Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
The following morning, a fortnight after they had arrived at Woewood, Marie and Charles made their way to the village for their daily walk.
Marie peered up at him as she held his arm, the two of them walking down the lane in silence.
“Is everything all right?” she asked after a moment.
Charles didn’t seem himself that morning. Shadows clung to his under-eyes, and his stride felt more rigid.
He blinked, seeming to come out of a deep reverie. “Of course. Why do you ask?”
She raised a shoulder. “You seem...quiet.”
“My apologies. I suppose I am simply preoccupied with my thoughts.”
He offered nothing further, so she asked nothing further. A soft rumbling of thunder drew her attention behind them, and she glanced back to see dark clouds on the horizon.
“Oh, perhaps we ought to return to Woewood before that storm arrives,” she said.
Charles peered over his shoulder. “We can if you wish to, but I’m certain we will have plenty of time to make it to the village and back before it sets in.”
She nodded, following his lead forward. They walked together in silence, and Marie chewed on her lower lip as another thunder rumbled. She glanced back, though Charles remained clearly unbothered.
“You’re certain we will not be caught in it?” she asked.
He eyed her, his brow puckered with confusion. “Caught in—Oh, the storm? Well, I cannot be certain of it, but I am nearly certain of it. At any rate, we are both dressed warmly enough, and a few drops of rain never hurt anyone.”
He smiled reassuringly, then faced forward again.
Marie tried to be as unconcerned as he was, but the thought of being doused with rain hardly sounded appealing.
All those wet underclothes and such. Falling into the fountain had been a terrible experience—though it had been made worth it by what happened beforehand.
Perhaps getting caught in a storm with Charles wouldn’t be so very bad if they. ..
She pushed the thought from her mind, refocusing her energy on Charles, who’d fallen silent again. “Care to share of what you are thinking so deeply?”
He helped her step around a large puddle in the middle of the lane. “I was thinking of my friends.”
Her stomach tossed with unease. “What about them?”
“Merely the hunting trip I was supposed to take with Tristan and the visit I was supposed to make to Leonard Stanton after that.”
Marie had been afraid of this. She typically avoided speaking of his friends, for it brought up all that Charles had given up for her. But then, perhaps speaking of them now would allow her to clarify a few matters.
“Charles,” she began, “if we cannot pursue the annulment, and our marriage must remain intact, I wish you to know that you do not have to give up the life you led before. You can still do all that you wish to do, and I will be perfectly content to remain at home. I’ll have your mother and father for companions, so I shall not be so very lonely should you desire to take your leave. ”
To her surprise, one side of his mouth raised in a smile. “I do not know if you are aware of what you’re offering me, Mrs. Shepherd.”
She tipped her head to the side. “What do you mean?”
“Do you know what sort of life I led before?”
“You were away from home often, though I do not know why.”
“I was house-hopping”—he cast her a sidelong glance—“to avoid my mother’s matchmaking.”
Marie smiled. “You weren’t very good at it.”
“No, indeed. But no man is a match for her will.”
“Did you have a favorite place to stop in?”
He thought for a moment. “I quite liked staying with my friend Rowan at Ashworth Hall. They have a lovely river nearby and an extensive library.”
“You enjoy reading?” She smiled at the memory of his inability to read a single page of the book he’d chosen only days before.
“I do enjoy it, but only when outside.”
“I should have known. Do any of your friends ever come to stay with you at Grendale?”
“They daren’t. Mother would have them all married off by the end of the visit.”
Marie laughed. “Well, you needn’t worry about that for yourself any longer. Unless Mr. Page brings news today, that is.”
“I suppose you’re right. But you may rest assured, if we do remain married, I shan’t be partaking in the activities I was beforehand.”
“Which were...” she prompted. “Other than house-hopping, I mean.”
“Nothing untoward, I assure you. Merely your average gentlemanly pursuits. Monthlong hunting trips, fishing for weeks at a time, grand tours around Europe.”
Marie stared. “You went on The Grand Tour?”
“Indeed.”
“How did you manage that with the wars?”
“We traveled toward the end of 1810. We were kept safe for the most part, though on our return journey, it was not enemy ships that nearly brought us to our deaths but a terrible storm. We were all quite worried—even I was, though I hid it better than the others.” He smiled as he clearly relived the experience.
