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CHAPTER 1
Stanton Hall Horbling, Lincolnshire August 30, 1812
God certainly had an interesting way of turning the world upside down when one least expected it, Joanna thought angrily. Why did He have to deal poor Lydia such a low blow over such a simple pleasure? She really didn't see what point it served. If He'd felt the need to strike someone ill on this day, it should have been Joanna He'd chosen, for she wouldn't have minded nearly so much contracting the measles. But as she'd already had them and wasn't going to succumb again, all she could offer Lydia was comfort.
"Lydie, my love, you must calm yourself," she said, wringing out the cloth in water that she'd scented with lavender and placing it on Lydia's hot brow. "Getting worked into a state will do your fever no good, and it certainly won't change the situation."
A tear rolled out of Lydia's red, swollen eyes, but she still managed to glare defiantly at Joanna. "I am not in a state," she said, her voice thick. "And I will go to my own birthday dance. Nothing you or anyone else says is going to stop me."
Joanna sat down on the side of the bed and took her cousin's hand in hers. "Surely you must see that going downstairs this evening is an impossibility. Not only are you unwell, but you cannot risk exposing anyone else to your illness. You heard the doctor — you are highly contagious. Do try to be reasonable."
"Reasonable?" Lydia snatched her hand out of Joanna's grasp. "There is no reason or fairness to any of this, and I won't stand for it! I've waited all year for this night, Jo, you know I have. What terrible thing have I done to deserve being struck down on my eighteenth birthday, the very night that was supposed to be my personal triumph?" She scowled. "Anyway, there's no proof I have measles. I have no rash, have I? You cannot be absolutely sure unless there's a rash. Doctor McFadden said so; you were standing right there when he said it."
"I was, and I also heard what the doctor said directly after that," Joanna replied gently. "The Tuppford boys both came down with measles last week, and you did sit next to them in church last Sunday. You have all the other symptoms, Lydia, and Doctor McFadden told you the rash would be the last thing to appear."
Lydia's face crumpled and she turned it into the side of the pillow. "It's all right for you," she said on a sob. "You can go ahead and revel without me. It's supposed to be your birthday celebration too, even if your twenty-first birthday was really a fortnight ago. Why should you want me there when everyone is bound to make a huge fuss over you for having reached your majority? You'll probably have a whole handful of proposals while I lie here in the dark, alone and suffering, turning eighteen all by myself."
Joanna had to stifle a laugh. Lydia was prone to dramatics. "I cannot imagine that anyone will make much of a fuss over me," Joanna replied, wringing out the cloth again and reapplying it to Lydia's brow. "It is you who always draws the attention, beautiful creature that you are."
"And now you compliment yourself," Lydia said with a sniffle and an annoyed look. "We might be sisters instead of second cousins, everyone says so. The only real difference between us is age — well, that and my substantial dowry, but that's not what people actually see on the surface, is it? They look at me and just as well might be looking at you."
"We might share some family traits, Lydie, but my personality is a much paler version of yours," Joanna said with complete truth. "I have none of your sparkle or your allure, and that's what makes someone beautiful. People gather round you like moths to a flame, wanting to bask in your light, whereas I only bore them to tears."
"That's because of the way you behave. People must think you'd rather spend time with your silly paintings than with an eligible man," Lydia said with disgust. "Really, Jo, you might be older, but sometimes I think you haven't the least bit of understanding of what it takes to get on in life. A watercolor isn't going to put pretty clothes on your back or a wedding ring on your finger. It certainly isn't going to fill your heart and soul with passion or love."
Joanna just smiled. Lydia would never understand the joy Joanna took from translating color and light and form to paper or canvas any more than Lydia would ever understand why she wasn't interested in rushing into marriage with the highest available title. She'd be wasting her breath if she tried to explain yet again. Unlike her cousin, she was not inclined to fall in and out of love every other day of the week. If she ever did fall in love, it would be once and for a lifetime.
Despite the physical similarities she and Lydia shared, they were as different as night and day. Lydia's interests revolved around her appearance, her social standing, and making the best possible match as soon as she could. As far as Joanna was concerned, society could go hang for all she really noticed or cared, and she doubted that society held her in any higher regard, since she had neither position, money, nor charm.
"I suppose you'll finally have to accept someone now that you've reached your majority, and it's bound to be Lord Holtingham," Lydia said flatly.
"Lord Holtingham?" Joanna said, surprised. "What on earth are you talking about?''
"You know perfectly well of whom I am speaking. Charles Maitland, Viscount Holtingham, heir to the Earl of Dunleigh and one of the more eligible men in Britain," Lydia replied. "He might not be a duke, but he has a large fortune and he's exceptionally attractive. Anyway, Clara Codrington told me that her father told her that Holtingham's father has made it clear to Charles that he must marry this year. He has it in mind to marry you, hasn't he?"
