“I’m not too kind. The library is for everyone, and you should consider yourself free to come here whenever you like.”
“Thank you. And thank you for spending the day with me. I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed a day more . . . not in a long time.”
He reached a hand across the small space between our chairs. I put mine in it naturally, instinctively. He leaned toward me, his blue eyes twinkling, his smile as warm as a patch of sunlight. “The pleasure was all mine, Marianne.”
I felt trapped in his gaze. I was suddenly overcome with the sensation that if I looked deeply enough into Philip’s eyes I would find a beautiful, important secret. I drew in a breath, and as I did, I leaned closer. The sensation grew stronger, convincing me that it was only the distance between us that was keeping me from uncovering the truth. If I leaned toward him, something would happen. I was sure of it. But if I leaned away, nothing would happen. So I stayed perfectly still, balanced between something and nothing, not knowing which way I wanted to fall.
Philip stayed perfectly still, too, as though waiting for me to decide. His eyes, though, were not standing by like impartial witnesses to my decision. His eyes were persuading me that I wanted that something. They were inviting me closer, drawing me closer, convincing me to lean, to fall, to dive into their blue depths and never resurface.
“Oh, pardon me.” Mr. Clumpett’s voice suddenly broke over me.
I startled, as if awakened from a dream, and pulled my hand out of Philip’s grip. The sensation I had experienced vanished like smoke from a snuffed candle, leaving behind wisps of nameless longing.
Of course Philip had left the door to the library open. He was such a gentleman that way. But I wondered what his uncle had seen. Had he seen me gazing into Philip’s eyes for that long moment? My cheeks burned at the thought.
Philip stood and turned toward Mr. Clumpett, who had halted a few steps inside the room.
Mr. Clumpett cleared his throat. “Didn’t realize you two were having a tête-á-tête in here. The door was open, you know.” His eyes flicked to the maid in the corner, who had been diligently dusting all afternoon.
“Yes, I know,” Philip said with a smile in his voice. “Did you need something?”
Mr. Clumpett held up a book. “This doesn’t mention anything about the Indian rhinoceros. I was looking for a companion to this volume.” He tilted his head back, letting his gaze traverse the high bookshelves with a hopeless expression. “You wouldn’t happen to know, would you, if such a thing can be found . . . in here?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” Philip said, with a look that was part amusement and part pity.
Mr. Clumpett heaved a sigh and approached a bookshelf. He shook his head and muttered something that sounded like disorganized.
Glancing at the clock on the mantel, I was shocked to see that it was nearly six o’clock and time to change for dinner. Had I really spent the entire day here?
“We never did play chess, you know,” I said to Philip. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Philip said. “Our conversation was much more enjoyable than a game of chess. And now I have a reason to claim your time another day. Do you have plans tomorrow afternoon?”
The only plans I had made were to immerse myself in the loveliness of the estate. I told him so, and he smiled and said, “Meet me here after lunch, then.”
I left the library feeling a decided urge to do something close to twirling. As I walked to my bedchamber to change for dinner, I wondered what had happened to me today. Something had happened—of that I was certain. Where before I had been partially empty, now I felt somehow full inside—complete. It was a feeling as buoyant as sunlight. Examining my heart, I found that there were pieces of me that had gone missing in Bath that I had found again, today, with Philip. And they were pieces of happiness.
I entered my room with a smile on my face, knowing who was responsible for the happiness I had found. Philip had become a friend today, and I had not known until that moment how much I had missed the company of a friend. Perhaps I had never known before today the value of such a friend—a person to whom one could talk for hours without noticing the passage of time. Although I had had many friends in my life, I had never known how it felt to be accepted and esteemed so completely, and so immediately.
A letter rested on my writing desk, catching my attention while Betsy brought out a gown for me to change into for dinner. My initial excitement at seeing the envelope changed to disappointment when I realized it was merely Mr. Whittles’s poem, which he had given to me before I left Bath. Betsy must have removed it before taking my gown to be laundered.
While I dressed, I thought of Mr. Whittles and how relieved I was to be done with him. I had been very fortunate to come here and find such a warm welcome among the Wyndhams.
But to simply enjoy my current state of happiness with no thought of others seemed very self-centered. Perhaps I could do something to help Aunt Amelia win her heart’s desire. Mr. Whittles needed only a nudge in the right direction, and I felt sure he would be very happy with my aunt. Her sincere admiration would stroke his ego quite nicely, and she was not an unattractive woman.
I slipped the poem into the drawer of my writing desk, determined to come up with a way to bring those two together.
Chapter 11
When I met Philip in the library the next afternoon for our game of chess, he said, “I know it’s not as exciting as fencing, but I wondered if you would be interested in archery.”
I was interested in almost anything that took me away from the quiet pastimes of the drawing room. We went outside to the southwest lawn, where a target had been set up for us. A couple of servants stood nearby, and Philip motioned for me to go first. We practiced until my arms were too tired to shoot one more arrow. As we walked back to the house, Philip said lightly, “I suppose the chess will have to wait until tomorrow.”
