Days passed, and the air remained tense and uncomfortable. Mr. Wentworth made several unusually valiant attempts at conversation, telling me all about the books he'd found in Ewert's library, his admiration for Miss Goodwin, his own little farm -- he raised pigs and grew apples -- but my grandfather was terse and tended toward an ill humor. The poor Actons just tried to smile and pretend they hadn't noticed anything out of sorts.
By and by, I began to wonder if my grandfather wasn't angry so much as he was grieved. He might have given up his hopes for the match with my cousin, but I supposed that still left him with a problem he couldn't be sure to solve.
Unhappily, the subject of Charles Shepley could be avoided only for so long. Less than a week since the day my dear cousin had come courting, my grandfather called me into his study again and informed me that Charles had filed his suit. It seemed he'd had the papers drawn up quite some time ago.
My grandfather left Ewert the next morning, off to Northpoint to meet with our lawyers. Our remaining guests left with him.
The letters began again shortly afterward -- inevitably, word got round that Miss Shepley's fortunes were imperiled, and every day, the post brought me apologies, first from the wealthy merchant families, then the poor nobles. A dozen plans with a dozen families unraveled one by one, pulled apart about urgent business, unavoidable repairs, a veritable epidemic of sickly aunts... Within a fortnight, out of all my prospects, all my plans, only Earnest Grimmond and Doctor Brown remained.
I suddenly found myself with very little to do, aside from writing a dozen forgiving replies. There were no guests to entertain, no governess to tutor me... Even my maids more or less left me be, since there was no one to dress me for. It should have been glorious, save for the one, small, ever-niggling worry about what, under the Moon and the Stars, would become of me without Ewert.
I would have to marry, of course. I had to, anyway -- it was my duty to Ewert -- but if I lost Ewert to Charles, I really would need to marry. I reckoned my flock might make a fair dowry in the eyes of some yeoman farmer or another... But I couldn't imagine who would want to marry a freckled mutt who looked like a boy in a frock.
Worse yet, I couldn't imagine who I would ever want to marry. In truth, whenever I thought on it, I found the prospect of being some man's wife really quite an unnerving one. Every morning, I walked past the portrait hall, wondering how I could ever bear it. I checked my flock and visited Darlene, pulled up weeds, picked berries and cherries, read, rode, knitted... And then every night, I picked up the guide for young brides and put it down again, still tightly wrapped in brown paper.
A week or so passed in this routine, more or less unchanging, and then one morning, late in Midsummer, I encountered an anomaly. I went out to the pasture, and there I found my flock, but I did not see my shepherd. Instead, I found Bram, stretched out along the roots of an oak, the brim of his hat pulled down low over his eyes.
I called, "Hello, Bram," as I neared him.
Bram pushed up his hat and gave me a lazy nod. "Edie."
I peered through the oaks, trying to see if the sheep had gotten across the creek again.
"Where's Thatcher?"
Bram said, "Lily Baxter's just come back from Cheapworth," as if it was any kind of answer.
"So...?" I perched on a tall root beside him. "I asked about Thatcher."
Bram smirked. "So he's with Lily Baxter, you busybody."
"Busybody? I'm paying him to be here" -- though, admittedly, I wasn't paying him very much. "If he wants to talk with Lily Baxter, he can bring her out here while he does his work."
"Edith." Bram's tone invited me to think harder so he wouldn't have to explain something to me. After a long pause, he hinted, "He's after a bit more than talkin'."
"Oh." Understanding struck me suddenly, and rumbling after it came several kinds of embarrassment. "Oh, I hadn't thought of that."
"That's 'cause you're green," he said, raising up on one arm to poke me in the ribs.
I snorted and slapped his hand away. "Go on..."
He poked me again, crooning, "Green and green, like a little sour cherry. But soon enough, you'll be-" Bram sobered suddenly. One corner of his mouth twitched in fitful little frowns. "Well. You'll be married, I suppose."
