The Country House Courtship Read Online Free PDF Page B

coming visitor.
    By this time next year
, she thought to herself
, I shall likely be married to a fine gentleman, and my house, if not quite as elegant as Aspindon, will be richly appointed and pleasing to anyone.
    â€œWill you play, Beatrice? Shall we try to guess at the sort of man who is on his way?” her mama asked her.
    â€œBy all means!” Beatrice smiled. “This will be diverting.” She loved a good game, but somehow had convinced herself that a calmness of manner was her trademark. She must not be thought of as a flighty young girl who grew excited at the least cause, or gave way to much mirth. Her nature could not be grave, but of a decidedly serious bent. She did, after all, read poetry and novels, and a few (a very few) other books.
    Beatrice saw that everyone was looking at her, and she asked, brightly, “Shall I begin, then?”
    â€œYes, do,” said Ariana, noting for the thousandth time how much the girl had grown. She was little Beatrice no longer! Ariana watched affectionately while her sister spoke, taking note of her sturdy eyebrows that matched the hue of her hair and the strong features that hinted at a boldness of character, vivid imagination, and mischievous bent that showed primarily in the sparkle of her hazel green eyes. Since childhood Beatrice had shown a propensity to enjoy social occasions, and Ariana marveled that she had not changed in that respect. She was smiling while she thought on how to characterize the mysterious visitor to come, and Ariana had to allow that when she smiled, Beatrice could be called beautiful. She was at the dawn of womanhood, her elder sister thought. And yet, so young.
    Beatrice thought for a moment longer, and then said, “I think…it will be a man who has long been a curate, and will be hankering to become a vicar.”
    Mrs. Royleforst opined, looking around, “Well, yes, of course, they all do. Perpetual curates! No meaner prison in all Britain for a gentleman!”
    â€œMy dear ma’am,” Ariana hastened to reply. “I should say not. That is, there are many curates who are happily situated—”
    â€œAnd twice as many who are well nigh starving,” the older lady added smoothly. “Curates are nothing but gentlemen in a respectable debtor’s prison called the Church. Come, come, Ariana, even you cannot defend our religion in this case; it cannot be. Pluralism, you well know, is a direct result of too many curacies offering such mean stipends as no proper gentleman can live on! I quite sympathize with poor curates, you see.”
    Ariana had to smile. “I can see, and I commend it in you. Indeed, I too feel most strongly for the plight of poor churchmen, you must believe me.”
    Beatrice, meanwhile, growing bored, scrunched up her face and said, “You must let me finish my caricature: I think—he is poor, exceedingly thin, and exceedingly dull in his conversation.” (The others chuckled.) “He will insist upon calling just when you are prepared to dine, will accept your gracious invitation to join you, and will afterward drink port or claret while he bores Mr. Mornay to distraction (She peeked at the dark eyes across the room and was pleased to find them upon her with a look of small amusement.) and refuse to play cards, or dance, or be amiable.” She smiled a little smugly.
    Ariana laughed. “You have painted an ogre! Why is your opinion of a stranger so decidedly gloomy? What is to answer for it, particularly when you have the agreeable Mr. Timmons as your model for a vicar?”
    Mrs. Forsythe asked, “Do you despise the profession?”
    â€œNo!” Beatrice said, looking around innocently. “Only, now I think on it, a man must do very well in the Church if he is to live as a gentleman, as Mrs. Royleforst says. He cannot make his fortune so well as a soldier or military man, having no recourse to the opportunities that war and travel