If there is one lesson I can impress upon you, dear reader, let it be this: Do not be afraid.
Your duty may be at times painful, disgusting, or merely humiliating, but take heart and face it bravely, for you are perfectly made for it.
(excerpt, The Bride's Duty, Mrs. Walter Briarly)
.:.
The days passed quickly after Midsummer, more or less in delightful idleness.
I breakfasted with Earnest each morning, and then he led me to Oakhurst's library afterward, leaving me to browse the shelves a few hours while he attended to Oakhurst's business.
Temperance usually found me before long, and then it was nothing but tarts and ribbons til Miss Goodwin found her. For all she complained about how hard choosing was, Temperance had already decided all but the tiniest details of her debut. She knew which silk she would buy, how many yards, and from what draper, which dresskmaker she would hire, and how much she would pay... She only vexed herself over gum paste figurines and how much puff to put in her sleeves. I was really quite surprised by her.
I often saw Stanley Blake here and about. He seemed a well-kept secret -- or, at least, if anyone else knew he was his lordship's beloved, there was no sign of it. He was given no favors that I saw; he ate downstairs with the other servants, and during the day he came and went through the house only as a valet would have need to. On a few occasions, I found him together with Earnest, discussing hair pomades and shoe polish and such. It was all desperately ordinary for a valet.
But in the evenings, as soon as Lady Oakhurst had retired after dinner, the three of us would gather to be just Stan, and Earnest, and Edith. Usually we played cards or we'd take turns reading to each other, though we sometimes snuck downstairs for some grand mischief out of doors -- the maze by moonlight became my particular favorite.
Eventually, Earnest lured me upstairs to his private library. He was as keen a collector as his father had been, though he favored newer works to the oldest.
I poked through the shelves, thumbing through poetry books, picture books, atlases, a guide on the Wyrms and the Wolves for the Enterprising Gentleman... And then Earnest pulled down a novel and put it in my hands.
"Try this one," he said. "It's one of my favorites."
I looked over it somewhat reluctantly. I was not much interested in novels -- Ewert didn't have many, and the few that did inhabit our shelves were grim and cautionary, full of fools whose poor choices led them to tragic ends.
"I met the author once. She's uncommonly talented... She writes plays, too."
"She?" I glanced at the cover again. "Gerald Bell is a woman?"
"Oh, it's not really her name, of course."
I nodded with new understanding. "Mrs. Gerald Bell..."
"No, I mean, it's not her name at all. It's a complete fabrication. Her real name is Shaw... Violet, I think. She just calls herself Gerald Bell so she can get her work published. It's clever, don't you think?"
Indeed, I thought it very clever -- I was sure I could never come up with such a deviously simple idea.
I took the novel and settled in the window seat beside the orange cat -- it never seemed to be anywhere else. I read the first sentences skeptically, but I was soon carried away by a fraught love affair between Amity Burns, the daughter of an imaginary Duke, and a poor sailor named William Reed.
I hardly moved from the window seat the rest of the day, only laying the book aside for dinner, and that night, I stayed up for hours and hours, reading just one more page til the candle guttered and snuffed itself out.
Late the next evening, when we three were gathered in Earnest's library, I read the last page and closed the book with a sigh.
Earnest glanced over at me, his eyes warm and amused. "It's good, isn't it?"
I giggled, grinning down at nothing and probably blushing. "I think I want to marry William."
Earnest laughed. He said, "Me, too," wrinkling up his nose.
"Hey, now..." Stan peered at us over the edge of his newspaper, trying to look displeased.
Earnest scoffed, but he squeezed Stan's shoulder. Quietly, he said, "You're real."
Their eyes met, and I could see, vividly, how they were drawn to each other... How easily, how naturally, they would have reached for each other, embraced each other, kissed... If only I weren't there.
I looked away from them, out the window at the ancient sprawling oak, glazed silver in moonlight, searching for something to occupy me. I suddenly felt a bit intrusive, out of place and alone.
Earnest must have taken notice. Too loudly, he said, "You need a new book, Edie. Now, what shall you have next..."
