”Making an Impression”

It would take me no time at all to write a brilliant how-to-guide on making first impressions. Included in its opening chapters would be my best advice on future follow through, or their opposites and most disastrous extremes — how to escape with your head when an enraged husband is chasing you through his castle.

I’ve heard them, the stories whispered about me in my roguish youth. To their truthfulness I will add a caution: Would it not be impossible for me to be in both Switzerland and London on the same evening? Thusly, the questionable behaviour of Lady Harrington was first blathered about by her intoxicated (a fact) younger brother, who had snickered that he had seen (possibly) a younger woman —who had looked a lot like me —and Lady Harrington slipping grapes between their lips whilst kissing in front of the fire.

Those were difficult years, and getting caught was not without injury. Whose business is it of yours?’ Never stopped anyone from gossiping or worse, jumping me in alleys. I learned to fight with an iron and nickel-plated walking stick that especially cracked hardest on exceptionally thick-headed ones.

During 1817, I calculated my odds of ever seeing my twenty-seventh year and had decided I urgently needed to disappear for a while. I chose the south of France.

It was during that particular hideaway while waiting on the storms up north to blow over that I began to see how my life might change for the better if I hopped off the unsteady track I was on and changed it for a lucky one. The answer was to master the art of social navigation. The spoken and unspoken secret languages of it I grew an abiding appreciation for because it hid me brilliantly when I needed it most.

I excelled at ’the game’ and hiding in plain sight, or sometimes not. On those occasions, my ’made for innuendo’ eyebrows would signal how lovely she and I could be as lovers. But Vere. I completely misjudged my chances with her, and at the very end I fear I’d made a fool of myself in Hastings.

How agonizing misjudging love is.

Sitting in my drawing room, I run a quick muscle check ensuring that my polite smile is still in place and not revealing the regretful pangs of my lovesickness.

So why now exactly have the Priestleys turned up at Shibden? With me being only days home, and much that requires my attention elsewhere I cannot be counted upon to be here yet, Miss Walker is brought to call upon me.

I wonder, while the servants are setting the trays for tea and cakes, is Miss Walker’s family having difficulty with her? Are the Priestleys here hoping that my legendary bonhomie will draw Miss Walker out of her shell?

Interrupting my train of thought along the lines of ’what is to be done to help Miss Walker’ the large hall clock and the even more deeply-toned one in the back of the library both chime precisely at four. I flip open my pocket watch and note that everything is just as I have set it, on time.

Satisfied, I stretch my arm across the back of the loveseat and lean in closer to my timid visitor. ”Miss Walker? What amuses you all day? Do tell me more about yourself.”

”Oh,” she blushes slightly, ”I wouldn’t know where to begin. My days spent would probably look foolish next to yours.”

Her answer puzzles me and not what I had expected, from a well-off lady of nearly thirty. ”How could you possibly think that?” I give her my best-encouraging smile. ”Surely, there is much of interest going-on at Lightcliffe.”

Her eyes cling to mine. ”Is there?”

The loneliness of ladies. Opium I fall for every time. I hear it thickening my voice, and I don’t stop myself. ”Perhaps, I should come and have a look? What do you think?”

”I’d be …” is all Miss Walker gets away before I interrupt her.

”Delighted. Good. Then it’s settled.” And I pour us more tea.