“It was they who suggested it.”
At my mother’s doubtful look, Daniel continued, “It isn’t as though this is a surprise. I believe Lady Rosthorn has been preparing for the wedding for at least half a year.”
“She’s probably in such a rush because she’s afraid you’ll put it off longer,” I said.
“Margaret!” my mother chided, but my father chuckled.
Daniel glared at me, and I shrugged. “You said yourself Lady Rosthorn is already prepared. How fortunate you could love someone for so long and have everything work out perfectly.”
“Margaret, really,” my mother said.
“Excuse me.” I stood. “I really am happy for you, Daniel. More so for Louisa, that she doesn’t have to wait any longer. I’m going to check on Alice.”
As I left the room, Daniel muttered, “She could have at least acted happy.”
“Don’t judge her too harshly, Daniel. Not now,” my father responded quietly.
Thirty-Eight
As the sun rose the next morning, I passed under the arbor and surveyed the small garden before me. Every bloom seemed tired, heads hanging, wearied from the long summer as though they, too, had felt the burden of the past week. I moved toward the bench, but stopped at spotting the bare spots of rough wood where the paint had flaked off. Even the paths felt more narrow and confined, as though the garden had shrunk in the days I’d been away.
I sat on the bench in defiance. Nothing had actually changed. Everything was just as it ought to have been.
Only the last time I’d sat on this bench had been because Lord Williams had pushed me onto it when he’d thought I was ill. It seemed so long ago, as if the memory belonged to someone else.
He couldn’t have thought I was actually ill. He must have been teasing, just a part of his attempt to win me over. It must also be why he’d asked me to call him by his first name.
Such an intimate thing, someone’s name. The way it embodied the whole of a person, the way Gregory conjured memories with just a word: a river, a rose garden, a smile inviting me to draw nearer, inviting me to focus on those lips, to hope for things that could never be.
Foolish names. I stood and strode out of the garden, down the path to the lake. Plucking a leaf from one of the trees that stood unmoving in the windless morning, I walked out onto the few rocks jutting into the lake, realizing that even the birds sang in hushed tones. Yet there, on the water, was the reflection I had so missed, the one the river could never provide. I was home.
But as I stared at the water’s mirror of the trees and the clouds and the sky, I realized the clouds appeared brown instead of the white they were in reality. The sky, too, was tinted a shade of green.
The murkiness of the water distorted the colors, making things appear different than they were.
I tossed the leaf into the lake. It sat unmoving, not even taking on enough water to sink.
The lack of movement mocked me. Had the lake always been so lifeless? So unchanging? And that smell—it wasn’t the freshness of water in the sun but the stink of decay and stagnation.
No. It couldn’t be. It was just today, just this moment—it was because there was no wind, because I’d been away, because of everything that had happened. Soon the lake would be what it had always been.
I left the rocks and continued my walk. But the more I walked, the more unsettled I felt. Perhaps some fish in the lake would be a good thing; it would add movement and life, at least.
When I returned, my mother was waiting for me. “You missed breakfast.”
“My apologies.”
She sighed. “There is some toast on the sideboard for you. Please hurry. I am going to pay a congratulatory visit to Louisa and her mother, and I suggest you accompany me. You have not seen Louisa since Alice fell ill.”
I missed Louisa. But I could not visit her. She would inquire about what had occurred at Lord Williams’s, and I couldn’t yet trust myself to recount all that had taken place without showing how it had affected me. “Will I be welcomed?” I hadn’t been there since discovering Edward’s infidelity, although admittedly my continued absence was more my doing than any formal exclusion from the Rosthorns.
“Of course you shall. They are to be family now. Besides, I request your attendance. And I expect you to exhibit more excitement for your friend than you did for your brother. We would not wish them to think we are in any way displeased with the union.”
“But she will want to know what occurred with Lord Williams.”
“We all wish to know that. However, we shall not stay long. And with talk revolving around the upcoming wedding, I doubt there will be enough time for the conversation to center on you.”
Chastened, I nodded.
As the carriage drew along the drive to the Rosthorn estate, I was astonished at how little had changed. A stand of trees had been removed off to the side and a bench swing stood in its place, while an area that had once been pastureland was now planted over in trees. But on the whole, it was as though the past years and all the hurt and confusion that had occurred within them had never taken place.
Would I one day feel this way about what had occurred with Lord Williams? It didn’t seem possible. I didn’t remember losing Edward hurting this much.
The carriage stopped in front of Sir Edward’s tan, stone home, larger than our own and more classical in style, and I paused. The grounds smelled of childhood and laughter, insignificant secrets and petty hurts. There were new sounds—a water fountain trickling in the garden and the calls of foreign birds that must have belonged to the aviary Sir Edward had constructed the previous year. But even with these changes, the essence of the estate had stayed the same.
We climbed the steps to the house, and the butler, Mr. Brands, opened the door.
