Chapter 4
MARIANNE
Marianne lay on the floor, looking up at the painted ceiling above her as she unfolded the letter. Juliet’s handwriting was beautiful and neat, as though she had been raised a proper lady rather than an orphan at a convent.
She smiled as she read her friend’s words.
She brought news of the various nuns—Sister Mary Agnes had recovered from a frightful cold, Sister Bernadette, no doubt affected by the bitter cold, was grumpier than ever.
And Anna was now visibly pregnant and complaining at every turn about having to remain at a convent.
The young girl suffered from the same delusions that young unwed mothers often held: that she would be rescued by the man who had left her with child, that he would marry her even though he was already married, as Juliet had told Marianne in a prior letter, and that all would be well.
In all reality, she would have her child, the child would be taken away, and she would be returned to her parents, her future an uncertain one.
Marianne read the three pages greedily, as she did every letter from Juliet. Sometimes those letters contained messages from the nuns, something that made her even happier.
She turned to the last page and sat up.
Sister Bernadette spoke to me. She said that since I am almost twenty now, I must make up my mind.
I must either take my vows and remain here or make plans for my future.
I always knew this day would come. I just did not expect it so soon.
Marianne, what am I to do? I do not wish to leave here, but I do not wish to take my vows.
It would feel wrong to do so while I still struggle with what I believe.
What ought I to do? Perhaps I could come and join you.
You could dress me in one of the fancy outfits that your aunt bought for you and pass me off as a long-lost cousin, and help me find a husband.
It does not even have to be a titled gentleman.
I shall settle for a knight or even a merchant. I jest, but I really do miss you.
Marianne felt the desperation in her friend’s words, and an ache formed in her chest. This was not right. Juliet would have to leave? She knew that Sister Bernadette would not put her out into the unknown, but Juliet had always known she could not remain there forever.
She turned as a knock sounded on the door.
“Enter,” she called.
Her aunt appeared in the doorway.
“You have a caller. A gentleman caller,” she said with an entirely inappropriate wink.
Marianne sat up. A gentleman caller? Who in the world would be calling on her?
Her aunt bustled into the room, her gown crinkling.
“Come, come, you must tidy up properly. Smooth down your skirts, and your hair is all askew. What have these nuns done to you?” She shook her head.
“Lying down on the hard ground and not taking care of your hair properly.” She clicked her tongue and shook her head.
Marianne smoothed down her skirts as she had been instructed and allowed her aunt to tuck stray hairs behind her ears before following her downstairs.
“Who is it?” she asked again as they were making their way towards the stairs.
“The Earl of Wexford,” her aunt replied. “You must have made quite the impression on him.”
The Earl of Wexford? Marianne stopped in her tracks, one hand resting on the banister.
What in the world was he doing here? They had barely spoken at dinner.
Well, they had for a few minutes towards the end.
And yes, they had had somewhat of an understanding.
He did not appear to judge her for her odd habits, as her aunt called them, nor did he appear opposed to any of them.
He had even defended her. But beyond that?
There seemed to be no reason why he should be calling on her.
She pulled her shoulders back. “Did he say why he was calling?”
“Why, to see you, of course,” her aunt said, shaking her head as if this was the silliest question imaginable. “Now come. Shoulders back, chest out, head held high. You are a lady.”
“I am aware,” Marianne said. She followed her aunt, stopping outside the drawing room. Aunt Eugenia stepped in front of her and, without any prior warning, pinched her cheeks.
“Aunt!” Marianne cried, moving backwards as though she were a small child.
“There you go. Now your cheeks are nice and rosy. Come on in,” she said.
Marianne took a deep breath. She loved her aunt.
Ever since the death of her father, she had been her only relative outside of her sisters.
And yet, there was no denying that a certain pushiness ran in that side of the family.
Her aunt had always been the sisters’ defender, mediating between them and their father, but since her father’s death, she had taken on a more active role in trying to find Marianne a husband—more so than she ever could have imagined.
She missed the aunt who had lived with her in Brighton, the one who had taken her to eat sweets and have picnics by the seashore.
