Chapter 6
The night had been restless. Marianne barely slept. How could she? Mr. Gisborn had sent a note last evening very politely wishing her well after yesterdays’ ordeal and then closing with some cryptic hint at a “hopeful visit on the morrow.”
All day long now she’d been on pins and needles. He might show up at any time for this dreaded “hopeful” visit. She had no doubt at all what the man might be hopeful of! He was going to pay a call and propose. It was unlikely a runaway carriage would save her this time.
As the day dragged on in nervous anticipation she mentally ran through her various options.
She could run away! Except that she had nowhere to run to.
Of course she could develop of headache, or some other ailment, but that would simply prolong the inevitable.
The man had made his intentions clear. It was only a matter of time before she’d be forced to hear him.
At that point, he would deserve an answer.
What would she say? She had no real reason to reject him, of course.
He was suitable enough; not quite a gentleman, but there would be no shame in accepting a steward.
In fact, sometimes she had to remind herself that he was, in fact, merely a steward.
Since the day she’d returned to Nottingham his deportment had been very much as if he were master of Greenwood, not merely the steward.
Of course he would carry himself that way.
He was from a good family, he’d made certain everyone knew that, although he’d been a bit vague about where he was from.
He’d not been vague about his expectations, though.
He lived well and gave every appearance that he might easily support a wife.
Yesterday had been further proof of that—he’d practically waved his new curricle in her face.
He often bragged about the fine house Locksley had provided for him, too.
He’d been allowed quite an elaborate cottage on the estate, although in the master’s absence it seemed Gisborn spent most of his time in the manor.
Perhaps it was all very practical, as Greenwood Manor was in want of a master and Mr. Gisborn had much work to do there, but still… his possessive attitude was a bit much.
At first Marianne assumed it was because he enjoyed a close relationship with Robert Locksley.
That would fully explain his puffed-up pride and his pretentions, wouldn’t it?
He’d inferred the two were good friends.
After meeting Locksley yesterday—it was difficult to reconcile.
She detected no hint of a deep bond between the two men.
What a shock to find Locksley alive! And so different from the quiet, passive boy he’d been nearly a dozen years ago. He was clearly much changed. Just what horrors had he seen in the war? One look in his eyes let her know he’d been hardened.
Yet not cruel. She’d felt honest concern from him when he thought he was rescuing her. He’d been considerate and daring. In fact, he was almost the very person she’d always wished him to be. If those silly Robin Hood stories had been real, this version of Robert Locksley fit them very well.
That was likely giving him too much credit, though.
He’d been in indistinctive boy, and now he was back from serving as an indistinctive soldier.
Apparently he’d played so little part in his regiment that no one had quite known whether he lived through the battle or died. And if he hadn’t died, why not?
She hated to think it of him, but could come up with no reason not to. One possibility seemed glaring. Robert Locksley could very well have survived the war because he’d run from it. Perhaps he was a coward!
She knew nothing of him now—save that he had stopped the carriage in an effort to rescue her.
That much was daring enough, but she’d not known him to be daring.
He’d avoided conflict all through their youth, hadn’t he?
But perhaps she was being overly harsh, judging the man on the frailties of the boy.
It was unlikely they would meet again, but if they did…
she decided to withhold judgment and allow him to truly prove himself.
But if he did, indeed, have something to prove, why hadn’t he wanted Gisborn to know he was back? That was a puzzle. Even more than Gisborn’s expected visit today, that question festered in Marianne’s brain. Why had Locksley begged her to keep his secret? What shame was he hiding?
An even more pressing question: would she help him?
A soft knock at the door brought her out of her thoughts. She called for entrance and the door opened slowly to reveal Meg. Her face was pale and her eyes were swollen. There was no doubt about it; Meg had been crying.
“What is it?” Marianne asked quickly, leaving her chair by the window and hurrying to her cousin.
But Meg waved her away. “Nothing… nothing at all. I just wondered if you wanted to go out with me today? There is some shopping I need to do. Mamma doesn’t want me to go anywhere, but perhaps if you said you needed something…”
“Of course, but… are you certain you are quite well?”
