even met the late Mr. Berrycloth yet.” Mrs. Berrycloth lightly swatted her. “You have plenty of time. You should be twirling about on that dance floor instead of fraternizing with all the old dames and wallflowers.”
Imogen shook her head with a small laugh, not bothering to point out that she was a wallflower. Unapologetically so. Well, she had been a wallflower. She supposed she did not qualify anymore. Not at her age.
Now she was simply an aging spinster. But that was fine and well with Imogen. Her life had purpose and meaning. She had freedom. More freedom than most. So many wives had none of those things. They had only what their husbands allotted them. No freedom. No choices.
Husbands. It should not be that a woman counted herself fortunate if her husband was a good man. If he was a man of honor, a man who didn’t neglect or abuse his wife. A woman should expect those very fundamental things as her due and not count herself lucky.
Indeed, in a perfect world there should be no husbands like Mr. Henry.
“Let me locate a partner for you, Miss Bates,” Mrs. Berrycloth pressed, standing on her tiptoes and scanning the crowd for a likely candidate. “Ah, I think I see young Halston without a partner at the moment. He does have very nice teeth, and that’s not something every gentleman can boast—”
Imogen shook her head vehemently. “No. That’s not necessary. I am quite content as I am.”
“Why, Mr. Halston should count himself lucky to partner with you. Your teeth are lovely, as well—”
“That is neither here nor there, Mrs. Berrycloth,” Imogen said without heat and offering a gentle smile, intent on giving no offense but determined that she not be intimidated into dancing. She was much too old for this nonsense. “I have no wish to dance. With him or anyone. It’s not for me, I am afraid. I am quite settled in my life.” Imogen often found herself saying such things at these functions. It was tiresome. She was constantly attempting to convince the world around her that she was happy as she was—a woman without a husband. Such an entity could exist—such a person could exist. It existed in her.
“Well, that is true as long as you have your dear papa. What happens when he’s gone?”
Imogen felt the words like a sharp uncomfortable pinch. She looked at Mrs. Berrycloth in disbelief. No one had ever been so bold as to ask her that before. “Well, I—I,” she stammered, disliking contemplating such a thing.
“I’ve had three husbands. I know well the ephemeral nature of life. Especially for a gentleman advanced in years.”
“I—I—”
“No one lives forever.”
“Well, yes. Of course.” She knew that. Better than most. She’d already lost her mother in a horribly sudden manner.
One day Mama had been enjoying herself amid her favorite pastime, happily toiling in the garden, and then a fortnight later she had taken to her bed, feverish from a festering wound. An accidental cut on her hand from her gardening shears had resulted in a fatal infection that brought about her demise.
It had been arbitrary and senseless and horrible. There was nothing anyone could do to save her. They could only sit by her side and watch her die.
Life, Imogen had learned then, could be as volatile as the weather. So Imogen was not blind to the impermanence of life. Indeed not. She knew how fragile the threads that made up one’s existence could be.
“I do hope you have made plans for your future, Miss Bates. I only say this out of concern.”
Imogen started at the remark, her thoughts reluctantly drifting to her future.
She would receive a small inheritance from Papa, but he was not a wealthy man. It would not be much. Perhaps just enough to keep her in genteel poverty—as long as she did not live to the ripe age of one hundred. She winced. Or fifty.
She supposed she could take employment as a governess or a teacher. She would have to do something. It was vastly unfair. She would lose her home. The vicarage would go to the next vicar. Her throat tightened at the thought. When she lost Papa, she would lose everything. Not only her beloved father, but her home. Her way of life. All would be forfeit.
Hopefully Papa would not be leaving her for a good while. She made certain he did not exert himself, overseeing all of his affairs for him and encouraging him to rest at every opportunity so