“The colonel is all that I could hope for,” she said, echoing his sentiments toward Miss Shaw.
“I am glad to hear that,” Timothy said, even though it wasn’t entirely the truth. “I am surprised I do not see him about the city more than I do.”
The man did not seem overly social nor interested in making connections despite the fact that it ought to be his primary intention after so many years out of the country. He should be building a foundation in England, and London during Parliament was the best time to make the acquaintances that would set his future.
“He has a great deal to do, Timothy,” she said with an air of reprimand. “His land and inheritance demand a large measure of thought and preparation. I think it is a bit overwhelming, really. After all his years in the military, he is left to manage something completely different than anything he has done before.”
That is reasonable, Timothy decided, and he was reminded how little he knew about the responsibilities to be his once he married. He’d met with Uncle Elliott’s solicitor here in London in order to go over the details of his inheritance, but the meeting had left Timothy with a continued sense of his insufficiency. He managed nothing beside his allowance and his wardrobe—a far cry from what lay ahead.
They reached Hatchets and spent a full half an hour browsing the shelves. Timothy found a book about central Northampton, where the land Uncle Elliott would give him upon marriage was located, and one on the economy of land management. He felt better already just having the information in his hands. Maryann found three novels for Deborah, who was still not feeling well, and a notebook since Deborah was obsessing over Lady Dominque’s party and rewriting every list she made a hundred times—or so Maryann explained. Timothy asked the clerk to bind their purchases in two parcels, which he then carried.
“Shall we take a turn around Green Park?” Timothy asked, reluctant to end their time together.
Maryann eyed him. “Haven’t you other things to do today? Footraces with your friends, perhaps, or betting on horses?”
“I do enjoy a good footrace,” he said, grinning. “But why are you so determined to believe that spending time with you does not cast all other activities into a paler light?” He deftly steered her toward the park on the other side of Piccadilly Road.
She said nothing.
“Unless you are the one who has better things to do and are looking to make it seem like my fault.” What if she’d had some plan to meet Colonel Berkins? The idea caused him to clench his teeth.
“That is not what I meant,” she said, shaking her head.
They paused on the curb. Timothy waited for a small break in the flow of passing carriages and then pulled her into a run across Piccadilly Road, loving her slight shriek of surprise. Fortunately, she didn’t resist him or they’d have been in trouble.
“Timothy,” she exclaimed when they reached the other side of the road. She looked back across the street, her hand on her chest, then turned her flashing eyes to him, her cheeks flushed. “I could have tripped over my skirts and fallen to my death!”
“You think I would let such a thing happen?” He adjusted the parcels under one arm and put out the other. She glowered at him as she put her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Aren’t there times, Maryann, when you just want to . . . run? Give all you have to a thing, even if only for a moment and despite what people might think?”
She was quiet for a moment. “Are you speaking literally or metaphorically?”
They entered the path that crisscrossed the green, and he let her set the pace. “Both,” Timothy said. “The same energy that we are forced to keep inside physically is represented in manners and procedure, don’t you think?”
“I suppose,” she said, but she sounded uncertain.
“Take Miss Callifour and Mr. Fetich, for instance. Anyone can tell they are besotted with one another. She ought to be married as soon as possible—no offense.”
“None taken,” she replied dryly. But she did not slap him or pull her hand away, so he chose to believe she wasn’t offended by his subtle hint at Miss Callifour’s advanced age.
“And he is a man of fine character and ambition.” He did not know how much Maryann knew about Mr. Fetich’s situation and did not want to be a gossip, so he kept the details to himself. “Yet propriety keeps them from spending individual time together, which keeps them from knowing how well suited they are, which leads to guessing and hoping when all they need is some time to focus on one another so that they might know for themselves the rightness of their choice.” He paused to take a breath after stringing so many thoughts together.
“So you are saying that they should have the chance to run with each other.”
He smiled at her. “Precisely. And how good of us to have given them that option, don’t you think?”
She shook her head. “I go back to my original commentary on this topic—that it was very kind of you to help provide the opportunity.”
“And selfish,” he reminded her, then reached up and pulled the ribbon of her bonnet. To his surprise, the bow did not unravel. He dropped his arm to the side and looked at her with wide eyes.
“I double-knotted the bow while you arranged their table at Gunters,” she said, obviously pleased with her forethought.
Timothy shook his head. “Gracious, a man has got to get up early to get the best of you, Maryann Morrington.”
She chuckled, but it was not a full laugh. She looked around the clear path around them, then met his eye again and gave him a wicked grin. “I shall race you to that tree.” She had scarce finished the last word before she pushed him hard in the chest, causing him to stumble backward and bumble the packages in the process. By the time he’d caught his balance, she had her skirts lifted—only high enough that she would not trip—and was running toward an oak tree several yards away far faster than he’d thought possible. He growled in his throat but smiled as he put his head down and raced forward to beat her.
