Halfway to the house, my steps faltered, then stopped. A gentleman was walking toward me across the lawn, coming from the direction of the woods. Mr. Kellet. I thought of turning and running in the other direction, but he called out to me.
“You’re not thinking of running away from me, are you, cousin?”
Why would he not stop calling me that? I stood my ground and frowned, refusing to let him think I was afraid of him. “No, I am not. I am only going to take a turn around the lawn. You are welcome, of course, to join me.”
He smiled as if that had been his plan all along and he had just manipulated me into doing what he wanted. Which was probably true. He seemed to delight in vexing me. We began to walk—me quickly, and he with a strolling gait that made me want to yank his walking cane out of his hand and break it over his head. He would try to prolong my suffering.
“How is the old bird?” he asked, referring, I gathered, to my grandmother.
I gave him a haughty look. “Still in good health, I believe.”
He sighed and looked up at the sky. “Will she never die?”
I shot him an angry look, ready to berate him, but he laughed and said, “You are so easily taken in, cousin. You should do something about that.”
I hated thinking that he had the upper hand. And I was through with politeness. “Stop calling me cousin. Why are you here?”
“Visiting my dear cousin, of course.”
I stopped and turned to him. “No. I mean why are you here, in Kent? Did you follow me?”
He laughed. “You flatter yourself.” He stopped and leaned on his walking cane. “But I did receive some interesting news. Evidently your grandmother has decided my scandalous behavior has shamed her long enough, and she has cut me out of her will.”
“Oh?”
His eyes narrowed. “And I thought to myself—who would she name her heir if not me? Not that old maid, Amelia.” He pointed his walking cane at me. “You.”
I decided to meet his challenge head on. “You are right. But the inheritance is conditional. She can still cut me off without a penny, just as she did to you.”
“Conditional on what?”
“That is none of your concern, cousin.”
He laughed lightly and raised an eyebrow. “Touché!” He studied me for a moment with narrowed eyes as if debating a course of action. I watched with a sense of misgiving as a slow smile spread across his face. “Well, this has been very enlightening. But now I have somewhere else to be.” He bowed casually and turned away to saunter toward the road. Several leaves clung to the back of his coat, and one was even sticking out of the top of his boot.
Good riddance, I thought. But I couldn’t help wondering why he would come all the way here to ask those few questions. And what had he been doing in the woods? A movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. It was Cecily, walking from the direction of the woods. She was brushing off her skirt, and, as I watched, she pulled a leaf out of her hair.
I stared at her, feeling sick. This was the kind of conduct she had learned in London? This was considered acceptable behavior for an elegant young lady? I turned away, disgusted at the sight of her disheveled hair and happy smile.
When I reached my room, I wrote two letters. The first was quick and to the point.
Dear Grandmother,
I have had the misfortune of seeing Mr. Kellet in the area. I have also lost James, the coachman you hired. Also, I know that you arranged for this visit and made everyone lie to me about being invited here. If you didn’t want me, you should have just told me so instead of letting me impose on someone else. And I am not impressed with elegant ladies at all. I think I would prefer to milk cows for the rest of my days.
Sincerely,
Marianne
I meant exactly what I wrote. I had no desire to become like Cecily. And if that was what was required to earn a fortune, then I would simply not earn that fortune. I was not destitute, after all. My father was well enough off, and I would have an inheritance from him. But I would not waste any more of my time trying to become someone I was not.
After I finished my letter to Grandmother, I saw Mr. Whittles’s book of poems in the drawer and thought of another letter I had been meaning to write for some time. The second letter took more thought, but when I finally finished with it, I was pleased with the result. There was so much waste in hoping for something that could never be yours, I decided. It was better to seize happiness where it was available. I addressed the letter to Mr. Whittles.
Chapter 22
The next morning Mr. Beaufort called on me again. As soon as he entered the drawing room, he addressed Lady Caroline.
“Is there some place I might speak with Miss Daventry in private?”
Oh, no.
Lady Caroline said something about needing to speak with the housekeeper and shut the door behind her as she left.
I was not ready for this conversation. It had happened too quickly, and I had given no thought as to how I might respond.
I gestured toward the settee. “Would you like to sit down?”
“Only if it pleases you,” he said with a smile.
I sat on the settee and folded my hands in my lap, wondering what to say to him.
Evidently he did not need my contribution, though. He sat next to me and said, “Miss Daventry, I have not been able to stop thinking of you since the moment I laid eyes on you. You have captured my heart, and I cannot restrain myself from declaring that I love you!” He grasped my hand and knelt before me. “I have little in the ways of the world to offer you, but what I can offer you is my undying affection, my esteem, and my relentless adoration of you. Will you do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage?”
I wondered how I had ever thought him handsome. His eyes seemed like shallow pools—nothing like the depth I always saw in Philip’s eyes. Of course, I was not choosing between Mr. Beaufort and Philip, because Philip had not offered for me. But I was choosing for myself, and even if nobody else wanted me, I did not want to spend the rest of my life looking into those dull, shallow eyes.
