The beginning of spring delighted me. Following the long winter, the fresh breezes brought signs of new beginnings to Everstow Manor. In the afternoons, Miss Young and I strolled through the awakening gardens. I breathed deeply and skipped along the paths. My governess followed at a sedate pace. Stopping along the border gardens, I stooped amongst the daffodils and crocuses. Plucking a daff, I brought it to my nose and twirled the stem with my fingers.
Overwhelmed by happiness, I rose on my toes and pirouetted gracefully. The world felt new and alive. I longed to enjoy the season's freshness and welcomed it with open arms. Taking a few steps on tiptoe, I swirled with my arms held wide apart as though embracing my surroundings.
"Walk," my governess called from behind me. "Remember your deportment, Miss Priscilla."
"Oh, humbug," I muttered, halting my dance steps. I stood still for a moment and studied my feet. They did not enjoy the dainty treads Miss Young prescribed. They longed to run, skip, and jump.
"Humbug, indeed," my companion scoffed, briskly rushing to my side. "You must prepare for your London season next spring. You will not attract a husband if you insist upon skipping everywhere you go."
"Who says I wish to attract a husband?" I responded flippantly. "Surely, I am not for sale to the highest bidder."
"Surely, you will do as all the other young ladies do," Miss Young remarked. "Your mother is counting upon me to prepare you. I shall do my duty, and you shall do all you can to please her."
My temper rose suddenly, causing my cheeks to flame. Traditionally held during the spring and summer, the debutante season brought eligible young ladies to London for a presentation with Queen Victoria. The young ladies attended balls, concerts, and other occasions to attract suitors after the presentation. If she acquired a marriage proposal during that period, the season was considered a success.
During the past three years, Miss Young began preparing me for my London debut. My studies in English, history, mathematics, and languages ceased, and I started learning deportment and the social graces. Although my governess despaired of my success, I had to face my debut season the following spring.
I heartily disagreed with what I termed the marriage market and parade of young ladies. I was not; I declared a prize mare sold on the auction block. I longed to express my freedom of choice and independent spirit.
"A presentation to the Queen is a great honor, Priscilla," Miss Young continued, entwining her arm in my elbow. Slowly, we circled the garden paths. "It is a privilege you are lucky to obtain. Not every girl gets such a chance."
"Like you, for instance, Miss Young?" I queried, throwing her a coy glance. "You weren't presented to the Queen upon your sixteenth year, surely."
"Indeed not." My governess frowned.
As I knew, Miss Young grew up the daughter of an impoverished county vicar. One of six daughters, she had little choice but to take a position as a governess or companion to a wealthy widow. Marriage remained out of the question until she met Mr. Blanchard, the tutor. A host of suitors did not bang at her door, seeking her hand.
I often considered the unhappy circumstances of such women. Neither a part of the noble family they served nor a genuine staff member, they lived in between lives. They often dined alone in separate quarters and lived only for their pupils. Working side by side with Mr. Blanchard, Claudia Young could consider herself lucky. Hilliard Blanchard worshiped the ground she walked on and longed to propose marriage to her. The only drawback was the ongoing education of Grayson and me. As soon as my London season ended, they would become free to go their own way.
"Pity," I muttered beneath my breath. "Perhaps you could go in my stead, Claudia."
"That's rather flippant of you, Miss Priscilla," my governess cautioned. "Claudia indeed!"
"'Tis your name." I clasped my hands behind my back and skipped toward the summerhouse, twirling the daffodil between my fingers. My feet stopped before my body could catch up with them. Grabbing at the railing, I let out a loud exclamation.
Charlotte Plumb lay on the summerhouse bench; her skirts rucked up around her waist. Her long, sinuous legs entwined themselves around Joel's buttocks. He plunged forward, and she dug her fingernails into his naked back. They both moaned loudly.
Suddenly, Lottie noticed my presence. I stood rooted to the spot, unable to move. My mouth gaped open, and I felt my eyes bulge. Lottie stared at me maliciously while Joel remained immune to my appearance. He continued to move toward his climax, his buttocks contracting tightly.
