Eleanor twirled the pale blue ruffled parasol that exactly matched her lavishly trimmed dress, with its wrists and high neck frosted with French lace. "I bring Patsy's regrets," she said, and then added, "but I must confess that I encouraged her to go to London with Mama this morning, so that you and I could have this time alone. I hope your luncheon plan will not be upset by having three guests instead of four."
"Not at all," Kate said. "Bradford and Sir Charles will arrive in time for luncheon?" Kate was still not accustomed to the late luncheon hour; the meal was never eaten until after one, and when guests were expected, it was even later.
"Yes," Eleanor said. They turned a corner in the path and came out on the grassy shore. She waved her hand carelessly. "They have gone to Colchester, Bradford on some stuffy errand having to do with money, and Charles to do more of his detecting."
"Ah, yes," Kate said thoughtfully, "his murder." She wondered if Sir Charles had taken her suggestion about interviewing Mrs. Farnsworth. She regretted it now; on reflection, she felt it would have been better not to have spoken at all. "What a lovely brooch," she said, changing the subject. She lifted her finger to touch it, a flashing diamond in a circlet of pearls. ' 'A gift?''
Eleanor nodded. "From Mr. Fairley," she said. Was there a heavy note in her voice?
"I'm sure you are excited," Kate said, watching her. "The two months before the wedding must seem to stretch out like an eternity."
"Yes," Eleanor said. Yes, her voice definitely held a lower tone. And her glance, not so gay or flashing just now, was
downcast, and colored with something like embarrassment or even shame.
"Ellie," Kate said quietly, "if you would like to speak to me about anything that troubles you-"
Eleanor clasped Kate's hand. "Oh, Kate," she exclaimed in a shaking voice, "I would, oh, I would."
"My dear Ellie," Kate said with genuine sympathy, "what is it?"
Eleanor released Kate's hand and turned her face away. "It is… I mean to say… That is, I-" She bit her lip nervously, and then turned to face Kate. "I want to know-if you know, dear Kate-about the… about the wedding night!"
Kate stared at her. "The wedding night?"
"I have asked Mama," Eleanor said, the quiver in her voice barely in check. "But all she will tell me is that I must do my duty. She will not tell me what my duty is, except to say that I must please Mr. Fairley. How can I please my husband if I have no idea how to do so?''
Kate felt herself very much at sea on this subject, but she took a deep breath and embarked upon the deep, asking her friend the same question she would ask herself in the circumstance. "Can you not allow your natural feelings to be your guide?''
"My feelings?" Eleanor said blankly. "But that is what I am asking you, Kate. What ought my feelings to be?"
Kate tried a different tack. "Well, then, can you not trust Mr. Fairley? He is a widower, is he not, with experience in such matters?" Of course, as Kate understood it, all men had experience. That was an essential part of their freedom, to have as many mistresses as they chose. Her thoughts flashed, unbidden, to Sir Charles. How many mistresses had he had?
Eleanor began to pace along the walk, her steps agitated. "That is another of my concerns, Kate. Having been married, Mr. Fairley has experience, vast experience. Will he not expect far more of me than I am able to offer?" Her face was suffused with pink and she spoke with an effort. But she continued to speak without waiting for an answer, her passion testifying to the force of her dammed-up feelings. "And while
I can scarcely imagine what the act must be like, it seems so brutal, so unnatural!" She closed her eyes, the pink paling, her voice falling to a frightened whisper. "So painful."
Kate could feel Eleanor's fear. "I wish," she said quietly, "that I could reassure you out of my own experience."
Eleanor's eyes opened and she stared at Kate. "Oh, my dearest, you cannot think that I believed you to have-'' Her hand went to her horrified mouth. "Just because you are an American and Irish-!"
Kate laughed and took her friend's hand. "Well, if you did believe me to be experienced, I must disappoint you, Ellie. The truth is that I have never kissed a man with passion. You are far beyond me in that, and likely to remain so. You will be my teacher, and tell me what it is like."
Eleanor's color came again and she shook her head vehemently. "Oh, no, Kate, you are wrong. I have kissed Mr. Fairley, yes, but modestly, and only once, when I gave him my sacred word that I would marry him. But not with passion. My mother says that no good woman ever-"
Kate turned to face her friend. "Eleanor Marsden, you must forget your mother!" she exclaimed. "You will shortly vow yourself, body and soul, until death, to Mr. Fairley. You cannot do such a thing without even tasting his kiss!" She seized Ellie's other hand and gave them both a shake. "Promise me, Ellie. The next time you are with Mr. Fairley, you will kiss him. And then the next thing, and the next after that, will seem less dreadful."
Eleanor's eyes were wide and very blue. "Do you really believe that a kiss will set my fears at rest?"
"I cannot swear to that," Kate said, wishing she knew more about Mr. Fairley, and what lay in his heart toward Eleanor. She squeezed Ellie's hands as she dropped them, and managed a smile. "But you might find it enjoyable. And when you have kissed him, you can tell me what it is like, so that I will know, too." Again, unbidden, Sir Charles's face came into her mind.
Eleanor turned and they began to walk again. "Thank you, Kate," she said, subdued. "If you think it would help, I will try." There was a silence, and then she picked up her pace
and her voice took on a determined cheerfulness. "There are so many things to do. I am to have final fittings for my trousseau at Worth's next week. And there are yet shoes to be bought and gifts for the wedding party, and the flowers to be arranged, and-"
"Ellie," Kate said, "do you love him?"
"Love Mr. Fairley?" Eleanor's laugh was quick and nervous. "Why, of course I love him! Don't be silly. At any rate, it is a very good match. Mama and Papa are ecstatic, and all my friends are envious. Why do you ask?''
"Because," Kate said soberly, remembering the long relationship between her aunt and uncle, "marriage at its best is difficult. Unless there is love to leaven it, it is a flat, hard loaf. It is not a loaf to relish, nor will it nourish."
Eleanor stared at her. "Why, Kate! You are a poet at heart, I swear-a philosopher, a romantic!"
"I fear that I am a romantic," Kate said with a wry smile, "at least where marriage is concerned. I will never marry for less than love-which means, I suppose," she added, "that I will never… marry." She stopped, struck, suddenly, with the realization that she was, truly and deeply, a romantic. Eleanor, on the other hand, was profoundly pragmatic. She accepted her social responsibilities and did what was set before her to do without question. Whatever her heart might whisper in the dark of the night, she would go on playing the role she had been trained since birth to play.
"Not marry!" Eleanor exclaimed in amazement. "Be forever a spinster!" She tilted her pretty head, frowning. "You must be one of those freethinking women who reject men's control and want the vote."