The Daughters Of Red Hill Hall. Kathleen McGurl
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1837
‘I don’t feel old enough to marry,’ said Rebecca. She looked at Sarah. ‘Do you?’
‘Who said anything about getting married?’ Sarah put down her stitching. It was, Rebecca noticed, quite poorly executed. She glanced at her own handiwork – the stitches neat and tidy, the back of the embroidery almost as good as the front. Sarah just didn’t have the patience to sit and sew. Her threads were tangled, the material puckered where she’d pulled it too tight, and there were grubby fingermarks on one corner of the sampler.
‘We’re eighteen now. You’re almost nineteen. Mama and Papa will soon be wanting us married and settled. That’s why we’re going to all those balls, of course. Although those are really for your benefit as I am already promised to Charles de Witt.’ Rebecca smiled at her adopted sister.
Sarah rolled her eyes. ‘I know all that, silly. And I know you seem happy to go along with Papa’s plans to marry you off to that oaf, Charles. But I don’t want to get married. I’d rather stay single and independent. For a few years at least. Maybe when I’m twenty-five or so I’ll marry but why rush into it?’
‘Twenty-five – why, you’ll be an old maid by then! I think a girl should be married by the time she turns twenty. I hope I will be. Charles de Witt has recently returned from his travels on the continent, and has taken a house in Bridhampton. He is to come to dine with us tonight, to renew our acquaintance. I confess, I am a little nervous about seeing him again – it must be six years since we last met. I was just a child. I hope he is not an “oaf” as you put it, as he is supposed to become my husband.’ Rebecca gazed at Sarah, whose hair was fairer, eyes bluer and figure shapelier, than her own. ‘He’ll probably prefer you, in any case. You are by far the prettier of the two of us.’
‘Nonsense! You have the sweeter nature.’ Sarah flashed her a smile. ‘In any case, I shall not be interested in him. I told you, I do not wish to marry for some years. I’d rather be free, to flirt a little with whomever I choose. Like, for example, Jed Arthur.’
Rebecca glanced at her in shock. It was not the first time she had mentioned that name. Jed lived in one of the cottages on the estate. He was but a farmhand. A handsome one, admittedly, but a labourer nonetheless, and not someone Sarah ought to be encouraging.
‘Sarah, it is not ladylike to flirt with farmhands. Surely you know that,’ she admonished. She received only a dismissive shrug in reply.
The girls were sitting on the window seats of their second floor sitting room, the old schoolroom. Sarah gazed out of the window for a moment before speaking again. ‘Papa’s plan for me is that when you marry, I will go with you as your paid companion. You know that. And my plan is to save all my earnings so that I have a small fortune of my own. With money, a woman can be free to do whatever she wants. She does not need to marry. And my only chance of having money is for you to marry and me to become a member of your staff. So I wish that Charles turns out to be personable, and that you and he live happily ever after.’
Rebecca laughed. ‘I too hope for that, as long as there’s a happy ever after for you as well, dear sister.’
What would Charles be like? Rebecca hadn’t seen him for years, and this would be the first time they’d met since she was grown and of marriageable age. She felt strangely nervous at the prospect of meeting the man who was intended to become her husband. While she knew that her father would not force her to marry Charles if she found him truly detestable, she did so want to please her parents. The happiest outcome of the evening would be if she found Charles to be an appealing sort of person, and if the feeling was mutual. She resolved to take extra care with her appearance when she dressed for dinner that night. She would wear her pale green gown. She’d been told it suited her best.
At the dinner party Rebecca found herself placed beside Charles. Sarah was sitting opposite, between Mr and Mrs Winton. It was pretty clear that the older folk wanted Charles and Rebecca to have a chance to get to know each other. Rebecca’s mother sent many an encouraging smile at her across the table.
As the soup was served, Rebecca stole a sideways glance at Charles. He was certainly pleasant enough to look at, now that he was a man, more so than she would have guessed from her sketchy memories of having met him as a child. His hair was dark, his nose straight, his eyes a warm brown. He was reserved yet polite, and when he smiled his face lit up. He looked, Rebecca thought, like a kind and thoughtful man. She smiled to herself, wondering what his first impressions of her were.
‘Rebecca, dear,’ Mama said, breaking into her reverie. ‘I do hope you will play the piano for us later this evening.’
Charles turned towards her and smiled. ‘I should like to hear you play, Miss Winton. There is nothing I enjoy more than sitting by the fireside listening to an accomplished young lady playing the piano.’
Rebecca blushed. ‘Oh, I would not call myself accomplished. Competent, perhaps, but no more.’
‘Rubbish, Rebecca,’ said her father. ‘You are a very fine pianist. Your piano tutor told us so. And the Lord knows you practise enough.’
‘I enjoy playing, that is true.’ Rebecca wished the conversation could move away from her abilities. She glanced at Sarah hoping her friend might help steer the company onto another topic. But Sarah was scowling across the table at her. Rebecca frowned. Earlier she had said she was not interested in Charles, and would be happy if things worked out between him and Rebecca. But now she seemed quite put out that all his attention so far had been on Rebecca.
Rebecca turned back to Charles who was regarding her with a smile on his face.
‘So you will play for us later?’ he asked.
‘Yes, of course. I only hope you are not disappointed.’
‘I could not possibly be disappointed by you. I am looking forward to it immensely.’
‘Do you ride, Mr de Witt?’ Sarah interrupted them.
‘I do, yes. Do you, Miss Cooper?’ Charles answered. Rebecca felt a mixture of relief that her musical abilities were no longer the topic of conversation, and annoyance that Charles’s attention was now focused on Sarah.
‘As often as I can,’ Sarah said. ‘In fact, if the day is fine tomorrow, I think I shall go riding. I shall try to persuade Rebecca to come too. Perhaps you might ride over and accompany us?’
‘That sounds like a delightful plan,’ Charles answered. ‘I shall certainly ride over here tomorrow morning.’ He smiled across the table at Sarah, who wore a faintly triumphant look.
Rebecca no longer went riding, and Sarah knew it. Ever since she’d been thrown from her pony a few years ago, on one of Sarah’s ill-advised escapades where they’d galloped across the parkland and her pony had refused to jump a hedge, Rebecca had been put off riding. She would not be persuaded to go out. Why was Sarah doing this? It was as though she was trying to win Charles for herself despite all that she had said earlier. Perhaps she liked the look of him after all.
‘What do you make of our new queen?’ Charles asked Rebecca. ‘I think she is about your age. Imagine becoming Queen of England at just eighteen! What a weight she has to bear on such young shoulders.’
‘I should hate to be in her shoes,’ Rebecca replied. ‘So much will be expected of her. She will not have a moment’s peace to enjoy her life. Everything she does will be reported in the newspapers.’
‘But she is rich and gets to live in a palace and do whatever she wants,’ said Sarah.
Charles smiled indulgently. ‘I think what Miss Winton is suggesting is that Queen Victoria won’t be able to do just what she wants. She will be expected to perform her duties and be an example to the whole country. She’ll be expected to marry soon, and her choice of husband will be critical.’
‘She’s queen – she can choose anyone she wants to marry,’ Sarah replied.
Charles shook his head. ‘Not at all, Miss Cooper. Her choice of