Colonel Berkins was a patron of Gentleman Jackson’s boxing establishment, and the day following Timothy’s footraces with Maryann—which he won—Timothy called in a favor with a friend and found himself at the location at the same time as Colonel Berkins. That Maryann was truly interested in this man piqued Timothy’s interests. They fenced one another; Colonel Berkins was far better than Timothy but sparred fairly. Afterward, Timothy invited the colonel to Whites. He didn’t actually have a membership, but Lucas did, and he had worked something with the desk so that Timothy could come now and again.
Timothy and Berkins enjoyed brandy and pipes and talked of Spain and mining and Parliament. By the end of the afternoon, Timothy was without complaint with the man, other than how he had put his hands on Maryann’s waist and kissed her on the cheek that day. That Maryann had not been offended by the behavior made it difficult for Timothy to hold it too much against him, however. What was it Maryann had said—that no other man had given her such attention? Remembering that comment gave Timothy an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. She would not welcome additional attention of that sort, would she?
On the evening she’d introduced him to Miss Shaw, Maryann and the colonel had disappeared into the garden for a time. He had no reason to suspect anything more than a walk through the roses, but her cheeks had been rather pink upon their return, and Timothy had been thinking about it in more detail since yesterday afternoon. As Maryann’s self-appointed older brother here in London, it was his duty to make sure the colonel was properly vetted.
They spoke of the colonel’s phaeton; he was already considering selling it and getting a landau instead. “The phaeton is a bit too sporty for an old man like me, I think.”
They talked about their future plans, Timothy remaining vague about his prospects since he did not want his fortunate change of circumstances to begin making the rounds. They spoke of races and hunting and every other topic Timothy could thi
nk to introduce until he was left with only one. “And what do you think of Miss Morrington?”
Colonel Berkins’s smile grew, and Timothy felt his fall. He quickly put it back in place. I am happy for them both, he told himself.
“I think a great deal of Maryann,” Colonel Berkins said with a confirming nod. “I must thank you for the introduction. She is enchanting.”
He called her Maryann? And said she was enchanting? Timothy forced himself to focus. “I am a great friend of her sister’s husband. We were in school together.”
“Yes,” Colonel Berkins said with another nod. “You said as much when you introduced us at Almack’s. She speaks very highly of Mr. and Mrs. Landsing. They have been a great support to her in London and help make up for the loss of her mother, I think.”
Maryann had discussed her mother’s death with this man? Timothy had liked to think that he was the only man who knew the wound she still harbored regarding that loss.
Colonel Berkins continued. “I would like your opinion on a matter, Mr. Mayfield, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.”
“Maryann and I were speaking of where we would reside after marriage.”
Timothy had taken a drink just then and began to cough. He had to lean forward to try to catch his breath. Colonel Berkins slapped him on the back a few times to help the coughing pass.
Once recovered, Timothy stared at the man. “You spoke about marriage? You have known her little more than a fortnight!”
Colonel Berkins pulled back from the intensity of Timothy’s accusation. “Not a marriage between the two of us. Our individual marriages—good grief, man. Are you all right?”
Timothy sat back and cleared his throat, but he was unable to relax enough to strike a casual pose. “My apologies. Do continue.”
Colonel Berkins eyed him warily. “She expressed her desire to live in Somerset, if possible, but understands that the man she marries will ultimately make the decision. Since I have not yet established a permanent residence, I wondered what you knew of her family, if that might be something they would accommodate, or would they see me as a layabout not to have a place in hand?”
Timothy mentally repeated what Colonel Berkins had said word for word to make sure he did not react poorly. “You are preparing to make her an offer?”
“Not yet,” Colonel Berkins said. “But I am thirty-six, and I’ve not hidden from anyone, certainly not Maryann, that I am in London to find a wife and establish my family here in England after so many years abroad.”
“You told her this!”
Colonel Berkins’s voice was wary but sharp in response. “Yes, and she admitted that was her reason to come to London as well. There is no shame in discussing it if both parties are comfortable with the topic.”
“No shame,” Timothy repeated and downed his drink before putting the glass on the side table. “It is very bold. I do not think her family will appreciate such forwardness.”
He looked chagrined. “Well, then I shall pull back my intention. I apologize for bringing it up. I meant no offense.”
They sat in awkward silence long enough for Timothy to chastise himself for handling the man’s honesty so poorly. “You must forgive me, Colonel Berkins. I regard Maryann as a . . . younger sister, and I worry for her. Sometimes her boldness gets the better of me, but it is unkind of me to react as such to you.” He cleared his throat, hoping he was going about this the right way. Why was this so difficult? “In answer to your original question, I do not think her family would object to your situation nor to her wish to reside in Somerset. She loves it there; it is where she has lived all her life and where her mother is buried.”
“Thank you, Mayfield, that is a relief to hear. I believe I shall be dividing my time between London and wherever I set up my family. I should like my wife to be comfortable and happy, and I sense that Maryann is an independent woman who will be amenable to a nontraditional arrangement. It is a relief to know that Maryann’s family would support such a circumstance if things between she and I should continue as they are. I do enjoy her company and her wit a great deal.”
