Keeping the Castle - By Patrice Kindl Page 0,40
indeed? Ha!
I decided that I was not sorry Mr. Fredericks was returning; I had plans for his future. I would marry him off to Miss Vincy. Her gentle nature would suffer his bumptiousness without complaint, and, as unlikely as it might seem, she appeared to be at least as self-conscious when his name was mentioned as when the Baron entered the room—perhaps she could be persuaded into a tendresse for him. According to her, he was a man with a fine appreciation for the arts. He would understand and support her need for time away from family duties to draw and paint.
Her father admired him for some odd reason, and even her mother, the more formidable obstacle in matters pertaining to her daughter’s marriage, regarded him as “a sensible young man.” Knowing the lady in question, I assumed this referred to his financial expertise. And given that expertise, he most likely had managed to save up a tidy sum, which would endear him to her even more. (How I wished that my mother were a little more like other mothers of marriageable daughters; most would make it their business to know the net worth of every single man for twenty miles round, but not my innocent mama!) And tho’ the son of a man in a very humble way of life, he was the grandson of a baron, so with even a modest competence he would do very well for her.
He, of course, would be exceedingly lucky to get her—it would be a brilliant marriage for him as well as a suitable one. But really, his point of view was hardly worth considering.
With Miss Vincy happily married, I could wed Lord Boring without regret. When I thought of the lock of hair she carried with her and kissed in secrecy, I sighed for her disappointment. But however much she might love him, he did not return the sentiment.
No, everyone would be much better off if I arranged matters to suit myself.
“Goodness, Miss Crawley! How thankful I am that you had not that expression on your face earlier!” cried Miss Vincy as she packed up her paints. “You quite frighten me. What are you planning?”
I smiled, but would not say.
Mr. Fredericks returned, and all augured well for my scheme. I had not yet had the opportunity of viewing my portrait, as the rains, so common in our climate, returned in force, making visiting impossible. On the first possible day, which happened to be just after Mr. Fredericks’s return, Prudence, Charity, and I walked over to Gudgeon Park.
“Miss Winthrop, how pleasant to see you again,” bellowed Mr. Fredericks in a voice generally only used by herders summoning their cattle home from a distant field. “And Miss Charity Winthrop, of course! How good of you to call. And Miss Crawley. Miss Althea Crawley, I believe, tho’ I know it is more correct to call you Miss Crawley, as Miss Prudence ought to be called Miss Winthrop.” He bowed deeply and fixed me with a satirical eye, saying in a lower voice, “As you can see, I have committed all your names and the proper manner of addressing you to memory, and shall not forget again. I have not been much in company with ladies, I will confess.”
He enquired after Alexander as well, and said, “Having had some leisure to consider your complaints since last we spoke, I have concluded that you were in the right. I ought to have minded Alexander more carefully, and I apologize for attempting to shift the blame onto your shoulders.”
At this handsome act of contrition I blushed, remembering how I had berated him at the Screaming Stones after he had imperiled his life saving Fido’s and my brother’s. I realized, too, that his appearance as well as his behavior was more handsome than I had thought. He had been suffering from ill health when I first met him; now he was recovered I began to think him a very good-looking man. I resolved to exert myself to be cordial and charming.
“Thank you, sir. How very good to see you again,” I said, dropping a curtsey. “We were quite desolated to lose your company last June. Still, I suppose the financial gentlemen in the City were the gainers for it.”
He eyed me suspiciously, as tho’ he had approached expecting me to fly at him like an enraged cat at a dog and now did not know what to make of my attitude. He turned to the Marquis and muttered