Page 99 of A Mismatch Made in London

“Father, we are very tired,” I protested gently.

“Only around the back of the house. We will only be a minute. You and your mother can go inside.”

But they were longer than a minute. I watched out the window as they were talking and Father was pointing, no doubt telling him how much land he had and how many tenant farmers and the yield of the crops from the year before, things I couldn’t imagine being of any interest to anyone. A bit later they were facing each other and Jeremy was speaking with a serious, very earnest look on his face. Was he asking Father for my hand? My stomach fluttered.

“Come away from the window and stop fretting,” Mother said, the baby back in her arms. “He seems like a very good young man, and your father will not tell him no.”

I felt tears sting my eyes; I wasn’t sure why. I quickly drove them away.

“And you believe he will treat you well?” Mother said.

“I do.” I took a deep breath. He certainly had said and done all the right things so far.

28

I came downstairs to find Jeremy Beaumont waiting at the bottom of the stairs with a bouquet of wildflowers. But it was the expression on his face, so tender, almost shy, that made my breath catch in my throat.

“I picked these for you,” he said.

“They’re white, pink, and lavender.”

“They’re not roses and lilacs, but I tried to match the colors.”

“You did. They’re beautiful.”

One of the maids was passing by. “Shall I put them in some water?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Shall we walk?”

I took his arm, but before we were out the front door, we had a string of children following us. They were hiding giggles behind their hands and whispering. Out on the lane, they grew louder.

“If you please,” Jeremy said, “I would like you all to tell me your name again and your age.”

“I’m Elizabeth, and I’m twelve,” Elizabeth stated boldly. She was carrying little Anne, who was sucking her knuckle. “And this is Anne. She’s four.”

“Very good,” Jeremy said. “Elizabeth, twelve and Anne, four. Next?”

“I’m Nathaniel, and I’m ten years old.” My precocious little brother stuck out his chest.

“I’m Matthew. I’m eight, but I can beat anybody at cards, even my father.”

That caused quite a loud, sharp argument with Nathaniel, and the two looked as though they might come to blows until Jeremy interrupted them.

“I shall play you both at cards, and we shall see who is the winner then.”

The boys whooped and talked at once, both bragging about their skill.

Catherine hurried to get in front of us and walked sideways, gazing up at Jeremy.

“I believe it is your turn, young lady,” he said.

She grinned shyly, then said, “I’m Catherine, and I am six years old. I have a baby sister, Diana, who’s two years old, and a baby brother, Philip. He was born in February.”

“I am sure you are a very good sister to them.”

“And I have an older sister, Lavinia, and there’s Oliver and Jonathan and Adam. They are my oldest brothers.”