The Fearless Miss Dinah by Laura Rollins

Chapter Fifteen

Dinah tried, truly tried, to shake the blue-devilment of that morning. But it wouldn’t leave; it was like a small lap dog that trailed everywhere after her, nipping at her heels and barking throughout the day.

Nonetheless, she wasn’t any less committed to making the most of her situation. It was a single moment of doubt and uncertainty. She would rise above it and do as her family had encouraged—she would show Henry exactly how lucky he was to be married to her. She would be kind and loving and supportive and everything any man could wish for.

Feeling eyes staring down at her, Dinah pulled herself from her reverie and looked about. She’d wandered into the portrait gallery. Faces from ever so many generations looked down on her. Aunt Beatrice had given her the full history, complete with stories and dates she was undoubtedly expected to memorize, last week.

Dinah turned and faced a portly man whose eyes reminded her of Little John’s. Maybe it was the shade of blue that was the same, or that they held no small amount of mischief.

Dinah sighed and looked across the room at the many other paintings. For all Aunt Beatrice’s lecturing, Dinah couldn’t recall a single name or date, and only a few of the stories. But this family was her family now, too. She truly ought to have someone tell her all the information again and again until it finally stuck. But not Aunt Beatrice. Dinah shuddered slightly. She wasn’t about to inflict torture on herself.

Perhaps she could ask Henry. The thought of strolling from painting to painting with him, listening to his deep voice tell of his family, was quite appealing. For all that they didn’t have between them, Dinah could not deny that she cherished what they did have. Their friendship may be platonic. But they were friends all the same.

She reached the end of the gallery, and her brow creased. Something was missing.

It took her only a minute to figure out what. It wasn’t a something but a someone.

Henry’s mother was not hanging here with the other Stantons.

Dinah listed her head. That was strange. If she’d passed away, then surely the family would have wanted to memorialize her with a painting among other deceased members.

“A place as intimidating as it is beautiful, is it not?”

Dinah turned to find Mr. Thrup walking toward her.

“I suppose,” she said, once more looking over the many faces of the gallery.

“Seeing all these paintings reminds me of a time long ago,” he said, reaching her and extending his arm.

Dinah took it and together they began walking back the way she’d just come.

“It was shortly after I married my dear wife.” He pointed to one of the smaller paintings near eye level which depicted a dark-haired beauty. “That’s her there.”

“She is quite lovely.”

Mr. Thrup swelled with pride. “She was more beautiful than a sunset over the grand ocean. And sweeter than honey cake. And her goodness could surpass a preacher on the Sabbath.” His smile turned sad, but then he shook himself. “As I was saying. One day, not too long before Miles and Oliver first arrived in the world, my dear wife desperately wished for blueberries. At first, I told her there was nothing to be done—it was the wrong time of year, you see? But she quite wanted them, so,” he shrugged, “I put on my hat and headed into the woods nearby. I searched and searched and searched. Then, just as the sun was starting to set, I took a wrong step and tumbled down a ravine.”

“I hope you were not hurt.”

He shook his head. “No more than a bruise or two. But, as luck would have it”—that seemed to be where all his stories led, to the man declaring, ‘as luck would have it’—“when I pulled myself back up and looked around, there, right in front of me, was a whole bush full of the plumpest blueberries.”

It was a sweet story, but one Dinah was struggling to believe. “Blueberries don’t grow near streams, usually. Don’t they prefer a bit more shade, beneath evergreen trees and the like?” That’s where she’d always found the best bushes.

“I know. And remember, this wasn’t even the right time of year,” he said, as though surprised all over again. “Yet, there they were. Big and blue and exactly what my wife wanted.” His gaze moved yet again to the small portrait. “I was never happier than I was those few years with her.”

Speaking of beloved ones now gone . . .

“Actually, Mr. Thrup,” Dinah said slowly.

“Uncle Jeffrey, please.”

“Uncle Jeffrey, I was hoping to hear one story in particular.”

“Oh? Well, you’ve asked the right person. There’s no one better at telling tales in all of London.”

