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She thought about her guests this weekend. George was Stephen’s younger brother: he had Stephen’s charm but none of Stephen’s seriousness. George’s daughter, Belinda, was eighteen, the same age as Charlotte. Both girls would be coming out this season. Belinda’s mother had died some years ago and George had married again, rather quickly. His second wife, Clarissa, was much younger than he, and quite vivacious. She had given him twin sons. One of the twins would inherit Walden Hall when Stephen died, unless Lydia gave birth to a boy late in life. I could, she thought; I feel as if I could, but it just doesn’t happen.
It was almost time to be getting ready for di
She got up and went outside. That undergardener was standing by a rose tree, talking to one of the maids. Lydia recognized the maid: she was A
A
The gardener moved off sheepishly.
“You don’t appear to be looking for them,” Lydia said. “Off you go.”
“Very good, m’lady.” A
She strolled across the lawn, thinking of familiar and pleasant things, pushing St. Petersburg to the back of her mind. Stephen’s father, the seventh Earl of Walden, had planted the west side of the park with rhododendrons and azaleas. Lydia had never met the old man, for he had died before she knew Stephen, but by all accounts he had been one of the great larger-than-life Victorians. His bushes were now in full glorious bloom and made a rather un-Victorian blaze of assorted colors. We must have somebody paint a picture of the house, she thought; the last one was done before the park was mature.
She looked back at Walden Hall. The gray stone of the south front looked beautiful and dignified in the afternoon sunshine. In the center was the south door. The farther, east wing contained the drawing room and various dining rooms, and behind them a straggle of kitchens, pantries and laundries ru
She saw Charlotte and Belinda emerge from the shrubbery across the lawn. A
“Do you think we’ll feel different after we’ve come out?” Belinda said.
Charlotte had thought about this before. “I shan’t.”
“But we’ll be grown-up.”
“I don’t see how a lot of parties and balls and picnics can make a person grown-up.”
“We’ll have to have corsets.”
Charlotte giggled. “Have you ever worn one?”
“No, have you?”
“I tried mine on last week.”
“What’s it like?”
“Awful. You can’t walk upright.”
“How did you look?”
Charlotte gestured with her hands to indicate an enormous bust. They both collapsed laughing. Charlotte caught sight of her mother and put on a contrite face in anticipation of a reprimand; but Mama seemed preoccupied and merely smiled vaguely as she turned away.
“It will be fun, though,” said Belinda.
“The season? Yes,” Charlotte said doubtfully. “But what’s the point of it all?”
“To meet the right sort of young man, of course.”
“To look for husbands, you mean.”
They reached the great oak in the middle of the lawn, and Belinda threw herself down on the seat beneath the tree, looking faintly sulky. “You think coming out is all very silly, don’t you?” she said.
Charlotte sat beside her and looked across the carpet of turf to the long south front of Walden Hall. The tall Gothic windows glinted in the afternoon sun. From here the house looked as if it might be rationally and regularly pla
Charlotte touched Belinda’s arm. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to carry on so.”
“It’s all right.” Belinda smiled indulgently. “You always get cross about things you can’t possibly change. Do you remember that time you decided you wanted to go to Eton?”
“Never!”
“You most certainly did. You made a terrible fuss. Papa had gone to school at Eton, you said, so why shouldn’t you?”
Charlotte had no memory of that, but she could not deny that it sounded just like her at ten years old. She said: “But do you really think these things can’t possibly be different? Coming out, and going to London for the season, and getting engaged, and then marriage…”
“You could have a scandal and be forced to emigrate to Rhodesia.”
“I’m not quite sure how one goes about having a scandal.”
“Nor am I.”
They were silent for a while. Sometimes Charlotte wished she were passive like Belinda. Life would be simpler-but then again, it would be awfully dull. She said: “I asked Marya what I’m supposed to do after I get married. Do you know what she said?” She imitated her governess’s throaty Russian accent. “Do? Why, my child, you will do nothing.”