Chapter 5 #2
She glanced at Charles, though again he made no response. She had hoped he would have opened up when they were away from Father, but her optimism swiftly faded.
“When we get to Grendale,” Mrs. Shepherd continued, “you must make yourself at home, Marie. You have been there enough to know where most of the rooms are.”
Marie nodded, though not before hearing a subtle sniff coming from Charles that sounded suspiciously like a scoff.
“Your possessions, of course, have already been brought over and set up in your room,” Mrs. Shepherd said. “Oh, that reminds me. Charles?”
His jaw tightened. “Yes, Mother?”
His voice was deep and rumbling, though it held a distinctive smooth tone that Marie could almost feel reverberating in her chest.
“You will not know this, what with your being at Rowan’s house last month.”
“I was with Ambrose in February, Mother. Not Rowan.”
She waved another hand, clearly revealing how much she did not care what name she’d used. “Yes, yes. At any rate, I wanted you to know that we have moved you to the room adjoining Marie’s.”
Marie stiffened. Adjoining rooms were perfectly normal for upper-class, married individuals, but the thought of a mere doorway between her and this man was unsettling. And she would not even think about tonight. If the man couldn’t even look at her, how were they to...
Well, never mind that now. She would cross that ridiculous bridge when it came. If it came.
“You’ll find the room much larger, Charles,” his mother continued. “It will more than suffice for your needs.”
“Wonderful,” he responded.
Marie eyed him sidelong. From the moment she’d met him, nearly every word from his mouth had dripped with sarcasm.
Did he know how to respond in earnest? If only she’d met him before agreeing to wed.
She would have been able to recognize the irony written all over his letter, thereby avoiding this situation altogether.
“I knew you’d be happy with the change, son,” Mrs. Shepherd said happily.
Charles’s jaw twitched twice, and Marie found herself staring for a moment, hoping to see the muscles flex again.
He may behave like a child, but he was a man in every other sense of the word. His lean shoulders and legs took up more than half of their side of the carriage.
“Now, Marie,” Mrs. Shepherd said, “while your items have been situated within your room, you’ll find that much of it will remain packed away in one of your trunks to prepare for your departure tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Shepherd. That is very kind of you.”
There. That was how one responded to another’s kindness, with gratitude and grace. Surely Charles had been taught as much. Did that mean he was simply refusing to be polite?
Give him a chance, Marie.
She flicked aside her conscience, but it continued to resurface.
Perhaps all Charles needed was a bit of effort on her part, to let him know she was not a threat to his happiness—to let him know that a marriage with her wouldn’t be disagreeable at all.
In fact, their relationship could be quite pleasant.
She knew the physical appearance of a wife lent to much happiness for one’s husband. She wasn’t hideous to look at, nor did she have bad breath, so he would be well enough off.
Furthermore, she could encourage him to go on this hunting trip of his while she remained alone on their bridal tour.
It wasn’t technically a true bridal tour.
Instead of traveling around the country, stopping to visit friends and family, they would be remaining in a cottage by themselves for a fortnight.
With Charles gone, she might get a little lonely, but she wouldn’t complain about being left to her own devices for the first time in her life.
Indeed, she might get a taste for it and press him to visit his friends—who seemed to mean a great deal to him—as often as he wished.
Being away from him often would certainly lead to a better life than being near him and having to feign joy being connected to an adult-sized child.
She was certain they could make this work.
“Mr. Shepherd?” she began.
The elder Mr. Shepherd looked toward her with a smile.
“My apologies, I meant your son,” she clarified.
“Oh, call him Charles, dear,” Mrs. Shepherd said, catching on at once.
Marie glanced at Charles. “Very well. Charles?”
She waited until he looked her way, but he only did so by staring at her gloved hands on her lap. “Yes?”
“Marie,” Mrs. Shepherd urged under her breath.
“Yes, thank you, Mother. I’m aware of her name.”
She raised her brows. “Just making sure. As was the vicar before,” she muttered under her breath.
He scowled. “I knew her name then, too.”
She batted her eyelashes at him with a sweet smile. “Then use it.”
Marie watched in silence as the battle took place before her, intrigued as the son finally relented.
“Yes…Marie?” he said slowly.
As sardonic and stubborn as he was, at least he knew when to submit to his mother.
“I was merely going to ask if you enjoy balls as I know your parents do,” Marie said.
He looked back out the window. “I am not particularly fond of them.”
Mrs. Shepherd frowned at him, but he ignored her, and Marie pressed on. “Does this mean you do not enjoy dancing or balls in general?”
“I cannot say I enjoy either.”
“That is not entirely true, son,” Mrs. Shepherd said. “I always see you enjoying yourself while dancing.”
The corner of his jaw twitched again, sharply outlined just above his tall collar. “That was many years ago, Mother. I’m afraid I’ve lost my enjoyment for them. I far prefer being out of doors.”
He paused, then shifted toward her. This time, his eyes focused on his own hands that had finally stilled in his lap. “Do you enjoy being out of doors…Marie?” he added when his mother gave him another look.
Heavens. How was she to respond now that she knew how greatly he enjoyed the outdoors? She shouldn’t lie, but she had to find something in common with him to convince him his life was not over. Thus far, they only knew how they opposed one another.
Enjoying balls versus the outdoors.
Acting dutifully versus acting out of fear.
Expressing humility versus boasting pridefully.
Surely there was something they shared.
“I...can enjoy being out of doors.”
“And what exactly do you enjoy?”