He soon wedged himself beside me with a collection of Brother Wyrm stories. "What do you think? Shall I read them to you, or shall we take turns?"
We took turns, but after a few stories, I begged off with a headache.
Earnest frowned, asking me half a dozen solicitous questions -- did it feel like a head cold, a toothache, too much sun, not enough water...?
I forced a smile. "Just tired, I think. I was up so late reading."
"Ah, of course," he said. "Well, you must rest, then. I won't be greedy with you. Much as I long to be."
He walked with me up to my rooms, holding my hand the whole way. He kissed my cheek outside the sitting room door.
"Good night, Edie," he said. "I hope you feel better in the morning."
I squeezed his hand. "I'm sure I will."
Miss Goodwin kept me company the rest of the evening, after she'd helped the nurse put the young Grimmonds to bed. I sat by the fire, knitting new rags -- I always seemed to need new rags -- while she darned a fading pair of stockings.
These were happy hours, and I glimpsed in them hints of a life that could be: days with my lord husband, a few hours as Stan and Earnest and Edith, then evenings with my dear Miss Goodwin -- I would have her as governess for my own children, of course, if she would consent to it.
I found myself daydreaming about a little boy with green eyes and sandy curls -- our children would certainly have curling hair. I decided I would ask Earnest to name him William. It was a good name: William Grimmond, Count of Oakhurst.
At length, Miss Goodwin yawned and Miss Ward came to put me to bed. I stood in the dressing room, puzzling over it again while Miss Ward stipped off my underpinnings, layer by layer.
Tall windows filled the south wall, so it was bright during the day, warm and cheery. It was not large, but I saw it was large enough. The dressing table could easily fit in the bedroom, as could one of the wardrobes, and that would make room for a rocking chair, a cot or two...
The next morning, I skipped down to the breakfast room, my heart light and eager. Earnest and I passed the day cheerfully drifting apart and together again, but then evening came.
That night, we played cards and drained a jug of cider -- it wasn't very strong. Earnest tried to fill his cup from the empty bottle twice.
When the hand ended, Earnest stretched his arms high over his head, groaning loudly and exuberantly. He tried to fill his cup yet again, and then he laughed at himself.
"Will you take another cup, Edie? Stan?"
Stan nodded, and I said, "Just one more, thank you."
"I'll run downstairs and fetch another bottle, then," he said, rising from his chair and stretching his back and legs with no less enthusiasm. "I won't be long." He left us, then, shutting the door behind him.
Stan gathered up the cards and shuffled them a few times. He pushed the deck toward me; I cut it and pushed it back, and then he dealt out three hands. He picked up his cards, turning them right side up, one by one, and then he leaned back in his chair with a thoughtful mien, his breath slowly hissing out his nose as he studied them.
Stan and I never talked much when we were alone together. He wasn't a quiet man the way Doctor Brown was -- he could be engaged -- but he didn't chatter like Earnest did, either. Ordinarily, ours was a companionable silence, but that night, it weighed on me.
I smoothed my skirts, and I sighed, and, at length, I said, "I think might just go to bed, after all."
Stan's eyes shot up to mine. "Oh? Are you still feeling unwell?"
My face must have betrayed me. I said nothing, since I didn't what to say, but, suddenly, such a terrible frown twisted Stan's face.
"What's wrong, Edie?"
"Nothing's wrong. I just..." I shrugged. "I thought you might be tired of entertaining me, night after night. A good guest knows when to leave, after all."
"Oh..." Stan shook his head. "No, not at all. You're very welcome here, of course. Earnest adores you, and I don't get to meet many of his friends. In truth, I've been grateful."
I laughed at that. "You've been grateful?"
"I have." The sentence was firm, punctuated with a nod. "It's nice to have company, for a change."
"It's nice to be Edith, for a change!" I shook my head at myself, suddenly embarrassed. "Ach, that sounds daft..."
"No, I understand."
Stan smiled at me, his eyes so warm I couldn't bear it. I looked away and picked up my cards -- it was a poor hand. I'd lost the game before it had begun.
"And you really don't mind it?" he asked. Stan regarded me rather wonderingly, as if it were too good to believe. "Such a marriage... Us."
