As a child, I would beg Father to let me come in and visit with him. And on the rare occasion, he has allowed me to borrow a book from his private library. I have always loved to look at the tomes that line the shelves, and have tried to memorize the titles whenever I enter the room, to see if there was anything I might ask to read on a future visit. But on this day, I don’t even bother to look to see if he has something new, as I am too nervous to remember anything I might see.
After staring at me for a few moments, Father finally speaks.
“My daughter, there is no way for me to say this, other than to be direct. You are to marry.”
My world spins, and I am convinced that someone has tipped it on its end. His words confuse me. They are so unreal, I almost cannot comprehend what he is saying.
“Do you mean to say that I will wed someday? Because I had assumed …”
“No. We mean you are to marry in the immediate future. We have arranged a husband for you.”
“But … married? To who?”
“‘To whom,’” Mother says. “If you are to be a lady in high society, you must learn to speak with proper grammar.”
Father sighs in frustration.
“A business associate of mine. Mr. Roland Bennett. His family is very influential and powerful, and our companies will be merging. Quite fortuitously, he has taken a fancy to you.”
The name does not register with me at first. Then, suddenly, it strikes me like a wave, and I panic at my sudden realization.
The stranger in the night.
It cannot be. Yet, it has to be. Roland Bennett is the handsome man I met while lurking outside Father’s office. And beyond my shock, it excites me to finally know his name. And yet, I am still confused by the strange idea that we are to wed.
And Mother seems just as dazed. She stares at me, in confusion.
“Caroline, do you recall meeting this gentleman?”
I can see how she would be perplexed. I am still a young girl, and am hardly in the habit of meeting men who are older than me. It would be inappropriate. Yet, I cannot possibly tell her the truth of how we know each other. Of my half-naked flirtations. So, I make the only choice left to me, which is to feign ignorance. And it feels like a lie, because it is.
“I am sorry Mother, the name means nothing to me,” I say, full of false innocence.
“Perhaps you became acquainted at one of the dances?”
“But I only dance with boys my own age.”
And Father shakes his head in frustration.
“It matters not, because he has chosen you,” he says. “And though it is difficult for me to ask you to do this, I’m afraid I must. This marriage is of the utmost importance to this family and our company. The union with Bennett Railroads will not only provide us with a means of meeting certain … financial commitments, but it will also ensure the success of our business for years to come.”
“He is a noble man, and quite talented,” Mother says. “Apparently, he runs their family’s ventures here in England, as his father manages their companies abroad. It is quite an impressive feat, for a man of his young age.”
“But what of Marjorie?” I ask. “It is not … odd for her younger sister to marry first? How will this reflect on her?”
“Marjorie has no choice in the matter. What must be done will be done. She will be fine,” Mother says.
But she looks down and to the side, sounding less than convinced.
“You are doing your older sister a great favor by marrying Mr. Bennett,” Father says. “You are ensuring that she will have a certain level of financial comfort for the rest of her life. For her and all of your sisters.”
But Marjorie will never marry Gregory Lawlor now, nor even one of his younger brothers. I fear she will be forced to pick from a lower rung, from someone of the Price-Pearce’s ilk, if that. My union will not sit well in the eyes of London society, whose approval we seem to covet so desperately, at least not for my sister’s purposes. She will appear less desirable, because she has failed to gain a spouse before her younger sister.
And I realize now why she hates me, because I am a creature of pure evil. As much as I care for Marjorie, another part of me gets a certain thrill from sticking this knife in her side. A certain part of me enjoys the idea of knocking her off the pedestal she stands atop so dearly, even though I should pity her further descent.
I look back to my parents, meeting their gaze, fearlessly.
“I understand what must be done, Father. And I am grateful for this chance to honor my family. I look forward to meeting Mr. Bennett.”
My parents look to each other in shock. They know me to be willful at times, in my own quiet way, especially when asked to voice my opinion. I am sure that they are surprised I have nothing more to say on the matter, no argument filled with keen logic to contradict their decision. They cannot possibly know that I am secretly thrilled with the idea of becoming Roland Bennett’s wife, even though I barely know him. That I am fascinated by his desire for me, and am desperate to see him again.
“Well, it is good that you are pleased to meet him, because that will be happening shortly. Come, we must make sure you are ready.”
“He is coming here? Now?”
“Of course. You must be introduced properly, to make sure this is an appropriate union. You will be having tea together, in the garden.”
And my stomach becomes a knot filled with nervous energy. This is real, he is real, and I will be seeing him again within minutes.
“I … understand,” I say, quietly.
Mother looks at me expectantly, and I rise to leave the room with her.
I look back at poor Father, and can tell he is uneasy with what is happening. The idea of seeing his child, his young daughter being married off must be causing him pain. But there is nothing I can do, because he is the one who has set me to this fate.
Mother leads me up the stairs, to my room. My sisters can sense the excitement in the air, and are desperate to know more. From the corner of my eye, I can see the Twins peeking from behind the barely cracked door of their room, covering their mouths as they giggle. Likewise, Marjorie and Madeline stand on the second floor landing, like two sentries in pretty frocks.
