Rain

The Ability to Think for Ourselves

Though keeping away thoughts of Ramsey Junior became next to impossible, I found 'civilized and appropriate' ways to entertain myself. There was much to offer a woman post-coming out, but very little of it required much sense or intelligence. Refinement seldom equated education. Nevertheless, every Saturday afternoon, Louise and I took our governesses to Lady Sweeting's, a great house outside London where the fashionable young women of society congregated over tea and cake to discuss the latest gossip about engagements, betrothals and pregnancy conspiracies.

"I was told by an unnamed source that she is to have twins!" Augusta Stafford whispered at a clearly audible level.

"Imagine! That woman is far too slight to bear any children—Mr. Arnold could wrap one hand about her waist," Miss Kensington said between bites of cake.

"Oh, Mr. Arnold..." Augusta paused in reverie. "If only the regiment hadn't discharged him. Then no woman could have—"

Puzzled at the unfinished sentence, I set down my tea cup. "No woman could have what?"

The room tittered like Indian monkeys as if I'd missed some sort of joke.

"Mr. Arnold hadn't really given any of us a chance, you see," Miss Kensington, the unmarried daughter of a baron, replied. "Up and married the former Miss Harvey without much ceremony—though there has been speculation..."

Would these women finish their thoughts? "Speculation of what?"

"That he would have married Augusta here had he not been secretly engaged to Miss Harvey beforehand, you goose," said Miss Kensington, rather impatiently, glancing from me to Augusta Stafford. The young woman was still dreaming like a schoolgirl. "For someone who has been 'out' a week, one would imagine you to be more in touch with the community, Miss Fairfield."

"Come, come, Miss Kensington," Louise looked up from the knitting in her lap. "Liliane did not grow up amongst us, if you recall."

I suspect this caught Lady Sweeting's attention. "Ah yes, that savage country all the politicians are fighting about."

"Well, actually it's a local rebellion in Dehli, politicians on this side of the world have very little to do with it," I began to say. I stopped when the entire room looked at me blankly. "Do you not read the newspapers?" I asked defensively.

Miss Kensington pushed her ugly spectacles up the bridge of her nose. "Not the men's section, to be sure." All the women tittered again at my expense.

"I read the gardening section!" a lady named Marks offered.

"And I, the society column!" another piped up.

"Aren't the fashions this season simply spectacular? The petticoats!" Augusta gushed.

Suddenly I was swept away by the teaming frivolity. Why was I even here? These women knew nothing of the world; nothing of making a difference. The biggest concern they had was marriage—or lack thereof. How could I possibly belong to this world? I would not break down. I would return to the book in my hand and heed not the chatter. Tuesday would soon come. Perhaps Ramsey Junior would understand me. Maybe he was a stranger in this world, too. That strangeness in his gaze... was his soul yearning for comfort? In my girlish fantasies I knew I could be the one to change his heart.

The room blurred as I returned to my novel. I was ensconced in a tale of unrequited love overcome by violent affection. Was it possible for a man to be so tormented by his love for a woman? Could he be madly in love with me? The familiar emotion squeezed my insides with more force than usual. Was I in love with him? I stood, snapping my book shut. "Excuse me, I must have some fresh air," I cut into the buzz of gossip making its rounds. I curtsied and left the room full of questioning faces.