by Rose Pearson
Her breath caught, her fingers twisting together in her lap. “You have never been a tyrant, Father,” she managed to say, speaking as honestly as she could. “I have always known that you care deeply about my future.”
“And about you,” he replied slowly. “When the late Lord Galsworthy approached me about the betrothal, I honestly believed it would be the best situation for you, Marianne, but now, as Lord Galsworthy continues to ignore his responsibilities, I find myself wondering if he is the man that I believed him to be.” He reached forward and patted her hand, a small, warm smile on his face. “I have never once considered you to be at fault in this, Marianne. You need not look so fearful.”
Her heart slowly resumed a normal pace and Marianne felt as though she wanted to cry, such was the tenderness with which her father was speaking. He sat back in his chair and let his gaze travel towards the fire burning in the grate, doing his best to consider what he ought to do. Marianne remained entirely silent, full of relief that she was not to be thought of as responsible in any way.
“The betrothal has not yet become formally known to all of society,” her father murmured slowly, his thoughts evidently settling into a coherent order. “No-one outside Lord Galsworthy’s family and this family know of the agreement, although I am sure that some may have begun to consider that a match is soon to be made. Therefore, since it is still quite private, I will allow Lord Henry’s presence at our home, so long as Harriet is always in attendance.” He looked at her sharply and Marianne nodded quickly. She did not want to do anything that would anger her father and would, of course, ensure that Harriet was always present. The fact that she felt very little for Lord Henry did not matter, for she had to admit that she was more at ease around him than when she was in Lord Galsworthy’s presence.
“Of course, Father,” she murmured, dropping her gaze to her hands in deference.
“I will not allow him to attempt to court you or anything of the sort at this present time,” her father continued firmly, “But I will allow a friendship to develop between the three of you. As for Lord Galsworthy…” Shaking his head, Lord Bridgestone grimaced. “I shall consider the matter a little longer before I decide what is to be done.”
“That is very wise, Father,” Marianne replied quickly. “I thank you for your consideration of me.”
That brought a smile to his face, a smile she had not expected. “You are a good girl, my dear child,” he said, getting to his feet, and putting one gentle hand on her shoulder. “I would not see you unhappy, not for all the world.”
The emotions that ran through her brought fresh tears to her eyes, to the point that she thought she might begin to sob right in front of him. He had never spoken to her with such kindness before, being something of a brusque man, and she was almost overwhelmed by the joy and the relief this brought her. She had always known, always trusted, that her father cared for her in his own way, but to hear him speak to her in such a way now made her heart want to burst from her chest. Blinking rapidly, she thanked him in a low voice and turned to leave the room, wondering why she was constantly being tossed between joy and then pain, struggling to keep herself afloat in a sea of emotion.
“Did you enjoy last evening’s dinner, Lord Henry?”
Marianne looked up at the gentleman walking alongside her, seeing him smile back at her. His smile brought no kind of fluttering to her heart, no quickening of her breath as she took him in. She knew now, more than ever, that whilst she considered Lord Henry an almost perfect gentleman, with a kind heart, good conversation, and wonderful manners, there was none of the fondness she had once permitted herself to feel for Lord Galsworthy. It was more than a little frustrating, for she desperately wanted to feel such a thing for Lord Henry and, in equal measure, wanted not to feel anything of the sort for Lord Galsworthy!
“I did,” Lord Henry replied warmly. “Your father is most kind. He and I had a rather… interesting conversation last evening.”
Marianne glanced back at her sister, who was walking only a few steps behind but was clearly attempting to listen to their conversation. Marianne held back for a moment, allowing her to catch up, for fear that Lord Henry would wish to say something a little too personal for her liking, should she remain walking with him alone.
“Indeed?” she asked once Harriet had re-joined them. “I do hope our father did not pry too much, Lord Henry. He is rather firm on some matters and chooses our family’s acquaintances very carefully.”
“He is very astute to do so,” Lord Henry replied with a small laugh. “I feel as though I have passed the test, however, for he told me that I was welcome to call upon you both at any time.” His smile, directed to Marianne, told her the true meaning behind his words, and yet she felt no spark of warmth, no lurching of her heart. She was glad of his friendship, yes, but there was not, as yet, anything else between them. Perhaps that did not matter, she told herself, as they continued to walk back towards their father’s house. Perhaps it did not matter what one felt for one’s spouse, she considered, knowing that if she were to marry Lord Galsworthy, as had been planned, then she would spend her days torn between misery and frustration, hating that she felt any sort of fondness for the gentleman who appeared to care so little for her. Would it not be better to tie oneself to a gentleman who had, in his appearance and his manner, a deep consideration for her, even if she felt nothing for him in return? She and Lord Henry, should they continue their acquaintance, would become friends and nothing more – but surely a friendship was a good foundation for any marriage? Lifting her chin just a little, she smiled back at him and saw the relief jump into his expression.
“I thank you, Lord Henry,” she said with a glance towards her sister. “I know that my sister and I are always glad of your company.”
Harriet suddenly caught sight of an acquaintance of hers and, begging them to excuse her for a moment, hurried towards the young lady, immediately beginning to talk in excited tones.
