The summer days strung one after another in a cheery train. The sunny skies and the fingernail-sized bluebells sprouting in the tightest of crannies in the masonry brought the most audacious of hopes within reach if only one had the resilience. In the summers Mabel usually painted the most, wildflowers being her favourite subject, but this summer had become an exception. Step after step, she practiced the dances, while Mrs. Walton sweltered by the piano and Hazel sniggered.

"Oh, stop it, stop it, I beg you," Hazel would exclaim between fits of merriment. The fan concealed her mouth, but not the twinkling eyes. Sometimes they even glistened with a tear of glee. "Stop it, stop it!"

Mabel forgave the barbs, for Hazel's loyalty held like the Roman walls. She cracked up mercilessly, yet never once crumbled to hint at Mabel's heart's secret to Mrs. Walton. Perhaps she was afraid that the joke would lose its zest with sharing out. 

Even young Edward and Hugh were called upon to serve in Mabel's Great Matter, as Hazel titled their dancing lessons. A splendid idea, in Mrs. Walton's reckoning, since it would come useful for the boys in the nearest future. The twins didn't share their mother's opinion. They shot out, growing coltish that summer, as adolescent boys do. Shying away, barely applying themselves, nattering, catastrophically lacking deportment—and they still caught on all the figures and changes of Mrs. Walton's beloved cotillions before Mabel did.

At times, she wanted to throw her hands up in dismay and walk away. Then she would receive news about Everett's doings and rally. This is my battlefield, she thought, looking at the polished wood boards under her feet. My Waterloo. And blushed fiercely. And attacked her steps, figures, and changes with redoubled ardour.

The news of Everett trickled in with enough regularity to keep her on the battlements. While the gentleman in question still avoided public gatherings, he made fast friends with Hazel's most faithful admirer, Mr. Aldington, for sport and riding together. As such, Mabel started looking forward to Mr. Aldington's visits nearly as much as Hazel did. Sometimes she even fancied she appreciated them more than airhead Hazel.

He was a slow-speaking man, very phlegmatic and good-natured. His most distinctive trait was a penchant for telling winding stories that bored the listener to death, unless they picked on the lining of humour. That air of whimsy clung to Mr. Aldington's entire person subtly yet steadily.

The mothers of the unwed daughters doted on him, for he had a decent income, danced tirelessly if artlessly, talked kindly, and was, in his own way, easy to look at. Sure, his brown hair threatened to recede very soon at the temples, but for now, it was silky, suiting the rather large, hazelnut eyes. If only he didn't wear sideburns on the mistaken assumption that it should make his face less horse-like! Mabel never gathered courage to give him that advice.

In short, Mr. Aldington was pleasant in every way, and in no way outstanding.

His friendship with Everett confounded her, because the two men had nothing in common in her opinion, apart from the love of outdoor pursuits. Neither, for that matter, did she understand how Mr. Aldington could be so taken by Hazel. They weren't any match at all! But if he didn't pursue her sister with the faithfulness of a spaniel, he wouldn't be ensconced in their salon, gossiping about Everett—was it still called gossip when men did it?—to water her thirsting heart. Thank Heavens, thank Heavens for such peculiarities of human character!

***

"I must beg your forgiveness for not being able to make the next week's visit," Mr. Aldington said at dinner on one fair afternoon in July.

"If you are so tired of us, miss two weeks. Or three, or forever," Hazel replied with a pretty pout. "I care not."

"Miss Walton! How could you even suspect this of me!" Mr. Aldington hurried to her side and after some efforts caught her hand and brought it to his lips in a reverent kiss. "Nothing pleases more than basking in your presence, but the obligations of friendship call. I promised to accompany Everett Chesterton to London."

"Why, is he leaving?" Mabel's heart thudded. No, it couldn't be! He couldn't desert them so soon. And the ball! Her dancing lessons! "What of the ball?"

"I thought you did not care one whit about the ball?" Hazel needled.