Of that, she had no doubt. The truthfulness of said tales, however, was another matter entirely.

“I was rather wondering about the late Lady Stanton.”

All pleasantness slipped away from his face, leaving behind a stony, almost indifferent expression. Dinah didn’t believe for one minute that Uncle Jeffrey was truly indifferent toward Henry’s mother. No, he seemed more . . . angry, perhaps?

But why would that be?

At length, he spoke but didn’t look her in the eye. “My brother never should have married her.”

Thatwas both illuminating and wholly unhelpful.

“Why is that?” Dinah asked.

Uncle Jeffrey slowly shook his head. “If you wish to know more about Henry’s mother, you’d best ask him.” With nothing more than that, he bowed and left her there, staring up at the various images.

Not one of which was the late Lady Stanton.

Not one of which could tell Dinah why Henry’s mother was not among them.

* * *

“Are the boys down for their afternoon naps yet?”

Aunt Beatrice’s sharp voice shook Dinah from her deep thoughts. It sounded as though the woman’s voice had come from just around the corner. Dinah pressed forward, stopping when she came upon Aunt Beatrice and Emily.

“Yes, Aunt,” Emily said, her head bent low.

“That nursemaid is too young, in my estimation. Be sure you are always on her, make certain every detail is seen to, or your sons will suffer.”

“Yes, Aunt.”

“And have you seen to it yet that inquiries are being made regarding a tutor?

“Yes, Aunt.”

“You cannot secure a good instructor too soon. Now, what about you taking the boys outside every afternoon yourself? You must stop that immediately,” the older woman continued.

Emily’s head came up. “Oh, but Aunt, it is our special time together.”

“Nonsense. It would be unseemly if you sprouted freckles across your nose.”

Dinah’s lips pulled to the side. Emily was married and quite settled. It wasn’t as though she needed to attract a husband. “Excuse me,” Dinah said, coming to stand beside the other women, “but may I ask, who would care if Emily had freckles?” She’d seen the way Emily smiled while outside with her boys. Clearly, it was one of her favorite times of day. No one should be allowed to make her feel guilty or self-conscious over it.

“Society, of course,” Aunt Beatrice answered with a sniff. “One never rises so high as to be above scrutiny.”

“Of course, Aunt,” Emily said, her head dropping once more.

Dinah would not stand for this. Emily was a sweet thing, and her good nature was a blessing in her sons’ lives. They needed her goodness if they ever had any hope of growing into honorable gentlemen.

“I have to disagree,” Dinah said, squaring her shoulders and facing Aunt Beatrice fully. “There are things more important than what society may think of a few freckles.”

Aunt Beatrice’s smile turned cold. “Says the woman who could only secure herself a husband through scandal.”

Dinah’s cheeks burned—one part anger, one part pure humiliation. Of course that’s all this woman saw when she looked at Dinah. Nothing more than a silly chit who was too dumb, too naïve, to keep herself safe. She knew a sudden, intense urge to retreat. Explaining the truth of hers and Henry’s first meeting was out of the question, so there seemed little more she could do than to excuse herself and leave. Preferably before the older woman enumerated any more of the ways Dinah was less than the ideal woman.

Nonetheless, despite the growing, clawing desire to escape, Dinah ground her jaw and stood her ground. She could not stand up for herself, not effectively at least. But Emily didn’t deserve this vitriol.

“This isn’t about me,” Dinah said, firmly. “Emily is her own mistress, and she is free to spend her afternoons wherever and with whomever she pleases. Freckles or no. Society be hanged.”

“Well,” Aunt Beatrice huffed at Dinah’s course language.

Dinah hadn’t exactly intended for that much to slip out, but having been raised by a tradesman, some things had never truly left her.

Dinah turned toward Emily. “Your sons are dear boys, and I have no doubt that all of their good-natured tendencies come as a direct result of the time you spend with them. If you enjoy taking your sons outside every afternoon, then you should continue to do so.”