I didn't know how to answer him -- in truth, I wasn't entirely sure what he was asking.
"Well, it seems a good arrangement... Advantageous, mutually beneficial..." I trailed off, shrugging. "Do you disagree?"
"No, not as such," he said. "I can't doubt you'd be good for Oakhurst. And I think you might be good for Earnest, too. He's a silly boy, you know."
"Ach, no...!" I scoffed and swatted at his arm. "He's sweet...!"
"The sweetest." Stan smiled, his lips pressed tight to keep from grinning. His eyes dropped to something only he could see, then he chuckled and shook his head. "But he is also very silly."
I couldn't well argue with him. "Well, look at where he's come from," I said. "The roses match the settees match the wallpaper..."
Stan snorted. "You should see his mother's rooms."
"It gets worse?" I thought on that a moment. "Ach, I can't even imagine..."
"It's unimaginable. It's all pink rosebuds. Sheets, curtains, the rug... She had them painted on the furniture..."
"The furniture...!" I clapped a hand over my mouth and tried to not laugh.
"And all the doors."
Stan shook his head, weary as a ploughman, then he heaved a sigh.
"In truth, I think you may be very well matched," he said. "You could be the head of Oakhurst, and he could be the heart of it, and it could all be very successful. I just wonder if that's enough to make you happy."
"Happy...?"
I thought about having the power to steer Oakhurst. It was almost daunting, really, but so much could be done to improve it -- Oakhurst could probably build schools and hospitals, in the right hands. Or a mill to process black wool...
"Well, it'd keep me busy, at least. And then the children would come..." I smiled at him and shrugged. "What else is there?"
Stan grunted a laugh. "Well. Perhaps nothing."
"And you...?" I asked. "Are you happy to be the valet? Would you want a wife and children of your own?"
"Actually, I have a child of my own."
I blinked at this. A dozen questions sprouted in my mind, and I didn't know how to ask a single one of them -- or if I even should.
Stan eyed me candidly, his brows rising high.
"There was a time..." he said, "when I tried very hard to convince myself I was like other men, and... Well, it didn't work, but I got Poppy, so some good came out of it. She'll be six, soon, in Sowing. Pretty little child. Clever, too, like the Wolves. And spirited like the Wyrms."
"A little girl..." I glanced over his features -- I could well believe he'd father a pretty child. "Does she live in the village?"
"Naw, she's in Cheapworth with my sister." Stan gave me a smile. It was a melancholic thing, wistful and bittersweet. "She thinks I'm her uncle."
"Oh." I frowned -- this seemed most desperately sad to me. "Have you never thought of bringing her here? I'm sure Earnest would be delighted."
"He would be..." Stan agreed, nodding slowly. "But then what would I do? Tell her her real mother's a roundheels, her father's an... oddity? She's happy in Cheapworth. She's got a real family there, brothers and sisters... It'd be selfish to take her from that."
I frowned still. "She might like to know the truth when she's older..."
"And when she's older, I might tell her," he said. "But I'm giving her a good home, now. I'll have enough to send her to school when she's grown... And I get to see her twice a year." He gave me the melancholic smile again. "It's better this way."
I said, "I see," but I wasn't at all sure I agreed.
Earnest returned then, a new jug of cider under one arm and a tray of cheese and berries in his hand. He looked between us, smiling anxiously.
"I say, why these somber faces?"
Stan cast an almost reluctant smile over his shoulder. "I told her about Poppy."
"Ah..." Earnest laid the tray down on the table, shaking his head. "I can't change his mind, Edie. On my honor, I have tried."
Stan reached up and stroked his arm. "That's because I'm right," he said.
He smiled up at Earnest, and Earnest smiled down at him, both of them sad and adoring and forbearing. I saw it again: how they were drawn to each other... And how they resisted.
I drank a cup of cider, and I played another hand with them, and then I yawned and made my excuses.
.:.
Earnest followed me round like a little puppy after that night. He sat closer to me, talked more to me, caught my hand at odd times and just held it... And he was always rather anxious about it all, which irritated me beyond words and made me feel dreadfully guilty, at the same time. My days indisposed were a tremendous relief to me, which made me feel guiltier still.
