A School for Brides by Patrice Kindl Page B

appear out of nowhere in that unnerving manner. However,
you
must not be frightened by them. I promise that they mean us no harm, and are all too anxious to return to the eternal darkness whence they come as quickly as possible. Does that suffice to answer your questions?” He smiled upon her in a kindly fashion.
    â€œActually, sir,” replied Miss Franklin, “it is the ‘least squares’ method for calculating the orbits of recurrent comets proposed by the mathematician Legendre that has captured my interest rather than any superstitious fears. Although I must say I find your opinion unwarrantably optimistic—we know so little about comets that I could not, myself, speak with such assurance about their harmless and retiring nature. I should think that if one were to collide with the Earth we would find the result quite disagreeable. However, I do not mean to frighten
you
, so pray disregard my more somber view.”
    â€œAh! Hum,” said Mr. Crabbe, and soon discovered a pressing need to decamp to the opposite side of the room and the company of less knowledgeable ladies.
    Miss Franklin and Miss Asquith shared a little smile; Miss Franklin’s was perhaps a bit frosty, but so rarely had she ever smiled at one of her own sex—or, indeed, at anyone—that it was something of an event.
    â€œI believe my mother is correct, after all,” she observed, “in saying that there are few things so disagreeable to a man as a woman who knows more than he does.”
    Miss Asquith laughed. “I am so sorry—I ought not to have done that, but he is a little too fond of himself for my taste.”
    Miss Franklin lifted her eyebrows and looked at the flushed and lovely face before her in silence. She had spent little of her life guessing at romances and discovering partialities, but she rather wondered if she was looking at one now. Hesitantly, like a waterbird venturing out onto hostile seas, she said at last, “He will be expected to marry a title, I suppose.”
    â€œOh no, not a title. The family needs money more than prestige. But he will be expected to marry an heiress of a prominent family, certainly. Not,” she said as Miss Franklin darted a glance in her direction, “
not
the daughter of a gin distiller—that goes without saying. If I were the daughter of a brewer I might have passed muster, but, while gentlemen do drink beer, it is the poor who drink gin. So,” Miss Asquith sat up a little straighter in her chair, “I have nothing whatever to lose by teaching him a more becoming modesty.”
    â€œI see,” said Miss Franklin, who was beginning for the first time in her life to feel a faint interest in affairs in the sphere of human relationships. “Yes, I see. These distinctions are curious and apparently quite trivial, but the consequences may be heavy for the individuals involved.”
    Miss Asquith replied, “Yes, a brewer of beer may even earn a peerage by a little judicious assistance to the political party in power, whereas a distiller of gin—” She broke off as, much to the surprise of both ladies, Mr. Crabbe returned, apparently unquenched and unsnubbed, with an opened letter in his hand.
    â€œDo you know, Miss Franklin, I believe I have taken your conversational measure and I hope soon to be in a position to supply you with a worthy partner.”
    Miss Franklin raised skeptical eyebrows, but Miss Asquith obliged him by inquiring, “No, really? Who?”
    â€œMy brother, the Reverend Mr. Rupert Crabbe, who is rector at Stonyfields, in the West Riding. I have just received a note informing me that he has some business connected with our father that he needs to discuss with me, and my hostess, Lady Boring, has been kind enough to invite him to stay at Gudgeon Park. Being an unmarried clergyman with an ample living and a small parish, he has little to occupy his time and has taken up a study of the natural