by Abigail Agar
“Yes, well…when someone asks you to remain silent and they give a good reason for it, it can be difficult to refuse,” she said vaguely.
Reginald glanced ahead at his daughter to ensure all was still well. Marian seemed to continue in her delight of the ride and he was glad for it, wanting to continue the conversation he and Miss Jamison had begun.
“If I had confessed the truth to my mother, perhaps if I had been honest with her, she might have put a stop to my father’s actions sooner. She might have threatened him with leaving before he caused our family to fall from grace within society. I am confident that if she had, my father would not have allowed himself to stray so far,” she told him.
Reginald pondered the situation for a moment, trying to consider what it must have been like for her to be in such a difficult place. The same questions echoed in his mind about Mr. Jamison. What sort of father would leave his daughter with such a terrible secret? How could Mr. Jamison have allowed his daughter to suffer like that? And it was clearly still affecting Miss Jamison; had he never considered that?
“I am sorry you were left to carry the guilt. But it was not your fault. Your father ought to have been better than that. He ought never to have forced his own daughter to live his lie and pretend that all was well. He should have allowed you to be honest by telling your mother himself,” Reginald told her.
“Yes, but it is difficult to let go of our guilt, is it not?” she asked, turning to face him.
“Indeed, it is. But you were only a girl. You loved your father and wanted to see him happy,” he reasoned.
“Certainly. And he told me that my mother would be sad if she knew the truth. He gave me a great number of convincing reasons to remain silent on the matter. But I knew. Deep in my heart, I knew that what I was doing was wrong and that I ought to have told her,” Miss Jamison admitted.
Once more he saw that there was a lingering guilt within her, as if something more was inside, haunting her. Reginald wondered what it could be, but settled on the fact that she was still terribly upset on her mother’s behalf.
“So you wished for everyone to be happy. There is no wrong in that,” he reassured her.
She laughed guiltily. “Yes, I suppose we are able to see one another’s innocence where we see only our own guilt,” she pointed out, making eye contact with him once more.
Their eyes locked all over again, as if stuck in a dream. There were no horses or trees, no ponds or meadows. They saw only each other. Reginald felt it and he was certain that Miss Jamison did as well. They could not look away from each other for a very long time.
It must have been days, or even weeks, that passed before they managed to tear away their gazes.
But when Reginald did come back to himself when they did look away from one another, he knew that only a moment had been between them. A long moment, a beautiful one. And he could not let it go.
When he looked back at Miss Jamison, her eyes were shy and her cheeks red. She had the most exquisite blush and he wished to behold those blue eyes again. But she was not returning his gaze now, maintaining her own sense of propriety when he wished for nothing more than to throw it all away forever and indulge in the beauty of her features.
“Perhaps we ought to return,” Miss Jamison said in a soft voice as they finished a loop around the pond.
Up ahead, Marian was still bonding with her horse, speaking kind words to the mare and enjoying every moment. Her dark hair fell in contrast to the white mane of the horse upon which she rode, and he wished that an artist could capture the moment in a painting that he might save forever.
The little girl was everything to him and his heart burned with care for her and with a desire to protect her not only from the dangers of things like riding a horse. Reginald wished to protect her from the dangers of society, and the wounds being a part of it might cause. He sought to keep her safe from all of those things which might seek to destroy her.
“Yes, I think that would be wise,” he replied. “But we shall ensure that we come out again. I see how much Marian loves it and I have enjoyed speaking with you as we rode,” he said in full honesty.
“Thank you, my lord. The pleasure has been mine,” she replied with a gentle bow of her head.
The delicacy and strength of her actions were graceful and proper. But Reginald knew that this was a woman who ought to have been elevated back into her rank. There was nothing so terrible about being a governess, but her particular graces were being wasted and unappreciated.
Nevertheless, Reginald allowed her to ride in the quiet that she seemed to prefer, allowing her to keep her horse at just a pace ahead of his own. And with all that was happening, and all that had been spoken between them, Reginald decided that for just a moment he would allow himself to indulge and follow her lead.
Chapter 20
Reginald watched as Miss Jamison’s mare led the way and he called for Marian to come and ride beside him. He wanted to see more of his daughter’s excitement, to remind himself of the importance of these moments. The way her eyes had lit up was infectious.
