Chapter 2
“Marie, what has got into you this morning?”
Marie shifted uncomfortably in her seat in the chaise and looked at her father. “I am quite alright, Father.” Her fingers tapped the polished wood, reflecting her suppressed annoyance.
Edward Stanhope frowned and shook his head. “I know you better than that, Marie,” he said softly. “I can tell that something has upset you. You do not have to tell me, of course, but it might help to talk it through, you know.”
Marie smiled. Her father was not like other fathers, and she knew she was lucky to have him. He would always listen to her troubles, even the most inconsequential ones, and give her his wise advice. But this time, she was not sure she could speak to him about what was on her mind.
“It is nothing, Father,” she said.
Edward shrugged, then turned to look out of the window.
Marie let out a soft sigh. It wasn’t nothing, but talking to her father about it wouldn’t help – and might only worry him.
A moment of silence passed between them before her father spoke again.
“I know what the problem is,” he declared. “And you know me, Marie. I cannot sit in silence for long. Your aunt has upset you.”
Marie pushed a stray lock of dark hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear.
“Father, I cannot keep anything from you, it seems.” She smiled at him.
“And nor would I want to. But I do not want to trouble you with my trifling worries. I know you have much more important things to worry about.”
He shook his head. “Not at all, my dear. Nothing is more important to me than your happiness.”
Marie glanced out the carriage window at the densely wooded forest outside.
She wished for a moment that she was walking through the trees rather than cooped up in this carriage.
If she could only feel the fresh air on her skin and breathe in the sweet scent of the pine trees, perhaps she would feel a little calmer,
“I confess that Aunt Lucille’s words have troubled me,” she said.
“It seemed to me that at every opportunity, she spoke to me about the need to get married. She kept on telling me about various young gentlemen of her acquaintance who might be a suitable match for me, and really, I just do not want to hear about it!”
She remembered, too, her aunt’s quiet whispering to her at breakfast the day before.
“Marie, dear, you’re not getting any younger,” Aunt Lucille had said with a knowing smile. As if age were reason enough to commit herself to a man forevermore!
She knew that everyone thought she should settle down – her older cousins, too, had started nudging her about it.
Every time it was mentioned, Marie had clenched her jaw and forced a smile; while she loved her family dearly, she found this new and seemingly constant topic of conversation rather trying.
Edward chuckled. “But Marie, my dear girl, you are twenty-one now! Of course people will think of you getting married! It is the path for most young women of your age and position, after all.”
“But Father, I am not ready!” Marie insisted. “I do not want to get married. I can imagine nothing worse than having to be at the beck and call of some man I hardly know!”
“It would not have to be like that, you know,” Edward mused. “And I would never allow you to marry someone you hardly knew. You know that, surely?”
Marie nodded. She knew her father would never push her to marry. “Even so, though,” she went on. “I do not want to leave you.”
Edward sighed. “And I do not want to do without you, either,” he replied. “But you are young, vivacious, and beautiful, and before long, I am sure that some young man will fall wildly in love with you, and you with him, and then you will change your tune.”
“Papa, that will never happen,” Marie said. “I cannot imagine ever loving anyone as much as I love you!”
“It is a different kind of love!” Edward replied with a smile. “And I would not want you to live without it. When I think of your mother and how happy we were together …” His voice trailed off.
Marie felt a twist in her stomach at the mention of her mother. She barely remembered her, only those vague and misty memories of early childhood: her soft hands, the sweet French lullabies she used to sing to Marie as she dropped off to sleep in her little bed in the nursery.
But there was nothing more, although she had searched her consciousness for it many times.
But her mother had died when she was only four years old, during childbirth – giving birth to a brother, who had also died shortly after his arrival into the world.
And her father still carried his grief with him to this day.
“I know you loved her very much,” Marie said softly. “I do not believe I shall ever find that kind of love. And certainly not with any of the young men who Aunt Lucille would throw me in front of!”
“Well,” Edward said. “There is no hurry. We will not rush into anything. But I think that before the year is out, you may well have changed your mind.”
