Fife never got to breakfast; as he made his way downstairs, there was a commotion in the foyer, some bags by the door, and Abigail’s footman and butler having a quiet argument with two women. Before Fife could intervene, Abigail called for her to staff to stop and touched the arm of the taller woman. Fife recognized her as she turned. It was Helena, Marianne’s friend.
“I am so sorry,” Helena said as he approached. “Marianne and I must return to London at once. It’s urgent news from my family.”
Abigail immediately nodded, calling for her footman to take the bags out to the carriage. “Of course. My carriage will take you back immediately. I hope it’s nothing too troubling?”
Helena shook her head with a small smile. Catching sight of Fife, her face shifted into something close to guilt, but it was gone before he could comment on it. “I apologize that we cannot stay longer and that I must take Marianne from you, but I will need her.”
“Friends can be a balm in trying times,” Abigail said, reaching out for Marianne’s hand.
Marianne’s eyes were red, her demeanor much less than that of someone with the strength of character she so often displayed. Though she accepted the goodbye from Abigail, as she turned to the duke, her eyes widened and she seemed to lose whatever steam she had.
“Miss Drake,” Fife said, lifting a hand. At her flinch, he pulled it back. His eyes were burning; it had been a long time since he’d cried, but at that moment he felt as if he would break given the wrong word spoken. “Though I am sad that you must go, I wish you all the best for the future.”
Marianne dropped her gaze to the floor. “I had hoped to stay longer,” she said, her voice wavering slightly. “I apologize that it is under such circumstances.”
“These things happen,” Abigail assured her.
Helena pressed a hand to the base of Marianne’s spine, but before she guided her to the door, she looked back over her shoulder. Her smile was sad but genuine. “Thank you both for your hospitality. I apologize that we could not stay longer.”
Fife watched until the door closed behind them, and both he and Abigail were left in the foyer alone. Abigail said nothing for a while, seemingly content to let Fife work through his feelings. She slipped an arm through his and patted his wrist.
“She told me she would return. Perhaps she will.”
Fife did not know what to say to that; he hadn’t confessed what had happened between Marianne and himself to anyone, and he did not think he could trust Abigail to keep it from Christina. He gave her a weak smile, turning from the door. His heart was heavy, but he had done all he could to try to speak to Marianne, to give her the time to understand her feelings. It was obvious that she no longer wished to remain in his company if her fleeing to London was any indication.
Though he didn’t doubt that Helena was coming from a place of protection and love for her friend, Fife doubted that her family was the sole reason for their departure.
“I fear that she will not,” Fife told Abigail seriously. “I frightened her.”
Abigail’s eyes widened at the implications of his statement and sighed, touching his scarred cheek gently. “You are as handsome now as you were then,” she said, serious. “If Miss Drake cannot see that, then she is a fool.”
Though part of him wanted to agree, was angry at the way he had been treated, he still loved Marianne. “Perhaps,” he allowed. “Or perhaps your judgement is skewed, cousin.”
Letting out a gentle laugh, Abigail tugged him in the direction of the dining room. “It is indeed possible. Though I like to think that you would believe me.”
Fife wanted to try. He had spent years doubting his feelings about himself, whether hatred, revulsion, or fear of what was to become of him. For the first time, he felt angry at someone else for their reaction, instead of believing it was true. He still believed Marianne was beautiful on the inside and out though it was difficult to reconcile her actions and behavior upon seeing his face with that point of view.
“If you must tell Christina,” he said, just before they entered for breakfast, “please do not vilify Miss Drake.”
Abigail’s lips were pursed in thought, and for a moment Fife thought she might refuse. “You love her, then.”
Fife did not want to admit it. Though he had been telling himself for days, it was something altogether different to say it aloud. “It does not matter now,” he said, deciding it was the best response. “She has made her choice.”
Abigail said nothing as they took their seats at the dining table, nor did she say anything as breakfast was served. Once conversation had started up, and both Christina and Jacob were occupied with other guests around the table, Abigail took his hand gently. “She may yet surprise you.”
Fife wanted to believe that was true, but he could not bring himself to hope for it.
Chapter 9
Helena’s Departure
The carriage ride home was the worst that Marianne had ever endured.
Helena remained quiet for much of it, back to her book, though Marianne could feel her watching occasionally. Marianne desperately wanted to cry some more, but she was embarrassed enough after the previous night to refrain. She kept her gaze locked on the window though the countryside flew by and she saw none of it. She couldn’t help but think of Fife, standing in the foyer, eyes burning with unshed tears.
Why had she not been able to come to terms with his face? Why did she insist on treating him so badly?
The change from the countryside to heavy town made Marianne’s heart heavy, and she touched a hand to her mouth, struggling not to cry. “I feel awful.”
Helena met her gaze steadily. “Though I understand why you had to leave, I wish you hadn’t.”
“I know,” Marianne admitted quietly. “I owe him so much more than that, but I could not make myself deal with what I felt.”
“If you love him,” Helena said gently, “surely it does not matter what he looks like?”