“They were convinced their deaths were at hand, hence why they made the wager.”
“Wager?”
Charles’s lips parted in surprise. “Oh, yes. We...we made a wager that the last of us to marry would owe the other men a hundred pounds each.”
Her brow raised. “Heavens. That’s quite the expensive wager.”
“Indeed.”
“And you weren’t in a rush to marry?”
He chuckled. “No, I knew I would do so eventually. At any rate, no one was in a hurry. Most of us set the wager aside as merely good fun until Thomas married. He sent us a letter, reminding us of the deal, so the pressure has been felt by all now.”
Marie smiled at the silliness of it all. Only men would ever think to do such a thing. “Is he the only one to have married thus far?”
“No, Andrew Langford married his lifelong love only recently. Though how that marriage came about is another delightful story entirely, as he practically fell into it. His wife matches him in intelligence and wit, though, which he desperately needed. I believe they are quite happily matched. Other than those two, the rest of us remain unattached. The rest of them, I should say.”
His smile slowly faded, and guilt racked Marie’s conscience.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I’m sorry you’ve had to give up so much for this marriage.”
He stopped walking to face her. “I do not blame you, you know. I did in the beginning, but I was wrong to do so, for none of this is your doing.”
“I suppose you’re right. Our parents were both determined to see it through.”
He looked away. “Just as we are determined to end it.”
Her heart sank, though she nodded in agreement all the same.
When they reached the village, Marie spent a moment at the haberdashers, looking through the ribbons while Charles went to the post office on his own.
Despite her best efforts, she simply could not focus on trivial matters such as ribbons and bonnets and trimmings, so she left the shop behind to wait for Charles’s return in the cool, spring air.
As she did so, she caught sight of the doorpost at the inn, an advertisement posted in thick letters standing out above the rest.
Maidstone Market Day
Third Week in March
Vendors, Entertainers, Animals, Food
Her mind churned over the information, though it fled as she turned and spotted Charles walking in her direction through the small crowds. His eyes moved from person to person until he finally met her gaze, and his features brightened.
Marie’s breath caught. He looked pleased to see her, a skip in his step and a smile on his lips that was finally genuine.
That could mean only one thing. He’d finally received a letter.
With an unpleasantly racing heart, she waited for him to reach her, pulling up her courage.
“You received a letter from Mr. Page,” she stated before he could say a word.
His features fell. “Oh, yes. I have.”
Was he attempting to hide his joy at the mere thought of leaving her?
“And,” she pressed, “what did he say?”
He pulled the folded paper from his jacket pocket, then extended it to her.
Mr. Charles Shepherd,
I regret to inform you that my source has yet to write back with any word as to your inquiry. I suspect he has simply not understood the haste I requested.
At any rate, I have been tasked to meet with Tristan while I am in London, so I will make discreet inquiries whilst there.
Until then, enjoy your latest adventure,
Mr. Barnabas Page
Was that it? Marie had more than expected a resolution, what with Charles’s reaction upon seeing her. Unless he was pleased that there was no news yet.
“Well,” she said, breathless at the thought, “there’s that, then.”
Charles averted his gaze. “I’m sorry to say we will have to wait a few days more for our futures to be settled.”
“I suppose we shall.”
He offered his arm to her, and together they left the village. Instead of maintaining his disconcerting silence, Charles seemed a degree happier, whether that was due to renewed hope or something else, she couldn’t decipher.
“So,” he said, as if they were in the middle of a conversation, “we’ve spoken a number of times about my own adventures. Now we must speak of yours.”
Marie balked. “My adventures? I hardly believe I need to tell you I do not partake in any.”
“Nonsense. Mr. Page’s letter said, well, never mind that now. I believe that any experience—great or small—can be seen as an adventure, depending on how one views it. Not all journeys may look alike. My escapades may appear different than yours, but that does not mean yours are any less exciting.”
Marie tried to keep up with his swift words. “I suppose.”
“So what in your life has been exciting?”
Pressure mounted on Marie’s shoulders. “I assure you, I have done nothing compared to you.”
“No, do not compare it with me. What have you done that you have found exciting?”