Grayson and I entered the drawing room as the grandfather clock chimed the hour. Papa stood at the fireplace, glaring into the flames. He lit his pipe and tossed the match into the fire. His gray eyes scanned us briefly and I dropped a curtsy. Gray bowed slightly at the waist.
“Good evening,” my brother greeted cordially. He stood inside the door, his striped trousers creased with precision. He wore a fashionable jacket and floral waistcoat with a white cravat. A ruby glimmered in his neckwear’s stickpin. “The pleasant weather puts springs in your step. I expect that is how the season acquired its name.”
Charlotte glared at Gray; her crimson lips turned downward. She edged closer to Joel on the settee and rubbed her hand on his upper thigh. My elder brother leaned in to kiss her full on the lips. Papa cleared his throat loudly as their embrace deepened. Joel disentangled himself and leaned against the sofa’s back. Lottie turned her dagger-like eyes toward Papa then lowered her eyelids demurely.
Yates interrupted the awkward moment when he entered with the evening sherry. He placed it on the table near Papa, and, bowing at the waist, awaited further instructions.
“That will do for the moment, Yates,” Father remarked, dismissing his manservant.
“As you wish,” the butler responded decorously. Swiveling neatly, he marched from the room.
“Well, la di da,” Lottie muttered, following Yates’ retreat with malicious eyes.
Papa’s back straightened at the comment, but he held onto any rebuff he might have considered. He puffed on his pipe instead. Charlotte grabbed the decanter and poured sherry into a diamond-cut goblet.
“May your ups and downs only occur between the sheets,” my brother’s paramour chortled, raising her glass. She drained the contents swiftly and reached for a refill.
Papa stared at Lottie, dumbfounded. He cleared his throat roughly but didn’t offer a reprimand. Grayson practically fell into an easy chair, his face turning as crimson as Charlotte’s overly plump lips. Impulsively, I marched toward the table and began filling the glasses from the decanter. My hand trembled when I handed Papa his evening libation. I continued pouring the sherry and offered glasses to Joel and Grayson. Before I could fill mine, Lottie shoved her empty glass at me. Our eyes met and held momentarily. Biting my tongue, I silently tipped the decanter, refilling her goblet. Finally, I served myself.
“I am surprised the nursery students are permitted to imbibe,” Lottie remarked, draining her second glass. She refilled it hastily.
Grayson and I exchanged glances, our cheeks burning with indignation. We shared the evening toast from the time Papa permitted us to join the family at the dining table. It seemed quite natural. Joel left the nursery to dine with Papa at age fourteen. When Gray reached that milestone, we were both permitted to join them. It became a ritual to share a toast in the drawing room prior to the meal.
“We shan’t remain in the nurseries much longer,” I responded hotly. “Grayson will attend Oxford during the autumn session. I am—at the current moment—preparing for my London season next spring. We are not quite as young as you imagine.”
“Humph,” Lottie snorted, dismissing us. She reached for the sherry again. However, Yates reappeared, interrupting her.
“Dinner awaits, Sir,” the manservant announced, bowing deeply at the waist.
“Very well, Yates,” Papa answered, tapping his pipe’s dottle into a porcelain ashtray. With the butler’s assistance, he removed his paisley smoking jacket and donned one suitable for dining.
As our father prepared for the evening meal, Lottie leaped to her feet. Clasping her hand through Joel’s crooked elbow, she swooped from the room. Grayson and I held back, astonished. No one preceded Papa into the dining room. Overnight, age old traditions disappeared with the arrival of one uncouth woman. I wondered how my elder brother became involved with a floozy. Why had he brought her home following his expulsion? Miss Charlotte Plumb abruptly changed the peaceful dynamics of our domestic Victorian country life.
Grayson and I followed Papa into the dining chamber and stood behind our chairs silently. Although Joel remained on his feet also, Charlotte seated herself the moment we appeared. Papa glared at her momentarily before clasping his hands and bowing his head. My elder brother hovered above his paramour, a wide grinned plastered across his silly face. Gray nudged me and Papa cleared his throat noisily. 86Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡV59VYEpHrv
“We usually remain standing while Papa says grace,” I finally declared, breaking the uneasy silence.
“It’s tradition.” Gray added his voice to mine. Edging closer to my side, he grasped my hand and squeezed it reassuringly.86Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxKKTFj1JFb
Charlotte's languid eyes swooped toward us. I felt her gaze envelop me and tighten. Awkwardly, I shifted my feet. Nonplussed, Papa stood silently at the head of the table. He seemed as unsure as I felt.
"You can say your grace for all of me," Lottie chirped dismissively. "I do not believe in mumbling prayers to a being that exists only in fairy tales."