Poor Marjorie. I can see the look of confusion on her face. She is the one who everyone usually fusses and frets over. She is the one who captures everyone’s attention, the one who new suitors visit. But on this day, the balance of the universe has shifted.
My sister can no longer take the suspense, and she finally speaks up, as I am led to my room.
“Mother, what is happening?”
Mother stops, as I stand beside her.
“A gentleman will be calling on Caroline today.”
Marjorie laughs, full of contempt.
“You are joking. Why would he bother?”
“He would bother for the reason a gentleman calls on a lady. To court her. And I suggest in the future you have enough common sense to treat your sister with the respect she deserves.”
I can tell my sister does not expect this response. She bites her lip, looking as stunned as she would if someone had just slapped her.
“Yes, Mother,” Marjorie says, becoming quiet.
It takes every ounce of power I have to suppress the smile that struggles to creep across my face. I look away, to stop myself somehow, and poor Marjorie looks hurt. But her expression changes in a way that is startling, into a visage I have never seen before on her face.
She stares at me with a look of pure hatred.
I follow Mother into my room, and our maid Cecily waits for me, holding a dress in the most delicate shade of baby blue. And it takes me a moment to realize that it is meant for me. I realize that something has truly shifted, in that I am being allowed to wear a color other than white. Suddenly, I am no longer a little girl, I am a woman. And the responsibilities of adulthood are being foisted upon me.
I have never seen this dress before, and I wonder where Mother got it. I wond
er how long they have been planning my tea party with Mr. Roland Bennett.
They help me dress. Mother and Cecily work together to pull the creation of silks over my shoulders, to fasten me within it. And when they are done, they sit me in front of the dresser to work their magic on me. I watch with fascination, as I am transformed. My hair is worked into an upswept style, and they affix a hat to my head that matches the color of the dress. They spray me with expensive perfumes, and dust my face with powder, apply faint color to my lips and cheeks. The effect is subtle, they can hardly make me look like one of the painted actresses from the theatre, I am far too young for that. But I am stunned to see the results before me. I can hardly recognize myself in the mirror. I feel like a different person.
For a moment, I thought it was Marjorie looking back at me.
The others must realize it too. Cecily gasps, stunned.
“Mon dieu, Mademoiselle. You are a vision. The young gentleman will be unable to resist you.”
Usually the girl would not speak out of turn, but for some reason, Mother allows it. Perhaps because she is equally impressed with the results.
“It hardly matters, Cecily. Because the choice has already been made.”
A different person. I had always felt like a different person, someone other than the proper girl being raised amongst the upper crust of English society. And now suddenly, I am someone different, and the irony is not lost on me. But as I stare at my reflection, I begin to feel dizzy, and I realize the world is shifting in another way. For a moment, the person in the mirror transforms. I am no longer the proper lady with make-up on my face and a fancy new dress, someone else I do not recognize stares back at me. Another woman, with dark hair and a darker complexion, who looks like a savage. And though I have never seen her before with my eyes, I slowly realize that there is something familiar about her. Though I have not met her in real life, I have pictured her in my mind.
It is my friend Saga, the raven-haired beauty, from the stories I have written. The princess from a hidden cult of warriors hellbent on overthrowing the Egyptian throne.
She begins to shift, becoming yet another person, and I shake my head to stop it, gently, so as not to muss my hair. And if they notice something in my expression, Mother and Cecily must attribute it to my nerves over the day’s events, thinking I am overwhelmed by my new course. They help me up and usher me from the confines of my room once more.
Marjorie must have been listening for us, because as we come out of the room, she steps from her door. And there is a look of confusion on her face. And for a moment, I think that she does not recognize me. And again, she stares daggers at me, bearing a look of anger.
I am startled. Though we have squabbled, I have never garnered such animosity from my sister before.
We go downstairs to the sitting room, and somewhere along the way, Cecily steps aside. The sitting room is a large space toward the back of the house, filled with windows that overlook the gardens. There are many sofas throughout the room, and this is the place where Mother holds her tea parties, because it is large enough to seat all of the women she considers worth inviting, along with their daughters.
Father sits here, waiting for us, and a tall blonde man sits with him; the handsome stranger, Roland Bennett. And my heart begins to race upon seeing him again, and knowing that he is, in fact, the man they have spoken of, my intended husband. I feared another suitor might be waiting here, who I would be disappointed by. Both he and Father stand at my presence, the way one would when a lady enters the room.
Roland is tall, taller than I remember, and he towers over me. When he takes off his hat, I get another view of the glorious blonde hair that is swept to the side. And he smiles sweetly, seeming thrilled to see me. The grin on his face makes him seem almost boyish, though Roland Bennett is clearly a man.
