Born of Persuasion Read Free Page A

with excitement as she said the last line. “Had you seen the look on his face, there can be no doubt, none whatsoever, what he intends to ask. If we go now, right now, I bet we can find both Henry and Edward in the village.”
    Doubtless, Elizabeth would have riven me from Am Meerand had me flying down the lane had not Mama’s hands clutched my shoulders.
    “My word,” she said, sounding as if she’d been struck and could scarcely breathe.
    The weight of my betrayal increased as I drew my eyes up to her, but she was not looking at me. Her face, emptied of color, turned toward Mrs. Windham. Though Mama kept her voice pleasing, an intense shudder rippled through her arms as she tightened her grip on me. “Edith, surely you knew nothing of this. The girls are far too old for such antics. There might be rumors, misunderstandings.”
    I could scarcely draw breath. My only hope lay with Mrs. Windham, which did not promise much. Poor Mrs. Windham. At that time, her highest ambition was to keep Elizabeth’s name linked with the Auburns’. She looked nearly as dismayed as I felt.
    “Well, upon my word, Lucy,” was all she managed at first, tottering to join us. “Surely no one would mistake children . . .” Ill-advisedly, she gestured to Elizabeth, whose panting chest filled out her dress rather well. Mrs. Windham must have thought so too, for she frowned and quickly turned in my direction. Her eyes darted up and down my flat bodice before fluttering the lace she clutched in her hand toward me. “They are mere children. Who could possibly mistake their capers for more than that?”
    “Mr. Henry Auburn is nineteen now, is he not?” Mama’s voice was steel.
    Elizabeth, impatient to be off, rolled her eyes. Mama had never stood in her way; therefore she could not perceive the storm gathering above us.
    “Well . . . as I breathe,” Mrs. Windham said, “I am sure I cannot recount Master Henry’s age. Certainly he cannot be—” her face drooped—“as old as all that.”
    “Elizabeth?” Mama’s voice took on a crisp tone.
    The impatience drained from my friend’s countenance as realization sank in. Her face turned scarlet. “Ma’am?”
    “How old is Master Henry?” Mama did not ask Edward’s age, for I think even then she could not bring herself to speak his name.
    Elizabeth glanced at me for help. I felt like crying. Our perfect afternoons were ending, and there was nothing I could do.
    “He is nineteen, ma’am.”
    “Ah.” Mama fixed her stony gaze on Mrs. Windham. Her disapproval chilled even the misty air. “Surely you knew nothing of this scheme.”
    Mrs. Windham blinked as her mind absorbed the abrupt change. When Mama arched her eyebrows, Mrs. Windham seized her only chance of separating herself.
    “Upon my word, Elizabeth.” She grabbed Elizabeth’s upper arm and walloped her through her thick petticoats, propelling her toward the house. “Such notions! Such carrying on! Such a thing I would not have imagined from you.” She looked over her shoulder at Mama. “I had not thought she would suggest such a brazen act. Go find the Auburns in the village, indeed.” She raised her hand and larruped Elizabeth’s backside. “Get in the house! Do not let me hear one peep out of you. Of all the indecent, bald-faced . . .”
    Elizabeth wore too many petticoats to be much disturbed. She cast me a determined look that promised we would see Henry and Edward this summer, no matter what.
    Mama caught her meaning too, for her hand stopped trembling on my shoulder. From that moment forward, she became my jailor. Gone were my afternoon walks and Elizabeth’s and my trips to the village, where we wove through the merchant stalls and cried out greetings to those amongst our class.
    Mama found excuses not to visit Am Meer thereafter. The horse had clubfoot. The rain made it too muddy for safe passage. We needed to tend our garden. Her excuses were as lame as she claimed our horse was.
    Mrs. Windham