“Mrs. Brinton. Miss Brinton.” He inclined his head.
I smiled into his familiar face, now creased with a few extra lines but still as foreboding as ever. “Brands. You’ve grown shorter.”
He scowled, but the glint of laughter in his eyes betrayed him. “I see you have not changed.”
Mrs. Hargreaves’s words came to mind, and I quietly replied, “Where is the benefit of change when one is practically perfect?”
“If Lady Rosthorn is receiving callers,” my mother cut in, casting me a look of exasperation, “we wish to pay our respects.”
“Yes, mum. Mr. Brinton and Miss Rosthorn are with her in the morning parlor. Might I offer my congratulations for a felicitous match?”
“Thank you, Brands,” my mother said, inclining her head.
He gestured toward the entry. “If you would follow me.”
I glanced about me at the light walls of the large hall as we climbed the stairs and turned left toward the morning parlor. The door was open, allowing me to see into the room. The drapes covering the long rectangular windows on the far wall had been changed from deep crimson to primrose, which suited the room much better, but the new drapes appeared to be the only change. The couch Louisa and her mother sat on, with Daniel standing hunched over its back peering at some papers Louisa and Lady Rosthorn held between them, was the same one we’d turned over and used as a fort when younger. The side chairs had been our shields, the table our castle walls.
“Mrs. Brinton and Miss Brinton,” Brands announced. The three occupants looked up.
“Eloise. Margaret,” Lady Rosthorn said with a smile. “How good of you to call. Please, do come in.”
As we walked into the room, Daniel turned over the papers that they had been looking at. What was on them that he didn’t want me to see?
I walked to Louisa and took her hands. “I am so happy for you, though I’m certain you could have done better.”
Daniel scowled, but Louisa shook her head, dismissing my words with a smile. “We were just going over the guest list for the engagement ball.”
Why hadn’t Daniel wished me to see the guest list?
My mother looked surprised. “Will there be time before the wedding?”
Lady Rosthorn gestured for us to sit. “We have decided to postpone the wedding for two months in the hopes that Alice will be well enough to attend.”
A lump formed in my throat at their consideration. My mother smiled. “That is very kind. Alice would hate to miss the wedding.”
“When is the ball?” I asked.
“One week.” Louisa beamed.
“We would like to assist you in whatever way possible,” my mother said.
“Thank you,” Lady Rosthorn replied. “We know you are busy nursing your daughter, and that, of course, should take priority. However, perhaps you would be so good as to provide a list of guests you would like to attend.”
My mother nodded and inquired further into the details. Daniel stood behind Louisa, a hand resting on her shoulder, and she continually glanced up at him to smile. I realized that with their engagement, I no longer possessed the greater claim to Louisa’s affection. Our relationship would be altered forever. I had lost my best friend.
After a few moments, my mother signaled to me and we both rose. “We will send over a few names.”
I hugged Louisa. “I am truly very happy for you.”
“Thank you,” she replied. “You will come early, will you not?”
“I will be there to ensure not a hair nor ruffle is out of place.”
Once back in the carriage, my mother said, “You lacked the enthusiasm I requested, but I do not think they noticed. It is a good match, and I will feel much easier once it is over. I only wish I could see you as happily settled. You will have to have a new gown. I was thinking green.”
“Blue. I want it to be blue.”
My mother frowned. “Are you certain?”
I nodded silently, trying not to wonder what it would be like to plan a wedding with Lady Williams while Lord Williams stood behind me.
Before Edward, all I had ever wanted was to be cherished as I knew Daniel would cherish Louisa. As I had thought Lord Williams would have cherished me.
What an utterly ridiculous desire.
Thirty-Nine
My father came into drawing room later that afternoon, halting my scales. “You have a caller.”
My hopes leapt. “Who is it?”
“Mr. Lundall.”
Would my foolishness at wishing to see Lord Williams never end?
“Would you like me to send him away?”
I hesitated. “Mr. Lundall came to the door? Like a regular caller?”
“Yes.”
This was something he had never done before. Perhaps something was wrong. “It is all right. I will see him.”
Mr. Lundall soon entered, hat in hand.
I stood. “Good afternoon, Mr. Lundall.”
He shifted his hat. “I hope I am not intruding.”
He had never worried about intruding before. “Not at all. Won’t you sit down?” I motioned toward a chair and took a seat near it. He sat and unconsciously fluffed the frilly white cuffs of his shirt, ensuring they created even circles around his wrists. With his red waistcoat and light blue coat, he looked almost normal.
“Your sister is recovering. I am very glad to hear it.”
“Thank you.”
He seemed in no hurry to continue the conversation. “Is there something I can do for you?” I asked.
Mr. Lundall nodded.
I waited. When he said no more, I prodded, “I would very much like to know what it is.”
