Page 14 of Deception and Desire
“How in heavens do women survive with nothing to do but drink tea, write letters, and visit with one another? I’m ready to pull my hair out.”
“Dinna touch those blonde locks. I tell ye, lass, ye’ve turned into quite a beauty. Do no’ go out alone, always bring the footman with ye or yer companion, Rose.” Her grandmother wagged a plump finger. “I see the lads looking at ye. Ye’re quite tempting and turn heads wherever ye go.”
Fenella’s mouth fell open. “Me? You’re mistaken, they’re only being polite. Or I had something in my nose or my hat was tilted.Thoseare the kind of looks I get from men.” She’d been relieved, and a little thrilled, that several males had sought her company without a push from her mother. Enjoying the intelligent conversation, it hadn’t occurred to her one of them might be interested.
“Those English welps areeejits. Excluding yer father, of course, and yer poor dead grandfather, though he was onlyhalfEnglish.” With that, she pushed her spectacles back on her nose and returned her attention to the needlework.
The ensuing silence was broken only by the creak of Aileen’s rocker and Fenella’s foot thumping against the carpet. A loud sigh. Then her fingers drummed on the arm of the stuffed velvet chair. A second loud sigh. More foot tapping. Again, a loud sigh.
“For the love of my sanity, lass, we must find ye something to do!” Her grandmother placed the circlet in her lap again. “Did yer father mention how long ye’d be here?”
Fenella guffawed. “I do apologize, Grandmama. I’ll find an activity to keep me busy. Please don’t send me away.”
“Never!”
“He said Mama agreed to six months. So, I’ll return in September.” Suspicion scratched at the back of her mind. “Why? Did he tell you something different? Am I to return sooner?”
“Och no, he only mentioned a long stay, and I didna ask the particulars,” her grandmother soothed.
“Is he thinking I remain here permanently?” She was aghast. Her father adored her. How could he want her to live across the border? Her throat swelled, and she blinked as her eyes began to burn. “You must have misunderstood him.”
“Humdudgeon! Dinna jump to conclusions. Horace kens how much ye dislike London society and wants ye to enjoy yerself. Ye must admit ye’ve been happier in my society than ye ever were in yer mother’s.” Aileen paused, her brown eyes glistening, too. “He only wants ye to be happy, lass.”
Fenella nodded.
“This is only a respite, ye ken. Both yer parents still want ye to find a husband.”
Silence reigned again as Fenella chewed on this new information. Papa knew her too well. He didn’twanther to leave home, but he would make sacrifices for his daughters. “Do men in Scotland allow their wives more independence than in England?”
“Depends on the man. They’re no’ so different from any other man. We believe in education for both sexes. More so than the English, I think, because we believe everyone should be able to read the Bible.”
“What if I fell in love here? In Glasgow?”
“Yer father might give his blessing. Yer mother, however, is a different story,” her grandmother added. “She’d never condone ye marrying a Scot.”
“Unless he was titled.”
“Hmph. He’d have to be a duke, and there are few enough of those on either side of the border.”
“I told Papa he’s spoiled me for marriage. Can you imagine me as a titled wife, worrying over nothing more than the week’s menu or what dress to wear on morning visits or the next rout?”
Aileen chuckled. “I think ye have a blurred image of marriage, most likely fostered by yer mother. However, the circles I move in are a bit more relaxed. A woman such as myself is treated as fairly as a merchant here and shown respect if she earns it.”
“I could have been happy managing the shop for you. Perhaps even owning it someday.” She looked wistfully at her grandmother. “If I could find a husband like Papa, I could be happily married.”
“Well, then. That’s what ye must look for. It’s a tall order, though.” She picked her needlework back up.
Fenella stood, slowly circling the room. She fingered the little bells on the shelf. Her grandmother’s collection had grown to fill two shelves over the years. Picking up the latest find, a small pink porcelain with a hummingbird handle and hand-painted flowers on the flute, she gave it a gentle shake. The light, clear tinkle made her smile. She perused the row of books on another wall and found nothing that piqued her interest. Returning to the hearth, she laid an elbow on the mantel and rested her chin in her palm. While her other arm dangled at her side and fingered the metal poker, she studied the miniature portraits of her great-grandparents, grandparents, and mother.
“Today is Friday. Doesn’t theGlasgow Heraldcome out on Mondays and Fridays? I’ll read that. Did you know that young boy we saw last Sunday at the park—he couldn’t be more than six or seven—works twelve hours a day?”
“He may be a lucky one, depending on where he’s employed. Some put in fifteen or sixteen a day. For a pittance, mind ye, but a family has to eat.” She set down her tea. “The wee ones are often given dangerous jobs because of their size and ability to wiggle into tiny spaces. Their small hands reach places in machinery that grown folks canna reach.”
“If I were a man, I’d change that,” Fenella said, passion raising her voice. “I’d pass a law that fined every employer who hired a child. I would never send my son or daughter to work at such a young age.”
“Of course no’. Then again, ye’ve never gone hungry, either. That’s what would happen to many families if their wee ones couldna bring home a penny.” Aileen studied her granddaughter. “Perhaps I’ll show ye another part of Glasgow, the darker side of town. It might make ye a bit less judgmental.”
That hurt. Fenella had always considered herself a champion of the less fortunate, not judgmental. “How can you say that when I’m the best of friends with my own maid?”