Emily’s mouth pressed into a resolved line and her eyes sparked with a bit of determination. “I think you are right,” Emily said, hazarding a glance toward Aunt Beatrice. “I think . . . I think I shall continue.”

Aunt Beatrice harrumphed, spun on her heel, and stalked away.

Emily let out a loud sigh as the older woman disappeared. “Thank you,” she said. “I never would have had the nerve to stand up to her if it hadn’t been for you.”

Dinah shrugged, the last tendrils of shame at Aunt Beatrice’s judgements slipping away. “Women such as her simply need to see that you aren’t willing to budge. When you do that, they see that they don’t actually have power over you, and they have no choice but to back down themselves.”

Emily’s brow creased. “Gracious, I don’t know if I could ever do such a thing.”

“You just did.”

Emily’s concern melted into a smile. “I did, didn’t I?”

“You most certainly did.” And it made Dinah happy to see as much.

“My boys are still sleeping,” Emily said suddenly. “Would you care to take a turn about the garden with me?”

“Going outside even without your sons?”

Emily laughed. “You’ve sparked a rebellious side in me, Dinah. I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same.”

They laughed even as they turned and started toward the door which led out back. Dinah could hardly imagine Emily being truly rebellious; she was too gentle by half.

“Only,” Emily said, “let us talk of more pleasant things than how Aunt Beatrice believes I should be raising my sons.”

“Gladly.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Emily said, turning toward Dinah slightly. “She all but raised David and Henry single-handedly. She did a marvelous job with them. I feel quite ungrateful and sinfully proud every time I consider discounting her advice.”

Then the late Lady Stanton had died quite long ago. Dinah filed the bit of information away; she would ask more after Henry’s mother eventually, but just now, she was enjoying her new connection with her sister-in-law.

“I know you’ve had a few modistes come in,” Emily said as they walked side by side down the path. “Have you found a dress to your liking? For the ball, I mean.”

Dinah didn’t need Emily to explain which ball she was referring to. Emily had slowly been speaking more and more of the ball they were throwing in honor of her parents’ visit and less and less about anything else these past few weeks. Though the ball was still several weeks out, it seemed it and her sons were the only things Emily was able to focus on anymore.

“Not yet,” Dinah confessed.

“I do not mean to speak out of turn—”

Dinah doubted Emily could truly be rude, even if she were furious; Dinah’s new sister-in-law was sweet to a fault.

“—only, the ball is not so far out as that, and I’d hate for you to be caught unprepared.”

Really, what Emily meant, was that she wanted nothing more than for everything to be perfect for her father and mother. Truthfully, Dinah had never seen a woman trip over herself so unabashedly in the effort to make sure everything was perfect for her parents.

It was unkind of Dinah to cause her sister-in-law more stress than necessary. “I am sorry for not picking a dress before now.” It was just that none of the ones she’d seen were the right dress. None had elicited that undeniable jolt in her stomach, that thrill through her bones. Usually, choosing a dress was easy for her. But this time, the simple decision was proving quite elusive. “I promise to have something selected soon. One of the modistes I spoke to last week is returning in a few days with some other plates, fabrics, and options.” Perhaps it was time for a change of topic once more.

“Has it been long since last you saw your parents?” Dinah asked.

“Yes, nearly five years.”

Dinah pulled to a stop. “Then they have not met either Little Eddie or Baby John?” Where had her parents been all this while? The East Indies? The Americas? Honestly, Dinah could not find a reason for two individuals to not see their grandsons other than an ocean being between them.

Emily only dropped her head and then shook it gently.

“Have they even met David Jr?”

“They came just after he was born,” she said in a low voice.

And what? They found him to their disliking? The boy was a rambunctious delight. He was half freckles and sunshine, half never-ending conversation and joy. Who would not like him? Though, Emily’s parents had met him as a baby. Perhaps he’d screamed all night? Still, that seemed a terribly shallow reason to never visit.

“Why haven’t they come again?” Dinah found herself asking. It was a bold question, but she and Emily had developed an easy friendship these past weeks, despite their great difference in dispositions. And after their most recent conversation with Aunt Beatrice, Dinah was feeling even closer to her sister-in-law.

