“You prefer the company of books to the company of people?” Edith asked, stepping toward the other armchair to sit while gesturing for Lady Mary to reclaim her own.
Sighing, Lady Mary reached for the book she had set down earlier. “I’m afraid I do.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”
A rather uncharacteristic scoff left Lady Mary’s lips. “My mother would strongly disagree. She often encourages me to be more outgoing and companionable…like my brother.” A deep, almost defeated sigh left her lips as she slumped back in her seat. “But I… I don’t know how to be someone I am not.” Wide, round eyes looked into Edith’s, begging her to understand.
“No one does,” Edith reassured her. “Just like your mother is the woman she is, you must be the woman you are. I see nothing wrong with that.”
Relief stood upon Lady Mary’s face, and yet she said, “She argues I will never find a match if I constantly retreat from company. Of course, I cannot fault her for that. She only wants the best for me, but I…” She shook her head helplessly. “I do not possess the talent to converse with other people. It feels like a chore to me, and even when I try, I never manage it effortlessly. It exhausts me. Sometimes I think my mother has already given up on finding me a match. I think she might believe it to be hopeless.”
“I don’t believe forcing a match will do anyone any good,” Edith replied, thinking of Adele and her betrothed. “I believe we need to be who we are, openly and honestly, in order to find someone who is a good match.” She smiled at Lady Mary. “Sometimes, patience is needed, but it will happen. You just wait and see.”
A tentative smile came to Lady Mary’s face, one that even reached her eyes, such relief in them for having found someone approving of her that it transformed her face beautifully.
“And your brother,” Edith began, curious to learn more about the man who had caught her attention, “he is quite unlike you?”
Lady Mary nodded. “I’ve never heard him stammer for words even once. He has more friends than I have acquaintances, and he never seems to dread meeting any of them.”
Edith watched the other young woman carefully, trying to decipher how she truly felt about her brother. After all, a sister’s opinion was priceless and quite telling. “Does that mean you have little to say to each other?”
A smile claimed Lady Mary’s face. “It is true that our interests are not the same. However, we are…close. He listens, even when he doesn’t care about the topic I am talking about, and…he tells me things about himself,” a bit of a grin came to her face, “things not even my mother knows. Things she wishes she knew. Things I do my best to keep from her.”
Edith remembered such a bond from growing up with her own sisters. Even her younger brother had occasionally confided in her, in his siblings, instead of speaking to their parents. “So, how does he feel about your mother’s insistence you mingle?”
Lady Mary sighed. “He tries to interfere, but in the end she remains relentless. At the moment, however, he has more important things on his mind.” Lady Mary’s brown eyes looked up into Edith’s, something contemplative and hesitant in them. However, it passed after a moment and she leaned forward. “Our father died not long ago, and my brother promised him on his deathbed to marry within the span of a year.” She sighed compassionately. “The year is drawing to an end.”
Edith felt a nervous tingle chase itself up and down her back. “And…has he already chosen a bride?”
Lady Mary shook her head, and Edith exhaled. “He has not. Truth be told, I believe the only reason he now considers marriage is his duty to the earldom as well as the promise he made our father. He has a wild spirit, and I think he wishes he could simply spread his wings and be carried elsewhere, from place to place.”
Edith nodded, understanding that desire perfectly. Yet for her, it did not run contrary to marriage. Always had she hoped to find someone who shared her adventurous spirit. Could Lord Whickerton be the one? Would he make her a good husband?
Edith almost laughed at herself for having such a thought. She had met the man only a few hours ago, and here she was already contemplating marriage. Was she a fool? Never had Edith thought of herself as a fool. She was perhaps a bit impulsive, never hesitant to trust in her instincts, but not a fool. Yet marriage was the most important decision she would ever make. She should not take it lightly but consider it carefully.
She was just about to ask another question when the sound of a door opening drifted to their ears. Instantly, Lady Mary tensed, her eyes going wide as they stared into Edith’s.
“She has to be somewhere,” an older woman’s voice muttered, annoyance marking her tone. “She said she wanted to return to the parlor. However, no one has seen her there. Unbelievable!”
Without needing confirmation, Edith knew that the woman who had spoken was none other than Lady Mary’s mother.
“Mary! Are you in here?”
Slowly rising to her feet, Edith met Lady Mary’s eyes and slowly shook her head, urging the young woman to remain quiet and stay where she was. Then she moved out of the alcove and stepped around the large bookcase. “I’m afraid she’s not,” Edith replied, the moment her eyes fell on the Dowager Countess of Whickerton. “It is only me in here, I assure you.”
The dowager countess had a rather pointed nose and high forehead, brows drawn down, and her lips pressed into a perpetual snarl. Edith could not help but wonder if the woman ever smiled. “Lady… Edith?”
Edith nodded. “Yes, I arrived with Lord and Lady Ashbrook earlier today. They were kind enough to allow me to accompany them here this season. It is all so splendid, is it not?” She stepped closer, sweeping her gaze over the room in raptures. “Almost magical.”
Before the dowager countess could reply, someone else stepped across the threshold: Lord Whickerton.
It seemed her voice had drawn him—perhaps he had been waiting out in the corridor or searching for his sister in another room—for the look upon his face held wonderment, delight even, as his eyes swept over her, the hint of a smile curling up the corners of his mouth. “Lady Edith,” he exclaimed before his gaze moved to his mother, and a more sober expression fell over his face.
Edith felt as though they were confidants, unable to speak openly as they found themselves in the company of another, an outsider. It was a most delightful thought, and Edith struggled to maintain a straight face.
“Have you seen my sister, Lady Mary?” Lord Whickerton asked, casting a sideways glance at his mother, who seemed to be observing them rather intently.
Edith shook her head. “I’m afraid I have not. I hope she’s not missing.”