"You know it's not true at all!" Mabel cried out. "Do you wish to tease me or let poor Mr. Aldington finish his explanation?"

Hazel folded her fan and waved it at Mr. Aldington. "Excuse my sister's manners and her endless interruptions."

Mabel exhaled, but couldn't very well protest without interrupting again, thus proving Hazel's point. Besides, the suspense was insufferable, so she clamped her teeth even as Hazel went on prolonging her agony under the guise of encouraging Mr. Aldington: "Please, tell us everything about your plan. Don't you dare leave out the smallest detail."

Mabel sent a glare above the rim of her fan. Have you finally run out of words, dear sister?

Mr. Aldington must have been of the same mind, for his gaze stayed on Hazel's lips. Even so, he didn't respond immediately, sitting straight in his chair, transfixed by the magnanimous smile Hazel pulled on.

"Mr. Aldington?" Mabel asked miserably. "Could you tell us?"

He shook himself a little, increasing the resemblance to a spaniel.

"You need not worry of being robbed of the ball, Miss Walton," he reassured her. "In fact, it will be even more splendid that you've imagined. We shall return with Everett's company. Lord Chesterton shall travel with us, as well as his mother, Lady Catherine, then his sister with her husband and children..."

"And Ev— Mr. Chesterton will return with you for certain?"

"Yes, Miss Walton, this is what I am telling you. He, and some others."

Mabel leaned back happily, then straightened up when her mother's sharp glance stopped at her. The rest of the gossip came to her through the haze of contentment, golden and warm like the sunlight.

This coterie planned to stay in the Lake District for what would remain of August. They used to do it every year, apparently, but the habit had died out with the old Lord Chesterton's passing seven years ago. It was before her debut in the society, and Everett must have still been in the navy, so it was all the same to her. The important thing was that Everett was coming back.

"Lord Chesterton, the new one that is, must have been overwhelmed by the affairs of the family he had to look after in such a young age," Mr. Aldington went on, but Mabel stopped listening. 

Who cared about Caliban's affairs or his unfortunate youth? Her ball, her chance to dance with Everett, to talk to him was approaching. She could barely breathe with happiness, but Hazel creased her brows upon Mr. Aldington's departure.

"If Mr. Aldington doesn't make an offer for my hand at this ball, I think I must look elsewhere for a suitor," Hazel said.

"Horse feathers!" Mrs. Walton chided. "Do not give me a fright, my dear! I have my heart all set on you moving into the Beddington House. Mark my words, Mr. Aldington adores you and should propose soon. We yet have time for the banns to be read, newspapers put up a proper announcement and for the wedding before the year is out."

Mabel saw by Hazel's face that she was not convinced.

Mrs. Walton must have spotted it too, because she continued even more hotly. "And who should Mr. Aldington marry if not you?"

"Why, how about Lizzie Pelham?" Hazel asked, smoothing away the lace falling down her sloping shoulder to the best effect.

Mabel lifted her head to take a closer look at her sister's face, for the quiver of uncertainty startled her. Hazel was worried? Hazel?

Mrs. Walton swept the objections away. "Pooh! He doesn't like the Pelham girl at all. There is no girl more beautiful in our parish than you, Hazel, and all the way to Cumbria."

"Even all the way to Cumbria, truly?" Hazel's little smirk was adorable.

"I dare say so," Mrs. Walton said with an air that this was the gospel truth. "I am not worried about the matter, and neither should you. It is Mabel who's on my mind."

Mabel sighed in resignation. Her mother was now on her favourite subject. It would be easier to halt a boulder rolling down the hillside. "Yes, I am worried about her. Once you are wed, Hazel, it will become that much more apparent that she is not married yet."

Mrs. Walton darted a look at Mabel's father. He, as was his chief habit during such discussions, pretended to be engrossed in his journal. Mrs. Walton sniffled at witnessing his unwillingness to share her burden.