Emily, lips pursed, turned back to her. “You must understand, the estate where I grew up was quite near Kingcup Estate, one of the Stanton holdings. I knew both Henry and David when they were boys. Still, my parents never approved of me marrying David. They always hoped Henry would . . . but . . .” She turned slightly pink.

Dinah knew a moment of painful jealousy; honestly, the thought that Emily’s parents believed she and Henry should make a match of it . . . well, it brought out something ugly in Dinah. Something she quickly shoved aside. After all, she was married to Henry, and Emily was not.

Then again, it wasn’t as though theirs was a love match. It wasn’t as though Henry really wanted her.

“Regardless, David and I fell in love. And though I knew I was going against my parents’ desires, we were married. For a while, we still saw each other often enough. But their displeasure at my choice didn’t lessen. After a time, they visited me less frequently, and I didn’t return their visits as often as I should. We still wrote one another. But even that began to decrease after a while. There were a couple of years when more than nine months passed between our correspondences.”

“How terrible.” Dinah was in earnest; at least, her head was. Her heart was still reeling from the thought of Emily and Henry together. Perhaps Emily’s parents weren’t the only ones who had thought she and Henry would be good together. Had Henry cared for Emily? Wanted Emily?

“You think ill of them, don’t you?” Emily said.

“I think they should have respected your decision.”

“Perhaps, but they started writing me in earnest a couple of years ago, just after we all took up residence here in London. They said they were truly sorry for the way they acted and wished to make amends.”

“Oh?”

Emily looped her arm through Dinah’s, and they started walking again. “I was skeptical at first. But I knew I couldn’t blame all our estrangement on them if I wasn’t even willing to try when they were.”

“Have you exchanged many letters these past two years, then?” Dinah asked.

“Well over two dozen. I have to admit, I had not realized how much I missed having my parents in my life. I do truly believe they wish to put the past behind us. To make amends. When they suggested seeing me while they were in Town visiting a friend, I jumped at the opportunity.”

Sweet, delicate Emily; of course she had. “I hope the reunion proves to be everything you hope for.”

“Perhaps throwing a ball is going a bit far for a simple family reunion, but . . .” Her smile brightened. “I’ve never been able to say no to a party.”

“Me, neither,” Dinah said with a light laugh.

“Oh, heavens,” Emily cast her gaze upwards. “I so desperately want this ball to go perfectly.”

She seemed quite willing to forgive. Emily truly was a very kind woman.

Dinah knew a moment of guilt; being kind and forgiving had never been her strongest characteristic. Perhaps Henry was right to prefer someone like his sister-in-law over someone like her.

Emily squeezed Dinah’s arm. “I am so glad you have come to Angleside Court. It is a welcome change, having another woman in the house—I mean, one I can actually talk to.”

Dinah could well imagine.

“I have met with a few childhood friends from time to time here in London,” Emily continued. “But that’s nothing at all like having someone I can speak to here, every day.”

“I can confess to having only ever seen one childhood friend here in London.” Mr. Collin, the boatswain who’d proposed to Eliza. Dinah had been worried for a time that her sister would accept the man; if she had, Dinah would have been forced to tell Eliza what she knew of him. And the things she knew were things she wasn’t supposed to know. Things regarding smuggling and the true reason he’d come to London.

Come to think of it . . . was that an angle that Henry had considered?

Dinah stopped and faced Emily directly. “I have just remembered something, something I wished to tell Henry.”

“He had business to see to in Town this morning, but I believe he is back now.”

Dinah absently nodded, her mind racing. All of Henry’s contacts were no longer safe to pursue—they were all either in prison or they believed he was in prison. But Mr. Collin had once drunkenly admitted to Dinah a few names as well. Were they names Henry already knew? Or might these men—who possibly knew nothing of Henry—be exactly what they needed to continue searching for Steven’s killer?

“Yes,” Dinah said, “I think I will go see if I can find him now.”