Page 8 of A Gentleman's Reckoning
Margery gave her a speaking look. “My mother would do me bodily harm if I thwarted her weekly charade of doting mother and obedient daughter. She already thinks I am sabotaging my chances for a match because I am becoming known asdifficult.” The expression she gave was so full of that dry humor Geny saw plenty of and her suitors little. If they had, they might think twice about referring to her as empty-headed besides a cruel breaker of hearts.
“You have only turned down five offers,” Geny said, reverting to her light tone. “That is not so bad. It is not as though you have universally sworn off marriage.”
“Eight,” Margery admitted. “But Mama only knows of the five that include Mr. Bunting. If only they had not been soeligible. She does not like to concede defeat. My mother wouldattempt to play matchmaker for you if she did not consider such a thing to be grossly encroaching.”
Geny smiled. “Your mother is kind. She need not worry, however,” she added with a sigh. “My father does a fine job of it on his own.”
Margery reached into her basket and pulled out an infant’s gown she was hemming. “I have refrained from asking yet this season, for women should have other things to speak of than matrimony. But do you truly have no one who could persuade you from a life of spinsterhood?”
Geny glanced up from her sewing. “I do not fear spinsterhood, not as some do. I don’t desire it either. I want to live in a house where people talk to each other and eat meals together.” She sent Margery a wry smile. “However, not just anyone will do, and I have not yet met a man who might tempt me into matrimony.”
A sudden image of Mr. Rowles assailed her, although why she should think of him at this precise moment defied logic. He was a handsome man, but besides having no claims to the gentry, he was too enigmatic to be someone good. Good men did not hide behind facades.
“What are you thinking of?” Margery demanded. Geny’s frowning brow had betrayed her. Her friend knew her all too well.
“It is only that someone new has come to take over Mr. Biggs’s position at the orphanage. You remember that Mr. Biggs served as steward since the asylum first opened?” When Margery nodded, she continued. “It is the oddest thing. This man has all the appearance of a gentleman, although he has only worked as a steward for one. I cannot for the life of me understand why he has chosen to work at the asylum. His name is Mr. Rowles. I don’t suppose you would have heard of him?”
Margery came from trade, but as her parents had accumulated vast wealth, she was occasionally invited to certain societyevents. Very often she knew others who lived on the fringes of society, as Mr. Rowles likely did.
Margery thought for a moment. “I do not recognize the name.”
“He said he left the gentleman’s estate solvent, so it is not that he is running from failure. It is a step down for him to leave that position and accept one in an orphanage. It is unusual.” She shook her head. “I do not like it when I cannot understand someone’s motives.”
“And yet you thought of him when I asked about your matrimonial interests,” Margery observed, a smile hovering on her lips.
“Purely a coincidence,” Geny said repressively, then laughed. “Although he is handsome, I confess. I will have to see how he does in his position.”
“Mmm.Handsome.” Margery spoke volumes with an arch of her brow. “And…is Mr. Dowling still showing signs of interest?” This came in a light, teasing tone, for she knew her friend’s feelings toward the headmaster.
Margery worked slowly, for she stopped to drink her tea while it was still hot and to sample the cakes. Geny was too restless and generally preferred to keep her hands busy, for it brought her relief from an overly active mind.
“I would not say that it is interest, per se.” Geny thought about it for a moment. “I do not believe he would attempt to rise above his station.” She wished she didn’t have such a poor view of him and worried she was being unfair.
Her stomach grumbled audibly, and she laughed as Margery glanced at her from under her eyelashes.
“Very well, I will stop.” She knotted the thread and set the curtains down, finally sipping her tea which had cooled. On the plate was an assortment of almond and lemon biscuits, and she selected one of each. “I suppose Mr. Dowling is a considerateman, and I hope he will find an esteemed woman for his wife one day.”Just not me.
The conversation turned to Margery’s younger brothers and sisters, of whom she had five, although the girls were too young to be out. They then discussed the latest gown that Mary Bingly had worn, who always seemed to create trends rather than follow them. On this particular creation, the waistline sat lower than was precisely fashionable, and her ruched sleeves provided the only ornamentation on the entire outfit. They both agreed she had looked very well and that they would likely begin to see more lowered waistlines.
“I wonder where she has her gowns made,” Margery mused.
“We should find out. I will send Grace to work there,” Geny said, before finishing her cake.
On Wednesday’svisit to the asylum, Geny saw no one other than the orphans she usually taught. She had resisted the urge to stop by Mr. Rowles’s office to see how he got on. The day after that, she decided to return to the asylum, though it was not her usual day to do so. She attempted to convince herself that it was not because she was eager to meet Mr. Rowles again. That would be an embarrassing admission to make, and so she simply decided she was not. However, she told Charity that she would wear her white linen gown rather than her serviceable brown one. Other than an eyebrow lifted in surprise, Charity obeyed, and perhaps proving herself a servant able to read her mistress’s mind, dressed Geny’s hair with more care than a usual daytime outing to the asylum merited.
When they reached the orphanage, Geny alighted from the carriage, leaving Charity to go straight to the kitchen. She was mindful as she walked over the cobblestones. However, the snow was thawing and leaving puddles of mud in its wake. Nomatter how carefully she picked her way across them to the main entrance, she knew she was muddying her skirt in the process. Before stepping through the wood and glass door, Geny looked down to assess the damage. Her skirt had splatters of mud, and the hem had accumulated smears of it. Charity would not complain at having to clean it, but Geny was impatient with herself for having been so foolish as to wear white.
Sometimes I wear fine gowns to the orphanage, she reflected, trying to persuade herself that it was not because Mr. Rowles was attractive that she had done so today. Usually those times were when the weather was beautiful—and dry.
Her footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, and she heard a mistress correcting one of her protégées on the type of seam to be used on finely woven linen. Geny climbed the stairs, the satin lining of her cloak sounding as it brushed against her gown. As her heart rate picked up, she gave up lying to herself. Shewasinterested in meeting Mr. Rowles again. But then, such interest was perfectly natural, was it not? She wanted to learn how he was fitting in, and what his plans were for the latest donation they had received from Mr. and Mrs. Butteridge. Would he view the needs the same way she did?
Mrs. Hastings exited the office and glanced at Geny with an air of surprise. “You have come again today?”
“Yes. I wished to see how little Ben is faring with his cold.”
“He appears to be improving,” Mrs. Hastings said. “Nurse Ramsey is confident he will fully recover.”
“Wonderful. I will see for myself.” Geny smiled at her and moved into the office to set her basket on the desk, which she always carried to the orphanage in place of a reticule. She removed her cloak and hung it on the hook beside the door.