“As I said, I do not mind walking when the weather permits.” That was true. When the temperature was perfect and the sun was neither overbearing nor absentee. “And I love picking berries.” But that was because she enjoyed eating berries.
In truth, she was a woman born to be indoors.
Away from stinging bees, sweltering heat, and soaking rain.
Not to mention how miserable her parents made her when they did venture outside, always complaining incessantly about everything remotely wild until they were tucked away in the safety of Westburn’s predictability.
It had always been much easier to enjoy the outdoors through a window.
“Both very fine activities,” Charles mused, then he returned his attention to the window.
“What do you enjoy doing out of doors?” she asked. “I have heard that you are a fine rider.”
“I am,” he stated. “But I enjoy all sorts of activities. Riding, hunting, fishing, sleeping, walking, breathing. If it is out of doors, you will most certainly find me there enjoying it.”
Marie stared. What had her parents and the Shepherds been thinking? She and this man had nothing in common. The only positive note she could think of in all of this was that if he enjoyed being out of doors so often, they would be near each other far less.
Once again, the idea sounded nice in theory, but that had never been what she’d wanted in a marriage. Is that what he wanted?
Without responding, Marie turned to stare out of her own window, watching the water droplets race down the glass before catching Mrs. Shepherd’s movements from the corner of her eye. The woman nudged her son with her foot, then tossed a head in Marie’s direction.
Charles blew out a heavy sigh. “What do you enjoy doing indoors, then, Marie?” he asked with a pointed look at his mother.
What could she say that might excite him the most? She was frightfully accomplished—as was ensured by Mother and Father. They’d spent years pushing her to hone every talent she could, hoping it would lead to matrimony.
As if any of it had done her any good.
“I enjoy playing the pianoforte,” she began, “and I have a particular fondness for singing, though I am not terribly talented at it.”
“Oh, do not be so modest,” Mrs. Shepherd cooed. “She is marvelous at both, son.”
“Lovely,” Charles muttered.
Could he not put forth the smallest amount of effort? She was doing so for both their parents’ sake. If she were alone with Charles, of course, her patience would have worn out by now, but she had a reputation to uphold.
“I also enjoy reading,” she tried again. “And stitching is a lovely way to pass the time. Parlor games are also riveting.”
While Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd listened on with encouraging smiles, Charles merely nodded in silence. What the devil would it take to impress the man?
“What say you to adventuring, Marie?”
“Adventuring? As in...”
“As in partaking in adventures. The unexpected. Anything out of the ordinary.”
She wrinkled her nose in disgust, then thought better of it. “Oh, yes. Taking part in adventures can be...riveting.”
If one thought being away from the comfort of one’s own home was riveting—which she did not.
He eyed her more intently. “Have you ever attempted archery?”
“Archery?”
“Yes. Archery. You know, with the bow and the arrow and the hitting of the target?”
She wanted to respond with some quip like, “Why do you not stand in front of a target yourself, and we’ll see how fine I am at the sport, husband.”
But Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd were watching, and she would not injure them with her words any more than their son already was.
“I have attempted archery, yes,” she said.
“And do you enjoy it?”
“Enough.”
“What about riding?”
“When the weather permits,” she lied again.
Horses were fine animals, but Mother always protested about their height and smell, so her experiences with the creatures had never been particularly pleasant.
“Fishing?” Charles asked abruptly.
“I have never attempted fishing. It is more of a gentlemanly pursuit, is it not?”
He turned to face her more directly, his eyes on her hands once again. “Shuttlecock?”
Had he no response to anything else she’d said? “When one has the right partners, perhaps.” She’d rather die than play on her parents’ team. Father was far too competitive.
She swallowed to wet her throat, though she did nothing else to reveal how unsettled she was by his constant spew of questions. This was an interrogation, one she could not win no matter how she tried.
How she wished to set forth an interrogation of her own.
“Do you know what it means to be a gentleman?”
“Do you realize you have the conversational skills of an ape?”
“Are you aware of just how deeply I despise you right now?”
“What of ice skating in the winter?” he continued.
“I suppose.”
“Croquet in the spring?”
“I could be persuaded.”
“Taking a rowboat onto a lake?”
“I have never done so before.”
“Heavens, Charles,” Mr. Shepherd interjected, both he and his wife watching the exchange with rapid eyes. “What are you trying to accomplish with all these questions?”
“I was simply attempting to get to know my wife.”
“Well, get to know her in a more polite manner,” Mrs. Shepherd advised.
“Of course, Mother.”
He fell silent with a mirthless smile, then abruptly turned to look at Marie. His dark eyes delved into hers for the first time since before they’d married. “Thank you for answering my questions, Marie. It was most enlightening.”
So, he’d been judging her, had he? Testing to see if they would make a match?
By the uninspired look in his eyes, she was certain she’d failed.
She was highly accomplished and willing to try most activities, but clearly, that was not enough for him.
What more did he want? A woman who lied about her desire to be out of doors or a woman who touted her own accomplishments?
Whatever it was, she was certain he didn’t want the real Marie.
No man did—as was evident by her single status.
No gentleman wished for a woman to admit that eating was one of her greatest joys.
That singing in the comfort of her home was far preferable to adventuring out of doors.
That her greatest desire was to be seen as who she was, rather than for her accomplishments.
She didn’t know Charles very well, but she knew that any man who began a marriage by assailing his wife with a barrage of interrogative questions was not a man who would encourage her to be herself.
She tore her gaze away from him first, no longer allowing him insight into her soul.
He spoke again, remaining oddly still. “I don’t think I’ll attend the ball tonight.”
All eyes turned to him in stunned silence.