“Your sister is very lovely,” Lord Henry murmured, his gaze lingering on Harriet for a moment before he returned his attention to Marianne. “I think she will make a wonderful wife to whichever fine gentleman takes notice of her.”
A little puzzled by this remark, Marianne nodded. “I am quite sure she will, yes.”
“But I cannot be that gentleman,” Lord Henry continued, making her stomach twist tightly as he smiled at her. “I have every intention of pursuing you, Miss Weston.”
Marianne did not know what to say, her heart in her throat for a long moment. A small trickle of sweat ran down her spine, and she felt entirely flustered as Lord Henry waited for her to speak.
“I have embarrassed you,” he said after another minute or two of silence. “I apologize, Miss Weston. I ought not to have been so forward, especially when I am aware that it may be that you are promised to another.” She looked up at him sharply and saw him shrug as though she ought to understand why he knew of such a thing. “I could not ignore the fact that your father asked Lord Galsworthy to speak last evening, when no-one else was asked thereafter. Nor could I miss the way your father looked at you when Lord Galsworthy spoke, evidently waiting for some announcement or other to be made.”
“No announcement has been made, Lord Henry,” Marianne interrupted, a little sharply. “But may I commend you on your skills of observation in these matters.” He looked quite taken aback, staring at her as though he were quite struck by a new, fresh revelation. “You see, Lord Henry,” she continued, feeling embarrassment climb into her cheeks, heating them terribly. “I am not as wonderful as you supposedly think.”
The astonished look began to fade and his mouth twitched, laughter entering his eyes. “My dear lady, I may not have felt the sharp edge of your tongue before, but I profess that it does not make me think any the worse of you.” She looked up at him then, a little surprised. “I am only glad that your father has agreed to allow me to continue to call upon both you and your sister for the time being,” Lord Henry continued,
shooting a quick glance in Harriet’s direction. “I will not be shy about my intentions, Miss Weston. You know very well that I have thoughts of matrimony.”
Marianne shook her head sadly. “You need not waste them on me,” she replied firmly. “There are more than a few other young ladies searching for good husbands. Why turn your attention to someone who might never be able to bring you the fulfillment and joy you hope for?”
There passed a long moment between them. Lord Henry took a tiny step closer to her and, whilst not improper, Marianne felt a sudden rush of awareness as he did so. She wanted to step back, to put as much distance between them as she could, but instead she held her ground.
“I confess, Miss Weston, that I cannot get you from my thoughts,” he replied softly. “Be you betrothed or free, I cannot stop considering you. The fact that Lord Galsworthy does not seem eager to pursue your marriage gives me hope. For, my dear lady, even if you were to end your betrothal yourself, I would not turn from you, damaged though your reputation may be.” Marianne caught her breath at what he had revealed, understanding that he was offering to marry her and save her from any sort of disgrace should she break off her betrothal to Lord Galsworthy. “That being said,” Lord Henry continued, choosing his words with a good deal of consideration. “I would not want to push you in either direction, Miss Weston. I do not know how you feel when it comes to your betrothed, and neither do I know what you think of me.” A wry smile tugged at his lips, giving his handsome face something of a boyish look. “I understand that we must continue to consider these things in our own way. Therefore, I will leave you for the moment and allow us both to simply continue on as we are for the time being. I am quite sure all will become clear in time.”
She nodded numbly, feeling as though her entire being had frozen in place. This was quite overwhelming. She had known that Lord Henry had wanted to further their acquaintance, but to hear that he would marry her should she break off her betrothal to Lord Galsworthy was something else entirely! Somehow, she managed to bid him farewell and, with Harriet now by her side, climbed the stone steps before stepping back into the house.
Harriet was chattering away, but Marianne was unable to give her much of a response. In fact, she begged a headache and went to her bedchamber, where she lay down and closed her eyes, feeling her head heavy with thoughts. There was so much going on within her that she was quite weary of it all and, within a few minutes, sleep had taken her away entirely.
Chapter Eleven
“Galsworthy? Are you quite ready?”
Philip visibly started, looked down at the letter in his hand, and felt utterly miserable. Managing to call out to his mother that he would be quite ready to go by half past the hour, as they had planned, he sat down again in his study chair and shook his head to himself before placing one hand over his eyes.
He had written to Miss Weston only yesterday, some two days after her father’s dinner, apologizing profusely for his lack of thought, his inconsiderate words, and his basic lack of courtesy when it came to consideration of her. There had been so much for him to apologize for and yet, somehow, he had found the words difficult to write. It had taken him near seven attempts before he’d been able to write what he’d felt in his heart. However, on the final attempt, he had chosen to speak as openly as he could, and the words had immediately begun to flow from him. He had told her as much as he could, holding almost nothing back.
