Keeping the Castle Read Free

marry and establish independent households. Of course, given the size of their dowries, they would no doubt succeed some day.
    “I saw Godalming leaving,” observed Prudence. She was the elder, with a broad, flat face and figure, and few pretensions to beauty. Her favorite pastime was collecting quotations on the subject of death and mortality. She wrote them out in an elegant hand, decorated them with sketches of weeping willows and mourning urns, bound them up in an album labeled “Memento Mori,” and then gloated over them. “He seemed in a bit of a hurry. I trust you did not chase him away with that indiscreet tongue of yours, Althea.”
    “Indeed, I am afraid I did, Prudence. We shall see him no more.”
    Charity seemed much put out. “I call that selfish of you, Althea! If you didn’t want him, it might have occurred to you that Pru and I . . . well, we enjoyed his company. He is a most eligible young man.” Charity was several years younger than her sister, with a graceful figure, a great many spit curls plastered over her forehead, and a mean little face like a gooseberry.
    “My apologies,” I said, bending my head to hide a smile. I was quite certain that Mr. Godalming’s proposal had been as slow in coming as it was only because he found it a struggle to make up his mind to marry into a family containing such as Prudence and Charity. “Perhaps you will see him at Lord Boring’s ball. I promise to fade into the background so that he will not be frightened away.”
    Charity said, “See that you do, then. I know that Prudence is partial to him,” and she cast a sly smile at her sister. Prudence preened herself.
    My mama and I exchanged glances. Of the two sisters, Charity was by far the more attractive—if it were possible to ignore the sharp expression in her eyes and the pinching of her lips, one might call her pretty. She compensated for this, however, by possessing a character as acerbic as undiluted lemon juice.
    My mother was all kindness, as always. “I hope you both will have a delightful ball. Indeed, I may say I hope everyone does; we need a little gaiety after the long winter.”
    “I am looking forward to it,” I said, which was an understatement. Lord Boring’s upcoming ball was likely to bring whole flocks of eligible men from London, most of whom had yet to lay eyes on any of us. In light of this fact, it was almost a blessing that I had not thrown myself away on the likes of Mr. Godalming.
    On the other hand, up here in the North of England, in a small, rural neighborhood, there were few single men with either a name or an income sufficiently good to make an offer of marriage to us. Mr. Godalming had been one of those few, and I had frittered him away. I could not blame my stepsisters for being annoyed with me.
    Still, Lord Boring’s upcoming ball was to put all to rights; we smiled upon each other and thought of eligible men.

2
    AT THIS MOMENT OUR ancient butler, Greengages, tottered into the room to announce our neighbor Miss Hopkins. She followed hard upon his heels into the room; indeed, she burst in upon us with such lack of cere-mony that my mother started up from her seat in alarm.
    “How do you do, Clara? I hope all is well?”
    “Oh, yes, madam! I do beg you will forgive me my haste. I am so anxious to bring you the latest news that I cannot control my emotions.”
    Miss Hopkins was twenty-seven years old, the same age as Prudence. Her fortune was modest, but sufficient to support her in the event that she did not marry. She was rather plain, easily excitable, and not very sensible, but on the whole good-natured, all of which made her a valuable friend and confidante to my sisters.
    “Has there been some great military victory at sea, Clara?” I enquired, without supposing anything of the sort. “Is Napoleon defeated, or the king dying?”
    Miss Hopkins gave a small shriek and seized upon my last suggestion. “The king dying? No, indeed! Why should he be? No, my