Lady Delingpole laughed. “Well, excellent. I was a trifle concerned that a coolness might arise between our families. We are still friends?”
“And honoured to be so, ma’am.”
Lady Delingpole looked at her appraisingly for a moment, as though considering—then shook her head.
“When James is of the age to be married, his father and I will guide him in his selection, as we did with our daughters. The matter is too important to be left to his judgement alone.”
Julia said nothing, but her countenance betrayed her disapprobation of parental tyranny. Lady Delingpole smiled.
“It was almost thirty years ago when I first met his Lordship—Viscount Lynnon as he was, just a week before our wedding-day. As I recall, when I was introduced to him I thought to myself, ‘well, it could be worse,’ and the look on his face pretty much said the same about me. He was five-and-twenty, I was seventeen years old and I had not set foot in England in all my life, and it was to be my new home, and with a stranger for my husband.”
“Married at seventeen, ma’am! To a stranger, in a strange country!”
“To the man chosen for me by my parents,” affirmed Lady Delingpole. “We would not have expected otherwise, in those days, and at our station in life. My parents at least chose a political household for me to marry into, for I was already an ardent Tory.”
Warming to her theme, Lady Delingpole took Julia’s hand.
“My dear, when you come to be married, you and your husband should share some of the same pursuits—apart from whatever children you give him, of course—having some interests in common is a better guarantee for marital happiness than mere physical attraction, for we are not young forever. Lord Delingpole and I have politics as our shared passion.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You must also have your own occupations and diversions. Nothing disgusts a husband so much as a wife who cannot entertain herself. If she sulks and sobs when he leaves the house, and falls upon him with complaints and upbraidings when he returns, he soon wants to avoid his home.
“Attend to my advice, Miss Bertram, for you will not hear anything more valuable, or to the purpose, when it comes to marriage.”
“But....but what of love, your ladyship?”
“Did I just inform you that I loved Lord Delingpole at first sight?” Lady Delingpole rose, and, crossing to the mirror above the fireplace, adjusted her hat a little. “I think not. Beginning with fancying yourself in love is all very well—but it is no guarantee of future contentment. Even the most idle observations of our fellow creatures can tell us this.”
Her appearance restored, she turned back to Julia. “Now, Miss Bertram, promise me you will call upon me when you are next in London, so that I may know you are in earnest when you say you harbour no resentment.”
Just then, Lord Delingpole called from the carriage. “Imogen! It’s time we were on our way.”
“Of course it is,” sighed her ladyship. “The time to leave is when our husbands are ready to leave. That is the correct time. Otherwise it is too early or too late.” She pulled on her gloves just as Edmund Bertram arrived from the church, having been summoned by the manservant.
“Lady Delingpole, I am sorry I was not at home to receive you. Must you depart so soon?”
“You may escort me to my carriage and greet my husband at any rate, my dear Mr. Bertram. I am pleased we were able to wish you a Happy Christmas. Have you any note, any message, I can convey to town for you? No? Nothing? Well, my best wishes to you, for the New Year.”
* * * * * * *
Cecilia Butters visited the academy shortly before Christmas, desiring a good lined cape with a hood. Mr. Edifice greeted her with his customary politeness.
“Dear Mrs. Butters has been extremely generous, has she not, ma’am? The highest praise could hardly exceed her just desserts.”
Cecilia Butters was startled, and an angry flush rose to her cheeks. She believed the curate must be in the secret of her financial troubles; somehow he had learned of the assistance she had received from her mother-in-law. Who could have betrayed her most personal affairs? Who but Miss Price?
“Mr. Edifice,” she began, with some hauteur, “I am not in the habit of—”
But Mr. Edifice was gesturing to one of the new braziers, and inviting her to come and warm her hands.
“Here we see her goodness toward all the children, and everyone who works here.”
Cecilia Butters required but a moment to re-arrange her thoughts.
“I see. I see. Yes, very generous indeed.”
“I hope ma’am, the next time you see your good mother-in-law, you may convey to her my sincere good wishes, compliments and thanks. Miss Price has often spoken to me of her generosity.”
“She would have good cause to!”
This answer encouraged Mr. Edifice to hint, “Indeed yes, for I think Miss Price is almost like a daughter to Mrs. Butters, would you not agree? As dear to her as a daughter?”
This last suggestion once again plunged Cecilia Butters into the utmost perturbation and her mood was not improved, when in the next moment, Fanny appeared in high spirits, followed by two delivery boys struggling with a wicker hamper, which caused all of her students to shriek with excitement. They were certain that whatever was in Miss Price’s hamper, must be intended for them.
They were not wrong. Fanny had given a lot of thought to what gifts she might give to her pupils at Christmas. Of course they would want enough quantities of sweets and candy to make them ill, but Fanny was not inclined to indulge them
