Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
After his defense of Marie, Charles felt a palpable shift in their friendship. Where first, he’d been with her out of duty, now he began to look forward to their time together.
Part of this was due to the fact that he was more intentional with his time—refusing to dwell any longer on Mr. Oakley’s insolence or fretting about missing the hunting trip with Tristan.
Instead, each morning Charles awakened early, walked for an hour before Marie rose, then returned to Woewood to share breakfast with her—breakfast for which he was always dressed.
From morning on, they spent the rest of each day together, speaking of their families, friends, memories, and interests.
When the weather was poorly, they would remain indoors while Marie read aloud or played the untuned pianoforte for him again, which always proved to send them both into fits of laughter.
Charles had always grown unbearably restless when he was seated indoors all day, but Marie’s engaging conversation and enjoyable company caused the hours to fly by unnoticed.
On days when the sun shone, he would request her presence during his walk to the village.
Each time, she would readily agree. He assumed her eagerness was due to her desire to find a letter from Mr. Page waiting for them—evidence that she still wished to pursue the termination of their vows.
And yet, each time a letter did not arrive, Marie hardly reacted beyond a simple nod, leaving Charles with the impossible task of deciphering if she was upset or pleased.
He knew he ought to ask her again how she felt. But he was too frightened to do so—just as he was too frightened to untangle his own web of befuddled feelings on the subject.
With Mr. Page’s continued silence, Charles’s sense of urgency and desperation for the annulment had lessened to a degree, replaced with a grating discomfort at both the thought of staying within the marriage and ending it.
Charles loved his old life. Spending time with his friends had been his greatest joy for many years. And yet, deep down, he’d always known something was amiss.
He’d first perceived this void within him when he’d spent time with Andrew and his new bride—and with Thomas and his wife.
They seemed so happy, so content. Charles had never experienced any such feelings, always having to chase one experience after another to distract himself from his empty boredom—and his empty life.
So now, to be perfectly content merely sitting with Marie, to revel in the rewarding sound of her lilting laughter and witnessing her smiles, looks, and goodness firsthand...he had to question what exactly he was feeling. Belonging? Satisfaction? Wholeness?
He still longed for freedom and for a happy future with a wife of his choosing, but he could not deny how greatly he enjoyed Marie’s bright company. The thought of no longer having her in his life lowered his spirits to an almost crushing level.
He prevented himself from dwelling too long on these perplexing and often shifting emotions, but each night after he and Marie finally parted well after ten in the evening, his thoughts always centered on her.
Even that night, five days later, he thought of her as he lay in bed half-dressed, staring up at the shadows the fire cast upon his ceiling. With his feet crossed at the ankles, he shifted his legs back and forth, waiting impatiently for what was to come.
Finally, eleven o’clock appeared on his pocket watch, and Charles heard the first, soft sounds of Marie’s gentle singing from her bedchamber, just as it had each night since their conversation at the church.
He eyed the old, wooden wall separating them, imagining her lips as she sang the lyrics to whatever song she chose that evening. From what he could tell, she stood near her window as she sang, peering through the glass while brushing out her long, black locks.
Of course, this was all conjecture, for Charles had never seen her do such a thing. But oh, how he could imagine it.
He closed his eyes as her soft tone continued, her smooth, unassuming voice encompassing him.
The muted brushing continued, and he could almost see her silken tresses draping like a dark waterfall over the shoulder of her dressing gown.
How long did her hair flow? Past her waist?
Did it feel as smooth as it always appeared?
Thinking of a woman in this manner was hardly gentlemanly, and yet, did not a husband have permission to think of his wife in such a way?
Perhaps if she was to remain his wife...
He frowned. The thought had come in tandem with listening to Marie singing each night.
It was moments like these, in the late hour where his will weakened and his mind wavered enough for him to dare to think the impossible—that living with Marie as his wife might not be as terrible as he’d first thought.
He attempted to push the notion aside, but her voice continued to wrap around his heart. How he longed to actually see her singing.
“Father said I am far more accomplished in playing pianoforte,” she’d said to him after Charles requested her to sing along as she played.
His heart ached at the thought of Mr. Oakley not approving of her. She deserved a father’s approval. Just as she deserved a husband’s approval.
Just as she deserved to fall in love. Dare Charles think she could ever fall in love with him?
He opened his eyes, staring at the dark ceiling as the intrusive thoughts continued, for he was no longer able to ward them off.
Marie was everything Mother had always promised. Accomplished, charming, thoughtful, beautiful, sensitive. Indeed, with only a few days left of their bridal tour, he found himself unready to share her once more with reality.
And yet, Charles still hesitated committing his future to her.
He had longed to marry someone with whom he could enjoy the outdoors.
Someone to take riding, to roll down fields together, to boat into the middle of a lake with.
As much as he enjoyed his time with Marie indoors or their simple walks to the village, he feared that one day he would grow restless.
Then what? Would he remain indoors to keep Marie company forevermore?
Or was there any chance at all for her to find joy in the activities in which he partook?
For years, he’d had an image in his mind that involved his future family sharing in adventures together. But no matter how he tried, he could not imagine Marie fitting into the ideal portrait he had painted.
As calming an effect as her presence had had on him, he knew deep down he could not change something so fundamental about himself as his desire to be out of doors—just as he knew Marie would not change who she was inside.
If their marriage remained intact, he would have to give up his adventuring altogether or do so alone, all while accepting the remorse that would inevitably follow should he ever leave Marie on her own, for he knew her loneliness would be his doing.
The singing stopped, and Charles waited, running his fingers through his hair with bated breath. When Marie began again, this time with a slower, more somber song, his brow drew together at the ache that arose in his chest.
He was never supposed to have fallen for her. And now, after complaining and criticizing and reneging on his promises for so long, he hardly knew what to do with himself.
Yes, you do, Charles.
He pushed the niggling thought away, but the harder he pressed, the more it pestered him again and again until finally, his fatigue overcame him.
He knew what he needed to do. But he simply did not have the fortitude to do it.
With defeated spirits, he allowed his arms to fall down at his sides. His feet ended their tapping, his mind stopped its racing, and his heart ceased its longing for something he could not have.
He was empty, void of effort and desire—for no matter which path forward he took, he would be left wanting.
All that was left to comfort him now was his darkened room and the hope that Marie’s singing would last until he fell fast asleep, for at least then he might receive respite.