“My dear, have you enjoyed the ride?” he asked.
His daughter sidled up to him, bouncing steadily on her mare, a great deal shorter than he. She looked the part of a princess and it was precisely how he had always imagined her to look.
Marian was still the very image of him. He had often wished she held more of her mother in her face that the memory of his late wife would go on, but it was easier that she did not.
He was not plagued by his daughter every time he looked at her. Indeed, he had to look closely at her chin or her cheekbones in order to see anything of her mother. The rest was all his own face reflected back in a feminine way.
“Oh, Papa, more than I even imagined! Is it always this wonderful? Is it truly this amazing every time you go for a ride?” she inquired.
Reginald kept his face as steady as he could. He wanted his daughter to believe that it was always as magical an adventure as she had felt it to be that day. Despite the fact that he knew that riding could be painful, that it could end in loss, he nodded his head.
“Yes, my dear. It is always lovely,” he replied.
“So why have you not allowed me to go before?” she insisted, anger twitching between her brows.
Reginald sighed and tried to come to a thought he could answer with. Marian knew that her mother had died during a horse ride, but he did not wish for her to think on that just now and it was evident that she had not made the connection as to it being the reason for his hesitancy.
She was still young, a mere eleven years of age, and it seemed unkind to bring up the sadness of her loss in that moment. He would explain to her in greater detail one day why he had not wished for her to be near the horses, and why he himself had avoided them for the past few years.
“Well, as wonderful as horses are, there is a time for it and a time to avoid it. You are still young and I wished to keep you safe. As you grow older, you shall have a great number of opportunities to ride. But until then, you must remain with me and ride only at my approval,” he told her.
Marian nodded in agreement, a nonverbal promise that she would be obedient. It was one of the many characteristics she was developing as she had begun to acquiesce to the demands of others rather than forcing them to allow her to go her own way as she always had before.
A mere two and a half weeks had passed since her new governess had begun impacting her behaviour. Reginald realised that it had been a full four weeks since her previous governess, who had left the house in a fit of rage.
Thirteen governesses in two years. Each one of them angrier than the last when she left and each one treated worse than the previous by his own daughter. But now, here they were, moving forward and seeing promise for the first time in quite a while.
“Now, what has been your favourite part of the ride?” he asked.
“Talking to her,” Marian answered quickly. It was clear that she had bonded with her mare.<
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“Well, that is good, my dear,” he grinned. Having seen how much Marian was talking to the horse, he was unsurprised by this. She had evidently found a dear friend in the beast and it made him consider the loneliness of her life.
Children such as Marian had little opportunity to make other friends. She had no siblings and was stuck in the home nearly all the time. She would occasionally see other children at events, but it was not as though she was ever invited to balls at her age.
For a moment, Reginald made a mental note that he must arrange something soon for which daughters would have an opportunity to spend time with one another and that Marian might make a friend. After all, how else was she to learn to fit in with society and to let go of her selfish behaviours?
“What is her name, Papa?” Marian asked.
Reginald hesitated, having no idea if the mare even had a name.
“We shall have to ask the groom, for I have not been amongst the horses for quite some time so I do not know. In fact, I have scarcely given them a thought in years and wonder why we even kept them. I’m glad for it, seeing the joy you have now. But I fear that I have no idea of the name of your horse,” he confessed.
“If she has no name, may I choose one for her?” Marian asked.
“Certainly. What name would you give her?” he inquired.
She crinkled her nose in thought. “I don’t know yet, Papa, but I shall come up with something,” she confirmed.
Reginald tried to refrain from laughing and he looked ahead, watching Miss Jamison from behind and noting how her hair shone in the sunlight.
“She has very lovely hair, does she not?” Marian asked, apparently noting her father’s gaze.
“Your horse? Of course, my dear,” he replied, knowing very well that he had been caught and that Marian wanted to know his thoughts regarding the governess.
“Papa, not my horse! I mean Miss Jamison. Her hair is quite lovely. I wonder what it should look like if left down for all the world to see,” she considered dreamily.
For a moment, Reginald imagined it. Young women always wore their hair up, styled and modest. A governess especially was always seen with a low bun; anything to refrain from drawing attention to herself.
But Miss Jamison’s low bun was slipping and her hair was hanging enough that he could see the way it might cascade. It was truly exquisite and he couldn’t deny that. Of course, he would certainly not confess it to his daughter.
