‘Was Farisdeen finally reconciled to your choice?’ Lattimar asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Alex admitted. ‘We haven’t spoken since I announced my intention to marry Jocelyn. She’s not the bride he would have chosen for me, of course. But I’ll have no other. He may not support us, but eventually I persuaded him not to oppose me.’
Crispin and Lattimar exchanged glances. There had to be an interesting story behind that bland statement. But since they were arriving at the church, the telling of it would have to wait for another day.
‘Aren’t you nervous? Marriage is so...permanent,’ Crispin couldn’t keep from asking as they descended from the carriage and approached the church.
‘Nervous? No, impatient!’ Alex said with grin.
* * *
Crispin noted the evidence of his impatience on his friend’s face as they walked into the church, Alex’s body tensing in anticipation. He heard the bridegroom’s long, slow intake of breath as they waited by altar and saw the bride enter the church on her father’s arm.
She was lovely, but it was his friend’s face that Crispin watched. Alex, the solid, hard-working, serious man. His small family estate provided only a modest income, but when at Oxford, he’d never shown any inclination to go on drunken sprees or dally with the ladies, as so many undergraduates did. Level-headed, down to earth—Crispin would have said Alex didn’t have a romantic bone in his body.
But the rapture on his face as his bride came down the aisle, the answering delight on the face of his bride, who never took her gaze from him as she walked over to take his hand at the altar, was the expression of a man completely and totally in love.
Of course, Alex had not suffered through the childhood Crispin had. Still, he seemed to believe marital happiness was possible. Marcella certainly did. Was he wrong to let her go so easily?
He felt a niggle of envy. If he could bring himself to wrestle past the demons of his childhood, would he open himself to such rapture by claiming Marcella?
A deep longing tightened his chest, sending an aching sadness through his body. Suddenly he wanted more than anything to see Marcella, talk with her. Perhaps, despite her reservations about marrying an aristocrat and his deep-seated worry that marriage would be the death of serenity and his fears about his ability to make happiness last, maybe he should explore the possibility of being more than just friends with her.
He already knew her bright spirit and lively mind would keep him entertained and engaged. Her beauty struck a deep chord of response in him, so that he couldn’t imagine ever tiring of making love to her.
Why shy away from trying to claim what Alex had found?
Then and there, he decided before he went on his exploratory journey to Southampton, he would return to London and seek out Marcella Cranmore.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Meanwhile, in her grandfather’s handsome manor house outside Tynemouth, Marcella and her mother were receiving her father, who had just returned from London. After hugs and greetings all around, they settled in the bright afternoon sunlight of the family parlour for a convivial tea to catch up on the news.
Marcella felt her dull spirits brighten just seeing her father, which would allow her to once again talk with him about the work she loved. Along with asking about the progress of the surveys filed to move forward towards construction of the Great Western and the projects her father was considering taking on next, she asked him, ‘Did Lord Dellamont happen to call at the office?’
She thought she’d kept her tone casual, but her father gave her a penetrating glance before replying, ‘No, I haven’t seen the Viscount since our solicitor told me he’d come to invest. Were you expecting him to drop by?’
‘When I saw him last before leaving London, he said he might,’ she replied, hoping she’d managed to keep the disappointment from her voice.
She couldn’t have expected him to have called yet, she tried to rally herself. It had been hardly more than a fortnight since their final meeting in Lady Arlsley’s garden. Probably he had only just finished settling his mother and sister back in the country. With his father remaining in London to attend Parliament, he wouldn’t have wanted to come by the city before heading out on his exploring venture.
She realised she’d lost the thread of the conversation and looked up to see her father’s gaze on her, his expression concerned. He angled his head in unspoken question; she gave hers a little shake in response to tell him she was fine.
After her mother finished relating the tale of her expedition to Newcastle to order new hangings and furniture for the guest bedrooms, which she felt had grown rather shabby, her father said, ‘Austin is finishing up details at the office, but will journey down to join us tomorrow.’ Turning to Marcella, he added, ‘I hoped you would be glad to see him.’
Austin, here tomorrow. A small spark of warmth penetrated her chilled dullness. ‘Of course. I’m always glad to see him.’
‘Good.’ He opened his lips as if to say more, then closed them, leaving it at that.
Did Papa know more than he was revealing about her old friend’s intentions?
* * *
The following afternoon, Marcella was once again in the sunny back parlour, trying to keep her wandering attention on her book. Her parents had driven over to take tea with neighbours they’d not seen for several months, but she was not in the mood to be cheery for company—or to be asked how she’d enjoyed her latest stay in London.
She looked up to find the maid at the door. ‘Mr Gilling has arrived, miss. I told him Mr and Mrs Cranmore was out but you was at home. Do you want to receive him?’
Talking with Austin was sure to relieve her dreariness. In any event, it was time to discover whether her debut had in fact prompted him to see her in a new light. Determine whether taking their long friendship to a different level was even possible.