But the next afternoon, when I met him in the library, he asked if I had seen the gardens yet. I hadn’t, so he took me on a tour of the grounds and showed me the water garden and the Oriental garden and the rose garden. We talked and strolled around the grounds until a sudden rain shower drove us inside.
I was surprised once again to discover that hours had passed while I was in Philip’s company, though it had felt like mere minutes. And when I tried to account for the passage of time by recalling exactly what we had talked about, I could only remember bits and pieces—a story here, a memory there—and the fact that I had never had to search for something to say to him.
Days blended together, and between our morning rides, our afternoon activities, dinner, and time spent with the family in the evening, there was hardly a moment when I was out of Philip’s presence. I felt as if I were enjoying a guilty pleasure and that I should turn my mind to something more productive than enjoying my new friendship with Philip. But I felt as wild and free as a bird suddenly released from its cage. I grew unguarded, and blissfully happy, and content to the very core of my soul. And although only a handful of days passed in this matter, I felt as if I had known Philip all my life.
Philip and I had taken five rides together, and he had beaten me five times, when a letter arrived for me one morning. I was frustrated, because I knew that Meg had untapped potential within her, and I was determined to prove it.
“One of these days, you will be seeing the backside of Meg,” I told Philip as I sat down to breakfast.
He laughed with the familiar glint in his eyes that made me think he was enjoying a secret. He had too many secrets. I narrowed my eyes at him, but by now I knew him too well to hope that he would reveal any of his mysteries to me.
The butler cleared his throat as he held a silver salver toward me. On it rested a letter. The envelope bore Grandmother’s familiar, shaky handwriting. She must have mailed this immediately after I left Bath for it to have arrived so soon. I set it beside my plate and looked at it with misgiving. Seeing it made me anxious, as if I had been living
in a dream. I feared whatever the letter contained would cause me to wake. I decided to read it later, in private.
Lady Caroline spoke up. “I think we ought to host a ball for our guests while they’re here. What do you all think?”
Mrs. Clumpett looked up with her ready smile. “Oh, I love a ball. And so does Mr. Clumpett. Don’t you, my dear?”
I couldn’t imagine that he actually loved a ball, but he grunted in response.
“Philip?” Lady Caroline said. “Do you have any objections?”
“You know you have free rein here, Mother.”
That seemed odd. Why should she have to ask his permission to hold a ball? If she needed to ask anyone, it should have been Sir Charles.
“I think a ball will be delightful,” she said. “We’ll introduce Marianne to all the eligible gentlemen in the area and watch them fight over her. What fun it will be!”
I looked at her in surprise and blushed. “I am sure you’re mistaken about the level of interest I will inspire,” I murmured.
“I am never mistaken about such things,” she said, smiling like a cat before a dish of cream. “What do you think, Philip? Won’t she be all the rage?”
I couldn’t look at Philip. He would undoubtedly say something polite, which everyone would know was a lie. But then, when he didn’t immediately answer, I had to look at him. I was so surprised by what I saw that I looked twice.
Philip held his mother’s gaze with a hard look in his eyes. A muscle jumped in his jaw. He almost looked angry, but I couldn’t fathom why her words would spark such a reaction in him.
Lady Caroline’s smile turned hard—almost mocking—from across the table.
After a tense silence, he finally said, “Undoubtedly.”
I took a quick breath. Something was amiss here, and it made me uncomfortable to be the cause of it. “A ball sounds wonderful,” I said, wanting to clear the tension, “but I have no desire to be fought over. I would rather just enjoy the dancing.”
Mr. Clumpett suddenly looked up from his book. “This sounds very much like something I just read.” He flipped through some pages while I looked at him in surprise. I didn’t think he had been listening to us at all. “Ah, here it is.” He cleared his throat before reading: “‘The male rhinoceros will not tolerate any other male entering his territory during mating season. If such a thing occurs, dangerous fights are bound to ensue.’”
He looked up with bright eyes. “That would be a sight to see, wouldn’t it? A dangerous rhinoceros fight?”
“Fascinating,” his wife said with feeling.
I stared. Had he really just read something over breakfast about animals mating? I didn’t know where to look in my embarrassment. Philip cleared his throat, but it sounded to me as if he was trying not to laugh.
“Very apropos,” Lady Caroline said with a smile. “Well, then, it is settled. I will organize the guest list and start writing the invitations this afternoon.”
I took that as permission to excuse myself; I was eager to escape the charged emotions of the room. I picked up my letter and walked to the door. But I felt a gaze on my back as I did so, and I glanced over my shoulder. Philip was watching me with a very solemn expression. I gave him a questioning look in return. Abruptly he smiled, and all traces of that foreign look were erased. It lingered in my mind, though, as I left the dining room. In that moment, Philip had reminded me very much of someone else, but I couldn’t think of whom.
I sat at the writing desk in my room and stared at Grandmother’s letter for several minutes before daring to open it. Finally, I succumbed to the inevitable and broke the seal. The morning sunlight slanted through the window and warmed my back as I read.
