Page 4 of The Rules of Matrimony
“Must we walk so early?” Mama complained, fidgeting with her rather plain bonnet.
Plainwas a word they had both become very familiar with. “Most of the gentry are still abed, so yes.”
Mama’s lips formed a pout. “What do you mean by that? Isn’t the point of a walk to be seen?”
This sort of mindset had always led to trouble in the past. “Uncle Nelson doesn’t like us to be seen, remember?” He had a standard to uphold in Chestervale and maintained strict rules for them. If they did not conduct themselves with the utmost decorum, he would abandon them too. After living with six different relatives, she and Mama were out of family who would willingly take them in.
Mama sniffed. “I never liked my husband’s cousins.”
Amie linked arms with her. “Liking something is a luxury we cannot afford.”
Mama’s pretty face turned more sullen. Amie bit back an exasperated reply that would surely canker a growing hurt. If Mama would learn to handle her emotions better, they wouldn’t be so desperate. When they’d first left Chestervale after Papa’s death and moved in with family in Reading, Mama had disliked a decorativeside table and had donated it without permission. That had been the beginning of many offenses. She said and did the most absurd things when flustered. If they intended to keep appearances for the Nelsons’ sake, Amie had to keep her mother away from Society. Hence their early morning walk.
Amie stole a glance at Mama as they maneuvered around a lower-hanging branch in need of trimming and felt an ounce of regret at her harsh thoughts. Shewasa good mother—sweet and always attentive. As a daughter of a baronet, it wasn’t her fault she had been raised with far more privilege than she could possibly expect to ever have again. She had married a gentleman, but not one who could support her in death. This, too, was not her fault, nor that Amie had been born a daughter and not a son who could inherit. But even so, sometimes Amie wondered if Mama was sabotaging their situations on purpose.
“Are you certain we shouldn’t return home and walk a little later?” Mama asked. “Not a soul is out, and at your age, you should be paraded about during a sociable hour to catch a man’s eye.”
Amie suppressed a laugh since Mama was being completely serious. A walk wouldn’t suddenly make a man interested in her after all these years of figurative famine. To keep her smile hidden, Amie pretended to adjust the simple bouquet of poppies in her arms that she had purchased the day before. “Today’s walk is to visit Papa, remember? The graveyard was rather crowded yesterday, and I prefer to visit with some semblance of privacy today.”
Crowded was a bit of an exaggeration. There had been one man. A drunk lying around midmorningin a churchyard, of all places. She hoped the mint leaves had helped him settle any upset stomach known to follow a drink. It was a good thing she had had some on hand to give to her neighbor. The last thing she wanted was to find the contents of his stomach dirtying up one of her favorite places. She did not recall Chestervale being the sort of town where drunks were allowed to sleep in respectable places. London was growing too big and spilling over its lack of morals onto their streets.
“I wish you wouldn’t go to the graveyard every day,” Mama said. “I do not think it proper for a young lady to be seen there so often.”
Perhaps not, but they hadn’t lived close to Papa’s grave in years, and Amie was making up for lost time. “It is a good thing everyone is asleep, then. In any case, we cannot miss it this time. It’s been eleven years today since Papa died.”
They rounded the corner to the churchyard, and Amie barely withheld her groan. For there stood the Peterson sisters—the worst of the worst gossip mongers. They were hardly older than Mama and even more troublesome.
“Fiddlesticks.” They excelled at provoking just about everyone with their cynicism and hypocrisy. Life did like to laugh at her. “What are they doing awake at this hour?”
“What are any of us doing awake?” Mama asked in return.
The sisters stood beside a grand carriage Amie did not recognize and were on their toes, peering through the windows into a cab that must have stood empty. There appeared to be a seal on the door, signifying the owner as a significant person, which had no doubt lured the two women from their beds. The driver sat tight-lipped and resolute and would not converse with them. Smart man.
Tugging on her mother’s too-thin arm, Amie made a desperate attempt to pass by the sisters unnoticed. Mama did not care for them either since they made her extremely nervous, and she gave a nod of agreement. Fortune smiled upon Amie and Mama—a rare occurrence—and they made it to the gate of the churchyard without being spotted. Amie shut the gate behind them, not a creak sounding even though she knew such an effort would not keep anyone out who had the mind to follow.
The churchyard was not grand in size. It was a simple, grassy garden with one path that led to the church and a second that led to the graves on the side of the building. When they rounded the church, a woman Amie did not recognize stood in front of a headstone, her face lined with sadness. She was neither old nor young, but rather, her appearance was timeless and her clothes nothing shortof exquisite. Amie’s heart constricted. Loss touched everyone—rich or poor. She had never been very good at seeing anyone grieving or depressed.
At least it was not the drunk man again. She had been unable to stop thinking ofhim. What had sent him into such a sorry state? It must have been an awful matter for him to end up asleep beside the dead.
Amie pulled her mother to a stop at Papa’s grave and sneaked another glance at the stranger. “Excuse me for a moment, Mama.” Unable to restrain herself, she set one flower out of her bouquet on Papa’s grave before leaving Mama’s side and walking toward the grieving woman.
Mama’s eyes followed Amie, but Mama remained behind.
“Pardon my interruption.” Amie stepped up beside the stranger. “Would you take my flowers to set on the grave you are visiting?”
The woman blinked her watery eyes. “What a sweet offering, but I mustn’t take them when you clearly brought them to decorate a grave of your own.”
Amie would not be dissuaded. “I know it cannot erase the hurt, but I find the act of leaving something brings me comfort.” She extended the flowers and set her hand on the woman’s arm. Touching a stranger was frowned upon, but grief was a universal language and eased the gap of introduction and manner. “My father is just over there, and he receives flowers often enough that he won’t mind.”
The woman glanced at Amie’s hand with a look of surprise, but an appreciative smile bloomed on her face. She reached to accept the flowers. “Thank you.”
Amie gave a slow nod. “I hope happy memories find you.”
The woman’s eyes tightened, and her lips gave an almost imperceptible tremble. “You are very kind.”
Amie shook her head. “It’s nothing. Just a few flowers.”
“It’s not nothing. I am hesitant to admit it, but I had a sudden yearning to not be alone just now. Your presence brought me comfort.”