Marianne did not know how to explain it, but she owed Fife an explanation. As he was not present, she tried to explain to Helena, hoping that it would give way to being able to work through her feelings. “Whenever I looked at him, I felt sick to my stomach. I wanted to scream, and rage, and I didn’t understand why.”
Helena’s brow furrowed in thought. “What else did you feel?”
“Revulsion,” Marianne said, shamefully.
“Of the wound?” Helena’s eyes raised as if she had never considered Marianne could be so callous.
“No,” Marianne said, testing her words. “Of him.”
Shocked, Helena dropped her book to the seat next to her. “How could you be revolted by him?”
The very idea made Marianne feel sick. “Not because of him! But the trouble he must have, the way people must look at him, much as I did. I couldn’t bear to look at him and for him to see me that way. I wanted to meet his eyes, but I couldn’t fight the pity and the horror on his behalf.”
Helena let out her breath in a rush, suddenly looking pleased. She clasped Marianne’s hands in her own and squeezed. “Marianne, you are not revolted by his injury, you sympathize with him because of it.”
Marianne frowned. “I can’t stand to look at his injury.”
“Because you love him,” Helena said, patient in a way Marianne could never imagine being. Love was such a foreign feeling for her, but Helena was in love, had the plans for her life in hand. “Loving someone and knowing that they hurt, physically or emotionally, is tough for anyone to deal with. You are young like I am, but I am not in love with the duke. I don’t look on him and feel overwhelmingly for him in any fashion.”
Could it be that Helena was right?
“Let me think.” Marianne pulled away from Helena, who seemed content to leave Marianne be. Looking back out of the window, the familiar sounds and smells of London flooding the carriage, Marianne wondered if she had just been afraid for the duke, as opposed to fearing the way he looked.
She could not deny that at fi
rst, it had been a revulsion of the scarring, the way his face was twisted on one side. It had been difficult to acclimatize to. Every other time she had tried to meet his eyes, to understand how she had been feeling, her stomach clenching and her heart hammering in her chest, she had not believed it to be anything other than revulsion. Now she could look back on her actions, on the image of Fife’s face and his apprehension, she understood it for what it was. She loved him, of that she was more than certain, and the idea of Fife having to deal with people’s loathing and pity—that was what revolted her more.
“I have made a terrible mistake,” Marianne said, as the carriage pulled up outside of her home. “I don’t know what to do.”
The carriage door opened, but before they parted, Helena touched her arm. “Send him a letter. Hope that he reads it.”
Leaving Marianne to enter her house alone, the carriage—and Helena—pulled away. Without the benefit of her friend behind her, Marianne did not know how she was going to explain this to her parents. Writing a letter to the duke held its appeal, but it was a terrifying thing to admit to. Besides, there was no guarantee that the duke would even receive the letter. By now he had to have confided in his cousin, his brother, or Lady Christina, and were Marianne in their position, she would not allow contact between them.
Facing down her parents, Marianne admitted that things had not worked out in Hertford. She wanted to attend as many balls as would take her—and she would find a husband to marry.
Though her parents exchanged a worried glance, her mother fussed over her, drawing her into a hug and promising that they would get started immediately. Her father was more reticent though he pressed a kiss to her head and assured her they would help her in whatever she needed.
The days passed and though Marianne had written the letter to Fife, she could not bring herself to mail it. Though she knew where her heart lay—and with whom—she would not make Fife have to deal with her indecision anymore. He deserved better than that. Attending parties became easier with each evening, and though many a man would offer a hand to dance, and Marianne would accept, there was never that spark that had existed with Fife. Though she had been adamant in choosing a husband no matter what emotions rested between them, still Marianne could not make the decision. It was as if she was drifting, her heart not quite willing to make a choice, even when there were suitable bachelors asking for her to dance.
“I wish you would reconsider,” Helena told her, during a dinner held by Helena’s fiancé. It had been a wonderful night thus far, with Marianne agreeing to dance with a few young men, though she had not found any of them interesting enough for a second time around the dance floor. “You have no idea what he would do if you gave him the choice.”
“I do not wish to put him in a position where he would hurt,” Marianne admitted. “The risk is great to his emotional stability, Helena.”
Marianne would not risk it. Fife deserved to have the best of everything he wanted, and so much more, considering the things he had suffered, and would continue to suffer.
Helena said nothing more on the subject, though she would often watch Marianne as she danced the night away, a thoughtful expression on her face. As they parted that evening, Helena pressing a kiss to her cheek, her eyes were determined. “I will be travelling for the next week.”
Marianne was surprised. “You said nothing about this until now?”
“I know, and I am sorry,” Helena said, visibly apologetic. “It has only just come up. I promise that I will be back soon.”
It had come from nowhere; through the past week, Helena had become distant and less inclined to come when Marianne wished her company, but not so much that she would forget to tell Marianne about an upcoming trip. It was disheartening, more so because Marianne had come to terms with losing Fife, but she did not know what she would do if she lost Helena through her own foolishness.
“I will see you later, then?”
