Chapter 9 #2
Her first thought was disbelief. Her second, foolishly, was that perhaps Barnaby had not seen her, but of course he had.
His gaze passed across the pews with the faintest flicker of awareness before he bowed to Lady Bruton and guided his companion gracefully into the family pew beside him.
He looked entirely at ease, as though escorting one lady one day and proposing to another the next were nothing worth remark.
The congregation settled, though the air seemed thicker for all the whispers it held. The vicar began the service, his voice as sonorous as ever, but Merry heard scarcely a word. Her pulse thrummed in her ears.
Who was the young woman? Barnaby had told her the lady in the sleigh was a mere tenant’s daughter, but no tenant dressed in such finery, nor carried herself with such easy confidence.
The ribbons on her bonnet were silk—London silk—and the fur about her shoulders could not have come from any Gloucestershire market.
Was it all a lie, then? Every word?
Her hands tightened within her skirts.
Joshua sat beside her, as solemn and steady as ever, his eyes fixed upon the vicar.
He sang the hymns in his low voice. It always seemed to find the right note without effort.
She envied him that steadiness—envied how little the world seemed to shake him.
She wondered if he had noticed. He must have noticed.
How could anyone fail to see the way the young lady leaned close to whisper to Barnaby, how she smiled up at him from beneath her lashes, how his answering look held the faint indulgence of a man used to being adored?
Heat burned behind Merry’s eyes; part shame, part fury.
Her mother touched her arm gently when it came time to stand for the reading. “Are you feeling unwell, my dear?”
“No, Mama,” she whispered. Her voice felt brittle, as though one more word might shatter it.
Joshua turned his head slightly, his gaze resting on her for a heartbeat before returning to his prayer book. He said nothing. He never said anything unnecessary. Yet something in his look—so calm, so knowing—made her cheeks flame. He must have guessed. He must know how wretched she felt.
The sermon droned on. The Bruton pew glittered like a tableau of privilege.
Lord Bruton stared straight ahead, his expression carved from marble.
The lady beside Barnaby leaned nearer still, her gloved hand brushing his sleeve as she whispered something that made him smile—a slow, indulgent smile Merry remembered too well.
Merry fixed her gaze on the altar and prayed, not for patience or understanding, but simply to be invisible.
When the final hymn rose—‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’—she sang too loudly, desperate to drown the ache in her chest. Joshua’s deep voice joined hers, steady and sure, a sound like earth under her feet. Yet she felt only humiliation.
When the service ended, the congregation spilled into the churchyard, bright with frost and chatter.
Lord Bruton’s party moved through them like a miniature procession.
Merry watched, unable to stop herself. Barnaby bowed to Lady Bruton, handed the beauty into the waiting carriage, and only then turned to acknowledge Merry’s presence across the path—with a polite inclination of the head, no more.
No warmth. No familiarity. Nothing that could betray the secret he had pressed upon her only yesterday.
She stared at him, willing him to offer some explanation, some hint of apology. He merely smiled, thin and distant, before turning away to assist his mother into the carriage. The door shut with a soft, final sound.
Joshua appeared beside her then, his voice quiet as he spoke. “The frost is biting. Allow me to see you home.”
She nodded mutely. The words she wished to speak—to scream, perhaps—stuck fast in her throat. As they walked down the lane, she could hear the jingle of the Bruton carriage fading into the distance, at once both cheerful and cruel.
Joshua said nothing more, but his silence was the kind that waited for her to speak when she could.
Merry, however, could not yet bear it. In her heart, she knew the truth.
Nothing was worth being tied to someone who would not acknowledge her—but how to extricate herself?
If only she could unburden herself to someone, but she had given her word.
To betray that secret now would be to confess her foolishness to the entire world.
They walked in silence, side by side, falling behind the others. Merry drew her cloak closer and fixed her eyes on the ground. At last, unable to bear the weight between them, she found her courage. Her voice came small at first, then firmer.
“Do you wish to say something about Tremaine’s inconstancy?”
Joshua’s expression did not change. He clasped his hands behind his back and took several measured steps before answering, as though each word required its proper distance.
“I wish nothing of the sort,” he said at length. “I want only your happiness, Merry.”
She stopped walking. The cold air clouded between them. “My happiness,” she repeated, half in disbelief. “Even when I have made such a fool of myself?”
His gaze met hers, steady and gentle. “Especially then.”
Her throat tightened. He was too kind. His composure, his restraint, made her feel suddenly young and small and, unbearably, seen as such. “You must think me very foolish,” she whispered.
“I think,” he said quietly, “that anyone with a generous heart may sometimes be deceived by the appearance of generosity in another. A moment of blindness does not make a fool of anyone. It makes them human.”
She blinked hard, the frozen air stinging her eyes. “A generous sentiment.” Merry glanced sideways at him, her heart heavy yet a little lighter for his company. Unfortunately the situation was not so simple.