"Lydia," Joanna said patiently, "I cannot see why you think my attaining my majority would suddenly make a difference to him or anyone else. Most people think me on the shelf by now." Never mind that Holtingham was one of the biggest rakes in Christendom who had no interest in marrying anyone, no matter his father's wishes.
"Don't be silly. Everyone knows you had to do a year's mourning for Uncle Edward and Aunt Amanda when they died, and that was right in the middle of your first season. By the time you'd put off your mourning clothes, you'd missed the better part of two seasons, and I don't think you can be considered on the shelf until you've had at least three proper seasons in which to fail."
"Really?" Joanna replied dryly, suppressing the stab of pain that any reminder of her parents' death always brought. "Tell me, do you make up these rules and regulations yourself, or are they written down somewhere?"
Lydia made a rude sound in the back of her throat, then coughed heavily. "The point is that you have reached your majority," she said when she'd recovered. "You are free to make your own choice with no one to object, including Mama and Papa, not that they'd object to anyone you chose, since they wish only for your happiness — I even heard them discussing Henry Wamock as a suitable prospect since he is so obviously taken with you, although I personally would die before I'd marry him, but never mind that."
"Exactly. Never mind that," Joanna said, hoping to stem the tide of Lydia's speech.
Lydia ignored her. "I feel sure that is why Mr. Wamock has been included in the house party — Mama and Papa think that with strong encouragement he might succumb, despite your lack of a decent dowry. You know how anxious we all are for you to marry well, and he does have a rich uncle with no one else to leave his money to, so he has good prospects, even if he will only be a baron when his father dies and have very little else until the uncle dies. He's presentable nonetheless, don't you think, at least in a masculine sort of fashion?"
"My dear Lydie," Joanna said, trying to make sense out of those last two sentences with no luck, "has it ever occurred to you that I might not wish to marry?"
Least of all marry the unfortunately bacon-brained Henry Wamock, who forever trailed after her like a dog waiting for a scrap to be thrown his way. "Or at least I do not wish to marry without love," she amended.
"Oh, not that again. Love is a luxury for the rich, although I myself would wither away into nothing should I be forced to marry without it, which fortunately I need not." She raised a finely etched eyebrow. "You and I both know that you can't afford not to marry."
"I am not in the poorhouse just yet," Joanna retorted. "My inheritance might be meager, but it is enough to scrape by on."
"Mama says spinsterhood is not a sensible notion for a person in your position, not if you have happier options, and you are nothing if not sensible, even if you don't have romantic sensibilities."
"I thought you consider me hardheaded and intractable," Joanna said with amusement.
"You are certainly stubborn, for I am sure you are only holding out for a better arrangement," Lydia said, sniffling again. "I know you: You like being mysterious."
"Do I?" Joanna said, even more amused by that piece of nonsense.
"Yes," Lydia replied darkly. "Furthermore, I saw the way you secretly looked at Holtingham when we were in London."
"And how was that?" Joanna asked.
"From the corner of your eye when you thought no one was watching. You have it in mind to accept him, I feel sure of it, and there's no use denying it. Come, Jo, we are accustomed to confiding everything in each other, are we not?"
Joanna shook her head, exasperated. She did indeed watch Holtingham from the corner of her eye, but only from a sense of self-preservation, so that she could escape before he advanced on her. More than once he had attempted to grope her in the garden, but Joanna did not think it wise to enlighten Lydia further.
"Oh, very well then, you have me," she said lightly, determined to put an end to the ridiculous conversation with a tease. "I think I just might make up my mind to accept him if it will satisfy you, since you take such a great interest in my matrimonial status or lack thereof. You know I can deny you nothing."
"Now you are funning with me," Lydia said, but not looking entirely certain that was the case.
"Am I?" Joanna said, trying to keep a straight face. "I confess, I hadn't realized how dire my predicament was, but now that you've pointed it out to me, I think perhaps you are right. I should seize any opportunity that presents itself lest I do find myself on the shelf. Holtingham might do nicely after all."
Lydia's mouth dropped open. "No — you cannot mean it," she gasped, staring at Joanna as if she'd just announced that the moon really was made of green cheese and she intended to eat the whole of it.
"Why not?" Joanna said, unable to resist teasing her. "As you said, he's handsome enough, and he comes with a large fortune and an acceptably impressive title and estate. Perhaps he won't mind that I have very little to offer him in return, including clever conversation."
" I knew it! I just knew you have been playing him along, making all of us wait and wonder — oh, Jo, how could you?" To Joanna's dismay Lydia burst into tears. "You might at least have said something to me about your intentions. I thought you and I were the dearest of friends," she sobbed.
