My mother poured the tea as we all sat down like a civilized family, which in itself was a recipe for risibility. “My brother has a proposal,” said Mr. Robinson flatly, his tone an indication that he had some prior knowledge of its purport.
The commodore’s boots were dirty. “Indeed, I do, ladies,” he said, picking at a bit of fluff on the facing of his lapel. He fixed his eyes on Maria. “Your daughter is a lovely young girl of seventeen—and ripe for marriage, if I do say so.”
“You don’t say,” muttered Maria. Oh, how she reminded me of myself when, so many years earlier, I had sat in a drawing room, nubile and naïve, enduring the unexpected attentions of a naval man. She looked at me for a cue and I pursed my lips and lowered my eyes to convey that she should hear her uncle out. I shuddered to discover that I had reacted just as Mother had done in front of Captain Fredericks.
Commodore Robinson puffed out his chest. “I am wealthy—I make no bones about it. I’ve earned my way in the world and am proud to boast of it. I can make Maria Elizabeth a fine husband; the match has everything to recommend it. She will want for nothing—quite a change, I expect, from the way she has been brought up.”
What an oaf! For one thing, despite our previous descents into penury—due to the conduct of his own brother—we had lived very high from time to time. I had been pressured into a loveless match by one-third of the people who were at present sipping my tea in my drawing room. And I had vowed before Heaven that I would never consign my child to a likewise fate.
“There is of course a condition; there are always conditions,” said the commodore. I did not care for his smirk and could see that Maria wished to wipe it from his face with the tea towel. He glanced from me to his younger brother. “Should Maria accept my exceedingly generous offer—and, I daresay, I doubt there will be many more to follow of an even remotely similar magnitude—she must renounce the pair of you. Yes, even you, Tom, for your character does your daughter no credit; and if she wishes to rise in the world—which she must perforce do at my side”—Commodore Robinson grinned, quite pleased with himself—“her own reputation must be stainless. You of course, madam,” he added, leveling his gaze directly at my bosom, “are less of a credit to your sex than was Jezebel.”
Such gall! I was but one breath from booting Commodore Robinson and my disgusting husband out of the room. My mother looked distinctly embarrassed. Had she known in advance of the commodore’s intentions? I loved her with all my heart, but experience had been a strict teacher.
It was time to allow Maria to speak for herself. Knowing my daughter, I awaited her words with more pride than trepidation.
“Sir,” Maria began, placing her tea saucer on the table and rising majestically from the divan, “I would not countenance your proposal if you were Adam and I Eve, and we should be assured of never falling from Paradise.”
Mr. Robinson’s brother looked like he had been stung by a hornet. His complexion changed color from rose to red to violet, but it did not deter Maria from stating her piece.
“Though no man or woman can claim themselves perfect in God’s eyes, my parents nonetheless brought me into this world and together they sustained me in my first years upon this earth. For that reason alone, I would not conscience your terms and renounce them forever for the sake of a few new bonnets and shiny carriages. You may know your brother well, Commodore, but you do not know my mother at all. Mrs. Robinson is the woman who gave me her own milk until I was well past my second year, shunning the services of a wet nurse after all but my earliest days. She devoted herself to me entirely after my father destroyed her reputation by abandoning us for the lure of gambling hells, gadding about with a cadre of rakish confederates, and consorting openly with any number of fancy women. She has looked after me for all of my seventeen years, and for nearly half that time I have known the need to care for her in her infirmities. Commodore Robinson, if my mother will permit me to escort you from our apartments, I will be happy to do so immediately. You insult the both of us with your degrading proposal.” Maria stood before the naval man, her hands politely folded in front of her waist. “As there is nothing more to say, I bid you good day, sir.”
Had I been able to rise from my chair unassisted, I would have done so and applauded my daughter. My mother, ever the appeaser, ushered the gentlemen—who were not even deserving of such a nomination—to the door, apologizing all the way for the failure of their errand.
“You knew of it, then, Mother,” I said testily when she returned to the drawing room. My angry eyes were little more than slits.
She gave a self-conscious assent. “Of the intention, yes, but not the terms.” Sinking to the sofa beside me, she burst into tears. “Oh, no, my darling—not the terms.”
“Nonetheless you would have willingly sacrificed my daughter to another Robinson, knowing what you have known for years about Tom’s unscrupulous behavior—and his tendency to avoid the truth whenever possible?”
“Forgive me, Mary. I only wanted to see Maria well settled. All I have ever wanted for my girls is the best. Answer me this: What do you expect to become of her as the years wear on? Is she to be your nursemaid forever, turning her back on all prospects of another life?”
“I think
