Frederica’s scorn was entirely missed by her two sisters, for they squealed in delight and got to their feet.
Becca jumped up and down. “Yes, let’s. I would love to be a fairy godmother!”
Helen acted scarcely less enthusiastic, clapping her hands and grinning. “I shall write Poor Trevor a letter at once, asking him to stay a fortnight for the Christmas holidays.”
“Curates don’t take long holidays,” Frederica pointed out. “He would be missing two Sundays. Who would give his sermons?”
Her closest sister in age glared back at her. “Curates do when they are invited by dukes and sent the mail coach fare to pay their way. Everyone wants to spend Christmas in a castle.”
“Or we could always write that Miss Perkins has a wasting disease,” Becca suggested. “I am certain that he could come then.”
Frederica’s lips curled as she tried to hold in her laugh. Poor Trevor and Miss Perkins had no idea what was in store for them by these two adolescent matchmakers. “I read once in a novel that a young woman died because her hands were cold.”
“We don’t want to alarm him,” Helen said, fisting one hand and hitting it against the opposite palm. “But we must press upon him firmly that declining is not an option.”
Becca nodded her head eagerly. “That is a good idea, and Papa will sign anything we write.”
Helen grinned in triumph. “Especially if it comes from you. Now all we must do is come up with a plan to get rid of Reverend Turpin.”
“We will give Miss Perkins a curate for Christmas,” Becca said, beaming.
Frederica shivered again.
Chapter 1
Her charges were up to something. Miss Mary Perkins was certain of it. All three of them had behaved perfectly at breakfast. No one spoke with their mouth full. They all used the correct utensils, and no food was thrown. Helen had not even brought her ball snake, Theodosia, to the meal. Something she always did when their mother, Lady Hampford, went to London for a week or two on business. The duchess did not allow reptiles, or any pets, for that matter, at the table.
After breakfast, they continued to behave like angels. Frederica practiced the pianoforte without being asked, and she did not play so loudly that half the castle’s staff developed a headache. Helen offered to read Becca her newest book on the origin and life cycle of bees. Rather dull stuff in Mary’s opinion, but the two young ladies thrived on the natural sciences. Most days they snuck out to help their father with his menagerie of exotic animals located on a nearby river island. Lord Hampford loved to study the creatures and, if possible, return them to their natural habitats. The duke and duchess went to Africa four years before and were planning a trip to the Caribbean islands.
Some species could not be returned to their habitats because they had become too domesticated. Others, when they were released into the wild nearby, would simply return to the castle. One such creature was a yellow macaw named Mademoiselle Jaune. She looked magnificent as she flew around the main hall with her bright blue-and-yellow feathers and then landed on Mary’s shoulder.
“Prim, proper, pretty,” the bird called her.
As far as nicknames Mademoiselle Jaune called people, Mary’s was rather nice. She called Helen “Small treasure chest,” referring to a less-endowed part of her willowy frame. And Becca, the bird named “Large treasure chest.” Which was also accurate. To both Frederica and her mother, she cawed, “Boss woman.”
Prim, proper, prettywas rather apt for herself as well. Mary had light brown hair, a petite nose, and a prim mouth. She wore a delicate pair of spectacles that perched at the end of her nose. Trevor Wallace had certainly thought she was pretty. At least he had told her such when he proposed nearly four years before. At the time, they assumed their engagement would not be a long one. Trevor had been promised not one, but two livings from his uncle Squire Wallace. Both were held by Reverend Stone, who was an elderly man that had stopped doing anything in either parish. As his curate, Trevor even wrote the man’s Sunday sermons. Reverend Stone promised to retire soon, but being paid five hundred pounds a year to do little must have been hard to give up. Poor Trevor only received a fifty-pound stipend by annum.
Breaking open the seal, Mary thought that the melted wax seemed a little thicker than normal; as if it had been opened and resealed. Unfolding the single sheet, Mary was certain that it had already been read, for the paper was wrinkled. She released an exasperated sigh and shook her head. Her charges were too clever and nefarious for their own good. Pushing her spectacles up the bridge of her nose, she read:
My dearest Mary,
Another year is coming to an end, and I am no closer to having my own living. My Uncle Wallace has written to inform me that Reverend Stone is finally retiring, but that I will not receive either living that he promised to me. Heis giving the livings of White Waltham and Little Greenwick to his second son, Alfred. It would appear that the law, as a profession, did not agree with my cousin. If the rumors circling around the family and village are true, which they may not be, my cousin is several hundred pounds in debt and has yet to perform any legal work. I do not think Alfred is any happier about his appointment than I am.
Yet the fact remains that I do not make enough of a wage to support a wife or family. And I do not foresee my circumstances altering any time soon. My uncle is my only family connection to help me in my profession, and when I hinted at finding a new parish, the Bishop of Reading told me that my chances are slim and I would need to wait another five to ten years.
I have already asked you to wait three years. It will be four years this February since I kneeled before you in front of your fireplace, professed my love, begged you to be mine, and accidentally set my coat on fire. Your level head and quick thinking saved me from being burned, but my heart was already singed. I do not think it is fair to ask you to wait an additional decade. If you would like to be released from our engagement, I would understand. Please know that I will always hold you in the highest regard.
Yours ever,
Trevor Wallace
Her glasses fogged up as Mary tried to hold in the tears that longed to fall down her cheeks. Her limbs felt weak and her body numb. Mary let out a strangled sob.Ten years!Trevor had hoped to have a living within a year. Not that she blamed him.
How could she?
He had been as devoted to his borrowed parish as he was to her for three long years. She had only seen him a handful of times since she’d accepted the position of governess for the Stringham family. An entire year had passed since she’d last been in his company, and she would not be spending Christmas this year with her parents. Her father had asked her to request the Easter holiday off instead. Had Trevor altered much? Glancing down at her hands, she wondered if she too appeared different. Her feelings had not changed, but what if his altered? Splaying her hand across her chest, both her head and her heart felt as if they were shrinking. What if he did not wish for her to wait any longer?
“Bad news?” Helen asked, standing in the doorframe.