“I’m so sorry, Lord Bentley,” Mariah said. She awkwardly untangled herself from him, trying not to notice how nice he smelled. “But I’m glad to see you out and about. Aunt Bentley said you needed rest and were confined to your room.”
“Lucky I was here to catch you,” Charles said with a smile that transformed his stern, gaunt face into something rather handsome.
Mariah knew she was blushing, which meant she was red everywhere—hair, face, neck. She tried once more to bend over and collect her books, but she couldn’t quite reach them because of the wide hoop of her crinoline cage. Charles knelt down easily and helped her, reading aloud each title as he picked it up.
“I see you have quite exhausted our collection of Mrs. Burney’s novels.”
“Yes,” Mariah managed. “I mean, I suppose I ought to read more serious books, but for the last eight years the only book I’ve had access to was the Bible—”
“All you’ve read for eight years is the Bible?”
Mariah nodded.
“You poor girl.”
She smiled a little at this. “I love the Bible, of course, but one does long for a change. And to experience books written by other women is such a pleasure.”
Charles set down the stack of books on the table and turned to the shelf. He pulled out two books that looked brand new and handed them to Mariah.
“Mary Barton, published anonymously,” she said, reading the title pages, “and Jane Eyre: An Autobiography by Currer Bell.”
“Mary Barton was written by a Mrs. Gaskell,” Charles explained, “and Currer Bell is really Charlotte Brontë.”
“Really, Lord Bentley?” Mariah exclaimed, louder than she meant to.
“Yes,” he said in a conspiratorial voice, a hair above a whisper. “Such secrets always slip out. And you may call me Charles if you like.”
Mariah smiled and walked toward the bookcase. Over her shoulder, she said, “I’m glad you’re feeling better … Charles.”
“Better, just bored,” he said, picking up another book and flipping through the pages. “Well enough to move about, but not to go back to work; at least, not according to your most solicitous aunt.”
Mariah added another book to her pile and turned to look at him. “She speaks of nothing but you.”
“She’s the only mother I’ve ever known, and I her only child, even though we aren’t related by blood,” he said lightly. “But I don’t understand how ladies can sit around all day.”
“A week ago, I would have given anything to sit around all day. And now that I can, I find I miss having a purpose,” Mariah said.
“What purpose was that?”
“Taking care of the Ellises’ small children, cleaning, cooking, mending, teaching the little ones how to read and do math. Sometimes a bit of shopping,” Mariah explained. “There was always something that needed doing.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
“It was,” Mariah admitted. “But I had a purpose, and now I’m idle.”
“But you are at least putting your idleness to good use,” Charles said, “by expanding your knowledge of the world and the people who have lived in it, by reading.”
“I thought that maybe I could become a governess. I like to teach children, and I love to draw and paint. But I don’t speak French or play the pianoforte—or rather, I haven’t since I was a little girl.”
“Why did you stop?”
“I—we, my sister and I—had a governess and a pianoforte when we lived with the Trentons, but there were no such luxuries available in the Ellis home.”
“Who are the Trentons?” Charles asked.
“They took us in after my mother died when we were born,” Mariah explained. “Captain Trenton was my late father’s commanding officer.”
“If it isn’t too impertinent to ask,” he said, “why did you leave?”
She shrugged. “Miraculously, she had a son rather late in life and no longer wanted foster daughters.”
“That must have been very hard for you.”
“It was harder for So— for my sister,” Mariah said. “But I am determined to be a dependent no more. Do you think I might practice on your pianoforte?”
“You’re welcome to anything in the house.”
“Then … might I have some paper and a pen?”
Charles walked over to the desk and opened a drawer. He took out a stack of hot-pressed paper, an inkpot, and two pens, then handed them to Mariah. “Writing letters?”
She shook her head. “Mrs. Ellis is not literate and would never allow me to teach her … I was hoping to use the paper to draw, if that is all right?”
“The paper is yours now,” he said. “You can do whatever you wish with it.”
“Thank you.” Mariah picked up her books and set them on top of the paper. Trying to suppress a smile, she turned away to leave the library.
“The look on your face is terribly intriguing,” Charles said. “You must tell me what you’re thinking.”
Mariah pivoted on her right foot. “You’re much nicer in your robe than you are dressed in a full suit of clothes.”
He laughed loudly. Mariah carefully ducked sideways through the door—so she wouldn’t get stuck again—and ran up the stairs with her crinoline bobbing up and down.
* * *
“Sophie, you will accompany me on some calls,” Aunt Bentley commanded. “We need to expand your acquaintance with single gentlemen.”
“Yes, Aunt Bentley,” Mariah said.
Aunt Bentley lent Mariah one of her own very stylish hats, complete with ribbons and artificial flowers. They rode in a fine closed carriage, with the family coat of arms on the panel, to the first house, where they were ushered into a sitting room by a wizened butler.
Aunt Bentley sat down on the sofa and gestured for Mariah to sit beside her. A plump woman of forty with a plain face and very ornate puce dress entered the room, followed by an equally plump older man with a similarly plain face. The two were undoubtedly related.
“Miss Blacking, may I introduce my niece, Miss Sophie Carter?” Aunt Bentley said.
Mariah bobbed an awkward curtsy. The older man was staring at her in a way that made her feel quite unwell.
“Lady Bentley,” Miss Blacking said, “may I introduce my brother, Mr. Blacking?”
“A pleasure, sir,” Aunt Bentley said in her most polite voice. “I believe you are in the business of canals and boats?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said in a gruff, low voice. “My business has been to dig canals and charge for their use. And right profitable it has been.”
“My niece grew up in Lyme Regis and has always been fond of the water,” Aunt Bentley stated. “Aren’t you, Sophie?”
“Yes,” Mariah said. “The sound of water is most calming.”
“Do you have any property in Lyme Regis?” Miss Blacking inquired pointedly.
Mariah shook her head.
Aunt Bentley smiled. “Alas, my dear niece is an orphan and has only her great beauty, patient temperament, and noble family connections to secure her a place in this world.”