My mind, unbidden, suddenly conjured up the image of Charles Shepley rutting on me like a tom cat. I tried to squelch the thought, but it just kept rising, again and again, til my stomach twisted and I wanted to crawl out of my own skin.
An ugh escaped me.
"Ugh...?"
"I don't think I want to marry at all." I put up my hands, wanting to ward off the revolting vision. The more I thought on it, the more the whole notion of getting heirs seemed disgusting and ridiculous. "It's all so..." Words failed me. I grimaced and shook my head. "Ugggh."
"Well, I shouldn't think you were so green as that..."
Bram frowned and stuck out his bottom lip, silent in thought a few moments. "All those fancy gentlemen you dance with... Do you never like being near them? Not even just a little?"
"Well, I wasn't thinking about them that way." In hindsight, it seemed I really probably should have been.
I groped through my memories. There was gangly Elfie Ansley, with his quick lurches and jerks... Hollis Acton's clammy hands and clumsy feet... Earnest, boyish and boistrous... Doctor Brown was quite a good dancer, but also so very, very awkward to be with. Mr. Wentworth was also a very good dancer, with easy manners, grace, power... I remembered his arm firm along my ribs, his laughs rumbling through his chest, his knees brushing my thighs...
Bram watched me with a lopsided grin. I felt a blush burn across my cheeks and out to my ears.
"Oh, we're not so green after all, eh?" he drawled, poking me again. "Who is it, then? Who catches our fancy, eh?"
"Oh, no." I covered my mouth with both hands and shook my head quickly. Mr. Wentworth was forty if he was a day, and I found his face rather too knobbly to be handsome. And yet...
"No, I don't fancy him. I really don't. It's just..." My ears were so hot, they almost hurt. I giggled, though I wasn't sure why -- I couldn't help it. "Well. He's very tall." And his black brows and sideburns were rather striking.
"Tall, eh?" Bram pinned me with a sly look. "And dark, I suppose. And handsome?"
"No, really not so much. And he's old, besides." I gave Bram a stern look, which was difficult because I was still giggling. "I mean it, Bram. I don't fancy him."
Bram nodded once, with an air of finality. "So, there you are, then. Not so green." He stretched out amongst the roots again, his eye flicking toward me as he slowly unfurled an infuriating smirk. "And I have to hand it to you, Edie... There's no doubt about it. That Mr. Wentworth's a real man."
I cried out, pressing my face into my hands. It was too mortifying, too bewildering -- as if my body rebelled against both heart and mind.
"Experienced, too, no doubt. No fumbling about on your wedding night. Though at his age, I do wonder-"
"Stop it!" I shoved my heel into Bram's hip, laughing. "Stop! You filthy peasant!"
Bram closed his eyes, snickering.
At length, his snickers settled into a grin, and the grin settled further into a sigh.
"Ah, but you know, Edie... It doesn't mean anything. All sorts of people will catch your eye, but it doesn't mean anything, and even if it does... Well. It doesn't mean it will mean anything more."
Bram seemed to speak with the voice of experience. I remembered all his trips to Riverton and the rumors... I wondered, now, if there wasn't some truth in them, after all.
The wonder grew, nibbling at me bit by bit, until it felt like it might eat me alive. After long moments writhing in the jaws of curiosity, I started, "Bram... Have you ever...?" and then my resolve failed me -- it was agony to wonder, and equal agony to ask.
"What?" Bram glanced over at me, frowning slightly. Then his eyebrows bobbed up. "Oh." He looked away again, admitting, "Well. Yeah."
I gasped. "You have...?" He hadn't told me. I was stung by this, though I wasn't quite sure why.
"Well, I'm nineteen, Edie..."
I gasped again and covered my mouth with my hands. "It wasn't Darlene, was it?"