"Get out of here, you stupid child," Charlotte hissed, her heavily rouged mouth pursing in anger. "Get, I said."
I could not move. Joel's head swiveled in my direction, a blank expression covering his face. Charlotte's hand reached out, pinching his cheeks and drawing his attention back to her. Transformed into a statue, I continued to stare. My heart beat rapidly, and my brain picked up the staccato. The pit of my stomach began to churn. I took an unguarded step backward and missed the summerhouse steps. Tumbling to the ground, I landed on my derriere.
Miss Young scurried toward me, her slippers rasping on the gravel path. She squatted and reached out to help me stand. Suddenly, her eyes widened as she noticed my brother and his fiancée. Her small pink mouth made a perfect circle.
Grabbing my arm, my governess heaved me to my feet swiftly. I steadied myself, then, lifting my sprigged skirt, I pelted toward the house. My footsteps crunched loudly against the gravel path, drowning out my tears. I did not stop until I reached the nursery schoolroom.
Grayson leaped from the table where he and Mr. Blanchard studied the Bible. Without asking questions, he wrapped me in his arms. I buried my head in his shoulder and sobbed. Tenderly, he drew me toward the window seat and sat close beside me. He clasped my hands in his palms.
"Whatever's the matter now?" Mr. Blanchard exclaimed, staring at us incredulously.
"Mr. Joel and that Lottie woman," Claudia Young breathed, entering behind me. Pausing in the door frame, she caught her breath. "Priscilla came upon them…entwined…together…in the summerhouse."
"Oh dear, oh dear me." Hilliard Blanchard's face paled, and his lip trembled. He wrung his hands together nervously.
"Oh dear me, yes." Miss Young pulled the bell rope swiftly. Standing in the middle of the room, she looked odd, with half her hair hanging about her face. Her usually tight bun had fallen out in her exertions of running from the gardens. "We should all need a cup of tea following that display of crudity."
"You rang, Miss Young?" Ann Marie asked, entering the schoolroom promptly. The youthful maid looked expectantly toward the governess.
"Tea, Ann Marie," Claudia Young ordered, "and quickly."
"Yes, mum." The housemaid swept a curtsy and retreated hurriedly.
Ann Marie returned several moments later with the tea trolley. The governess dismissed her and set about with the service. She handed me a cup, a plate of cucumber finger sandwiches, and freshly baked shortbreads. Grayson received a similar offering.
"Lovely little sandwiches," Gray murmured, selecting one and nibbling it daintily. When he finished, he wiped his fingers on his serviette, then dabbed at his lips. When he sipped his tea, he extended his pinky finger.
I ate in a more lackluster fashion. I could not remove the sight of my oldest brother and that horrid woman from my mind. Again and again, I saw Lottie sprawled on the summerhouse bench, her knees hiked up, and her skirt pulled around her waist. Joel lay on top of her, pinning her down with his elbows. His pale buttocks contracted as he pushed inside his lover. Watching them, I felt apart from the scene—an unwelcome onlooker.
Naïve and innocent, I admitted knowing little about lovemaking. My fantasies offered a romantic view of lovers entwining as one. The actual act eluded me until I witnessed Joel and Lottie entangled together. Sprawled on the summerhouse bench, they looked crude and untamed. The shock of seeing them together remained in my mind. I could not blink it away. Fearing awful nightscapes, I squeezed my brother's arm in a secret signal. Grayson nodded slightly in acknowledgment of my finger's pressure. The gesture meant I wished him to stay with me during the overnight hours.
"Come along now," Miss Young declared, interrupting my morbid thoughts. "Tea time's over. Time to work on your deportment, Priscilla. Let's practice walking."
I moaned audibly. I did not feel like stepping daintily across the room, turning gracefully or curtseying. The incident concerning Joel and Lottie squashed my equilibrium. I longed to sit quietly, lose myself in a novel, and empty my mind of the horrid picture inflicted upon me.
"Come along," the governess repeated, taking my hand and pulling me to my feet. She stepped briskly toward the bookshelves and placed a high pile on my head.