“Very well, yes. Some dust in my eye, perhaps. Can we set out in a quarter hour, do you think?”
“Er, of course, but… were you just talking with your father? You were! Aunt Regina said he would wish to speak with you today. Is that what has got you upset?”
Meg glanced over her shoulder into the hallway and quickly moved fully into the room, shutting the door behind her. If her eyes had shown traces of tears before, they were practically bursting with them now. Marianne was instantly sorry she had asked.
“Please, Marianne… you mustn’t say anything to Mamma or Papa about this!”
“What, that you are dreadfully upset? But why should they not know of it?”
Meg shook her head almost desperately. “Because if they suspect, then… well, you must know what Papa wanted to speak to me about. Don’t you?”
“I had assumed it was because Mr. Reeve had come to him about marrying you, but if that is not it…”
“Oh yes, that is it.”
“But surely your father is not against such a match?”
“Against it? Oh no; he welcomes it. In fact, he gave Mr. Reeve his consent before either one of them even thought to discuss the matter with me.”
“So you don’t wish to marry Mr. Reeve?”
“Good heavens, no! He’s a horrible bore, and I’m convinced that he cares far more about Papa’s money and position than he ever could care about me.”
“Well then, you absolutely should not marry him. Surely when you told your father how you feel, then—”
“But I couldn’t! That is just it—Papa did not even give me a chance. It is already arranged. He gave my assent for me and the banns will be read this Sunday in church. Mr. Reeve and I will be married in just more than a fortnight!”
The look of sorrow and pain on Meg’s face was impossible to deny.
Clearly she was not simply suffering from missish nerves over this issue.
She would be completely miserable if forced into this marriage!
Marianne felt like an ogre for ever having wished it.
Poor Meg. This was indeed a dreadful pickle.
“You simply must make your father understand,” she admonished. “Perhaps I should speak to him for you.”
“No! Oh please, Marianne. You cannot mention this. If he thought that I had told you… well, something terrible would happen.”
“Something terrible? What on earth can he do? I agree that a marriage to Mr. Reeve might be considered advantageous for your family, but surely your father will not force you into it.”
Meg was oddly silent. Marianne screwed her lips and thought the matter through.
“Does this have anything to do with the young man you used to fancy so much?” she asked after a moment.
The blush that stole over Meg’s cheeks confirmed that it did.
Marianne continued. “I thought you had given him up? Do you, in fact, still care for him?”
“I love him!” Meg admitted with trembling lips. “I tried to let go, as my parents ordered me, but… I simply cannot. Oh Marianne, please tell me I can trust you in this.”
“Of course, you can! I had no idea you felt so strongly about this young man. A miller, is he?”
Meg was still blushing furiously, but she smiled as she mentioned her fellow. “Perhaps you’ve seen him in town when we’ve run errands. He is George Muchleigh, but everyone calls him Much. His father owns the mill down on the river. They do a fine business and everyone speaks highly of it.”
“Ah, I do recall that we’ve stopped there to pick up flour for cook upon occasion. George Muchleigh is the young man you’ve been pining for all this time?”
“Yes, but we’ve had to keep our love a secret. Mamma and Papa are very much against it! They say George is no good for me, that I should find someone better.”
“Clearly you disagree.”
“There is no one better! He’s kind, and clever, and he treats me so nicely. I’ve tried to forget him as Papa has ordered, but I simply can’t.”
“No, I can see that. But surely a miller isn’t so very bad. You could likely do worse. Maybe your father will be convinced about him and—”
“No, he will never agree. In fact, he told me just now that if I do not marry Mr. Reeve, he will have charges brought against George, and his elderly father as well!”
“Charges? For what?”
“Who can say? Papa has many connections in town, and Mr. Reeve is the sheriff! If they want to, they can set up whatever charges they wish, and no doubt produce witnesses to say anything.”
Marianne was aghast. How could Meg make such dreadful accusations? Indeed, it was unfair that her father disapproved of her true love, but to make this claim against him was beyond the pale.
“Surely Uncle Prinley would never do such a thing!”
“You don’t know him like I do,” Meg said quietly. “He has plans to—”