‘Of course. Please show him in, see that his usual room is prepared, and bring us some tea.’
After curtsying, the maid went back out. Marcella put down her book, trying to recapture some enthusiasm. Today she might uncover the key to her future.
‘Marcella!’ Gilling said, walking in a moment later to return the hug she gave him. ‘You are looking lovely! Sunny as this room in that charming yellow gown.’
She must have made some progress in getting him to see her as a woman. She couldn’t recall Austin ever commenting on her wardrobe before. ‘You are looking fine as well. How did you leave things in London?’
‘Work is going forward on the specifications for the Great Western. Already we’ve had enquiries at the office for the firm to potentially survey, and even contract to construct, several other pending projects. With the boom in railway construction just beginning, I don’t think we will be lacking for business any time soon.’
‘Father will be delighted. He prefers to remain busy.’
‘How are you doing? Did you enjoy your time in London? I... I was surprised that you left so soon. I’ve heard the London Season lasts until summer.’
‘It does, but I’d had enough. They...weren’t very nice to me,’ she admitted, trying to put the best face on it.
Austin frowned. ‘I was afraid that might be the case, based on the way some of the aristocratic investors treat us when they come to the office. As if we were lackeys, rather than trained professionals, and should be thrilled they condescend to have us make money for them. I’m so glad the prospect of being styled “my lady” didn’t turn your head. That is, you’re not still intent on marrying a gentleman?’
‘I was never intent on it. I only went into society to please Mama.’
‘I guess you really have grown up, if you’ll no longer let your mother make your choices for you. I didn’t want to stand in your way if marrying into the gentry was what you truly wanted, but...well, it was a shock to know you were entertaining suitors and contemplating marr
iage.’
They paused for a moment as the maid brought in the tea service, Marcella waiting to reply until after she’d fixed them each a cup.
‘I’m not the little girl you teased and comforted any more,’ she said, picking back up the threads of the conversation.
‘You are no less dear to me. Even more precious, actually. I... I know you could look much higher for a husband than a chief engineering assistant, but if you could consider it, I’d be humbled and grateful for ever if you would consent to be my wife.’
There it was...the declaration she’d hoped for, dreamed about since she’d turned sixteen, put up her hair and let down her skirts.
So why didn’t she feel more excited?
There was the important matter of her place in the office, she told herself. ‘It would be good to go on as we have before—with a few changes, of course,’ she added, blushing when she thought of the intimacies she would have to allow him as her husband. ‘I could help you in the office, just as I’ve helped Father.’
Frowning, Gilling gave a negative shake of his head. ‘Don’t misunderstand; I admire and respect your father. But I’ve always felt he...took advantage of you a bit. I could understand, right after he lost your brother, that it was comforting to keep you close. But he should long ago have sent you out of that masculine sphere in which you do not belong. What would happen if any investors thought you took any actual part in the business? I know you are clever, but the bald truth is that our work would be devalued and we’d soon lose customers. Aside from the potential to discourage clients, even with you there just to pour tea, I always worried one of those arrogant aristocrats would not treat you with the respect they should. Nor is there any reason for you to trouble your pretty head calculating figures.’
Her hopes, which had risen slightly at his initial proposal, slumped again. ‘I enjoy calculating figures.’
‘To be sure, your work at the office occupied time. Time you were never one to fritter away shopping or gossiping with. For which I admire you! But once we married, with a household of your own to run, you’d be fully occupied. And after a time, I hope you would be as thrilled as I would be to welcome children of our own into it. They would certainly keep you even busier.’
‘You would not need or want me to help outside the home?’ she asked, wanting to make his position perfectly clear.
‘You could make a significant contribution as hostess, as I’ve seen you do for your father when he entertains business associates. I’m not sure yet, I’ve only had a few discussions with friends, but if my career goes well enough, I might one day be interested in standing for Parliament. Clever and charming as you are, you’d make an excellent political hostess. So you see, you’ll have much to keep you occupied and support me in your sphere, while I carry on in mine.’
He took her limp hand in his. ‘Our marriage would be a good bargain. I’ve been fond of you since you were an engaging child. But I was struck to the core when I finally realised you are now a beautiful young woman. I know you’ve always been fond of me as well. We can take that bedrock of affection and build on it to create a truly deep and satisfying marriage. I’ll deem it a privilege to take care of you and would cherish you and our children for the rest of our days. I know your parents would approve of our union, which I know is important to you.’
‘What of my working with Father?’
Gilling smiled. ‘Despite knowing you were making your debut, in many ways I believe your father still thinks of you as the little girl he welcomed into his office to console him after the death of his son. Once you are actually married, I’m sure he will realise it’s no longer appropriate for you to work with him. Besides, some fine day, he’ll be ready to retire. He will want grandchildren to play with in his declining years.’
