Elizabeth nodded solemnly, her head full of swarms of thoughts that were competing with each other. She wondered whether Oliver could read her. What would he think if he knew how her own father had discarded her in this very park?
Would he think her worthless if she told him?
Should every father be like Powell and do everything in his power to protect his daughter?Perhaps only if the daughter merits such protection,she mused.
Did I? Do I?
“I would love to hear more about your time in the military one day.”
“One day, perhaps.” The usually open and jovial face that Corporal Harding seemed to wear for the rest of the world was suddenly a closed book.
Elizabeth didn’t like it.
“What doyouthink of their match?” she asked.
Oliver nodded, as if he’d thought about that as well.
“It’s not one I’d foreseen. They’d hardly spoken to each other in my presence while we were at Winchester. They seem well-matched in terms of temperament, but I’m afraid that Slaymaker might have trouble renouncing his bachelor ways. Mind you, this is based on my intuition alone.”
“I understand,” Lizzie said, and she did.
One dance with Slaymaker had revealed him to be a dandy in the making. Maybe loving Miss Caroline would rectify that, or maybe her considerable dowry would exacerbate it.
In the words of Aunt Isolde, only time would tell.
She suddenly had a vision of Louisa’s face when she saw her talking to Slaymaker during their walk to the pond. Was he the reason the young woman had been so pale the last time Lizzie had seen her?
***
That night, at the kitchen table, Elizabeth told the Mayfair women all about her walk with the Corporal: how the dark blue of his coat had complemented his blond hair, how gently he had helped her into the carriage, his thoughts on the Slaymaker elopement, and what he had said about her company being the only thing that made a stay in London worthwhile.
Jane said, “If you don’t want him, I’ll gladly take him,” and everyone laughed.
He is wonderful,Elizabeth thought, closing her eyes against the memory of the Corporal’s face hardening when she had asked about the war.
He is the perfect fit for me.
Chapter 13
Elizabeth’s sister was throwing her first ball as a married woman. Aunt Isolde went to her house to help with the planning almost every day, and during their daily promenading, she went on at length about her personal opinions on the guest list, the menu, and the music choices. She also commented on how “dear” Lady Madeline and Nicholas’s wife were kind enough to be heavily involved in the undertaking.
“Duchess Sophie has really taken Charlotte under their wing, since she is more experienced. And since this is the first event she is planning as Countess of Pembroke, it has to be perfect, you see,” Aunt Isolde explained.
Elizabeth knew that there was no room for her in such settings; she had learned her lesson the first and only time she had been invited for tea at her sister’s house, when she’d unthinkingly mentioned that her birthday was in May, which had caused Lady Madeline to hastily excuse herself from the parlour.
On the carriage ride home, Aunt Isolde had informed her that Lady Madeline had given birth to Charlotte in November, more than six months before Elizabeth’s birth, which meant Elizabeth’s parents had beentogetherduring Lady Madeline’s confinement. Elizabeth had been mortified and had sworn then and there that she would spare her father’s wife the pain of her presence whenever she could.
But even if Lady Madeline didn’t detest having to see her face, Elizabeth had nothing to contribute to Charlotte’s organising efforts. She was incapable of being helpful in any way.
What she clung to was the hope that one day she’d also be a respectable married woman who would be organising things, and then her brother’s wife and maybe even her sister would join forces to helphernavigate the challenges of that life.
She sighed dreamily.
“What is it with you today?” Isolde asked irritably.
“I’m thinking about my dress for the ball,” Elizabeth lied.
“I still maintain that your choices of colour are inappropriate, no matter what Miss Euphemia Macdonald says,” Isolde said, perhaps for the tenth time since she'd met Elizabeth.
