The Marriage Mart

by Teresa DesJardien

  Now they’d dismounted to walk, letting the animals regain their wind, or perhaps it was themselves they wished to indulge a little. Mary grew in appreciation for the peacefulness of the day--it proved to be a balm to ruffled emotions and an unsteady mind.

  She watched John as she led her horse by the reins, drinking in the sight of her dearest friend as she knew she would seldom, if ever, have the chance to do once she was married. Gladys had helped in that, in calming her, just by being another person who knew the most hidden secret in Mary’s heart. A heart she accepted she must determine, must train, to cherish a man other than this dear, special, beloved one.

  She allowed shivers to run up and down her spine, not stifled nor dwelled upon, but merely a fact of life and time such as it was right now, just this minute. Today it was at first John’s hands she noted; they were strong, capable, their movements reflecting the wealth of knowledge and experience behind that well-formed forehead. His natural refinement was even seen in so little a thing as the way he held the reins--was there ever a more graceful man born? Then there was the way his long legs stretched out as he walked, the angle of his head as he listened to the sounds around him, how he lifted an arm to point out some place to her--everything filled her eyes, her ears, her thoughts, until she had to close her eyes and tell herself, yet again, to recall that invisible window between them, a window now well and truly frosted by the agreement she had made with Lord Bretwyn.

  They came to a stretch of road flanked by only one house and dozens of large, old trees, and a little clearing on one side. It was plain John wished to stop and linger a while. There was a stone, big enough to sit on. She let him tie her horse to some low branches along with his, meanwhile claiming the stone and spreading her skirts wide, leaving him no room to sit beside her.

  “Isn’t it curious to find such greenery here? We’re not even twenty minutes from Mayfair.”

  “Indeed,” she said as she also gazed about. It was a lovely spot, the trees lowering their leaves in places so they almost touched the road.

  He pointed. “However, if you walk a minute in that direction, you’ll find a pub, and beyond that what looks like a village. Not another minute from there, you’d swear you were back in the heart of London.”

  She glanced about again. “That’s a pity. This little almost-park will be built over soon, I imagine.”

  “Well, it’s our space for now,” he declared, and crossed to where she sat. He flicked aside a bit of her skirt, and took a seat beside her despite her machinations. She inched over, only to realize she’d run out of room. She stifled a sigh and accepted they were to sit with the lengths of their thighs touching.

  A narrow rivulet ran in a depression between them and the road, having formed where only the many days of rain allowed for it. John bent, scooped up pebbles, and absently tossed them to disappear beneath the surface of the swift little current.

  “You are quiet this morning,” he said, pausing at his task to look at her fully. The sunlight burnished his hair to copper, and his eyes were the exact same shade as the morning sky above him.

  “I have something to tell you.”

  “I thought as much. You are not going to tell me you are bored with my simplemindedly wicked ways, are you? I shall try harder to be more deviant, if you should so desire.”

  She smiled then, and shook her head gently. It took her a moment to find the words, but at length she said quietly, “Charles has asked me to marry him.”

  For a moment he did nothing, not even to take a breath, but then he began throwing pebbles again. “Did you give him an answer?” he asked, staring at the place where the stones disappeared from sight.

  “I said yes.”

  He nodded a few times, concise little nods. “I must be the first to wish you happy then,” he said, suddenly coming to his feet. He leaned forward, rather stiffly, like a boy made to greet an unpopular aunt, and pressed a kiss upon Mary’s right cheek. “Charles is a lucky man,” he said as he stood up straight. “May you know every joy together, my dear.”

  He stepped back, giving one final throw, ridding his hands of the last of the pebbles. She gave him a wavery smile, which faded quickly. Before her throat tightened completely, she managed to get out, “Thank you.”

  He took a few steps around the clearing. Suddenly he stopped to say, “Well, this rather changes things, does it not? Bretwyn would not care to have me forever whisking you off to one escapade or another, I feel sure. But not to worry. I shall take myself a wife, and the four of us may arrange to have our paths cross frequently.”

