Free A Proper Pursuit by Lynn Austin Page A

abilities soared.
    “I found it rather frightening,” someone replied.
    “Did you? I quite enjoy thunder.”
    “As do I—providing it isn’t too loud.”
    “I don’t mind loud thunder as long as it isn’t accompanied by wind .”
    “Oh, yes. Wind!”
    “Too much wind can be quite vexing.”
    The ladies went on and on this way for some time, delicately sipping tea and discussing the merits of thunder and wind and several other weather-related phenomena, until I feared I might nod off. I hadn’t slept well the previous night as I’d nervously anticipated meeting my future husband. My eyes actually may have fallen closed in a prolonged blink when the hostess suddenly decided that the proper time had come to include me in the conversation.
    “Do you enjoy the summer months, Miss Hayes?”
    I felt the way I had in school whenever I’d been caught daydreaming— which was often. I gripped the teacup in my shaking fingers so it wouldn’t rattle. My heart raced as I formulated my reply.
    “Yes. I’ve always enjoyed summer. But then, I enjoy all of the seasons equally well. It’s so nice to live in a climate that offers a variety of seasons, so one doesn’t become bored with any of them. Don’t you agree?”
    I could tell by their smiles and nods of approval that I had answered well. I had spent hours practicing the art of conversation at school, and I knew that simply answering the question was insufficient. One must always add a question of one’s own to keep the conversation alive. Madame had compared a proper conversation to an elegant tennis match: “One must not only keep the ball in the air, but also return the serve with grace and finesse.”
    I knew I had passed my first test. But by the time Aunt Agnes and I finished our tea and took our leave—and I had bidden farewell to each woman by name, of course—I confess that I felt a bit disappointed. I hadn’t encountered my future husband.
    “That was for practice, Violet,” Aunt Agnes said as we settled into the carriage once again. “You did very well, by the way. But this next call is much more important.”
    “Oh? Why is that?”
    “Our next hostess, Mrs. Kent, has better social connections, for one thing. But more important, she has a very eligible grandson, as do some of the other ladies who will be calling on her. Mind you, there also may be young ladies your age present, so stay focused and make sure you don’t underestimate the competition.”
    “You mean we’ll be competing for the same suitors?”
    “Why, of course.”
    I couldn’t help smiling at the challenge. I realize that it was extremely unfeminine of me, but I enjoyed competition of any kind. I once tried to organize a betting pool at school where each girl would contribute two bits and the “pot” would be awarded to whoever scored the most points on an upcoming exam. But only one other girl besides Ruth and me had been willing to risk expulsion by taking part in a gambling ring—and none of us would risk it for only seventy-five cents. It was probably my competitive streak that contributed to my lack of interest in Herman Beckett; no other girl in Lockport seemed to want him.
    Aunt Agnes and I called at a stately mansion on Prairie Avenue next, and this time the conversation took a much more interesting turn, even if it did revolve around my appearance for a while.
    “Your niece is lovely, Agnes,” our hostess, Mrs. Kent, announced. “Where have you been hiding her all this time?”
    “Violet has been studying at one of the finest boarding schools in Illinois. She speaks French as if she’d grown up in Paris. And wait until you hear her skills on the piano. She’ll take your breath away!”
    Since my aunt had never heard me play the piano, her boast struck me as an astonishing leap of faith. I decided it would be prudent to begin practicing on my grandmother’s piano in my spare time.
    I was the center of attention as the ladies gathered around, sizing me up as if I