Dear Marianne,
I imagine you have already started scampering around the countryside like some farmer’s brat, so I am writing to remind you of the conditions of your visit. You are to learn all you can from the Wyndhams about how to behave like an elegant young lady. Write to me and tell me what you are learning. Consider this an assignment. If I do not recognize some signs of improvement in you I will not hesitate to call you home. If you cannot change your ways, I will not hesitate to cut you off without a penny, just as I did to my nephew. I am committed to this plan, and I will see you become all that you can be, both for your own future happiness as well as for what you owe to the family name. Do not disappoint me.
Sincerely,
Grandmother
I gazed out the window while considering the ramifications of Grandmother’s message. The fact that she had mailed it before I had been absent one week illustrated her lack of faith in me. I had to smile as I admitted to myself that her lack of faith in me was partly justified, for I had not given one moment’s thought to her assignment since I had fallen into the river.
In fact, that event—falling in the river—highlighted the problem perfectly. I did not have the instincts of an elegant lady. But, according to my grandmother, I would have to become an elegant lady in order to win an inheritance.
As I considered this quandary, I did not attempt to deceive myself. Young ladies of elegant birth with no fortune had little hope for comfort in the world. Work was not an option. And marriage without a sizeable dowry . . . well, only the very blessed achieved that. I did not need a mirror before me to know that I was not among the very blessed. My figure was too petite for the current trend in beauty, and my looks, while passable, did not have the striking quality needed to attract a gentleman’s attention.
Besides that, the fact remained that I had no desire to be married simply for the achievement of it. That was Cecily’s ambition, and I had learned at a young age that if I ever wanted the same thing Cecily wanted, I would inevitably lose to her.
It was the doll that had made that point clear to me. When we were six, our great-aunt had sent us a doll she had bought in Paris. She wrote in the letter accompanying the package that it was unique in the whole world. It was finely made, with hazel eyes and real, curled auburn hair.
Having no children of her own, it did not occur to my great-aunt what problems one doll between two girls would present. Cecily and I fought over it the moment it arrived. Of course, we were meant to share it, and sharing may have come later, but we fought over the right to be the first to hold that doll. Since Cecily was the eldest, she claimed that right. It didn’t matter that it was only by seven minutes. Those seven minutes were a lifetime between us and could never be made up.
So she held the doll first. Something fierce and unyielding grew within my young heart as I watched my sister stroke the doll’s pretty auburn hair and hug it to her chest. I despised the feeling of losing to her, and I decided in a moment of jealousy and resentment that I would do anything rather than lose to her again.
So when it was my turn to hold the doll, I claimed that I didn’t want to touch the ugly thing. No matter how much Cecily held and caressed the doll and talked about how pretty it was, I remained stoically insistent that I did not want to touch it. And I never did. Eleven years passed and I never once touched that doll, not even to feel her hair. A maid once put it on my bed by mistake, but even then I did not touch it. I put a handkerchief over my hand and picked up the doll by the foot and flung it onto Cecily’s bed.
At first it was only possessions we fought over. But as we grew older, the list lengthened—talents, beauty, attention from boys. I applied the lesson of the doll and decided it was better to want something different from Cecily instead of lose to her. I learned to hide my desires, or to change them as soon as learning hers.
There was nothing I could do to become more beautiful than she was. But when she excelled at singing, rather than trying to match her, I refused my lessons and turned my focus instead to painting. When she proved herself a devoted flirt, I scorned such artifice and either avoided talking to eligible gentlemen or deliberately spoke my mind to them, which I discovered they did not like.
I had to be different from Cecily so I would not be inferior. We could not occupy the s
ame space together. Like horses in a race, I was tired of jostling for position and losing. I chose a different course so that losing would not be an option.
And so while she planned her season and dreamed of the achievements she would make with her marriage, I did the opposite. She planned to marry someone wealthy, titled, and with a good parcel of land. I dreamed quietly of marrying someone whom I loved deeply, and who loved me madly in return. If such a man could not be found, then I would not marry at all.
Such was my attitude when Cecily and I came of age to be presented to society and enter the marriage mart in London. Cecily dreamed of nothing but town life; I dreamed of nothing but living comfortably in the country. I did not envy Cecily her season, because I had no such ambition. I did not aspire to a brilliant match, because it would be a contest with Cecily and she would win. I never wanted to be an elegant lady, because that was Cecily’s role.
But now, faced with this challenge from Grandmother, I realized I would be foolish to throw away a fortune simply because I had never been ambitious in the same way Cecily was. I might not have planned to be a wealthy heiress, but only a simpleton would turn down an opportunity to live very comfortably for the rest of her life.
In fact, this inheritance was exactly what would give me the freedom to choose whether or not I married for love. And all I had to do to earn it was to prove myself an elegant young lady. I was certainly not entirely hopeless in that regard, or else my grandmother would not have given me a chance to try. I would try, and I would earn the inheritance that would give me unparalleled freedom.
But there was another hope that lived in my heart—the hope that if I proved myself, my father might come home. If he could be proud of me, he might return. I might be able to go home. I might be able to convince him to stay and let me take care of him. With my inheritance from grandmother, we would live comfortably. He would want to keep me there, and he would want to stay with me, and I would never have to wonder again if I was wanted.
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