The Proposal

“You must not tell a single soul!”

Jane said nothing as her friend sat opposite her, grasping the fine bone-china teacup between her delicate fingers. Emily was animated, her eyes glittering with barely suppressed excitement. Jane found her friend’s enthusiasm for intrigue exhausting at the best of times, but since coming to suspect her own delicate condition, she found such exuberance almost unbearable.

“Swear it! Say, I solemnly swear that I shall not breathe a word to a single soul!” Emily pressed, her words tumbling out in a breathy rush.

Jane complied. Really, there was no other option when Miss Emily Manning insisted upon something. “I swear, most solemnly, that I shall not breathe a word to a single soul. My lips are sealed.”

Emily studied Jane with a decidedly sceptical expression, as if trying to determine the veracity of the declaration. Surely Jane’s word was enough. It was her mother’s sister who was the notorious gossip, not Jane, and she was to be quite unjustly tarred with the same brush by familial association.

Miss Emily Manning, it seemed, had come to a favourable conclusion as to Jane’s capacity for secret keeping, as she breathlessly delivered her news.

“Mr Sherwood has returned from London and was seen in Linham’s Jewellery store just this morning.”

Jane took a sip of her tea, laced quite liberally with sugar, hoping that it would settle the uneasiness of her constitution.

“Mr Sherwood?” She set her cup shakily upon its saucer and contemplated the merits of a second helping of cake. “What possible interest could you have in the comings and goings of Mr Sherwood?”

“Well, the rumour has it that he was in Linham’s looking at very specific jewellery.” Emily raised one eyebrow in curious speculation, leaving Jane to wonder in suspense as to the specificity of the jewellery in question.

“And why must I not tell a soul about Mr Sherwood’s location this morning? If the rumours are to be believed, it would seem as if such information is common knowledge.”

“Mr Sherwood was purchasing a posy ring, sized for a female hand, a delicate female hand.” Emily waved her ringlessleft hand for emphasis, her slender, well-manicured fingers wiggling suggestively.

“Do you suspect that Mr Sherwood has made such a purchase with a specific lady in mind?” Jane clasped both of her own ringless hands in her lap, her face a careful study of casual interest.

“It cannot have escaped your notice that Mr Sherwood paid specific attention to me at the Waltham Ball last month. He sought my hand for two dances, a country reel and a quadrille.”

It was to be assumed that Mr Sherwood had paid many a lady ‘specific attention’ that evening. Jane had been a fool to believe the words of ardent infatuation that he whispered warmly in her ear, as they wandered dangerously among the manicured topiaries and ornate fountains decorating the gardens of the Waltham estate.

Jane pressed her lips together in as pleasant an aspect as she could manage in such a situation and hoped that her friend was less than observant. Emily was usually quite self absorbed and not very perspicacious. Hopefully, for Jane’s continuing peace of mind, her friend’s ability to discern the discomfort of someone other than herself, would remain conspicuously absent.

Mr Alexander Sherwood had arrived in Bath with the express purpose, or so all the mamas had believed, of finding a wife. He was young, possessed of considerable charm and all the most admirable qualities that rendered him an instant object of affection among the young ladies. His countenance was compared favourably to the Greek statues that Lord Elgin had displayed, his eyes were declared striking, his nose proud and noble, and his smile neither too ready nor too absent.

The dowagers had whispered among themselves and declared him to be even more handsome. It was rumoured that he had an income of over five thousand a year! Such riches doubled his attractiveness and increased his eligibility, until every young Miss had thrown her heart or handkerchief at his feet. He blithely accepted their homage and be-spelled them all.

In conversation, Mr Sherwood possessed a natural ability to engage others in captivating discourse displaying an eloquence of speech, polished articulation and an extensive vocabulary, which he employed with a delightful wit and intelligence. It was this wit and intelligence that had captured Jane during their dance and subsequent midnight stroll through the secluded gardens. Such articulate discourse had lifted her skirts and tempted her beyond her ability to resist. It was only the following day, as the morning room had filled with flowers and gentlemen, that Jane had realised her own folly. Mr Sherwood was conspicuous in his absence, and she became aware, with a poignant realisation, that she had been an unwitting participant in the gentleman’s artful game of deceitful machinations.

“I do believe such marked attention, coupled with his subsequent visit to Linham’s will result in a proposal.” Emily’s bright curls bounced with barely suppressed excitement.

Jane felt the edges of her world ripped from beneath her and she tumbled into a chasm of echoing despair and fear, her face frozen in a rictus of disbelief. If Emily was correct in her summation, then Jane would need to bear the presence of her seducer or surrender her dearest friend. If her friend was mistaken about Mr Sherwood’s motivations, then Emily was destined for heartbreak and ruin. That the same gentleman would be the ruination of both girls was insupportable. With a ruthlessness born of determination, Jane suppressed the third reason for her despair. She refused to acknowledge the pain she felt upon hearing her friend’s proclamation, refused to name it. It was not heartbreak; she told herself sternly. She was most certainly, most definitely, and absolutely not the least bit in love with Mr Alexander Sherwood.