Marie shrugged. She knew she would not change her mind. Why could she not simply stay with her father in their comfortable home and share intimate meals with him, talking about books, politics, and all the other things that young ladies were not supposed to have opinions on?
And when he was gone… well. She did not want to think about that. All she knew was that she did not want anything to change about their lives.
“Papa, please, can we have a few weeks at home, at least, before we venture off to visit anyone else again?” she asked.
“I am not sure about that,” Edward replied. “You know that we must pay calls and participate in society as best we can. And your aunt said that she is thinking of throwing a ball soon. We cannot miss such an event. Surely you know that.”
Marie fought the urge to roll her eyes. A ball!
She could hardly imagine a worse way to spend an evening!
All those insipid young ladies making eyes at any gentleman who came anywhere near them and all the society mamas thrusting their daughters in front of eligible suitors.
All the noise and the hubbub. No, it was not for her.
Well, nearer the time, she would think of an excuse. It was no use worrying about it now.
Marie and her father settled into a comfortable silence as the carriage trundled along the road. Marie thought how glad she would be to get home and how pleased she would be to see Sylvie, her maid.
Next time, she thought, she would insist that Sylvie accompanied them, even if they were only going to visit family. She simply could not do without her as a companion as much as a servant, even for a few days.
As they travelled along the winding road, the sun dipped lower in the sky,
casting a golden hue over the landscape.
Marie’s thoughts wandered; she was looking forward to getting home, back to their quiet routine.
She wondered how the new roses she had recently planted were getting on.
First thing in the morning, she resolved to take a walk in the garden and check on their progress.
Suddenly, a raucous noise broke her reverie. Her heart raced as she leaned forward, peering through the carriage window.
Up ahead, a scene of chaos unfolded. A group of highwaymen, wild-eyed and shouting, were charging towards a very smart-looking carriage that appeared to be stuck in the mud.
The horses were stomping in fear and kicking up dust from the road with their hooves. Two bandits were on foot, while two remained on their horses. She knew that there could be many more hiding in the trees to the side of the road.
The sight sent a jolt of adrenaline through her veins. She couldn’t just sit back and do nothing; that was not in her nature.
“Stop the carriage!” she shouted, her voice cutting through the hubbub.
The carriage suddenly halted with a jolt, causing Marie to bang her head on its low ceiling.
“Mon Dieu,” she murmured, rubbing her head. But the pain quickly dissipated, and her focus returned. She glanced out the window again. The driver had safely brought the horses to a halt from the unfolding drama.
He probably imagined that her intention was for them to stay out of the way while the carriage in front was attacked and that perhaps they could, therefore, escape the notice of the highwaymen, but that was not Marie’s plan at all.
Her father stared at her as if sensing her intention. “Marie, you must stay in the carriage!” he instructed. “Please, do not do anything rash. It is not safe out there.”
Ignoring her father’s words, Marie reached beneath her seat, retrieving her trusty slingshot—an item she never left home without.
“What are you doing?” Edward shouted at her, his face drawn with panic. He reached out to grab the slingshot from her, but she evaded him. “You cannot be thinking of trying to intervene? It would be madness!”
Marie glanced at the slingshot in her hand. It had been a gift from her late grandfather, who had taught her how to use it. He was her only connection with her mother, and she had been devoted to him as a child.
Since his death, she had honed her skills through countless hours spent practicing in the fields, and now it was time to put them to use. In a split second, she wondered for a moment if he would be proud of her now, of the woman she had become.
Then, ignoring her father’s shouts of protest, she threw open the carriage door and jumped out, landing on the ground with a thud.
She moved quietly, gathering a handful of smooth stones from the ground, feeling their cool weight in her palm. The most important thing was that no one saw her. She must do nothing to alert anyone to her presence.
With determination, she aimed her slingshot at the nearest bandit, a burly man brandishing a pistol. He had his back to her, and he would have no idea what was about to happen to him. She released the first stone, a sense of satisfaction flowing through her as she watched it soar.