Page 63 of A Well-Trained Lady

She gave a small smile. “Do all ladies have to sacrifice love for a suitable match?”

Unwilling to be the bearer of the news I had discovered—that even when love was present in the beginning it soon faded—I hesitated. “I suppose there are some who fall in love with their equal, though that seems to be more the exception. But there are nearly always tradeoffs if someone chooses love.”

Ruth swayed back and forth, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Uncle Richard and Aunt Marina married for love.”

“And how did her parents react?”

“They cut her off,” Sarah said in a near whisper. “They never spoke to her again. And until they both died, Aunt Susan was forced to do likewise.”

The room fell silent as the realization settled in. Life was not so romantic as the novels depicted, and I hated that it had to be me who told them so. At least I could take comfort in knowing I had not completely annihilated their hope in love. That realization would come in time and from their own experiences.

Ruth released a quick breath. “I often wonder what would have happened if my mother would have disobeyed my grandparents and refused my father. Or if the gentleman she had loved had not jilted her.”

I attempted to not appear startled by her declaration. “Do you know who it was—that jilted her, I mean?”

“No. I only know that Father used to say”—Ruth’s gaze turned distant, as though she were trying to recall the words with exactness—“that he would not have married my mother had he known he was getting another man’s unwanted scraps.”

My hand shot to my mouth, covering it. “That is a horrible thing to say.”

Ruth gave a nod, her eyes blinking vacantly. “If only that were the worst of it.”

“He treated her that way often, then?”

Ruth scrunched up her nose. “I’m not sure I have the most accurate perception, being as I was not yet eleven when they died. But I remember when Father got in one of his moods, Mother would send me out of doors or to the nursery, and I knew I was not to return until she or my nursemaid fetched me.”

My heart broke as I thought of young Ruth being my near shadow all those years. Had that been part of the reason? “Why did you never speak of it to me?”

Ruth shrugged, the corner of her lips turned downward. “I suppose I didn’t know it was something worth mentioning. And it wasn’t as though he was always there, nor was he always like that. Sometimes my father was very kind. Especially when we had guests, or when Augi would come to stay. Father always had a high regard for Augi.” Ruth smiled, as though her words had conjured some pleasant memory. “It was quite fortunate that Aunt Marina and Uncle Henry thought to send Augi to go to school in Bath so that he could stay with us during his time off.”

It seemed Augustus had been Mrs. Seton’s saving grace. At least until the end. “Was your father in one of his moods … that day?” I scanned her face to determine if I had taken my inquiry too far.

“The day they died, you mean?” Ruth thought a moment. “No. Not that I recall. He had just returned to Blacksley the day before, and Augi was there for the week’s end. Father and Augi had gone shooting that morning, and when they returned, we all ate luncheon together.” Ruth squinted, as though recalling the memory took effort. “Mother then asked Augi to take me out fishing so we could have fresh trout for supper—Father’s favorite. And Father was in a generous enough mood that he lent Augi his new pole.”

That certainly didn’t sound like the actions of a man planning to commit such an unspeakable crime. But I held my tongue.

Ruth reached forward to take a short piece of ribbon from my basket and began running it through her fingers mindlessly. “By the time we returned with our catch, my parents were already dead. The whole house was in commotion as they tried to figure out what had happened and what to do.” Ruth fixed her gaze on the ribbon. “And that was when Augustus brought me to Fellerton to be with you.” She lifted her eyes to mine, tears glinting in them.

I put an arm around her, leaning my forehead against her temple. “I am so sorry for it all, Ruth,” I whispered.

She gave a weak smile. “It was so long ago that I often feel as though I’m relaying someone else’s story and not my own.” She paused, drawing in a shaky breath. “Sometimes I wish I knew what had happened, though I’m not certain I could bear it. It is probably for the best I shall never know.”

Sarah moved to Ruth’s side, and Ruth reached out to grasp her hand. The three of us stood together for some time, the combination of the silence and my churning thoughts crushing down upon me. I needed to break free from the sorrow, and I wanted to bring Ruth and Sarah up with me. “I shared a kiss with Augustus … a long time ago.”

They both turned to face me, their brows lifting to frame their widened eyes. My diversion was working, for them as well as for me, and I hoped I would not later regret my admission. “It was not long before you left Bath, Ruth,” I said, sending her an apologetic smile. “And I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t certain what to make of it myself.”

Ruth pinned me with an expectant stare. “Well you know what to make of it now, so you must not leave out even a detail.”

I laughed, and the simple act lifted me further out of the darkness. “Do you recall the time you were abed for those two weeks?”

Ruth’s cheery expression faltered ever so slightly, and I paused. “Go on,” she said, nodding her encouragement.

“Well, despite the impropriety of it, Augustus and I met in the woods as often as occasion would permit, which so happened to be very often, him being on a school holiday and my mother away visiting her sister until near the end of it. One afternoon he was teasing me mercilessly regarding my fondness for William Morris.”

Ruth’s face cheered again, and she laughed.

“Who is William Morris?” Sarah asked me.

“The son of one of our tenant farmers. Augustus had been writing me love letters and allowing me to believe they came from him.”