“I am sorry,” I said. “I cannot accept you.”
Mr. Beaufort’s smile dropped, and his eyes flashed with something like anger. I leaned away from him, surprised by the sudden turn in his emotion. But he abruptly returned to smiling, and said, “Perhaps you need time to consider my offer.” He took my hand and pressed his lips to it. “I will be happy to call on you again.”
He left before I could tell him not to bother. I was sure I would not be changing my mind. I would rather grow into an old spinster than marry a man I did not love, now that I knew what it meant to love.
I walked across the room and stood in front of my mother’s painting. Had Lady Caroline been right about my mother? Had she felt like Lady Caroline had everything my mother wanted? If so, I understood perfectly why the friendship had ended. I think I would hate Cecily forever if she had everything I wanted—Edenbrooke and Meg and Philip. Especially Philip. I touched the frame and leaned toward the painting, wishing fiercely for my own mother.
“My dear, are you unwell?”
I lifted my head. It was Mrs. Clumpett, with her perpetual smile. Even now, with her forehead creased with worry, her mouth still turned up.
“No, I am well,” I said. “Only a little . . . homesick.”
She nodded. “I can well understand that feeling. Mr. Clumpett and I have missed our own home. The birds around here are just not the same. And the library is so disorganized.”
I smiled. “You’re right.”
“In fact, now that I think of it, I believe it’s time for us to go home. Oh, wait, I forgot.” She glanced at me quickly, then looked away. “We will have to stay a little while longer.” She sighed. “Unless . . . tell me, do you think you might be leaving any time soon?”
I thought of my letter to my father. “Perhaps,” I said. “I hope so, but it’s hard to know.”
She nodded, and for once she didn’t look
like she was smiling. Was her decision somehow tied up in my plans? Why would that be so? Was this one more person who didn’t want me here?
“Let me know when you have your plans settled,” she said. “I do miss our birds.”
It was such a little thing to say—“I do miss our birds”—but it touched me deeply. It reminded me of everything I missed about my own home, and the happiness I had once felt there.
Time in Philip’s absence did terrible things. Clocks slowed, the sun stood still in the sky, even the nights stretched longer than normal. I felt as if entire months had passed since the ball, though it had only been four days. I went about my normal activities. I ate food and I slept and I spent my days in the company of the other women. But through it all I felt as if an important part of me was absent. Perhaps it was my heart.
Cecily and I had hardly spoken since I had stormed out of her room the day after the ball. She and Louisa were as thick as thieves. They were always going off on walks together and whispering to each other. I did not attempt to join them. Instead, I focused on my new project.
Rather than trying to fulfill my grandmother’s assignment, I spent my free time painting scenes of Edenbrooke. Five days after Philip left, I had half a dozen paintings of some of my favorite views of the estate. I wanted to record as much as I could of this place, which, for a time, had been the closest thing to paradise I could have imagined on earth. I mourned the thought of leaving this place forever. When Cecily married Philip, I would not come back here. I knew it. My mother never came back, and now I understood why.
I was sketching the view from my bedroom window when Cecily came into my room.
“Only three more days until the ball,” she said.
I nodded, keeping my gaze on the bridge as I worked on making the angles of the arch look just right. If I looked at just the angles and stones, I could train myself to not think of Philip riding toward the bridge with a whistle on his lips. It was hard work, but I was subduing my heart a little more every day.
“I don’t know what I will do if Sir Philip doesn’t come back in time for the ball,” she said, flopping down on my bed. Her golden hair fanned around her face as she pouted at the ceiling. “I have spent hours planning exactly how I’m going to make him declare his feelings for me, and if he isn’t here I will be so disappointed I will die. You don’t know what it’s like to have all of your hopes for your future happiness pinned on one man. The suspense is excruciating!”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure you will not die of disappointment, Cecily. And if Sir Philip is going to declare himself, he will probably find an opportunity to do so without your scheming.”
I thought I had my heart firmly under control, but the words I spoke caused sharp stabs of pain. The thought of Philip declaring himself to Cecily was too much for me to contemplate.
“Perhaps Mr. Kellet will come and keep you entertained if Sir Philip isn’t here in time,” I said. I couldn’t keep the touch of malice out of my voice, but Cecily didn’t appear to notice.
“I hope so,” she said, rolling over onto her stomach. “I made sure he was on the guest list.”
“See? You will have plenty of . . . pleasure to look forward to.”
She smiled with a faraway look in her eyes, as if remembering something enjoyable.
“I wonder who is the better kisser—Sir Philip or Mr. Kellet?” She looked at me. “Who would you rather kiss?”
“Neither,” I lied.
“Hmm. I don’t know either. But I’ll be sure to let you know when I find out.”
Resentment surged within me. “If you do find out, please don’t tell me. There are some things I would rather not hear.”
“By the way,” she said, “whatever happened with Mr. Beaufort?”