She knew that her aunt was still in there somewhere, only buried under previously unknown pressures.
Her aunt walked down the hall and disappeared into the dining room across from them. Marianne took a breath and pulled back her shoulders as instructed before stepping into the drawing room.
The earl stood at the window. His arms were crossed behind his back, fingers interlaced, and she noticed that he was fiddling with one of his cufflinks.
Was he nervous? She had observed this habit in Nathaniel whenever he was about to give a big speech at the House of Lords.
But what could Lord Wexford have to be nervous about?
“My lord,” she said, curtsying.
He turned and looked at her.
“There you are, Lady Marianne,” he said with a bow. His hair flopped forward and then back again as he rose to his full height. “It is good to see you.”
“And you,” she replied. “I see you have been served tea.” She motioned to the periwinkle-painted tea set. A cup stood untouched. Steam still drifted from it, giving her an indication as to how long he had been waiting.
“Oh yes,” he said. “I am not very thirsty. Shall we sit?”
He motioned to the chaise, and she sat on the right-hand side while he sat on the left.
Sitting on the same chaise? How irregular.
Usually, when gentlemen called, they would sit in a seat across the room, and there would be some sort of chaperone present.
And yet there was no one. Her aunt had left them entirely alone.
She bit her bottom lip, alarmed once more. What was the meaning of all of this?
“I do not like civil whiskers,” he said, starting out.
“No, neither do I,” she replied, smiling in spite of herself at the use of the slang.
“Good. Well, in that case, I shall not waste your time with platitudes or talk about the weather.”
She crossed her feet at the ankles and folded her hands in her lap, nodding.
“I wish to make you an offer of marriage. I have discussed it with your aunt already, and she is in agreement. I will, of course, speak to your brothers-in-law, but if the two Dukes agree, I see no reason why we should not be wed by the end of the month.”
Marianne blinked rapidly. Marriage? End of the month? Had he already spoken to her aunt? That explained why there was no chaperone present. Her aunt assumed her already a married woman—or near enough.
“I beg your pardon, my lord, but we barely know one another.”
“That is not quite true,” he said. “I think we know sufficient about each other to know that this would be a wonderful marriage indeed. It would suit us both.”
“Suit us both? We have spoken not even a handful of times, and in those conversations, I have made it very clear that I do not wish to get married. Exactly where in these conversations do you see us having any commonality?”
“I think we are aligned in what matters most.”
“And what is that?”
“Neither one of us wishes to be tied down in marriage in the traditional sense. Both of us wish to be free. I have never looked to replace my wife, and I have never believed in romantic marriage anyhow. I think we could make an excellent arrangement—a marriage of convenience that benefits us both.”
“You think that I am so undesirable and so odd that I would simply consent to this? So much so that you already announced yourself to my aunt? And I am certain it was her words at dinner that convinced you I am so beneath everybody else’s touch that I would fall on the ground and kiss your feet upon you, making such an offer?
” She crossed her arms, too annoyed to trust herself to say more.
This time it was the earl’s turn to blink.
Confusion spread across his face. It was clear he had not expected this response.
No, indeed, he had surely expected her to fall to her knees and beg him to make her his wife immediately.
Well, if she had learned one thing from her sisters’ escapades, it was that she was not going to be made a fool of so easily.
“I think you misunderstand. You have made it very clear that you are not made for ballrooms, nor are you made for marriage in the traditional sense—”
“And yet, even though it appears that you have ears and the capability of understanding me, you are proposing exactly that. Looking to leg-shackle me.”
“I do not—do you not see it? I am seeking to give you freedom. You and I could have a marriage in name only. A business arrangement, if you will.”
“By making me your wife? Making me dependent upon you?”
He shook his head. “You fully misunderstand me, Lady Marianne. I was married. My wife died and left me with a child—”
“And you are seeking to find somebody who can seamlessly fill the void your wife has left? I know nothing of children, nor do I have any desire to have any of my own.” She surprised herself with the statement because she had never even thought about having children before.