  “I should…” She blinked furiously, refusing the tears pricking at her eyes, refusing to admit to herself she had wished for something much different than words of congratulations from him. Silly, of course, to have even pretended, even imagined he might declare his own affection for her ran too deep to allow her to marry another. Oh, yes, it was a foolish dream, one she had rightfully dismissed from the first moment they’d met, And, yet, bidden or not, a dream that has been extinguished must result in some pain, as if the ashes of her hopes were what caused her eyes to smart so sharply. “I should like that,” she managed to say.

  “Well, it’s time we headed back, isn’t it?” he said briskly. He crossed to her horse, and stood at the ready. “Come, I’ll help you mount.”

  He cupped his hands, ready for the foot she slid there after shakily rising to her feet. The feel of his hands on her--she could swear she felt them even through her half-boot--was an unexpected agony. She had to close her eyes and not think, and trust he would not throw her over the saddle. Once settled, albeit after a wild thump, she dared to open her eyes, only to find him staring up at her. “Mary? Are you hurt?”

  “Jitters,” she said through gritted teeth. “Wedding jitters, ’tis all.”

  “I can believe it. When I think of taking my own vows, I nearly faint with-- Mary!” he cried as she suddenly kicked her horse and flipped the reins, causing the animal to surge past him.

  “It’s a race. Meet you at Regent Park!” she called over her shoulder. Perhaps, by the time he caught up with her, the fast pace would explain her flushed face and teary eyes.

  But when he had nearly ridden abreast of her, suddenly the sight of his precious face, of the habitual amusement in his eyes, of even just the way he lifted a hand to hail her, was more than she could bear. “I must be off. I shall see you later, John,” she called, again spurring her horse forward, away from those earthly eyes of a fallen angel, lightest blue and clever, too clever to deceive for long when tears choked her throat.

  When she arrived home, she found her companion waiting for her in her room.

  “You’ve been riding with Lord Rothayne?” Mrs. Pennett asked.

  Her questioning look was at once replaced by concern when she saw her charge’s lower lip quiver. Mary tried to bluff for a moment, but then the tears slid from her eyes, and she found herself in Gladys’s caring arms. Gladys made some distressed noises over Mary’s bowed and weeping head, and went on to murmur, “Hush now, love. Life is peculiar. Time will soften the hurt. It’ll change your heart. Lord Bretwyn and you shall suit just fine, you’ll see. Hush now.” But there were tears in her eyes as well, tears for Mary’s heartache, and tears of regret that she’d done too little, or perhaps too much, to prevent this day’s anguish.

  ***

  “Sir Edmund. Lady Yardley.” John cast about for something else to say as he entered their home, but in the end was glad when the lady of the house filled the void.

  “Oh, quite well, my lord. And all the better for your unexpected visit today,” Sir Edmund said.

  One corner of John’s mouth rose in a ghost of a smile. “I am welcome then?” he asked, knowing that if they noted the slight hint of sarcasm in his tone, they would choose to ignore it.

  “Of course, of course. Always,’ Lady Yardley answered. “Allow me to let Annalee know you are here. I won’t be but a minute.”

  It was, in fact, ten minutes before th
e lady reappeared, her freshly dressed and coifed daughter in tow. John blinked, keeping his face free of his amazement to see the girl wearing dampened draperies at ten in the morning. Of course it was all the style, but one seldom encountered the look in broad daylight. If he’d had any doubts before, now it was quite clear to him--and indeed anyone in the world who should happen to enter the room--that Miss Annalee Yardley was endowed with sweetly rounded breasts, set high, the posture and position of her dark nipples only half-obscured. Gone was the bit of lace that might have hid her cleavage. Gone was the shawl that might have hinted at but never actually revealed, as now, the bounty beneath the shimmering gauze of her gown. John found himself pressing his lips together, and a glance at Sir Edmund showed him that the fellow took it as a sign of appreciation, rather than the truer act of struggling to suppress a guffaw.

