A Lady Never Tells(32)
“I don’t know. Oh, Mary …” Rose’s voice caught. “I wish we could go home!”
Mary turned and hugged her sister. “Rose! Dearest, don’t cry. Are you so unhappy here?”
Rose swallowed hard and stepped back, giving Mary a small smile. “No, of course not. I’m being foolish. No doubt I am a bit tired. It is all so strange.”
She went over to sit down in front of the vanity and take the pins from her hair. Mary shrugged out of her unfastened dress and changed into her nightgown, watching her sister closely.
“It is strange,” Mary admitted. “But I am sure we will become used to it after a while.”
“No doubt.” Rose sighed. “It’s just that I miss home.”
“I know. I do too.”
“Here everything we do is wrong. Our clothes are out of fashion—no, worse than that. We looked like Quakers tonight compared to those other women.”
“Mmm. Poor Quakers, at that.”
Rose smiled faintly at her sister’s wry comment. “Yes. Very poor Quakers. I know it’s vain of me, but I don’t think I can bear to look dowdy everywhere we go! Even the men dress more elegantly than we do.”
“You could never look dowdy,” Mary assured her. “Even in rags, you would far outshine the other women there.”
“You, of course, are not at all prejudiced.” Rose flashed a fond smile at Mary. “You are far prettier than any of them, too, but still … weren’t you embarrassed? I felt like a fool; I know they thought we were so provincial we didn’t know how to dress.” She sighed, then added, “Of course, I guess we are. Even after what Mama told us, I never dreamed they went to supper looking like they were going to the Governor’s Ball.”
“I felt out of place,” Mary admitted. “We are out of place.”
“The servants think we are odd,” Rose went on. “Nothing looks familiar. I’m scared to touch anything in this house for fear I might harm it. Our relatives hate us and wish we had not come.”
“I am sure they do not hate you. Cousin Fitz seems quite nice and friendly. He didn’t act proud or offended. Indeed, I am quite certain he was laughing during our … performance.”
Rose met her sister’s eyes in the mirror, grinning. “It was awful of us, wasn’t it, to horrify them so?”
“Terrible,” Mary agreed, grinning back. “But I could not keep from … exaggerating.”
“Exaggerating! I am quite certain that you did not carry the rifle into the fields to ward off Indians. Why, you were no more than ten when we left the farm. And I don’t recall any Indians.”
“That may have been a bit of a lie. Still, we did live above the tavern and work there. And there were fights from time to time.”
“I can’t be sorry we said those things,” Rose admitted. “I could not resist when I saw the shock on their faces.”
“I know. Still, one of them was not so awful. Aunt Cynthia actually smiled at us, and she seemed to wish she’d heard from Mama.”
“That’s true.”
“Perhaps the others are not as bad as they appear. We should try harder—be more civil to them. Once they get to know you, I am sure that even our aunts will come to love you. Everyone does, after all.”#p#分页标题#e#
Rose grimaced. “Don’t be silly. Not everyone.”
“Well, perhaps there is some person whose soul is so shriveled that he cannot love you. But I do not know who he might be.”
“Sam Treadwell’s father,” Rose said with a touch of bitterness.
Mary glanced at her sister, surprised by her tone. “The mill owner? Pah! He scarcely knows you.”
“He knows me well enough to say that a tavernkeeper’s daughter is not good enough for his son.”
“What?” Mary went over and knelt beside her sister. “Did he actually say that? Did Sam Treadwell ask you to marry him?”
“No, of course not. He knows his father would not allow it. And Sam would never go against his father.” Rose began to yank her brush through her hair with a good bit more force than was necessary.
Mary gaped at her sister. Sam Treadwell was one of many men who always seemed to be hovering about Rose back home. He was a good-looking, good-natured fellow, but he had never stood out in any way to Mary. And while she could remember Rose talking about Sam now and then, relating some bit of news he had told her or some witticism he had made, she could not recall Rose ever stating a preference for him.
“Rose! Do you—do you have feelings for Sam?”