She’d wondered what Gilling saw as the proper place for his wife, and now she knew. He wanted a conventional woman who occupied herself with conventional duties. If she accepted him, he would probably speak with her father and try to persuade him to no longer allow her to consult with him in the office.
Her one escape from exile to domestic life would be playing hostess to engineers over dinners, where she might encourage them to talk about their projects.
Would that be enough?
She was surprised to find her doubts about the answer to that question even stronger than they had been before her aborted Season.
But with her entire life and future suspended in the balance, she shouldn’t give him a hasty reply. This matter of marriage deserved long, careful thought.
She squeezed the hand she held and looked up, seeing hope and eagerness in his eyes. ‘You have long been dear to me as well, and I am honoured and flattered by your proposal. But if you will permit, I’d like some time to think it over. As a child, I dreamed for years that you would ask for my hand when I grew up. But now that you’ve made that childhood fantasy a reality, I want to respond for the right reasons.’
‘Of course. Take all time you need. I’m already delighted you have given me hope, rather than just refused me outright for my presumption.’
‘I would never consider you presumptuous! Who has better right to ask for my hand than the man who has helped and supported my whole family for years? I won’t keep you waiting long, I promise.’
Just then, she heard voices in the hallway. ‘That must be Mama and Papa returning. Shall we...say nothing of this just yet?’
‘Of course not. I won’t speak of it until you give me permission.’
‘They will be delighted to see you.’
Those were the last private words they had time to exchange before the parlour door opened and her parents walked in, her mother coming over to give Gilling a hug, her father shaking his hand. ‘I’ll turn the tea tray over to you, Mama, and go let Grandda know Austin has arrived.’
‘Yes, see if you can persuade him to join us—and on your way out, find Nancy and have her tell Cook we’ll need another pot of tea. You’ll be staying with us, won’t you, Austin?’
‘I’ve already told Nancy to make sure his room is ready,’ Marcella assured her.
‘Excellent. Do sit, Austin,’ her mother said, indicating a spot on the sofa beside her. ‘Tell us what was going on in London when you left.’
After curtsying to the group, Marcella made her escape.
She didn’t really need to consult Grandfather, who though he liked Gilling, wasn’t much interested in callers, especially one whom he’d see at dinner tonight anyway. But she didn’t think she could sit in the parlour and make polite conversation when the imperative to make a decision pressed like a leaden weight against her chest.
She didn’t intend to dawdle and debate it for weeks. For Gilling’s sake and her own, she wanted to review what she knew and what she felt and make her decision quickly.
A decision on which her whole future hinged.
She found the maid, ordered more tea, and popped in to inform her grandfather of the new arrival. He replied, as she’d expected, that he would let her parents have tea with him and then meet the young man at dinner later.
After giving him a kiss, she left her grandfather’s study...but couldn’t bring herself to rejoin the group in the parlour.
Instead, she grabbed a wrap and walked out the back door into the extensive gardens.
* * *
Usually walking the pathways bordered with exuberant blooms—nodding daffodils in shades of white, gold and yellow, vivid purple crocuses, and the pale stripes of early tulips—lifted her spirits and eased whatever anxiety troubled her. Today, the garden was not working its usual magic.
Perhaps because the decision she had to make was so crucial.
Perhaps because she was so uncertain what the right decision should be.
It was clear now that Austin wanted a strictly conventional wife, and would work to persuade Father to relegate her to the hous
ehold as soon as they married. Could she find a man more amenable than Austin to her carrying on her work?
Where would she find such a man? Don her forbidden men’s clothing again, slip into a meeting of the Institution of Civil Engineers, and conduct a survey of the members?
Despite the wry smile envisioning that tactic engendered—and the pang of sorrow as she remembered her splendid adventure, making her miss even more the exceptional man who’d made it possible—pursuing that option was impossible.
She supposed she could reject Austin, continue working with her father, and encourage Papa to bring home other single engineers. Over wine and dinner, try to eke out their opinions on the matter of educated women and their roles. If she received encouraging answers from any of them, try to attract their amorous interest.
But that course of action was unlikely to produce many suitable prospects, the process would be time-consuming, and most men would hold the same views Austin did. Along the way, if she rejected Austin, her concerned parents would be pressing ever harder for her to choose someone else to love and protect their dear daughter.
Which brought her back to the central question. She’d long cared for Austin. She was pretty sure they could turn their decade-long affection into a warm and congenial bond to last through the years.
A bond that would be warm, safe...and unexciting. A relationship that offered her the prospect of becoming a wife and mother, and she’d long wanted more than those.
After doubt and instability were thrown into her life by her father’s deep grief over her brother’s death, Austin had been the one person who made her feel safe, wanted, enough, when she hadn’t been enough to ease her father’s sadness. But her desires now went beyond the yearnings of a ten-year-old.
What she’d always felt for her father’s assistant, she now realised, was the hero worship of a child for the attractive older man who’d indulged and comforted her in a time of great loss, and been a steady help to her family through the years.
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