So do I, Timothy thought to himself. “I think that you not being after her fortune will also lend her family’s support toward whatever arrangement works best for Maryann. They want her happiness beyond all else.”
Colonel Berkins stared at Timothy and set down his glass, though it still had a swallow left. His eyes did not dance and his smile did not grow, rather he looked worried by this news. “Did you just say she has a fortune?”
Saturday night was another ball, and more Colonel Berkins, and more coy glances that led to a whispered invitation to meet him in the library—a room not open to the guests. It was easy to find her way there at the appointed time, even easier to fully enjoy more kisses. More distraction.
She returned to the ballroom ahead of the colonel, and Timothy gave her an odd look from across the room, making her fear that her cheeks might still be a bit flushed. She raised her eyebrows in silent challenge. He narrowed his eyes and looked away. Colonel Berkins entered through the doors at the other side of the room. She met his eye too, flushed again, and then moved around the room in the other direction so no one would be suspicious. Well, no one but Timothy, but Maryann did not care if he disapproved.
She was enjoying herself in London again and finding it easier to be satisfied with herself now that she had the attention of a man whose company she enjoyed. She’d begun to wonder if Colonel Berkins would make an offer. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t expressed interest in any other woman, and they had had rather bold conversations about what each of them wanted from marriage. Though she had little regret for kissing the man, she was wise enough to know that she ought not to be too willing until things were set between them.
Colonel Berkins left at eleven, kissing her hand in farewell, and Maryann stayed to talk with the Misses Callifours and a few other friends, including Timothy and Miss Shaw, whose aunt seemed to know everyone in London. It had been a nice evening: easy, entertaining, and comfortable.
Maryann could imagine herself as a married woman—Mrs. Berkins, even—and regularly enjoying the associations in town. Not worried about what other people thought of her. Not wondering at the intention behind a man’s attention to her. As a married woman, all that would be behind her, and she longed for it almost as much as she longed for the sea.
Maryann tried not to be too attentive to Timothy and Miss Shaw. They stood side by side, but not touching. At one point, he whispered something in her ear, and Maryann’s blood ran hot with an envy she was embarrassed to identify even in her own mind. Miss Shaw had smiled and then looked at him with such adoration Maryann had to look away. The girl was everything he wanted. She wished Colonel Berkins had been able to stay longer so she did not feel like the fifth place setting at a table meant for four.
Mrs. Wallace finally announced her farewell, and Timothy walked the two women out. Maryann did not let herself watch them go.
With it down to just the three of them, Maryann sensed that Miss Callifour and Mr. Fetich wanted some time for private conversation so she excused herself to say goodbye to the hosts and thank them for the night.
“It seems you have had quite the evening,” Timothy said from behind her, causing her to startle. She’d assumed he had left for the night but was not displeased to see him. That was part of her problem: she was never displeased to see Timothy.
He fell naturally into step next to her.
She remembered his chastising look earlier in the evening and smiled rather smugly. “In fact, I did. London has become a much more enjoyable place this last week.”
Timothy put a hand on her arm and lowered his voice while slowing their step. “Might I have a word before you leave?”
“I’ve no tolerance for a reprimand, Timothy.” They had had such a nice time in Piccadilly, and she wanted that to
be their new relationship.
“It is not a reprimand,” Timothy said. “Rather, it is an apology and a confession.”
Maryann lifted her eyebrows, and then moved to the side of the room with him. She looked at him expectantly, and he stared at his boots, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. He lifted his eyes to hers, did not smile, and spoke quickly. “Colonel Berkins knows of your inheritance.” He took a breath and then his words continued to tumble out, his tone contrite. “I was only trying to get to know him better and I let it slip, and I am so sorry, Maryann. I know this has been such a burden for you this season, and I was not a good steward of the information. I hope you will forgive me, yet again. I’m so sorry.”
Maryann took a moment to make sure she understood the words and the intention behind them before she responded. “I assumed from the start the colonel knew of my inheritance, Timothy. Everyone else in town does.”
Timothy blinked. “Oh.”
“But you believe he did not know until you told him? How did the topic come up?”
“He was asking about what your family would think if he chose to reside in Somerset, as he expects to travel a great deal for business, and I said something to the effect that they would be relieved enough that he wasn’t after your fortune that they would not think ill of him for not having a permanent place of his own.” His shoulders fell beneath his blue coat. “I feel terrible, Maryann.”
She liked that Colonel Berkins had spoken as though a match between them was to be expected. Perhaps an offer would be coming soon. The thought was exciting, but she kept her focus on Timothy. “Why do you feel as though you betrayed me?”
“Because now he knows of your money, and so his motivations can’t be trusted.”
Can’t they? “You assume that his interest in my fortune will supersede his interest in me, then?”
Timothy considered for a moment, then shook his head. “Not at all.”
Daisies and Devotion Page 16