Amanda wouldn’t have moved away for the world.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Miss Johnson said. “I can’t imagine it. When I made my own decision—similar, and yet not the same—my sister never once questioned it. She told me that no matter what I chose, no matter how I felt, she would always love me. Without her, I doubt I could have chosen as I did. I don’t know what I would do if she ever said such things.”
Amanda swallowed bitter jealousy at those words. “Well. Now you have it. It isn’t you, Miss Johnson. I don’t think I can go out in society any longer. My own sister couldn’t forgive me for walking away from a society marriage and attending university. How could anyone else?”
Miss Johnson considered this. “How long has it been since you saw your sister?”
“Since I was twenty.” She frowned. Her memory was as sharp as if Maria had walked away from her yesterday, and yet… “That’s about seven years now.”
Miss Johnson pulled back at that. “You’re only twenty-seven? I had always imagined you older.”
Amanda felt her cheeks heat. She was fairly certain that Genevieve Johnson was older than she was. But one couldn’t tell by looking at her. She still looked fresh-faced and young; by comparison, Amanda was painfully ancient, her hands stained with ink that would not scrub out, her first wrinkles appearing around her eyes.
Amanda didn’t care about her appearance—truly she didn’t—but…
“It’s just,” Miss Johnson was saying, “your columns, when I read them, I don’t feel like I’m listening to someone my age. You always sound so sure of yourself, and you’re so clever. I suppose I should have realized.”
“You don’t need to be nice to me,” Amanda said in misery.
“I’m not being nice. I’m jealous of you, if I must admit it. After all, you’re a lovely woman who has found her own place in the world. People respect your words. They know who you are. They talk about you as someone other than your parents’ child.”
Amanda looked up. “Now I know you’re being nice to me. Everyone adores you. Who couldn’t? You’ve managed to make your own life where you’re accepted by everyone, without marrying or…or…” She stopped.
“It’s true,” Miss Johnson said with a smile. “I have an excellent life. But I’m always aware that if something were to happen to Jane, I would have nothing to do. You have your own life.”
Butterflies descended into Amanda’s stomach again, hammering at her with their wings.
“That column you wrote,” Miss Johnson said, “that one from six months ago, about the life a woman could have without a man. The one you wrote in response to Lord Hasslemire? I felt that one.” She set her hand on her belly. “I felt it here, when you wrote about how Hasslemire talked about a lady’s life as a collection of things that women did for men. When you said that a woman could exist for herself, without needing to serve someone else’s needs…” Miss Johnson smiled. “Do you know how many women clipped that column and sent it to me? Seven. I don’t know what you think you’re going to see on that ballroom floor, Lady Amanda. I’m sure you’re right. There will be a great many women who frown at you. But there will also be women who know you through your words, who will want to take your hand and squeeze it just so that a little of your strength will come to them.”
“But I walked away from them,” Amanda said stupidly.
“Maybe,” Miss Johnson said quietly. “But here we are, walking back to you.” She took hold of Amanda’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze. So simple a gesture, to send such a shock through her. Amanda felt bewildered for a second, completely unable to respond. Her fingers lay like dumb, dazed caterpillars, unresponsive, incapable of returning that tight grip. Miss Johnson stole her hand away before Amanda had a chance to marshal her nerve.
“Trust me on this, my dear,” Genevieve said. “There are a great many women out there tonight who want the honor of your acquaintance.”
“And you?” Amanda’s voice sounded rusty; her words scraped in her throat.
“I already have the honor of your acquaintance.” This was said with a little smile, but that faded, and Miss Johnson looked away. For a moment, she looked almost vulnerable.
“Do you think…” Amanda had not felt brave in company in a long time. She tried it on tentatively now. It slipped from her fingers, but she went on anyway. “Miss Johnson, do you suppose you could consider friendship?”
Miss Johnson turned to her. There was a wry look in her eyes. She shook her head a little.
Of course. It was one thing to claim acquaintance; it was quite another to be a friend, to be someone who would be seen with Amanda in public. Amanda drew back.