Beside me, Grayson gasped audibly. Joel leaned down to whisper into Lottie's ear, but she shrugged nonchalantly. At the head of the table, Papa bowed his head and muttered the evening prayer. Following his ‘amen,’ he sat, unfolded his napkin and placed it decorously in his lap. Joel took his seat, and Gray and I followed him.
Yates pushed open the service door, and the kitchen maids entered carrying covered platters. Lucy placed the largest before Papa while Ella set hers on the sideboard. Both girls moved silently except for the rustle of their long black skirts. While they stood back expectantly, Papa whisked off the cover, the scent of minted lamb filled the dining chamber.
"Lor', get a load o' that," Lottie chortled gleefully. She leaned toward Papa and sniffed loudly. "Beats toad-n-hole any day."
"Surely, you don't eat toads?" Grayson asked, his face crimpling in disgust.
Charlotte Plumb glared at my brother disdainfully. Gray shrunk down in his chair in an attempt to hide from her scrutiny.
"Don't tell me you've never had toad-n-hole," Joel's fiancé practically shouted. Loud peals of laughter echoed throughout the room. "Sausages baked into Yorkshire puddings. You are rather la-de-da around here."
"Never heard of it," Gray admitted, shrinking further into his seat. I expected him to sink onto his hands and knees and crawl from the room.
"You should get out more," Lottie remarked, then turned to Joel. She whispered something witty into his ear, and he grinned broadly.
While we exchanged barbs across the table, Papa carved the lamb. He seemed determined to ignore the hostile undertones and continue his duty. Slices of the rich meat fell onto plates that Lucy scooped up. Ella added new potatoes and fresh carrots, then set the full portions before us.
Charlotte ate ravenously, frequently helping herself from Joel's plate. My elder brother kept his eyes focused on his meal and ate swiftly. The table remained silent; the usual dinner chatter forgotten. I addressed my meal with tears clinging to my eyelashes. The tension surrounding us unnerved me.
Finally, Ella appeared with the syllabub. I usually relished the sweetened creamy dessert, but it stuck in my throat, and I could not swallow. Hastily, I rose and excused myself.
"If you will pardon me, Papa," I stated huskily, "I wish to read to Mama tonight. I'll step into the library before going up. We finished Charlotte Bronte's ‘Jane Eyre’ last night. Mama asked for ‘Sense and Sensibility’ for this evening."
"You may go, my dearest," my father stated, briefly patting my hand. I leaned forward to kiss his upturned cheek. "Your mother must know ‘Sense and Sensibility’ by heart by now. You've read it frequently to her."
"Indeed she does, Papa," I laughed, "but she does love to hear it repeatedly." Spinning on my heel, I skipped from the room. At the door, I stopped, thought of Miss Young, and began walking more sedately.
I hastened into the library but could not locate the Jane Austin novel immediately. It did not appear on the shelves in its accustomed spot. I diligently began to search.
"I tucked it into my chair," Grayson exclaimed behind me. "I'll get it for you." He reached beside the cushion in the leather wing-back he claimed as his own and presented the hardcover book.
"Indeed, Gray, if you're reading it, I shan't take it from you," I exclaimed without accepting his offer. "I'll choose something else. ‘Tess of the D'Urbervilles’ by Thomas Hardy, perhaps." I turned back to the library shelves.
"You take it," my brother proclaimed. "Honestly, I've read it as many times as Mama. If she wants it, she shall have it, surely."
I scooped up the book and rushed away. Mama expected me at a specific time, and the clock showed it past that hour. I did not wish to keep my mother waiting. Her invalidism sharply reduced her activities. She looked forward to certain occurrences at precise times.
"I'm sorry I'm late, Mama," I exclaimed, bursting through her sitting room door. "I couldn't find ‘Sense and Sensibility.’ Gray was rereading it." Breathlessly, I halted before her divan.
Mama smiled warmly at me, and then I noticed she already had company. Miss Charlotte Plumb perched on the edge of her chaise lounge.
"I came up for a chat," Lottie exclaimed, cackling.
Her high-pitched voice grated on my nerves. I wondered how Mama withstood the awful coarse sound of it. Mama claimed she had sensitive ears as well as sensitive nerves.
"We have a wedding to plan, don't we, ducks." Lottie jabbed her elbow into Mama's side.
Mama winced painfully, then forced a smile onto her face. I stood before her stock still, the book dangling from my hand.
"We shall speak together for quite some time," Lottie continued, piercing me with her malevolent eyes. "You can toddle off to bed like a good little girl, Prissy. We shan't need you tonight."
Good little girl, indeed. The words rankled my mind. Joel's paramour treated me like a child, as though I were beneath her notice. I wanted to swing the novel at her and connect with her head—as hard as I could manage. Perhaps, I thought, it would knock some sense into her. Instead, the novel dropped to the floor, and I bent to pick it up.
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