular skill?
I cannot play and I doubt anyone would fault me for it.”
“Perhaps then, brother, we should entertain with a duet.
Peter and Bridget Worthing, a shameful, musical legend.”
“I, for one, would like to keep all my acquaintances,” said Emily.
“Oh yes, if Mr. Wingrave knows what you looked like draped in mud and does not mind, that you have two siblings of no musical talent will definitely do in his regard,” said Bridget.
Emily blushed at the presumption that she would care what Mr. Wingrave thought.
“Have you found a beau to your liking at last?
That will be news for three counties,” said Peter.
“Hold your tongue, Bridget, for the glory of your sense.
I claim no one, we only met Mr. Wingrave today.
Bridget fancies romance everywhere,” said Emily.
“I fancy nothing!
Mr. Wingrave is the brave soul who asked you to dance.
I merely surmise his intention is to discover how a pleasant face may match its innards.”
“All this talk of innards and romance makes me quite anxious.
If you must fuss at each other, leave me in peace,” said Mrs. Worthing, shooing them out, “Emily, darling, bring me a good book from the library, will you?”
“Yes, Mama,” said Emily.
They rose and left their mother to rest.
“Genevieve, Ms. Pierce waits for you.
We’ll see you at dinner.”
The youngest of them at thirteen-going-on-fourteen years of age, Genevieve sighed and meandered back to her schoolroom.