"Now, you shut your mouth." Bram sat up quickly, every muscle in his body strung tight. He glared at me a moment, his mouth working, and then he spat in the dirt between us. "If I'd put a child in a woman, I'd do right by them."
"I know you would, Bram. Forgive me."
"What are you thinking, saying something like that? It's none of your business, anyway."
And there was the heart of it: I wholly and earnestly believed it was my business.
I scowled at Bram, my mouth wide open and searching like I was a fish out of water, and then all the little cuts and stings came tumbling out at once.
"That's not fair, Bramwell Fowler! You pry into every kind of private business of mine, but I don't mind it, because you're my best friend, and I've known you forever. How could you go and meet a girl and... And do things and not even tell me...? There were rumors you had a girl over in Riverton, you know, but I didn't believe it, because if you'd met a girl, you would've told me, because you're my best friend, and... And..."
It occurred to me in that moment that I wasn't necessarily Bram's best friend. It was a bitter thing, humiliating and utterly unbearable. I huffed and blinked quickly, saying, "And I suppose I was wrong, wasn't I?"
Bram grumbled, "Ach, Edie..." but I didn't want to hear it, whatever he was going to say. I didn't want to be anywhere near him, anymore.
I said, "I'll give you a Spear for your time, Mr. Fowler," and then I left him, hurrying through the long grasses back toward the house.
I walked quickly at first, just to put some distance between us, then I walked slowly, almost aimlessly. I drifted through the orchard, checking leaves and low-hanging cherries. I watched the bees flit about their hives, observed the pigs wallowing in their pens...
At length, I felt presentable again -- or presentable enough, anyway -- and I made my way to Grover Roberts' cottage. There, I fetched water, pulled up weeds, cut up herbs and turnips... And all the while, my eyes kept drifting to Darlene and her round belly. She rubbed it absentmindedly in the idle moments between one task and the next.
Darlene plucked a chicken, and I butchered it for her -- she wasn't so sick, anymore, but the raw meat still turned her stomach.
I chopped off the neck and feet and put them in a pot, then I cut open the tail. "Did you know about Lily Baxter and Henry Thatcher?" I asked.
Darlene glanced up at me, her pretty lips puckered in amusement. "Oh, is Lily back from Cheapworth, already?"
"So I hear." I put my hand under the ribs and scooped out guts. "I went out to the pasture and found Bram watching my flock so Henry could... visit with her."
"Well, isn't Bram a good sport..."
"I'm taking it out of Thatcher's pay." I cut the heart and liver away from the rest of the innards and put them aside. "And did you know? Bram had a girl over in Riverton, after all."
"Mm, I think I did hear a word or two about that."
I huffed a laugh. "It seems like everybody's heard everything, except me."
I put my hand in the carcass again and scraped the lungs away from the ribs. I dropped them into a bowl with the rest of the scraps, flicking my fingers to get the chunks off.
"Here, Darlene. This is done."
"Ah, thank you, Miss."
Darlene took the chicken outside to rinse it. I followed after her and scrubbed my hands, then I made my way back to the house, my every thought and feeling sour.
I spent the rest of the day stewing in the library. I knitted until my fingers cramped, then I read Caxton's history til I bored of it, and then knitted some more.
I ate my dinner alone, my sour thoughts giving way to gloomy and self-pitying ones. I went up to my rooms afterward and rung for the maids -- there was no point in wearing a dinner gown any longer.
Miss Ward came to dress me for bed, her eyes more anxious than usual. She brought a new bonnet she'd made for me -- not that I needed one. She was quite clever at weaving, and the work calmed her nerves, so she was encouraged to do it. It was generally suspected she'd realize her true calling, sooner or later, and give up being a lady's maid, but in the meantime, I was developing a severe surplus of hats.
I turned the burgeoning hat over a few times, murmuring, "Oh, that's lovely..."
She smiled at me too eagerly, her brown eyes big and watery. "Do you really like it, Miss?"