“Oh…well, I suppose,” he replied, hesitantly.
“Papa, do you think Miss Jamison is beautiful? I think she is. Do you?” Marian prodded, insistently.
Reginald glanced at his daughter but remained silent, not able to answer her when she was asking something so intimate.
Certainly, he found the governess to be beautiful. He tried to reason it with the fact that there were many beautiful young women in England and he could hardly choose one based solely on her looks. But he also knew that there was more to Miss Jamison than her beauty and that was the true reason that she had captured his attention so easily.
“Come, Papa. Answer me. I have seen you look at her often. And I think she is as lovely as she could possibly be,” Marian noted.
“My dear, you know that I am betrothed to Lady Ingles. It is improper for me to notice the beauty of any other woman,” he finally answered. There was nothing more that he could say.
But Reginald did understand that Marian was unlikely to leave the topic alone so he slowed his horse ever so slightly, and Marian’s mare did the same. He wanted to keep a bit of distance between himself and Miss Jamison so that she would not overhear them and know that she was being spoken of for her beauty. It was not proper at all for them to be discussing it.
“But that is just the thing, Papa. I do not understand why you would be marrying Lady Ingles. She is dull and simple. There is no reason you should feel any love towards her. Do you love her? Is there something about her which you find thrilling?” Marian asked, well beyond her years.
Reginald was often frustrated by his daughter’s intelligence and wished that he could prevent her from asking these things. How she was able to pick up on such things was beyond him, but he couldn’t deny that she was right.
He had certainly been noticing the governess of late, despite his betrothal. He knew that his union with Lady Ingles was reasonable and justified, but he had found himself distracted by the beauty of Miss Jamison quite often and was frequently enraptured by her.
But he had committed himself to another woman and he was not the sort of man to back out of something so sacred. He could not deny that Lady Ingles was also beautiful and he hoped that there was more to her than simply that.
She would bring the respect of society and would be viewed well as the mother of his daughter. England cared about image and hers was the sort of image that would be necessary. There were plenty of bachelors and fathers who would be fortunate to have a woman such as her at their sides and he knew that he ought to be glad to have been the one she said yes to.
“Lady Ingles is none of those things and you had best learn to respect her,” he replied, saying nothing more on it.
But Marian evidently had no desire to leave the subject alone, as he saw the expression on her face that showed she would continue speaking.
“Papa, you ought to marry a woman who is brave and intelligent. Someone like Miss Jamison. You and I both know that she is far superior to Lady Ingles,” she continued, saying the woman’s name with distaste.
“I know you dislike my betrothed, but that is not for you to decide. She is an excellent woman and shall make a wonderful mother for you. I insist that you give her a chance and that you learn to try to respect her, Marian. She is a good woman and you have not allowed her the opportunity to show it,” he said with impatience.
“I do not wish for her to be my mother,” she complained.
“That is not your decision. If you grew to know her, if you allowed her more than a few moments in your presence without rolling your eyes, you might recognise that she is truly someone who shall make an excellent addition to our family,” Reginald reminded her gently.
Even as he said it to his daughter, he tried to convince himself. She was a good woman, and she would make a good addition. He simply had to learn to care for her when it was difficult for him to believe that he could ever love her.
But love was not the important issue here and he reminded himself of that once more, pushing away all other thoughts.
“But why am I not to have a say in the woman whom you choose? If you are marrying someone in order to give me a mother, can I not decide who she is? Do you love Lady Ingles?” Marian pressed.
“Marian,” he said in a tone of warning. “You are too young for this discussion. We ought not to be speaking of the matter. The fact is, I have a fiancée and you shall do well to respect her. I have no desire to see you behave poorly towards her, and I wish that you would see that she is the best choice,” he said, although he no longer felt that he meant it.
“But why can you not marry someone like Miss Jamison?” Marian asked again.
Reginald gazed ahead at the woman who rode before them. He considered her, thought about all that he had seen in her up until that moment, her dignity and wisdom and the depth of her care for Marian.
“Because there is no woman like Miss Jamison…” he replied slowly and deliberately.
The realisation of it settled in his gut and he wondered why he had not seen it earlier. But it was too late for him now. He was committed elsewhere and Miss Jamison was not an option deemed appropriate by society.