Chapter Thirty-One #2
He was confused by her statement. He understood that Mrs. Salisbury had wanted to help George select a wife and select a wife he seemingly had done.
“Is—are you unhappy with George’s choice?”
Mrs. Salisbury pursed her lips. “Miss Tilly Perkins is the loveliest young lady in England. But I am not sure she is right for George.” She looked out the window of her room, as if lost in thought for a moment.
“Daniella thinks I am being too fastidious and that it is George’s choice.
And so it is. And yet, I cannot help but feel that he is making a mistake.
But he seems resolute upon it. Nor can I object from a worldly perspective. ”
“Have you tried speaking with him on the matter?”
“Yes. But it is not a subject on which a young man often wants to listen to his mother. Especially when she is saying things that, for whatever reason, he doesn’t want to hear.
” She took a sip of her tea. “And I fear that I have failed on another account as well. I hoped one of the girls might catch your fancy, dear. But it seems to have all been for naught.”
He smiled. “Well, I wouldn’t despair.”
“Oh, really?” she exclaimed. “But you seemed so indifferent to her!”
Malcolm cringed. He knew he could be taciturn, but he had not thought he appeared indifferent.
“Ah, well, I am going to state my intentions this morning.”
Her hands went to her mouth. “Oh, she will be delighted! She has such a flaming tendre for you. She has told me herself.”
This statement made no sense. He was not sure that he had ever seen Mrs. Salisbury and Scarlett speak.
“She has?”
“Yes! You know I am an old friend of her mother’s—and I have been a confidant to her ever since her mother died when it has come to matters of matrimony.”
With horror, Malcolm realized that Mrs. Salisbury was not speaking about Scarlett. “Mrs. Salisbury—”
“Eleanora—”
“We have had a misunderstanding. I believe you are speaking of Miss Marburry?”
Mrs. Salisbury blanched, and his stomach lurched. He hated that he would have to cause her more pain in this lifetime than he already had.
But then, to his surprise, she smiled. “And you are not. Speaking of Miss Marburry, that is.”
“No.”
“Then what lady are you speaking of?”
“Miss Scarlett Perkins.”
He watched as Mrs. Salisbury adjusted her notions. “Of course. I should have seen it.”
“I am very sorry to give you pain.”
“Oh, Malcolm, please. Do not worry about that. Miss Marburry will be just fine. I had only hoped she would catch your fancy because she liked you. And … and…”
She hesitated and left off.
“And what?”
She sighed. “I shouldn’t say it. It’s indecent.”
Now, he really was curious. “I am sure I will not be shocked.”
“I love Bertha,” Mrs. Salisbury said in a whisper. “She was, as I said, the daughter of a very dear friend. But of course, I thought of you first. Her dowry, while not spectacular, is very decent. I thought it would be rather neat if you were to have it.”
Malcolm was shocked—both by the fact that Mrs. Salisbury could be so tactical and that she would, as she put it, think of him first.
“I am gratified,” he said. “That you would construct such a kind scheme on my behalf.”
“Of course, Malcolm. I see you as one of my own children. You know that.”
He did not know that. And he was unsure how she thought he could expect it when he was the illegitimate child of her late husband, a man who had been cruel and faithless to her, by all accounts.
Such was his surprise that he did something unusual when in Mrs. Salisbury’s company.
He was honest. “I didn’t know that you felt that way.”
“I know you are not mine by blood—or at least not exactly. But you are the brother of my children, and that has always been good enough for me. Although I will admit with the others, it has been easier—”
Here, once more to his surprise, her voice broke.
She was crying.
“Are you well?” Malcolm said. “Should I call for a servant? Please, do not agitate yourself on my account.”
“No, no, it is high time I said it to you, Malcolm. It shames me that I have never managed it. But I have always been afraid, I suppose.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Of how you must hate me!”
It was bizarre to hear these words from Mrs. Salisbury’s mouth, when it was exactly how he felt she must feel about him.
“I don’t understand.”
“Because of what my husband did. To your mother. I knew her, you know. She was a beautiful girl. Clever and genteel. A credit to her family. I know my husband ruined more than one woman. But with your mother, it always pierced me keenly, because she was—well, she was so kind. And I knew her.”
He was moved that she felt so guilty, but no less perplexed. It had never occurred to him that Mrs. Salisbury would have known his mother.
“But he did the same to—”
“He did. In a way. But it was also not the same. With Philip and Sally’s mothers, they were local, poor girls.
He would have made them presents and promised them luxuries.
I suspect they took their chances just for the adventure.
It does not make him less wrong, of course, but it changes how I felt about it.
And with Daniella, it was a completely different thing altogether.
She was a widow and of independent means.
He could not break her, even though he tried.
But with your mother—I know he must have manipulated and lied and ground her down until she relented.
I know how sweetly he must have made love to her, how he would have promised her anything, and how quickly he must have turned his back once he had gotten what he wanted.
And of course, I know your grandfather must have told you all of it. ”
“But why would I hate you?”
“Because I was safe! While your mother and your family suffered for the husband I could not keep in check.”
“That was never your responsibility. He was—wicked.”
“Yes, he was wicked.” She wiped her tears away with her fingers. “I am sorry. I should be offering you congratulations.”
“Well, I have not yet been accepted. I merely wanted to tell you first of my intentions. I thought I owed you that.”
She smiled. “You don’t. But I appreciate it all the same. I am flattered you would tell me first. And I know she will accept you. After all, what woman could refuse you, Malcolm?”
He blushed at the praise. “I have always worried that I reminded you of him.”
She shook her head. “No, you always reminded me of her. Your mother. She was so good, and so are you.”
“Thank you, Eleanora.”
She brightened. It was perhaps the first time he had ever used her first name.
He now felt as if he could use it. Like it wasn’t a violation to be familiar with her.
“I wish you joy, Malcolm. I wish you every possible happiness with Miss Perkins.”
He exited the room feeling lighter than he had thought it was possible for him to feel.
That was until he confronted a very out-of-breath, very flustered Miss Tilly Perkins in the hall.
“Mr. Brown,” she panted. “She has left! Scarlett! She is gone!”
His blood instantly rushed against his temples. “What do you mean? Why has she left?”
“She thinks you are marrying another,” Tilly whispered. “She spoke to Miss Marburry, and she said something—I am not sure what—and Scarlett left me a note. You must find her!”
“Yes, of course.”
Tilly grabbed his arm. “You love her, don’t you, Mr. Brown? I am not wrong?”
“Of course. Yes. I do. I will find her,” he promised. “And I will make it right.”