***

“There is a Mr Sherwood asking if yer at home, Miss,” Nellie said the next day, as she peered around the door. Jane sat in the comfortable armchair by the window, making the most of the weak afternoon light in order to complete her embroidery. So startled was she by that gentleman’s name that her finger, once untouched, now bore a crimson mark. She gasped in dismay as a drop of scarlet, akin to a solitary ruby teardrop, stained the pristine fabric.

“I am not at home this afternoon, Nellie!” She pressed the damaged digit against her kerchief to stem the bleeding.

“I would think that might be unwise, Miss.” Nellie spoke with the impertinence and familiarity permissible only from an old family servant. “If this is the gentleman who is responsible for yer lack of courses this month, then p’haps t’would be pertinent, like, to see him. And if he’s not the gentleman responsible, p’haps you could make him responsible if you take my meaning.” Jane closed her eyes in mortification. There was nothing secret from the help, and Nellie was very conscientious in her duties as a lady’s maid. “You’d do well to secure him quickly, Miss, is all I’m saying.”

“I can only beg that you refrain from sharing your gossip with anyone, Nellie.”

“My lips are sealed, Miss. But you won’t be hiding it for much longer. Best you see him, chick, let him make an honest woman of you before it’s too late!”

Jane nodded, unable to formulate a response through the rising dread that stole her breath and caused her heart to both gallop and halt at the same moment. A most disconcerting feeling, and she felt the compelling urge to swoon.

Before she could begin to sort through the quite tumultuous array of emotions and decide upon the perfect physical response, Nellie announced her gentleman caller.

Mr Sherwood strode through the door with confidence and bluster, making an elegant show of bowing before her. At her feeble gesture, he settled into the settee opposite and suddenly seemed unsure how to proceed.

“Tea?” Jane asked.

“No, I thank you. I thought, perhaps, we might stroll toward Sydney Gardens. The weather is quite fine.”

Jane’s gaze was drawn to the window, with the assumption that she had perhaps missed a miraculous reversal of the weather. The sky was still a dull grey in colour, the feeble sun desperately trying to peek through the dismal clouds.

Upon seeing her incredulity, Mr Sherwood had the grace to look somewhat abashed. “Perhaps quite fine is rather an exaggeration. But the weather is not totally inclement and a constitutional turn about the gardens would be beneficial to good health and allow for a modicum of private discourse.” He spoke quietly, aware of the presence of Nellie, comfortably ensconced in a chair on the other side of the room.

“I do not wish to draw attention to myself by being seen in your presence, sir. Anything you wish to say may be said within these walls. Nellie is the very soul of discretion.”

“Very well.” Mr Sherwood was not so impolite as to sigh. However, his voice was moderated in such a way as to imply his unwilling acquiescence. “Miss Doncaster,” he began, pitching his voice low and leaning close. “I must inquire of you… I mean, I am honour bound to ask… have there been any consequences as a result of our last meeting?”

Jane drew in a breath and held it, her eyes searching. What to say? She heard the quick, in-drawn breath from the other side of the room. Nellie had exceptional hearing. If she were to follow Nellie’s unspoken demands, she would admit the consequences, demand this gentleman repair the damage he had caused. On the other hand, a husband who needed to be trapped into marriage, well, was that the kind of husband she wanted? But did she have a choice? She lost her ability to choose when she allowed this articulate master of eloquence and persuasion to lift her skirts.

“Miss Doncaster, I only ask, as I wish to ascertain how precipitous I must be. If there are no lasting consequences, I would seek your permission to court you in the manner and style that you deserve. However, if there have been consequences, then I fear that I must forgo any courtship and seek to have a private conversation with your papa immediately. I have these last weeks, been to London to speak with my great uncle who is a Bishop, and have in my possession a special license.”

The words were spoken with utmost sincerity, and a profound sense of relief flooded Jane’s heart. She had not realised until that moment how heavy her trepidation sat upon her shoulders, and how burdened she had become.

“I believe Papa is in his study. May I suggest that you speak with him immediately?”

Mr Sherwood paled a little before he nodded his understanding. He stood, and taking her hand in his, sank to one knee before her. “I would be honoured if you were to accept this token of my esteem and allow me to speak with your father at once.” She nodded shakily as he slipped a delicate posy style ring onto her finger. He bowed over her hand, placing a daring kiss upon her wrist, before he left the room.

Jane barely heard Nellie’s effusive exclamations. Her own thoughts were too loud and invasive as she studied the fine gold and ruby ring. “Oh dear,” she thought. “Poor Emily!”