"Lydia, I honestly hadn't realized my marrying meant so much to you," Joanna said, suddenly ashamed of herself for teasing her cousin about a subject so close to the girl's heart.
"It's just that I thought — I wasn't entirely sure of your feelings, and now — oh, never mind!" She stopped abruptly and buried her face in her hands.
"And now?" Joanna prompted, determined to discover the cause of Lydia's distress. "Do tell me what upsets you so."
Silence came from the direction of the pillow.
"Perhaps you really are concerned that if I don't marry now that I have reached my majority, I will be condemned to a life of misery?"
Lydia shook her head.
"No?" Joanna thought hard, accustomed to playing this guessing game. For someone who chattered as much as Lydia, she could be surprisingly reticent when it came to revealing her innermost thoughts.
It occurred to her that perhaps Lydia was more aware of Holtingham's unfortunate reputation than she'd realized. "Then it must be the opposite — you decided Lord Holtingham was going to ask me to marry him, and you've been worried that I might accept him? Could that be it?"
A tiny nod and another sob.
Joanna's heart ached with love for her cousin. As frivolous as she could be, Lydia always found time to worry about the people she loved. That she had thought for even one moment Joanna would be foolish enough to accept Holtingham made Joanna want to laugh, but perhaps Lydia saw nothing beyond her steadfast conviction that every woman secretly wanted to be married to someone of good position no matter what his reputation.
"Lydie — do listen," she said, covering Lydia's trembling fingers with her own. "You mustn't worry so about me, really you mustn't." She stroked Lydia's damp hair. "You should be concentrating only on making a full recovery, certainly not upsetting yourself over my situation. In any case, I strongly doubt Holtingham has any intention of offering for me. Unlike you, I am not all the rage."
Lydia looked up at her from between her fingers. "I d-do not b-believe you," she said, hiccupping. "You are only — only trying to make me feel b-better."
"Well, yes — I suppose I am," Joanna said, "if reassuring you means that I can put your mind at ease. You know that I love you better than anyone on this earth, and I cannot bear to see you unhappy, especially on my behalf."
"Then do nothing to make me so," Lydia said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I do love you, Jo, but sometimes I think you believe me nothing more than a silly little girl. I assure you that is not the case: I am perfectly grown, even if I might not seem so to you, and I have eyes in my head. I have not missed the way Holtingham follows you about."
"Forgive me if I was insensitive," Joanna said, dropping a kiss on her brow. "I did not mean to imply that you are unobservant in any way. You notice many things that entirely escape my attention." Indeed, Lydia was awake on every suit when it came to the ins and outs of courtship and had already accurately predicted seven matches in the four short months since she'd been presented at court, although in this case she had gone badly astray in her assumption.
"That is exactly my point," Lydia said. "You hardly notice anything important, including Holtingham's regard. I wish that I'd never brought the subject up, for you are bound to accept him now that you do know his intentions, and that would break my very heart."
An entirely different thought suddenly occurred to Joanna. "Lydie, my love," Joanna asked gently, "is the problem perhaps that you might want Holtingham for yourself? Please, you can tell me if that is the case."
"Don't be absurd," Lydia said impatiently. "Why would I want him? He's much too old for me. I am only worried for you, darling Jo. I feel that you must marry soon, just not him — he would make you very unhappy and — and I could not bear it." More tears trickled down her cheeks. "You have had too much unhappiness these last three years, with your parents dying in that awful accident." She wiped at her eyes. "It was so unfair."
Joanna decided that fever and disappointment were making Lydia overwrought far more than the idea of Holtingham marrying her spinster cousin. What Lydia needed was rest.
"Listen to me, my pet," she said gently as she stood up. "You must put the very idea of my marrying anyone out of your head, for it will only make it ache the more. I really must go if I'm to prepare to greet our guests. I do not want to keep them waiting."
"No — please do not leave me," Lydia cried, clutching at Joanna's hand. "Please do not, not yet!"
"Very well then," Joanna said, not wanting Lydia to work herself back into hysterics. "I'll stay just a little while longer until you feel you might sleep, but you must promise me you will close your eyes and make the effort."
Lydia sighed heavily, but she nodded and closed her eyes. Joanna sat back down and with her free hand began to stroke Lydia's hair rhythmically, idly rearranging the shining strands, admiring the way the deepening light turned the brown to gold.
She could only imagine the poor girl's frustration. Houseguests had been arriving all day, and various estates around the county accommodated those lesser lights who had been invited for the dance alone.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "The Sound of Snow"
by .
Copyright © 1999 Julia Jay Kendall.
Excerpted by permission of Diversion Publishing Corp..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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