"I have been applying myself to dancing, Mother," Mabel pointed out.

"I know, my dear, and commend you on such efforts, but you know the challenges of our sad times." She glanced at her husband again, found no succor and sighed. "Because once some useless person declares a girl a spinster in some other useless person's hearing, there is no shaking off this unfortunate opinion. Our neighbours are good people, but some are too quick to judge. I don't hold them in high esteem and... Hazel, would you stop laughing?"

"Sorry Mother," Hazel said, turning away.

"You shouldn't wear yourself with worry. If I shall not find a suitable husband this season, I will start looking for a position as a governess."

Mabel didn't expect her morose words to cause a cataclysm.

"Balderdash!" Mrs. Walton pressed her hands to her chest, as if she were about to swoon again. "Edmund, you must forbid this nonsense immediately!"

Mr. Walton gazed above his glasses. "Yes, dearest, I agree. Mabel, don't bring this arrant idea up again. You have no need of employment."

If in his view this closed the matter, Mrs. Waltons was unsatisfied. "Where do you even get such peculiar notions? It must be the influence of the insipid new books Miss Carter lends you! I shall give her a piece of my mind about it."

"But the girls always marry at the end in these books to very suitable men," Hazel inserted, arranging her lace again.

"Oh, who cares about what happens in the books!" Mrs. Walton huffed. "Why are we wasting time talking about them?"

"I—" The proposition she'd blurted out was new to her, but she thought it reasonable. "I thought it to be a reasonable course."

"Pooh! It won't do at all." Her mother said. "My chief point is that losing the sight of reality for dreams is dangerous."

"Love requires a certain amount of dreaming."

"Dreams are poof and gone. You should not dally and look more appreciatively, for example, upon the poor Mr. Berkshire."

Mabel barely contained a shudder. Mr. Berkshire was the distant cousin that Mr. Aldington was very fond of, and that was the only quality to recommend him. "Please, relieve me of the duty to encourage Mr. Berkshire, Mother! Do you really wish for me to marry someone twice my age and a widower already with children?"

Mrs. Walton pursed her lips. "I only wish for you to find happiness, and he is a doctor with a successful practice and respected by everyone, not a fantasy."

Her gaze told Mabel that in her opinion no one better than Mr. Berkshire would ever take interest in her. Certainly not someone as striking as Everett Chesterton, so chasing that delusion was wasteful. Hazel had told her the same.

Her insides trembled. What if they were right? What if all her hopes to win Everett's affections were frustrated? What was a person to do when no one she wanted took interest in her?

You know what.

She did. Her mother could bristle now, but in a year or five, she'd only be too happy if Mabel took position instead of creeping around the house unhappily. But she couldn't very well say that, so she clasped her arms to steady her quivering stomach and said as calmly as she could: "Thank you, Mother, I shall think about that."

The promise mollified Mrs. Walton better than the smelling salts.

"I knew you would come around." It was as clear as the morning sky that she already appointed Mabel as 'my eldest, the Doctor's Wife'.

"Perhaps, you can play a little music now? With the ball confirmed to be so soon, I want to practice the dances." Mabel circumvented any further conversation tactfully. She just had to hold out until August or September, and then... then things would be decided.

"Now, that's a commendable attitude," Mrs Walton replied, going to the piano and beaming with pride—and not a shadow of suspicion. "This is sure to be the event of the entire season."

For the love Mabel gleaned in this willingness, she forgave her mother's frustrating infatuation with Mr. Berkshire's candidature, like she forgave Hazel for all the teasing.

To ruin the benevolence that filled her to the brim, Hazel winked at her. "Try as hard as you may, you will never get it right. You were not meant to dance, Mabel, no more than a cow in the meadow. Why do you even persist?"

"You know perfectly well why," Mabel replied through gritted teeth, and Hazel giggled. "There, dearest sister, you shall find no purchase either."

Faced with such an adversary on the battlefield, Mabel had only one recourse.

She danced.