I laughed outright. “Do be serious. James may have pledged to keep me from bodily harm, but he would sooner cut off his own hand than help further my prospects with Henry.”
“Oh, he’s not so bad as that. I’m sure he would oblige if you just asked him nicely.”
I gave her an incredulous look. “Any letter from me would sooner see the bottom of the river than be delivered to Henry, no matter how nicely I may ask. I’m surprised you would even suggest such a thing. It’s no secret the man detests me.”
Nora pursed her lips. “He hasn’t come to terms yet with the idea that Henry prefers you over Amelia. Most of the time he’s really quite pleasant.”
“Only when you’re around,” I countered. “Otherwise he’s a self-righteous prig who is more concerned with Henry’s rank than his happiness. Since we left Hopewell, the man has spoken two dozen words to me, and less than half of those have been civil.”
“What do you mean? I heard him speak near a dozen last night at supper alone.”
I snorted a laugh. “‘Please pass the peas and onions, Miss Kilbrid,’ does not qualify as polite conversation.”
“He said please, at least. That’s got to count for something.”
“Merely that he preferred the peas passed rather than tossed in his lap. Mark my words, James considers his boorish behavior of the highest service to Henry in the off chance that he succeeds in dissuading my affections.”
“Maybe so, but you should try all the same. What do you have to lose?”
“My dignity, for starters.”
Nora looked concerned. “I wish you two could get along. Just imagine if Henry and I were behaving in a similar fashion, practically forcing you to choose between us.”
“But you’re not a deluded ignoramus, intent on keeping everyone in their proper place. Quite the opposite, actually, since you refuse to recognize rank of any kind, including Henry’s. And he’s not running around, crying foul like some spoiled child.”
“Try to be patient, Selah. James is not a bad man, just very confused. Give him some time, I’m sure he’ll come around.”
“Not likely,” I muttered.
Nora gave a heavy sigh. “I should go see to the trunks. That new maid has probably tied my shifts in knots by now. I swear, she couldn’t fold a dress to save her life. You should have selected someone more experienced for us to share.”
On many fronts, Beth Lambert had proven to be a poor maid, but there was one area in which she excelled. “I chose her because she is brilliant at fixing hair. Not even Mary was so talented.”
“You’re jesting,” Nora laughed. “And all this time I thought you acted out of pity since no one in their right mind would ever hire such an inept creature. Tell me, during the interview did you even inquire if she could iron or only about her skill with hairpins?”
“Why hairpins, of course,” I said, laughing in return. “Our clothing may look a state, but we will have the best tended hair in London.”
“Well, I’m glad we have our priorities straight.” She squeezed my waist once more then turned to go, leaving me alone again to stare out at the city.
London was my new home for the indeterminable future. The Goodwins would remain until springtime, returning to the Colonies after the winter storms had passed. I hoped to be with them, but at present there were too many uncertainties to know where Henry and I would live once we wed. One choice stood in front of me, the other a world away at my back.
Brighmor lay thousands of miles across the Atlantic Ocean, my last memory of the great stone manor somewhat tarnished by Mr. Chubais. Nora never would have insisted that James and I try to get along if she knew the truth about that final night in Hopewell. In a rare act of kindness, James had helped sweep, even carrying the ashes to the refuse pile himself. After that we never spoke of it again, though what we neglected to express in words was declared tenfold in his behavior toward me—our differences had grown beyond my Irish ancestry and lack of rank.
From that night forth, his scowls grew darker and his manners even more aloof than before. As for myself, I appreciated his particular silence on the subject of Mr. Chubais. I had nothing to explain, nothing that I wished to relive over and over through endless questions and conversation. It was no secret that James thought me responsible for what happened, and in a way he may have been right.