Holding my head high and jutting out my chin, I stepped precariously along the carpeted floor. The books swayed, and I held up my hand to steady them. I took a deep breath and another step. Grayson sat at the table with Mr. Blanchard. Instead of studying, he watched me intently.
Grayson could walk with the books better than I could. He had a natural grace and delicate manner. Extending his left hand before him and swaying his hips, he could sashay from wall to wall without tipping the stack. On the other hand, I stepped precariously and often felt the books tipping forward or sideways. Stumbling, I attempted to halt the slide, but the load often tumbled to the floor.
"Hold your head higher," Miss Young sang out. "Higher. Come along, Priscilla, you were nearly perfect yesterday."
"Oh, must I?" I cried out, swaying on one foot. The books on my head began to tumble, and I reached up to steady them. "Why must I walk with this pile of encyclopedias perched on my head?"
"Deportment, my dear girl, deportment," Claudia Young called back. "Keep your spine straight and…now…step."
I stood rigid, my back straightening along with my shoulders and head. The books swayed again, and I stretched my arms out for balance. I felt foolish. Nevertheless, I took ten steps across the room. Grayson leaped to his feet, clapping uproariously. I bowed low in acknowledgment, and the heavy hardbacks cascaded to the floor. They thumped loudly. Gray and I bent to retrieve them and knocked our heads together. We both sat down hard, giggling uncontrollably.
It felt good to laugh. All the tension holding me in its grasp lightened. I chuckled until tears sprang up in my eyes. When I chortled hysterically, Miss Young demanded I stop. I couldn't control myself, and she grabbed my shoulders, steadying me. Gasping for breath, I finally calmed down. I hiccupped twice, then giggled again. Then, I quietened abruptly.
My brother stood and began gathering the books. Soberly, I helped him and handed him a stack after he returned his to the cupboard shelves. When we turned from our task, Miss Young and Mr. Blanchard stood in the window aperture. His arm had stolen around her waist, and she leaned her head on his shoulder.
I watched their tender moment silently. The tutor and governess took their romance seriously. Tilting her head, Miss Young cast her eyes at her suitor admiringly. He bent as though to kiss her but drew back. Instead, he let his fingers dawdle in her hair, combing it gently with his fingers. They appealed to my romantic heart more so than Joel and Lottie. My brother and his fiancé behaved more like animals in heat than romantic lovers.
"Do you think Miss Young and Mr. Blanchard will marry once they finish teaching us, Prissy?" Gray asked, slanting his head to one side.
"They might marry, I daresay," I answered coyly. "But don't you think Mr. Blanchard will leave us after you go to Oxford? Another half a year will pass before I'm ready to come out. Miss Young said she would chaperone me during the season."
"Ah, yes, the season," Grayson sighed. "Lucky you. All those eligible young men will fawn over my little sister. I do envy you."
I glanced at my brother momentarily, unsure if he complimented me or the eligible young man. At times, Gray seemed an enigma. He kept much to himself and never seemed interested in attracting a lady.
"I'm unsure if I wish for young men to fawn over me," I answered doubtfully. "It seems rather primitive if you ask me, Grayson."
"Aw, yes, the marriage market, as you defiantly call it," my brother muttered, sighing. "Another right of passage for the young and inexperienced. Am I quoting you correctly, sister?"
"They expect too much from us, Gray," I snapped, my cheeks flaming. "We're paraded like prize steer going to auction. So what if I can't walk straight with books piled on my head or if I cannot converse upon current events or spout poetry I learned by heart? Do the young men care? Apparently, Joel doesn't, not when all he wants to do is hump…that beast. I bet he hasn't looked at her closely or seen how crude she is. Hmmph, if that's all men want. Humbug."
"It's called tradition, Miss Priscilla," Miss Young interrupted, brisking, stepping toward me. "Young men and women have taken part in the season for years. Many have created successful marriages. Tell me, how do you expect to meet anyone here at Everstow? Your father does not entertain lavishly. The men who do come here are interested in business, not marriage. You must have your season, my dear."
