Page 2 of A Mismatch Made in London

Mother clasped her hands, her eyes darting about the room as she seemed to be thinking about several things at once. “You must flirt, but do it discreetly and never offend anyone. Protect your reputation at all costs; don’t go anywhere alone with a man.”

“Of course, Mother. I would never—”

“And take your aunt’s advice. She will tell you with whom to flirt and the gentlemen who would make the best match for you.”

“Very well,” I said, although I was a bit shocked—and also amused—at the thought of flirting with someone because my aunt told me I should.

“And your cousin Algernon is your uncle’s heir. You could hardly do better than him, so if he pays his attentions to you—”

“Mother, no. Algernon?”

“I know he is your cousin.”

“And I’ve known him since we were babies.”

“But people marry their cousins. You know that. There is nothing wrong with it.”

“Yes, but ... no. I cannot.”

“Well, there are many other gentlemen in London in possession of large fortunes.” Mother’s smile faded as she grew serious again. “Though your father does very well and we are favorably situated, you know that he has been reluctant to make any investments since that one which did not turn out well.”

We were the principal family in our village, and I grew up thinking we were wealthy, but the truth was that our village was very small and Father had lost quite a bit of money when he invested in a business interest of his uncle’s several years before. And with twelve children, there wasn’t enough to give every daughter a large enough dowry to make us tempting to most young gentlemen.

Mother went on. “By the time your sisters are of age, I’m not sure your father will be able to offer them anything.”

Mother’s face looked pinched, and I noticed for the first time the little wrinkles around her eyes and the creases on either side of her mouth.

“I don’t wish to upset you, and I know you shall do your best to make a good match in London, but I wanted you to knowjust how much use you could be to your family, your sisters in particular, if you were to marry well.”

“Yes, of course, Mama. I shall do my best.”

I wanted to ask her if it was all right to marry someone who was not so wealthy, and whether I could marry for love, but I stopped myself. After all, I cared about my siblings too much not to at least consider the fact that they would have a much better chance of marrying well if I first married well myself.

Nevertheless, I wasn’t sure I could sell myself in that way. Oh, I knew my mother would be horrified, as would every other member of good society, if I were to characterize marriage in terms of “selling myself.” After all, a lady was expected to marry as well as she could manage, to make the best match in terms of fortune and rank, and everyone would think more of her, not less. But I wanted a marriage of love and mutual respect, of romantic attachment and affection, as well as healthy, happy children; I wanted what my parents had.Thatwas what I dreamed of, and I wasn’t sure I could pretend to love and respect someone who didn’t love and respect me. Would I be able to sacrifice love in favor of wealth? But a good match was a good match, and a husband generally wanted the same things I wanted, did he not? Which was healthy children and a harmonious and happy home.

Certainly, I didn’t wish to saddle myself with someone who would cause me shame and embarrassment, such as a man who would keep a paramour, say disrespectful things to me in public, or equally hurtful, ignore me.

I wasn’t supposed to even know about paramours and the immoral behavior of gentlemen, but I read the newspapers, including the gossip columns that I’m sure Mother wouldn’t approve of me reading. In truth, sometimes I’d feel a little sick after I read about the goings-on in London among what were supposed to be the best families. But if being knowledgeable about such things kept me from being ignorant, and therefore prevented me frommaking a poor choice, then how could it be wrong? Leastways, I was a woman grown and I didn’t wish to be naive. Even the Bible told the truth about people’s wicked behavior.

And now I was about to be in London where so many wicked things happened. But I would be under the protection of my aunt and uncle, so I needn’t fear anything worse than a broken heart. I hoped.

Part of me would have liked to stay at home. Here I felt comfortable, loved. My younger brothers counted on me to play games with them. I liked it when they came asking me to make them some new toy soldiers or requesting that I take them to the pond to go fishing, since they weren’t allowed to go without me or one of the servants, who were always busy with their duties. And when little Diana fell asleep in my arms or cried because she wanted me, not one of the maids, to put her down to sleep at night, I felt loved and needed. If I went to London, who would take care of them the way I did?

But there was another part of me, a part that longed to dress in pretty clothes and go to parties and balls, to be seen and admired. I’d rarely been to London, or any large town, but I knew that life would be very different there.

The day before I was to go to London with Mr. and Mrs. Kendall, I met Father as I was leaving by the back door.

“Where’s my wee lass off to this spring morning?” Father narrowed his eyes at me.

I wasn’t a “wee lass” anymore, but it was Papa’s way, to address his grown-up children as if they were still small. He did it to all of us, so I didn’t protest. He did possess an odd sense of humor.

“I’m taking this basket of food to the Parkers. Mrs. Parker has a new baby, and Cook has made her a meat pie.”

“Very good. You are a good girl.” He patted the top of my head,even though I was as tall as he was. “Although I suspect you are going just so you can hold the new babe.”

“I do love to hold the newborns.”

“I’ll walk with you, then fetch you after I’ve visited John Franklin, just the other side of the Parkers’ farm.”