He seemed to inhale a giant breath. “Miss Brinton, I have made no pretense of my desire for your hand. I am here to ask you one final time, please make me the happiest of men and be my wife.”
I should not have been surprised. And yet his manner was so different, so much less affected than normal, that I was taken off guard.
He continued, “I know I am not your first choice, that your heart belongs with another. Yet, here I am. I cannot promise you a title, for I do not possess one to offer. But you’ll be treated with all the courtesy and admiration you deserve.”
I scrutinized him. He seemed in earnest. Yet why would any man persist in pursuing a woman so determined to reject him? “If I may be so bold as to ask, why do you continue to court me when I have never encouraged you?”
“I thought it was obvious.” He flicked an imaginary speck from his glove.
“You have declared your attraction to me, but I do not flatter myself that it is strong enough to overcome every other obstacle.”
He frowned. “Your radiant appearance is merely an added benefit to the match. But, no, that is not the reason I seek your hand.”
“Then why, sir?”
“You are a damsel in distress, are you not? I saw it the moment I laid eyes on you. The anguish written into your every movement convinced me that I was the man to change that.”
He could not be serious. “You have pursued me all this time because I was unhappy when we first met?”
“My dear Miss Brinton, you were not merely unhappy. It was as though you would never smile again. I shall never forget; you were wandering the garden area of the park, and when I inquired after you it was related that your engagement some months before had ended in the most egregious manner. I instantly set about to rescue you from your despair.”
I gaped at him. This man did not care anything for me. All this time his only wish had been to become someone’s knight in shining armor. He, not Mr. Northam, had been my perfect choice all along. My heart would be safe with him and, it would seem, he would never expect love in return. Only contentment.
Could I be content with him? No matter how sweet his words nor how tender his touch, he would never move my heart the way Lord Williams had. I would be entirely safe with him.
Yet I ached for the way Lord Williams’s presence had filled me. With Mr. Lundall, I would always be empty.
But that is what I had wanted. What I had promised to secure.
Could I do it?
I stood and faced the window. “You still wish to marry me, though there will never be love between us?”
He stood and stepped toward me, though it took a moment for him to respond. “Yes.”
I turned and took in his determined smile and the trace of hope in his eyes. There was no mistaking that he was a kind man. A woman could do much worse in life than choosing him for a companion, even if it meant altering her ways to conform to those of a dandy. A patient woman might curb his flair. In time he would most likely become the best of companions. He would always be good looking.
For one brief moment, I allowed myself to imagine what marriage to him would be like. He would never mistreat me, of that I was certain. And I would have some measure of freedom with him, probably more than most women obtained from their husbands. I might even grow to be content.
I would do it. I would tell him yes and let him rescue me from my foolishness and my selfishness and my longing for Lord Williams. I would accept his offer, and he would take me away from the past, away from this place, away from my memories of hurtful love.
Away to some place different, yes. But not away from who I was.
I would merely be changing one place of stagnation for another. I wouldn’t really be changing anything except location and marital status. I wouldn’t be free.
Neither would he.
What good was the future if it contained only the prison of the past?
“Mr. Lundall.” I hesitated, then placed my hand lightly on his arm. “I wish you to know that I appreciate your attentions and your offer. If I were a wiser woman, I am certain I would accept you. But I do not love you. I am afraid I cannot marry without that love.”
“I do not need your love.” His eyes pleaded for it to be true though his
voice betrayed his doubt.
I dropped my hand. “You may not, but I need to love the man I marry. And I expect love in return. Marriage would become no more than a prison for us both.”
After a moment of quiet, he asked, “You are certain?”
No. I wasn’t certain. He might be the last man to ever offer for me. And then what would become of me?
But I was certain that remaining as I was would not free me.
I wanted to be free. “Yes,” I replied.
Mr. Lundall’s smile was sad and resigned. “Very well.” He put his hat on. “I bid you a good day.” Then he turned and walked out of the room.
Forty
I settled myself at the piano after dinner a few days later with a collection of music before me. Daniel approached a short while later. “Leave off playing, Margaret. Come join me for a game of chess.”
“No, thank you.”
“How about cards, then? I’ll persuade mother and father to join us.”
“Mother never plays cards. Besides, I do not feel like a game tonight.”
“I suppose this has nothing to do with a certain someone? Is it safe to say his name?”
I stopped playing. “I cannot think who you mean.”
“This is so much worse than after Edward. These morose songs on the piano, the lack of a proper display of character—even Louisa commented on it.”
It was worse than with Edward. So much worse, in fact, that I began to doubt I’d even been in love with Edward. Perhaps I’d only ever been in love with the idea of him. Because I had never felt this empty before, as though everything within me had been washed away and all that was left was this pain that made it difficult to breathe.
Last time, everyone had expected me to mourn. It had been acceptable to show my grief. This time, however, it wasn’t. And it appeared I hadn’t been doing a good enough job at hiding it. I’d do better. Be better.
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