  He began to have a sense of how young female lovelies must feel when they were blatantly wooed and pursued by those of his own gender. It was not a comfortable thing, this forwardness of manner, not for the recipient.

  That thought sobered him, for he knew full well it was possible that Miss Annalee wanted him for little more than his title and his comely countenance. Was this fetching creature old enough to even desire the comfort and security of a loving relationship? Was she, in fact, old enough to love?

  “I wondered if I might have a stroll about the garden with you again, Miss Yardley?” he asked blatantly.

  “Certainly, certainly,” interjected her father as the lady in question took on a glowing look of eagerness. “You wouldn’t care for a brandy first, would you?” Sir Edmund added, obviously hoping to take John aside long enough to grant his blessings.

  “It’s a bit too early for me, sir,” John replied drolly, verbally sidestepping the invitation.

  The lord and his lady exchanged looks. “I’ll see if I can locate Miss Russell,” Lady Yardley said, referring to the oft absent chaperone. Lady Yardley moved from the room at once. No doubt to an upstairs window, John thought to himself, there to watch them walk the lengths of the garden. From such a vantage point, the companion and the mama could determine together whether or not the precious daughter of the house was actually in need of--or handicapped by--the company of her companion.

  Miss Yardley accepted his arm, and John thought for a moment that perhaps he ought to insist on a shawl for her, or at least a bonnet, but then he mentally shrugged, and told himself she was young and healthy enough to withstand the effects of a breeze on a wetted gown. And if the garden light provided yet further glimpses of the lady’s form, well that had not been of his arranging, now had it?

  Sunlight adored the youthful skin and dark hair of the lady. Her cheeks began to glow a healthy pink at the touch of the breeze, and her dark hair in places glinted almost silver where rays of light touched her head. Soft curls fell about her face, while the bulk of her hair was pulled back and up, disguising her youth a bit. She was not an exception for seeking to be settled at the meager age of sixteen, but still her adolescence was, to John, a tick against being even a little serious with her. He managed to coax some smiles from her. Her hand on his sleeve was almost weightless, a reflection of her delicate construction, and her dark eyes were bright with a kind of excitement he was not too cynical to take as a compliment.

  The time had come upon him--not quite set in stone, but still feeling heavy as though one hung about his neck--when he must decide about the chit. She was ravishing, of that there could be no doubt, and she also obviously admired some, if not all, aspects of his own person and company. But could the girl speak? Or, rather, could she entertain, enlighten, amuse, challenge, set verbal sparks stinging about his ears, and cause him to listen to more than every other word she said? It was not fair to expect too much, for such youth must of necessity know less of the world than an old rake such as himself, but one could hope for signs of future talents, couldn’t one?

  “Annalee, tell me about yourself.” It was a flat sort of thing to say, not his usual flattering way with women, but along with the decision to decide had come the lack of desire to play at games with the innocent.

  “Oh, there is not much to tell,” she answered. She had a pleasant voice, but her answer grated on his nerves. It was exactly the answer any other girl would have given. It flashed through his mind that Mary would have gaily launched into a storm of words, telling and showing him exactly what she was made of, but Mary was the exception to the rule, and therefore could not be used as the unit by which others were measured.

  “No, in truth, Annalee, I wish to know something of you. Take, for instance…,” he thought a moment, and settled on, “do you have any pets?”

  “Papa has his hunting dogs, of course. He lets me feed them bits of beef sometimes. They adore Papa.”

  “Do you play with them?”

  “Play?” she laughed, a slight look of genuine surprise coming to her features. “I’m no longer a school miss, my lord,” she said. “Of course I do not play with the dogs.” She shook her head at the silliness of the question, but perhaps sensing something of his mood, she hastened to add, “Do you care for dogs, my lord?”

  “Care for? I haven’t any of my own, but, yes, I guess you could say I have a care for dogs in general. I, too, grew up with hunting dogs. My father was very indulgent of them, and they had the run of the house. I used to ride upon the backs of the larger ones, until I grew too big for that, and had to settle for merely running with the pack.” He smiled at the memory.