The night before I was to leave Oakhurst, Earnest didn't lead me up to the library at all. It was a warm night, and there hadn't even been a proper dinner -- Lady Oakhurst ordered a tray in her room, while Earnest and I ate bread and cold cuts of meat on the terrace with his siblings and Miss Goodwin.
An orange sunset faded to deep night, and the nurse came to collect the children for bed. Temperance, not for the first time, protested bitterly against being treated like a toddler, especially when I was leaving in the morning. She was sent to bed, nonetheless, but I wondered that the nurse didn't smack her hand.
Earnest gestured toward the maze after they'd all gone in. "It's a bright night..." he said.
"What about Stan?"
"Oh, he's gone to bed." Earnest took up my hand and squeezed it. "He's been a bit tired today. He sends his regrets."
I didn't believe this for a moment. I rolled my eyes and pulled my hand out of his grasp.
"It's an arrangement, Earnest. I understand that. You don't have to pretend you'd rather be with me."
"Pretend...?" Earnest frowned at me, his eyes wide and wounded. "I would rather be with you. You're leaving tomorrow, and I'll miss you."
I shook my head. "I'm not bothered by it. Really. I'm used to being alone."
"Edie..." He tried to take up my hand again.
"Ach, this is ridiculous... Just go already. It's alright." I shoved him a little, and then I stalked away.
Earnest called, "He really is tired."
I stopped and looked back at him, my stomach twisting with vague remorse. Earnest stood with his hands in his pockets, smiling at me weakly.
"He's come down with a bit of a fever," he said. "He wanted to push himself tonight, since you're leaving, but I told him you'd understand."
"Oh." I felt horrible in so many ways, I couldn't even count them. "Oh, forgive me."
"No, forgive me." Earnest took a few slow, swinging, steps toward me, dragging his heels through the gravel. "I suppose it was foolish of me, thinking we could all be friends."
"Ach, we can be... I just..."
"I could send him away, if you like."
"No...! Earnest..." I shook my head, more and more frustrated. "Hear now. I'm not jealous. I like Stan... It's just... I don't always belong with you two. There's not always room for me. And I can't pretend it's not lonelier, sometimes, being with you two than it is just being alone. That's all."
"Mmm." Earnest rocked back on his heels, his hands still in his pockets. "It'd be easier if you had your own person."
I shrugged. "Perhaps. Probably..." -- though where I would find my own person in the very corner of the Northerns, I could not guess. A grim feeling grew within me.
"Earnest, what are you going to do if worst doesn't come to worst?"
"I don't know..."
He mulled it over a moment, tilting his head side to side as he took a few more gravel-scraping steps toward me. "I'll leave Oakhurst to Honor if I must, but I'd like to have children of my own..."
"So you'd keep looking for a wife?"
Earnest shrugged, half nodded, and shrugged again. "I'm in no hurry, if that's what you mean. My offer stands, Edie. Consider it as long as you must. A month, a year... Years. I've got the little ones now, and I'll still be young enough, even once the twins are grown. But I should like to have children of my own" -- evidently, it was true enough to say twice.
Earnest's eyes lit up suddenly. "I wish you'd been here to meet my little niece. Stan said she looks like an overstuffed sausage, she's so fat... Just rolls upon rolls upon rolls..." He trailed off, giving me a shrug. "I like babies," he said, grinning bashfully. "Maybe even more than I like squirrels."
I laughed at that. "You silly person..."
I crossed the distance between us. Earnest wrapped his arms round me, and for a long time he just held me, stroking a hand over my back, like I was a child. And I melted into him like a child, yielding over to his strength and his warmth.
At length, Earnest leaned back and we studied each other, searching each other's faces a long while. He tucked a curl behind my ear. "I do love you, you know."
"I know." We stared at each other a few moments more, then I stretched tall and kissed his cheek.
He huffed a laugh, quiet and gentle and sad. "I see."
I scowled up at him, words still forming in my mind, and then he drew a circle in front of his face. He pulled me close again, cradling my head against his shoulder. "But my offer still stands, Edie."