"It's still a humbug," I countered hotly. "Perhaps I don't want to meet a man. How about you, Grayson? You'll have to go up to London sometimes, participate in the activities and find your mate. Are you willing to become a part of the herd? Must you? Must I?"
"Well, I cannot say exactly, Prissy," Gray answered, pretending to remove a top hat and bowing low before me. "I may not feel I want to. After all, I…oh, I can't say, can I?"
"I cannot say either, Gray," I responded sharply. "After that horrid incident today, I do not know if I want to. I'd rather everyone left me alone. I'll make my own choice in my own way, thank you very much."
"Indeed, Priscilla, you will do as your father and mother please," Miss Young stated, and Mr. Blanchard nodded in affirmation. "They want you prepared for the season. It is my task to groom you. Honestly, you can make life quite difficult."
"I am sorry, Miss Young, if I am melancholy," I sighed. "I cannot get that vision out of my mind. It was horrid. Oh Joel, Joel, why must you ruin things for me? How could you act so crudely in the garden, in the summerhouse of all places? Why did I have to encounter you there?"
"That was quite Shakespearean, my dear," the governess quipped at my dramatic outburst. "Perhaps you should go on the stage. Don't you agree, Mr. Blanchard?"
"Quite," the tutor remarked flatly.
"Ooooh!" I stamped my foot. "Humbug."
The tutor and governess held straight faces for a moment, then chortled loudly.
"You make a joke?" I demanded, spinning on them. "Indeed, Grayson and I know when we are not wanted. Come along, Gray, and we'll leave our teachers to their merriment upon our account."
"Indeed," Gray muttered, following me into my bed chamber.
We flopped on the bed side-by-side and gazed into the canopy. Gray waited for me to speak patiently. Reaching out, I grasped his hand, and he rolled toward me.
"You cannot imagine the spectacle I observed," I stated. My gaze continued upward. "It was horrid, Gray. Joel—my brother—entangled with that woman. He was completely nude, and she…she had her skirt up around her waist. They should have known better. The summerhouse will remain forever tainted in my mind. Every time I see it, I shall remember."
"There, there, Prissy," my brother soothed, stroking my hair.
"Oh, Gray, if that's what men and women do together, I want no part in it," I stated, sitting up abruptly. "They were grunting like boars in the forest, and he pushed into her like a wild animal unleashed. It was unromantic. Would you do such a thing, Gray?"
Grayson nibbled at his bottom lip, worrying it with his teeth. He stared straight ahead for ages and did not respond.
"No, I wouldn't do such a thing," he finally responded, his voice far away and distant. "I don't think I feel prepared for those activities. I don't wish for feminine company, my dear Prissy. When I'm near a woman, I fumble about and get tongue-tied. I couldn't see myself in that situation."
"I would like a husband someday," I stated wistfully. "I long for a man to love me and who I could love in return. I don't want what Joel has with Lottie. It's… it's not…Well, somehow, it doesn't seem real. I cannot see the love in it. Something is going on, but I can't guess what."
"We are too inexperienced, my dear Priss," Gray muttered wistfully. "Perhaps only Joel and Lottie can understand their mutual attractions. It's not up to us to guess."
"I suppose."
My brother placed his arm around my shoulder, and I snuggled into his side.
"I wish we were children again. Remember how we swam in the pond together? Joel sat at the water's edge with his fishing pole, and his hat pulled low over his eyes," I recalled dreamily. "Why did all that have to change?"
"We grew up," Gray answered.
"If only we could go back. We were happy until that horrid Miss Lottie came here." I sighed. "I loved the equinox but cannot enjoy it any longer. Lottie has marred that glorious last ray of sunshine by stepping into it. Shame on Joel."
"Tis getting on, Prissy," my brother stated, rising. "We should prepare for the evening meal. I expect we shall encounter Lottie at the dining table. Are you ready to face her?"
"Please try not to call me Prissy in front of her," I cut in sharply. "I hate it when she calls me that. And she does copy you, Gray."
"I shall try." Grayson leaned forward and kissed my cheek.
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