Chloe,” the girl interrupted.
“Very well—Chloe, you must see that by indulging in these mad starts—making wild speeches and running away—you achieve precisely the opposite effect than that which you desire. You are convincing him that you are just another flighty female, with more hair than wit.”
“But, how can I sit demurely by, whispering, ‘Yes, Uncle Thorne— no, Uncle Thorne,’ when he does nothing but order me about?” Chloe fairly bounced in her chair with indignation.
“Have you no other relatives besides your uncle?” asked Hester, a sense of desperation creeping over her.
“Uncle?” Chloe’s delicate brows rose in puzzlement. “Oh, he is not really my uncle. He was Papa’s best friend— Papa saved his life at Waterloo, and according to an agreement they made, I was put in his care when Papa died a little over a year ago.” Her mouth trembled. “Mama died giving birth to me—I have no brothers or sisters. Nor any aunts or uncles. Oh, I do miss Papa so!” Tears glistened in her eyes once more. “He was so kind—so understanding. He would not dream of pressing me into a loveless marriage!”
“Yes,” replied Hester, her ready sympathy touched. “It must be dreadfully difficult for you. But, about John Wery. Have you told him that you do not wish to marry him?”
“Well, he has not asked me yet—precisely. But Uncle Thorne has been so obvious in his desire for us to marry— and Mr. Wery—well, I know he’s working up to a proposal.”
“Do you discourage him?”
“Do you mean do I refuse to see him—or spill tea in his lap when he comes to call?” asked Chloe in a serious tone. “No, I have not taken that tack. And, he never does anything that would require discouraging. He never tries to hold my hand, or tell me that I am pretty—or anything like that. He simply proses at me about sheep!”
Hester refrained from glancing at Larkie and she firmly suppressed the bubble of laughter that rose within her. “I see,” she said simply. “Well, perhaps you could endeavor to give him a dislike of you. When he—proses about sheep, turn the conversation to books—or feminism, or something else that you feel would not interest him. That has certainly worked for me,” she concluded with a smile.
“Well,” said Chloe, “I might try it.” She sighed gustily. “But even if it does, Uncle Thorne will just turn up another candidate for my hand. He knows every family in London, and if there’s an unattached son or nephew lying about with a respectable portion to his name, he will hear of it.”
“Have you no friends who share your views?” asked Hester curiously. “Young people who might lend you moral support?”
“Pooh,” Chloe snorted. “Every girl I know is simply panting to marry well. All they think about is balls and routs and Almack’s. Except for Sarah, of course.”
“Sarah?”
“Sarah Wendover. We went to school together and she is my best friend in the world. She shares my passion for justice for women.” Chloe lifted her hand in a theatrical gesture. “And she, too, is being persecuted by her family. Just last month her parents betrothed her to Lord Bascombe, who is three-and-thirty and rides to hounds every day that he can.”
“Oh dear.”
“Yes, she pleaded and cried, but to no avail. I encouraged her to run away, but she is somewhat poor-spirited. Her family lives near Bythorne Park, but I have not seen her since they left London last month—right after the betrothal. I have written to her frequently since then, and am hopeful she will take my advice.”
“As I hope you will take mine,” said Hester with a smile. She rose and smoothed her skirts. “Larkie, we must see about dinner.”
“Oh!” Chloe jumped up. “Do let me help.”
Miss Larkin stiffened. “Bui of course you will not. You are our guest, Miss—Chloe, and—”
“Oh no,” replied Chloe with a laugh. She glanced down at her dark muslin gown. “I am your new
“Very well—Chloe, you must see that by indulging in these mad starts—making wild speeches and running away—you achieve precisely the opposite effect than that which you desire. You are convincing him that you are just another flighty female, with more hair than wit.”
“But, how can I sit demurely by, whispering, ‘Yes, Uncle Thorne— no, Uncle Thorne,’ when he does nothing but order me about?” Chloe fairly bounced in her chair with indignation.
“Have you no other relatives besides your uncle?” asked Hester, a sense of desperation creeping over her.
“Uncle?” Chloe’s delicate brows rose in puzzlement. “Oh, he is not really my uncle. He was Papa’s best friend— Papa saved his life at Waterloo, and according to an agreement they made, I was put in his care when Papa died a little over a year ago.” Her mouth trembled. “Mama died giving birth to me—I have no brothers or sisters. Nor any aunts or uncles. Oh, I do miss Papa so!” Tears glistened in her eyes once more. “He was so kind—so understanding. He would not dream of pressing me into a loveless marriage!”
“Yes,” replied Hester, her ready sympathy touched. “It must be dreadfully difficult for you. But, about John Wery. Have you told him that you do not wish to marry him?”
“Well, he has not asked me yet—precisely. But Uncle Thorne has been so obvious in his desire for us to marry— and Mr. Wery—well, I know he’s working up to a proposal.”
“Do you discourage him?”
“Do you mean do I refuse to see him—or spill tea in his lap when he comes to call?” asked Chloe in a serious tone. “No, I have not taken that tack. And, he never does anything that would require discouraging. He never tries to hold my hand, or tell me that I am pretty—or anything like that. He simply proses at me about sheep!”
Hester refrained from glancing at Larkie and she firmly suppressed the bubble of laughter that rose within her. “I see,” she said simply. “Well, perhaps you could endeavor to give him a dislike of you. When he—proses about sheep, turn the conversation to books—or feminism, or something else that you feel would not interest him. That has certainly worked for me,” she concluded with a smile.
“Well,” said Chloe, “I might try it.” She sighed gustily. “But even if it does, Uncle Thorne will just turn up another candidate for my hand. He knows every family in London, and if there’s an unattached son or nephew lying about with a respectable portion to his name, he will hear of it.”
“Have you no friends who share your views?” asked Hester curiously. “Young people who might lend you moral support?”
“Pooh,” Chloe snorted. “Every girl I know is simply panting to marry well. All they think about is balls and routs and Almack’s. Except for Sarah, of course.”
“Sarah?”
“Sarah Wendover. We went to school together and she is my best friend in the world. She shares my passion for justice for women.” Chloe lifted her hand in a theatrical gesture. “And she, too, is being persecuted by her family. Just last month her parents betrothed her to Lord Bascombe, who is three-and-thirty and rides to hounds every day that he can.”
“Oh dear.”
“Yes, she pleaded and cried, but to no avail. I encouraged her to run away, but she is somewhat poor-spirited. Her family lives near Bythorne Park, but I have not seen her since they left London last month—right after the betrothal. I have written to her frequently since then, and am hopeful she will take my advice.”
“As I hope you will take mine,” said Hester with a smile. She rose and smoothed her skirts. “Larkie, we must see about dinner.”
“Oh!” Chloe jumped up. “Do let me help.”
Miss Larkin stiffened. “Bui of course you will not. You are our guest, Miss—Chloe, and—”
“Oh no,” replied Chloe with a laugh. She glanced down at her dark muslin gown. “I am your new
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