husband.”
“What can you tell me of his character?”
She stamped her foot. “You’re tormenting me! What do you care?”
“I think if you are to marry him, you must know something of his interests, his likes and dislikes, his tastes, morals, and judgment.”
Petulantly, she said, “He likes to shoot and ride.” Jane told us that. “He has excellent taste, as anyone could see who has been to his home. It’s fitted up beautifully.” His mother’s design. “And those other things I guess I’ll learn about in time. They’re not that important, anyway.”
Everything superficial and nothing to do with the Henry Walsh I’d come to know. The one who loved music, read books, and thought deeply about character. Nothing she had learned from the man himself. But I knew this was the best I would have from Kitty. Perhaps she could learn more in time.
“Does it not . . . have you not questioned why he singles me out for conversation?”
“Yes! I wish he would not.” She swiped at her tears and gave me a venomous look. “But it’s me he dances with, and flirts with, and—”
“Yes, point taken,” I said.
“And I’m a good talker. It’s not my fault he doesn’t want to talk to me. It’s yours, because you always try to keep him for yourself.”
It was hard not to laugh at that pronouncement.
“Show him,” I said. “Prove to him that you would make him a wife to admire and love.”
“How? What should I do?” She was blinking rapidly and appeared completely baffled.
“To start, spend time each day reading. You might begin with Shakespeare.”
A look of horror passed over my sister’s face, but her crying ceased.
“Write letters to our parents, and Lydia and Elizabeth. Walk out every day. Pay no more heed to Mr. Ashton, and good heaven, tone down your advances to Mr. Walsh. Allow him to ask you to row on the lake, climb a peak, or dance.”
“But he’s not even here.”
“He will call on us soon enough. If you can do all those things, I believe you’ll stand a better chance of gaining his admiration. Do remember what I said, though. You are the only one who can earn his affection.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Why are you helping me?”
“Out of a misguided sense of sisterly duty, I suppose.” If Kitty caught the sarcasm, she didn’t show it.
“And what about you, Mary? Will you leave High Tor, so—”
“So I will not stand in your way?”
“Precisely!”
“Don’t forget, only a few moments ago you said I had no looks or fashion and wasn’t someone Henry could care for. If you take that view, I rather wonder why my presence here should be of the least concern to you.”
“But—”
An obstinacy I didn’t even know I possessed sprang up. “I will not leave. It’s in Henry Walsh’s hands now. He must choose.”
“He might choose you,” she wailed.
“Perhaps. But he might choose you. And there’s a third possibility we haven’t even considered.”
“What?” she said impatiently.
I moved very close to her and lowered my voice. “He may not decide in favor of either of us. For all we know, there are other ladies in the running.”
She took a step back. “You’re being horrid, Mary.”
“I’m simply being realistic.” I motioned toward the house. “Why don’t you turn back? I think I’d like to walk on by myself.” I strode off down the avenue alone, my heart thudding bleakly in my chest.
“How many letters must I write each day?” Kitty called.
I kept walking.
“How many hours must I read?” she shouted. “Oh, this isn’t fair. I do so dislike reading!”
I called over my shoulder. “You want to marry him, don’t you? You must show Mr. Walsh you are capable of being the wife he deserves.” I squeezed my eyes shut, not caring where I stepped. The gravel crunched; in the wood, chaffinches sang. The pungent smell of newly turned earth drifted toward me. I sped up and, eyes still shut tight, stepped into a small crater and pitched
“What can you tell me of his character?”
She stamped her foot. “You’re tormenting me! What do you care?”
“I think if you are to marry him, you must know something of his interests, his likes and dislikes, his tastes, morals, and judgment.”
Petulantly, she said, “He likes to shoot and ride.” Jane told us that. “He has excellent taste, as anyone could see who has been to his home. It’s fitted up beautifully.” His mother’s design. “And those other things I guess I’ll learn about in time. They’re not that important, anyway.”
Everything superficial and nothing to do with the Henry Walsh I’d come to know. The one who loved music, read books, and thought deeply about character. Nothing she had learned from the man himself. But I knew this was the best I would have from Kitty. Perhaps she could learn more in time.
“Does it not . . . have you not questioned why he singles me out for conversation?”
“Yes! I wish he would not.” She swiped at her tears and gave me a venomous look. “But it’s me he dances with, and flirts with, and—”
“Yes, point taken,” I said.
“And I’m a good talker. It’s not my fault he doesn’t want to talk to me. It’s yours, because you always try to keep him for yourself.”
It was hard not to laugh at that pronouncement.
“Show him,” I said. “Prove to him that you would make him a wife to admire and love.”
“How? What should I do?” She was blinking rapidly and appeared completely baffled.
“To start, spend time each day reading. You might begin with Shakespeare.”
A look of horror passed over my sister’s face, but her crying ceased.
“Write letters to our parents, and Lydia and Elizabeth. Walk out every day. Pay no more heed to Mr. Ashton, and good heaven, tone down your advances to Mr. Walsh. Allow him to ask you to row on the lake, climb a peak, or dance.”
“But he’s not even here.”
“He will call on us soon enough. If you can do all those things, I believe you’ll stand a better chance of gaining his admiration. Do remember what I said, though. You are the only one who can earn his affection.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Why are you helping me?”
“Out of a misguided sense of sisterly duty, I suppose.” If Kitty caught the sarcasm, she didn’t show it.
“And what about you, Mary? Will you leave High Tor, so—”
“So I will not stand in your way?”
“Precisely!”
“Don’t forget, only a few moments ago you said I had no looks or fashion and wasn’t someone Henry could care for. If you take that view, I rather wonder why my presence here should be of the least concern to you.”
“But—”
An obstinacy I didn’t even know I possessed sprang up. “I will not leave. It’s in Henry Walsh’s hands now. He must choose.”
“He might choose you,” she wailed.
“Perhaps. But he might choose you. And there’s a third possibility we haven’t even considered.”
“What?” she said impatiently.
I moved very close to her and lowered my voice. “He may not decide in favor of either of us. For all we know, there are other ladies in the running.”
She took a step back. “You’re being horrid, Mary.”
“I’m simply being realistic.” I motioned toward the house. “Why don’t you turn back? I think I’d like to walk on by myself.” I strode off down the avenue alone, my heart thudding bleakly in my chest.
“How many letters must I write each day?” Kitty called.
I kept walking.
“How many hours must I read?” she shouted. “Oh, this isn’t fair. I do so dislike reading!”
I called over my shoulder. “You want to marry him, don’t you? You must show Mr. Walsh you are capable of being the wife he deserves.” I squeezed my eyes shut, not caring where I stepped. The gravel crunched; in the wood, chaffinches sang. The pungent smell of newly turned earth drifted toward me. I sped up and, eyes still shut tight, stepped into a small crater and pitched
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