  “You…you ran with the dogs? Through the house?” she said hesitantly, a smile flickering in and out of existence around her mouth.

  “Indeed I did. Would you care to hear me howl? I am quite accomplished at it. I can get a pack of almost any breed going.”

  She blinked slowly, then nodded, equally slowly. “Yes, of course, if you like, my lord.”

  “Call me John, please,” he said, even though the offer felt wrong the minute it slid off his tongue, and even as he pushed aside the idea of giving his demonstration. You could read the bewilderment on her face. She was doing her best to appear an adult, and he was testing her beyond her mama’s training, poor dear little thing. Instead he went on, “Tell me, have you ever traveled?”

  “Oh yes!” she cried with enthusiasm, obviously relieved with the change of topic. “My parents have taken me to Brussels, France, Prussia, and Italy. I speak a little of the languages, but I am only truly proficient in French. I did so enjoy seeing all the capitols. Rome was fascinating, even if Papa was very uncomfortable in the midst of ‘all that Papacy’, as he called it. Brussels was beautiful, but very cold when we were there. And Paris! Paris was simply heavenly! How I admired all the shops. Everything is so au courant. I felt a perfect dowd, though my gowns were new. And such hats! To put on a French chapeau is to never want to wear another plain English poke in your life!”

  “Did you attend any of the night life? I myself was always partial to simply strolling the Champs Elysees after dark, for that is when the city truly shows its face.”

  “Oh no, I would never venture out after dark, not in a strange city.”

  “But if I were to escort you? Keep you safe from any indecent types?” he said, re-testing the teasing waters, pleased to see she was not completely void of the ability to converse.

  He had expected her to smile and nod, so he was startled when she cried, “Oh no, I could not. Papa says it would be unsafe. And not only that, it would also cause others to question my judgment, if not my virtue.”

  “But if you and I--?” he cut himself short, not wanting to say exactly “if we should be married.”

  “My lord?”

  “If we were alone. Without your papa around. At all.”

  “Without Papa? Why would I go to Paris without Papa?”

  He gave a half-laugh, not sure what to make of her continued lack of sophistication. Was he glad she did not leap, as others might, to matrimonial thoughts? Was he merely unused to such greenness? Or could it all be a rus
e, a sly act of innocence? If so, that in itself was not all bad, for it showed she had some cleverness about her.

  “Ah, well, as to that…” he said, allowing the words to trail away. He shook his head, and turned the conversation even as he turned them down a side path in the garden. “What do you care to do of a day, Annalee?”

  As she began to describe a typical day, he found himself listening with only half an ear, as he tried to understand his tolerance of the girl. Normally he had no time for fools, but then again, he was far from convinced she was a fool. No, no, he could not mistake youthful incomprehension for foolishness. She was, as Mary had once said, merely gauche, in the same way that a new colt was gauche, and such simple, honest gaucherie was easily cured by time. She had the refinement of her raising, and if that could be coupled with a little polish and knowledge, she would be an admirable hostess and companion, he did not doubt.

  “…And I often spend at least an hour at the pianoforte, practicing my playing, and another hour with my voice instructor. I cannot like him, for he is harsh in his manners, but he has helped me to improve my voice.”

  “Ah, you sing. Would you sing some little thing for me now?” John asked, coming back from his pondering thoughts to latch unto this latest revelation.

  “Oh, I could not, my lord,” Annalee said, blushing a light, pretty pink.

  “Certainly you could. Who is there to hear? Your neighbors? I doubt it, and even if so, then they shall just have to endure us at our leisure.”

  “No, honestly, my lord…”

  “I tell you what. I shall embarrass myself first, so that you may easily best my efforts. How does that sound?”

  She did not shake or nod her head, so he began to sing anyway. He sang “Lads, to Your Steeds, Away, Away”, knowing his voice was fine enough if not excellent. When he finished he smiled at her and said, “Now it is your turn.”