Page 19 of A Modest Independence

“I wouldn’t go that far.” A wry smile edged her mouth. “I’m not quite ready to exchange my petticoats for bloomers.”

He nearly choked on his tea. “Thank God for that.”

“You disapprove of reform dress?”

“Only insofar as the women wearing it look deranged.”

She flicked a glance at her skirts. “It’s far more functional than all of these petticoats and crinoline wires.”

“You seem to function well enough.”

She shrugged, smiling. “Needs must.”

He found himself smiling, too. It was short-lived. Their discussion didn’t lend itself much to humor. “Is your mother still living?”

Miss Holloway’s own smile faded. “She’s been dead these many years.” She sipped her tea. “My father is still alive.”

“Does he live near to town?”

“No. My father resides in Dorset. He has the distinction of being the longest-serving vicar in Chipping St. Mary—and the one most likely to deliver a sermon while under the influence of elderberry wine. He’s a drunkard, bless him, and a sad trial on my two older brothers. I count myself lucky to have escaped before he made me his drudge.”

“A drunken vicar?” Tom emitted a short laugh. He didn’t know whether he should be amused or appalled. “I didn’t realize.”

“How could you? It isn’t something I shout from the rooftops.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make light of it.”

“You needn’t apologize. I make light of it myself on occasion. One must, you know. Without humor, one could easily fall into a black melancholy.”

“Well, at least you can console yourself with the fact that you’re not alone. There are many among us who originate from unhappy families—or no families at all.”

“A sad fact.” She took another sip of her tea, her expression pensive. “In truth, I don’t believe there’s any such thing as a happy family. I’ve encountered only two in my lifetime. And for all I know, their happiness was merely a façade to fool their neighbors.”

“You’re a pessimist.”

“Not a pessimist. A realist. In my experience, human beings are inherently disappointing. It only follows that marriage and family would be as well.”

“Perhaps you merely haven’t met the right human beings. That is to say, the right gentleman.”

She gave him a speaking glance.

Tom’s lips quirked. “Come. You can’t expect me to believe that you’ve never dreamed of marrying and having a family.”

“And giving up all of my rights? Not only over my money and property, but over my body? No thank you.” She lowered her teacup. “That’s not to say that I haven’t had the odd longing.”

“For marriage?”

“Marriage. Romance. Whatever you wish to call it.” Her voice dropped. “It comes on as a pang in my chest.”

Tom’s expression sobered. His own voice lowered to match hers. “I’ve felt it on occasion myself.”

Her brows lifted. “Have you?”

“I expect it’s natural in unmarried people of a certain age.”

“I blame society. The pressure put to bear on ladies to marry is unrelenting.”

“On gentlemen as well.”