Chapter Twelve

Content warnings can be found here

“Absolutely not,” said Serafina, “Tell him I’m ill. Tell him I fainted in the carriage,  that I was kidnapped by footpads… He probably wasn’t serious, anyway.”

Her mother merely replaced the embroidery in her work basket, and took up the shirt she had been repairing before Forthenby had called.  “Serafina, we have discussed this several times. Gentlemen like the Earl of Forthenby do not extend invitations to every young woman they meet. Perhaps if he simply mentioned the matter and let it drop, it would have been decorous to assume it was the fancy of an idle moment. He said he expected us. He gave us a day and a time. I believe it would be unwise to ignore that.”

“He also said that he was at our disposal, madame, before declaring a date and time himself. That leads one to doubt his sincerity, somewhat.”

“You’ve taken a dislike to him. Well, may I extend my congratulations, dear. Your skills of self-sabotage are remarkable.”

“Mama…”

“No, no. Far be it for me to discourage you. You draw the attention of a peer of the realm. He shows you some signs of marked favour, and you decide that your best course is to distance yourself from him. Naturally you are working to some long-term plan of comfort and success.”

Serafina took a deep breath and ran her hands over the smooth, leather binding of the book on the table before her, “I do not believe Lord Forthenby to be an entirely agreeable man, mama.”

“And you have come to this conclusion after, what, a half hour of conversation with him?”

“At times, a half hour is sufficient.”

Her mother set down the work and came across the room to fold her daughter into an embrace. Her gown rustled between them, and, like a child, Serafina leaned against the stiff fabric, the hard surface of her mother’s stays. After a long moment of wordless comfort and the scent of lavender water, Mrs Tooting said, “You do realise that we cannot now turn down this invitation without giving offence.”

“I know, mama.”

“Good. Raise your chin, Serafina.”

She drew a deep breath and controlled herself.

“I do not expect you to marry for position.”

She said nothing.

“I do not expect you to marry for wealth.” Her mother paused. “All the same, you must not treat such blessings lightly if they are offered you. If the Forthenby is markedly disagreeable to you then, by all means, reject his hand should he offer it. I will try to manage your father for you. In the meantime, my dear, please do not seek to offend him. His acquaintance is unlikely to be harmful to you, or your prospects.”

Serafina nodded, as though it were only mere social politicking, as though it were not as if Forthenby could see into her mind, into those shameful, unswept corners where she had kept all the dark imaginings, as though he had not brought them out and painted them onto her skin. Onto her hands. 

But this she could not confide to her mother.

Instead, she asked, “Are there people in this world, mama, who encourage impropriety?”

“Come, my dear,” said her mother, turning away, taking up Serafina’s embroidery, looking at it critically. “You are bookish enough to have discovered that without asking.”

“And if we meet such people, madam, how should we behave towards them?”

For a long time, Mrs Tooting said nothing, then she rose, and retrieved her crewel-work from the other side of the room. When she returned to her daughter’s side, she held the fabric it as though it gave her comfort, fingers picking over it, but not taking up her needle.  “Do you ask that as an adult, Serafina, or as a girl?”

“As a girl, mama, I know the answer. That we have no further discourse with them, that we bar them from our lives.”

“Yes. Yes, of course. Hmm. There is a reason, you know, that I have always disapproved of your reading habits.”

“What do you mean?”

A sigh. “Many of the books you enjoy, my dear, would have you believe that virtue and propriety are identical, and give exemplars which show that to maintain one’s virtue in this fraught and fallen world is to bring suffering upon oneself. They insist, these stories, that walking through the fire of the world’s disapproval will bring one out, purified and renewed – or, vindicated at least, even if such vindication is in death. Such fables would have you believe such a fate is something to which you should aspire.” 

Mrs Tooting turned her embroidery over, examined the back, and laid it down. 