Ever since the night of the dinner, he had been thinking of Miss Weston as he had never done before. He had gone over and over what Lord Henry had both said and done, and had considered, then, his own behaviour. Realizing that he had been a fool to go to India and leave her behind had brought about a sudden fierceness of spirit. He would not back down now. He would not allow Lord Henry to march in, headlong, and take Miss Weston from him. Was he not as fine a gentleman as Lord Henry? Yes, he did not have his confidence, his freedom of speaking or the like, but he could still show Miss Weston that he had truly begun to care for her. He could show her his regret over his past behaviour, evidence of his change of heart and prove that he had every intention of caring for her as he ought. All of this he had written to her, going so far as to mention the twinge of jealousy he had felt when seeing her so appreciated by another. He had expressed his heart to her, promising that once they were wed, he would do all he could to prove to her that he was not the unwilling, regretful gentleman she thought him to be. Of course, whether she believed and accepted such admissions from him was quite another thing, however, and it was this that set his heart beating wildly.
Her response to his letter was in his hand. He did not dare open it.
Closing his eyes, Philip could still recall just how much of himself he’d put into the letter he’d written to his betrothed. Try as he might, he still could not find the words to put an end to their betrothal, realizing just how often he had begun to think of her these last few days. Whenever he closed his eyes, he could see her as she had been on the terrace that night, laughing and smiling in his direction with a happiness he had never seen expressed before. He wanted to see that in her again, he wanted to be the gentleman who brought that warm smile to her face. In his heart, Philip knew that he was not willing to let her go, not even if he felt as though she deserved someone better than he.
How he wished he had simply taken the opportunity given him by Lord Bridgestone and proposed to Miss Weston right there at the dinner table, in front of all the guests. Of course, he knew full well that she would have accepted him, given their betrothal, but to the rest of the dinner guests it would have come as a complete surprise – and would have been all around London by the following afternoon had he done so. But no, in his confusion and his foolishness, he had not done as he ought and had missed his opportunity.
Writing to her had, at least, given him the chance to express his regret all over again, praying that it would open up the way for them to begin their courtship once more. He would take her walking or call upon her for afternoon tea once or twice before proposing directly. There would be no more delays, just as long as this letter did not contain her refusal to forgive him.
Steadying himself with a long breath, Philip broke the seal and spread out the letter. Only a few short lines were written within and he ran his eyes over them again and again, feeling it burn into his mind.
‘My dear Lord Galsworthy’, she had written. ‘I accept your apologies and find myself quite overwhelmed with what you have expressed to me. However, I confess that I still cannot be sure whether or not I believe you to be truly devoted to the idea of our marriage. Your actions of late – or lack thereof – do not impress upon me the fervency of your supposed feelings. However, I am glad of your honesty and your willingness to prove as much to me and, as ever, I earnestly await your presence. Yours, etc.’.
It was not a letter that held any particular kind of warmth or affection – not that he could have expected that, of course, given what he had both said and done, but there was a feeling of sadness, of lingering pain and frustration that came through her every word. He could not blame her for being so uncertain of him, his heart a little sorrowful as he read the letter again. They barely knew one another and the behaviour he had demonstrated towards her ever since they had first become betrothed had not been the behaviour of a gentleman willing and earnest to move forward with her towards matrimony.
Neither could he tell, Philip realized, whether or not Miss Weston was stating that she accepted his apology and was now earnestly awaiting his presence simply because she felt she had no other choice. A bride-to-be could not exactly state that she was holding his behaviour against him or that she did not wish to be in his presence – that only came once they were wed, or so it had been suggested! Shaking his head, Philip let out a long, pained sigh, setting down the letter again on the table.
“My lord?”
Looking up, Philip realized that he had not heard the butler’s knock, seeing the man standing framed in the doorway with a rather uncertain l
ook on his face.
“Yes, do come in,” he said quickly. “I do apologize if I did not hear you. Is it my mother?”
The butler smiled, taking away some of the gravity from his usual, sombre expression. “No, my lord, it is not,” he replied, handing Philip a letter. “Although might I suggest that you present yourself a few minutes before you are due to leave for the theatre? It may help your mother’s nerves.”
Philip chuckled, breaking the seal at once. “Thank you. I will be sure to do so.” Alone once more, he opened the letter and saw that it was from his steward. His gut tightened, reading the lines quickly. What neither his mother nor Miss Weston knew was that he had written to his steward almost as soon as he had returned to England, inquiring about all matters relating to his estate, and querying whether or not he ought to return there at once.
The steward was a hardworking man and had kept on top of Philip’s affairs with both dedication and accuracy. However, there was the suggestion near the end of the detailed letter that Philip return to his estate as soon as he could, so that he might make some decisions about matters for which the steward had no authority. Philip felt himself hesitate, knowing that he wanted to return to his estate but also fully aware that he could not leave Miss Weston behind. He had to propose to her – and soon. It would be another month or so before they could both remove to the Galsworthy estate and so, Philip quickly penned a letter in reply to his steward, stating that he would be returning to his estate just as soon as he could, thinking that he would send it in a week or so when matters in London would be a good deal more settled.
That done, and aware that his mother might very well start eating her hat with anxiety, worrying that they would be late for the theatre, Philip made his way out of the study and down the staircase, seeing Lady Galsworthy already waiting for him. Very soon, they were in the carriage and on the way to the theatre with Philip’s mind still caught up with his letters.