“Of course,” Helena assured her, though Marianne could not be sure if she was telling the truth.
How had so much of her life spiraled away from her?
Chapter 10
Fife’s Return
There was to be a costume ball at Guildwell Hall.
Though the Hall itself was not known for throwing many parties in a season, Marianne was expected to go, her father’s wishes plain, but she could not pretend that it hurt to think of the last time she was there. Meeting Fife had been the best and worst thing to have happened to her thus far though she was still young.
A costume ball would be fun—and Marianne’s mother had already decided what costume she should wear. It would be less so without Helena, whose trip had extended a little further and would not be back in time.
“I had hoped to have Helena with me.”
Lucille met her daughter’s gaze carefully. “I understand your distress over Helena’s distance, darling, but you will be fine.”
Marianne would be fine. She had hoped to be both fine and happy. “I hope that I will find someone who both you and father approve of.”
“Marianne.” Lucille placed her hands on Marianne’s shoulders, turning her so that they were face to face. Marianne could not remember the last time she had seen her mother look so serious. “Is that what you are most afraid of?”
“You seemed so happy when the duke asked me to dance,” Marianne admitted, wondering if she could be candid with her mother. So far, she had not spoken about what occurred during her time in Hertford, and though Marianne still did not want to admit most of it, she clutched at her mother’s arms. “I was afraid that you would think me a failure if I came back without a proposal.”
There was something heartbroken about Lucille’s face as she pressed her hand to Marianne’s cheek. “My darling daughter. Your father and I want security and safety for you yes, but not if that comes at the expense of you being happy. We would never submit you to a situation you did not want to be in.”
Marianne’s eyes burned with tears, but she swallowed them back. “I think I have messed everything up, Mother.”
“Come now,” Lucille said, pulling Marianne into a hug. “Whatever has happened to you until now only makes you stronger. You will get through this, do you understand?”
What had seemed an impossible endeavor not a moment ago, with her mother’s words and faith, gave Marianne a strength she did not think she had. Perhaps this was how things were meant to be; Fife deserved happiness, and so did she. Maybe they weren’t supposed to be happy together.
“I will try.”
“That is all I can ask,” Lucille said, pulling away. Taking a moment to collect herself, she squeezed Marianne’s arms. “Come now, we must get ready.”
Marianne’s costume reintroduced the peacock mask that she had worn before, only this time her dress fit to match the idea; her mother had clearly had it made for just this occasion, and it incorporated feathers and silk alike to portray Marianne, once again, as a peacock. She stared at herself in the mirror, a mask covering most of her face, and wondered if it would make her stand out too much.
What a difference a couple of months could make. The last time she had attended Guildwell Hall, standing out had been the point of the party. Now, she wished to shy away from it.
When she made her way downstairs, to where her father and mother were waiting, she hesitated on the final step. “Well?”
“You look beautiful,” Lucille said, clasping her hands together and pressing them to her mouth.
For once, her father looked at her with awe and something close to affection. “Beautiful indeed.”
Marianne flushed beneath the mask and followed her parents out to the carriage. It was not a long journey to the Hall though it seemed to take an age. It was not apprehension this time, but the finality of knowing that she would have to choose a husband soon, or risk society looking upon her as too picky to be suitable.
She did not want that for herself, nor for her parents.
The men that chose to danc
e with her at the party were well connected and some heirs to titles that would have kept Marianne more than happy for the rest of her life—and given her the means to keep her family happy. She spoke to a few of them, trying to give them a reason to come back and ask her for a second dance, and though her heart wasn’t in it, she had a few of the men kiss her hand as they left, assuring her they would be back for another song.
As she made her way towards her parents, Marianne was startled to run into Helena.
“Helena! I thought you couldn’t make it?”
Helena was dressed as a queen, crown nestled perfectly in her golden curls. She embraced Marianne tightly. “I am sorry for being gone so long. I would not miss this night.”
Marianne felt a weight lift from her shoulders. “I have missed you.”
“And I, you,” Helena said, and there was a swirl of emotion in her eyes. Marianne felt foolish for ever doubting that Helena could abandon her so easily.
“Where did you go? You must tell me about your travels.” Marianne could do with a break from the dance floor and catching up with Helena was paramount.
Helena paused, a knowing smile on her face and she looked over Marianne’s shoulder. “Perhaps after this one dance.”
Marianne followed her gaze, startled to see a gentleman dressed as a highwayman stood behind her, head bowed, hand out.
“May I have this dance?” The highwayman did not raise his head.
At the press of Helena’s hand to Marianne’s spine, she acquiesced and took the offered hand, most of her attention on Helena, trying to communicate as best she was able that this was not what she wanted to be doing.
It wasn’t until an arm slipped around her waist, a well-calloused hand wrapped around hers, that everything felt familiar. Her heart skipped a little in her chest, breath tight in her chest as she was spun gently, their feet effortless in the intricate movements.
“You,” Marianne started, mouth dry as the highwayman lifted his head. The cloudy eye, the scarring curling out from underneath his mask. “Fife.”
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