“Those, we are told, are novels of good sense, of wisdom, and morality. Books of a more sentimental stripe would hold that propriety itself is merely a social game, one which maintains and supports hypocrisy and cruelty. These writers would claim propriety should be cast aside so that one might follow a form of virtue that is both spontaneous and innate. Yet this virtue, too, is a thorny path which leads one to sorrows and to trials. Such suffering, we are told again, is a worthy fate, a form of sainthood.”

Serafina was unsure of where to look. “Mama?”

Mrs Tooting sighed again. “What would you have me say? You are no longer a child, Serafina. Perhaps it is right to teach children both virtue and propriety. It is right that we blur the line between them, tell them that such things are innate, praiseworthy, universal. We do this in order to protect them. But such sayings are lies, my dear, and time – or circumstance – can make them cruel lies indeed. For virtue is a luxury, although one I hope it is one you will always be able to afford. Propriety is merely another word for survival.” She picked up her embroidery again, the bright flowers of it belying the set, unhappy expression on her face. “You feel I have been so strict about your learning, habits and manners because I am a shallow old woman, because I would see you bound to the most eligible man I can find for you without regard for -”

“Mama, I have never thought -”

“Oh, but you have, dear. I have seen it in you, at times. You are often impatient with me when I speak on such matters, but what you do not see is that I have not insisted upon these things because I am weak-willed, or would have you be that way. I have insisted upon them from pragmatism. Sometimes I fear you do not understand how precarious our situation is in this world.”

“I believe I do, madame. I have read my Wollstonecraft.”

Her mother brushed it away. “You speak of theorists – radicals, intellectuals, idealists. I speak of hard cash. You, in your life, have never gone without from insufficiency of funds. You have never been plunged from comfort into penury, never gone from a good income and a home, to houseless on seventy pounds a year, have never relied upon a man and been deceived, nor been forced to snatch at the first raft that your waning charms can capture for you.”

“But surely -”

“Sentimental novels of any stripe encourage you to fantasise about such things because they lead you to believe that patience and virtue will bring reward in such circumstances. I am afraid the world seldom offers one that assurance.”

Serafina’s fingers trembled, her eyes felt hot. “Mama, when -”

“Much as I admire your Mr Thornton, I would only say that Lord Forthenby can offer you a Broadwood to play upon at your pleasure, and ample space in which to be apart from him.”

For a little while, Serafina had no answer to that, but then, gathering her embarrassment in to her hands, said, “Yet how much consolation is a Broadwood when I doubt the honour of Lord Forthenby’s intentions?”

“Can you afford that doubt, Serafina?”

Serafina looked down. “Can I afford to be ruined by ignoring it?”

“Then we shall be upon our guard, shall we not? Calling upon him in the day, with your mother’s company… There is no scope for impropriety in that.”

“No, mama.”

Mrs Tooting reached over and touched her daughter’s arm, “I do understand you fears, Serafina.”

Serafina nodded and did not raise her eyes as she said, “Mr Thornton prospers in his career, madame.”

“I am glad to hear that.”

“He hopes he will be in a position to make me an offer before a twelvemonth has passed.”

She heard her mother draw a long breath. “Your intention would be to accept him?”

“Yes, mama.”

Her mother nodded. “Then let me offer you this piece of advice, Serafina. In the next twelvemonth, do nothing to offend your father, or such men as Lord Forthenby.” She held up a hand to stop interruption. “If you are guided by me, then when Mr Thornton makes his offer, I might be able to persuade your father to permit the match. But if you are seen to have repulsed a more lofty suitor?” She shook her head. “Twelve months are a long time in the passions of men. Careful conduct will soon persuade Lord Forthenby to tire of this interest he has taken in you, and he will be gone. However, were he to suspect that your reticence had its root in a rival, then, well. Gentleman of his class are not above clearing the board if the game does not appear to be favouring them.”

She felt a sudden fear. “You would suspect that of him?”

“My dear, it was you who first credited him with intentions that were not honourable. If he would not hesitate to ruin you, whom he seems to admire, why should show such consideration to your Mr Thornton?”

Serafina interlaced her fingers, and summoned all the strength she could muster.