"Oh, yes, it's quite pretty. You could probably get a Shield for this, if you tried to sell it."
"A Shield? Oh never, Miss."
I was sure I was right, but it seemed unkind to argue with her. "Well, a Boar, at least."
I handed it back to her. "Be sure to pack it for me when I travel" -- if I travelled.
I sat down at the dressing table, grimaced at myself a few moments, and then I spread the lemon paste over my freckles.
Miss Ward brushed my hair. She was gentler than Mrs. Burke usually bothered to be -- it was one thing I could say to recommend her -- and her touch soothed me til I felt almost content. I didn't want her to stop, ever, but before long, she yawned.
"Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss."
I turned and smiled up at her. "It's quite alright, Miss Ward. I can manage the rest tonight. Thank you."
"Are you sure, Miss...?" She frowned at me uncertainly, and then she yawned again.
I sent her away, and then I sat by the fire and finished the last rows of a cap for Darlene's little babe. I was just starting to bind it off when Mrs. Burke appeared to make sure I was properly greased and tucked into bed.
I lay there a long while, staring up at the draperies and thinking about Lily and Henry, Bram and his girl in Riverton, Darlene and whoever... And my mother and father, too. When the house fell quiet, and I was certain no one would interrupt me, I crawled out of bed and lit a single candle, resigned and resolved to read the guide for young brides, at last.
I suspected Mrs. Burke had fallen asleep in the sitting room again, so I more or less tiptoed to my writing desk, testing each floorboard singly with my weight since I couldn't remember which of them creaked. It all seemed a bit ridiculous: the book had been purchased for me with my grandfather's full knowledge and consent... And yet I could not have felt more anxious creeping about my room if I'd snuck an actual man into it.
Unwrapping the book proved a challenge in itself. The twine was tied tightly round it, and I had to hunt through the drawers in my desk to find my penknife. Every scrape of wood against wood and clack of this against that seemed to echo in the air round me. And every time the house groaned or the fire popped, I stiffened like a hare, listening to the night while my heart thumped in my breast.
At length, I cut the twine, tossed the paper into the fire, and crept back to my bed with my mortifying prize.
The book was a very plain thing, bound in drab dun linen with a band of darker dun linen along its spine. No title or anything was printed on its cover -- to hide the shame of it, I supposed. With its first page, it declared itself The Bride's Duty, offered to society by one Mrs. Walter Briarly.
I thumbed through the pages, wondering what Mrs. Briarly's own name was. I reckoned it was probably Ethel -- there were so many of them, and they did tend to be the modestly proper sort... Not like an Edith. No one even knew what sort an Edith was. The name had come from my father, presumably, along with his gaudy hair.
My eyes landed on a most ghastly illustration. It was a rather talentless engraving of an unclothed man, with big goggling fish eyes and dimpled cheeks that would have been too round on a toddler. His body was tufted with odd patches of dark hair, and all his separate parts were woefully out of proportion with each other. I gazed on them all individually, wondering how much truth was in the art -- could men really be such awkward, ugly, creatures under their clothes?
At length, I tore my eyes away from this horror and turned the page. There, I found the grotesque little man's mate. To my relief, I found she was at least as grotesque as he, with stout, mannish legs, a bizarrely swollen belly, and small, round breasts that were like two apples stuck up below her collar bones.
I flipped back and forth between the two of them, wondering if the artist had really ever seen a naked person at all. And then I wondered if, perhaps, the little couple hadn't been made ugly intentionally -- to err well away from making them too comely unintentionally.
I found a few more illustrations, all rendered with a distinctly more medical eye. There were diagrams of the anatomy and physiology of various generative parts, illustrations of babes in the womb, and other such. In truth, I found these quite intriguing, and I studied them each a long while.
I turned back to the first page with a new respect for Mrs. Walter Briarly and her unflinching attitude on such a shameful subject, and I settled in, meaning to read for as long as I could keep my eyes open.