I was surprised to realize I hadn’t told her. But then, I had hardly talked to Cecily at all since Philip left.
“He offered for me, and I rejected him. That is all.”
“Good. I didn’t want to tell you at the time, but I think there’s something not quite right about him.”
I thought of his shallow eyes and had to agree with her assessment.
Before she left, she looked over my shoulder at my drawing. “You have a real gift for art. You’re much better at it than I will ever be.”
“Thank you.” What a nice thing to say. I looked at my drawing, then up into my sister’s face. I had let my feelings for Philip come between us, and I was sorry for it. I set down my pencil and turned to her. “Cecily, can I ask you something?”
“Yes, of course.”
I took a deep breath, gathering my courage, and asked, “Did you want me to come to Edenbrooke? Or was it Lady Caroline’s idea?”
She tilted her head. “What made you ask that?”
I held her gaze. “Just tell me, please.”
Cecily tucked a strand of my hair back into its twist. “It may have been Lady Caroline’s idea, but of course I wanted you. You’re my sister.”
She said it so matter-of-factly that I believed her. My heart lifted and I smiled. It felt so strange to smile, and such a relief at the same time, that I had to stop and think about the last time I had smiled. I couldn’t remember a single instance of happiness since Philip had left.
“I think we need to spend more time together,” Cecily said. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” I felt a real fondness for her in that moment, and after she left, I continued to smile.
The next afternoon I was sketching the view from the library window when Rachel found me. I almost had the orchard complete. When I painted it, I would make the sky look overcast, as it looked the day Philip and I spent in here.
“Oh, here you are,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you.”
I looked up from my drawing. She came toward me with a smile. “I have just received a letter from William.”
I stared at her. Did men really write home to their wives while they were off . . . carousing?
“I knew you would want to hear it,” she continued, as she closed the door and came to sit next to me, “as it mentions Philip.”
Dread made my heart pound hard. I shook my head. “No, I don’t. I can’t imagine there is anything in there I am interested in hearing.”
“Come now, you can be honest with me. I’ve seen how you’ve been moping around the house, and if it’s not Philip you’re pining for, it’s William, and that would not suit me well at all.”
I frowned at my drawing. “I am not pining for anyone.”
“Nonsense. Of course you are.” She smiled brightly at me, then looked at her letter. “Let’s see. It sounds like they are really enjoying themselves. Oh, here is the part I wanted to read to you: ‘Philip has fallen in love with a real beauty, with nice legs and beautiful lines. He thinks the price is too dear, but I would not be surprised if he brings her home in the end.’”
I felt as if I were being strangled. “I have no wish to hear about Philip’s . . . conquests,” I choked out.
Rachel looked up. “No, dear, you know they aren’t participating this year.”
I could not look her in the face. They weren’t participating? What did that mean? I didn’t know that much about these things.
“They’re . . . not?”
She looked at me curiously. “No, because Philip gave that horse to you to ride instead. I thought you knew.”
“That horse?” Some part of my mind was not working properly, obviously, because I could not fathom what a horse had to do with any of this. “Do you mean Meg?”
She waved dismissively. “Whatever the name is.”
I was working hard to assemble this puzzle, but without success. “What does Meg have to do with whether or not they . . . participate?” I blushed saying the word.
She stared at me as if I were daft, then set the letter down on her lap and spoke slowly and carefully. “Well, my dear, they need a horse in order to participate in the races. And they didn’t take a horse this year, because
Philip gave you a racehorse to ride and then didn’t want to take her away from you.”
I gaped at her. “Races? Horse races?”
“Yes. They’re at Newmarket. I thought you knew that.”
“But—but you told me that your father would not have approved of what they were doing.”
“No, it’s true, he never did approve of racing.” She sighed. “But there are a lot worse ways for a man to spend his free time, so I don’t stop William from going.” She smoothed her hand over the letter in an affectionate gesture. “It has been a dream of his, all along, to breed racehorses, but of course it’s not financially possible for us. To be honest, I have suspected that Philip might be doing all of this more for William’s sake than for his own interest.” She smiled a little wistfully. “He never has forgiven himself for inheriting everything, you know.”
A surge of emotion was struggling against the bands I had placed around my heart. It beat hard. I felt it awaken, stir, and stretch. My hands trembled.
“I didn’t know,” I murmured.
She laughed lightly. “Well, what did you think they were doing?”
I looked away in embarrassment. “Um . . . I thought . . . I assumed . . . they were involved in a different sort of . . . behavior.”
Rachel suddenly gasped. “Conquests? You didn’t really think—” She burst into laughter. “Oh, it’s no wonder you’ve been acting so miserable since they left! You poor thing.” She put an arm around my shoulder as she laughed, but I was too mortified to join in.
After a moment, she pulled away and said gently, “But how could you suspect Philip of such behavior? Considering how close you two are, I would have thought that you would know his character better than that. Don’t you know what sort of gentleman Philip is?”
I dropped my head into my hands. “I don’t,” I mumbled. “I don’t know anything.”
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