A wave of nervousness comes over me, because this isn’t just a new stranger I am meeting, which is unsettling enough. This is my husband, the man my parents have chosen for me to marry. And it is not just the strange visions of him in my bed that frighten me. I am worried I will make a mistake, and destroy it all somehow. That I will shame my family, or do something wrong to end this financial agreement they are attempting to create. But a sensation of buzzing comes to my mind, one that I have felt before. I remember it from the night we met. And it creates a kind of warmth that seems to sweep over my body, one that relaxes me. I am grateful for it, and say thanks to whatever angels are trying to assist me.
Father turns to me.
“Caroline, I’d like for you to meet Mr. Roland Bennett.”
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.”
“The honor is all mine,” Roland says, offering a low bow.
An awkward silence follows. Seeming to notice the discomfort in the air, Mother speaks up.
“We’ve arranged for you to have tea in the gazebo. Would you like to escort Mr. Bennett there, Caroline?”
“Of course.”
He bows, and opens the door with the glass panes that leads outside.
It is a warm day, and there is not so much as a cloud in the sky. A blanket of blue hangs over us, and covers everything for as far as the eye can see. It feels like the perfect day for me to formally meet my new fiancée.
Roland walks next to me, and he wears a grey suit, lighter in color than the one he had worn when we first met. And he is even more handsome in the light of the day. I find it hard to believe that someone so dashing would be here for me, and can barely look at him. It embarrasses me. So instead, I concentrate on walking carefully, so I don’t fall over in the grass.
A cobblestone path has been set as a walkway through the garden, made of reddish bricks. It is difficult for me to navigate it in my high heels, but the beauty of our setting makes it worth the effort. Our garden is a lovely place. Rose bushes surround us, blooming in a variety of colors, shades of pink, white and yellow. There are even some exotic purple ones that are Mother’s pride and joy. She insists that our oasis be meticulously cared for, and will even go so far as to trim the rose bushes herself, lovingly. It is the closest thing to unladylike behavior that she exhibits.
Our garden is almost the size of a small park, and it is a sign of prestige to have such a significant patch of greenery within the middle of the city. The natural setting is one of my favorite places in our home, other than the sitting room and the desk by my window. I love to come here, as it is a place where I can reflect, and enjoy a bit of peace and quiet on my own, unless the Twins are nearby, antagonizing me.
It feels strange to share something so dear to me so quickly with Roland, yet my parents have made a wise decision in choosing this as the backdrop for our first meeting. I think that I will be a bundle of nerves, yet the nature of the garden setting helps me to remain calm … that, along with the subtle buzzing in my head. Yet the thought of this odd foreign presence is almost too much for me to handle at the moment, and I struggle to push it away.
Even Roland seems impressed by our surroundings, and he looks around with interest.
“It is very lovely here,” he says.
“I like it very much. We are quite fortunate to have such beautiful scenery in our home. I try to enjoy this seclusion as often as I can.”
“And what do you do when you’re here?”
“Oh. Well, I read. Or practice my drawing lessons.”
“And is that it? Just drawing and reading? Or is there something … more?”
“Well, I … I sit and reflect.”
“And what exactly do you reflect on?”
His question startles me, because I feel that he has somehow read my mind. I never speak of it, the thoughts that run through my head are private ones, yet with his probing, I realize I do more than just reflect. I use this place to ponder my existence, and the way in which I fit into the strange world around me. Or more specifically, to try to understand why I feel I don’t fit in at all. And I daydream about Saga, and the foolish stories that I write. Someho
w, in the garden, surrounded by nature, her story appears to me so vividly I feel that I am there, within her world. And after experiencing my visions, I quickly race back to my room to scribble them down.
But I can hardly tell him all of that. So I try to bat his questions away.
“I … I don’t know. I suppose I reflect on whatever silly thoughts there are that run through a young girl’s mind.”
“Well, I doubt very much that your thoughts are silly. And I would very much like to know what it is you are pondering that requires such secrecy,” he says, with a smile. “But maybe in time you’ll tell me, if I am lucky.”
His inquisitive nature antagonizes me, and I almost feel that he is toying with me. I stop in my tracks and face him, before I can even consider the repercussions of my actions. Because I just can’t take it anymore. It is the willful part of me that my parents complain of, which I normally try to repress. And I know I am doing exactly what they would not want, which is to offend Roland.
“Why are you here?” I say. “Why have you chosen me?”
“Ah, so now we’re being direct?” he says. “Is it such a shock to you that I would ask for your hand in marriage?”
“Of course, it is.”
“Well, why? You are a very beautiful young woman. Do you not realize that men covet your beauty?”
“It is not me they covet. It is my sister, Marjorie.”
“Hardly,” he says, with a laugh. “At least not the ones with taste. Their stomachs turn at the thought of having such a petulant, selfish wife who will no doubt drive them to an early grave. They hope some other fool takes her off your parents’ hands, so that one of the more appealing Caldwell sisters will become available. But that will not be the case for those sad souls, because there is at least one they most certainly will not have.”
He smiles again, and I knit my brow, becoming annoyed. I am surprised to discover that something about Roland Bennett frustrates me.
The Meridian Gamble Page 19