Chapter 31
MARIANNE
The carriage swayed and jolted as they left London behind and made their way to the countryside. Marianne had rested her head against the window as she released yet another sigh.
“Oh, Marianne,” Juliet said. “If you continue to sigh in such a manner, you shall lose your voice ere we arrive. I know you feel troubled, but—”
“I feel such... I cannot find words for it. Like nothing is as it should be.”
“Nothing is as it should be,” Juliet replied. “You have left your husband. We journey toward uncertainty. It is not easy. And if this is not the choice that you are happy with, then we may yet turn back.”
“Would that be folly?” Marianne said.
“I will not say that it would be a mistake. You must follow your own conscience. I do think this is what is right for you now.” She paused and added, “It was kind of him to give you time to say goodbye to little Henry.”
Marianne’s heart clenched at the thought of her last meeting with the little boy. She had only seen him that morning. She had explained to him that she was returning to the convent she had come from, that she was in search of respite.
He had clung to her skirts and implored her not to go.
From the corner of her eye, she had seen Lucien, and she had wondered if seeing this display deepened his hatred of her.
The notion that he might despise her gave her pain.
Did he hate her? There was no cause for hatred.
She had not listened to his last entreaty, but truthfully, why should she have?
Nothing would’ve changed. He would’ve said something to convince her to stay, perhaps to even return home, but then?
It would prove an endless pattern.
This was the right decision. She knew it. But then why did it pain her so deeply to leave him behind and to leave Henry behind? She closed her eyes and pressed her head against Juliet’s shoulder as they continued driving away from the life she had fashioned.
Two hours later, they arrived at the convent.
“I confess no joy at seeing this place once more,” Juliet said with a grunt. The coachman unloaded the luggage—more than was strictly necessary.
Marianne, however, smiled. She looked forward to the peace she would soon feel. She should never have left here. Her aunt should’ve let her stay here. Maybe she should have taken her vows. Maybe she still could?
Immediately, the Mother Superior and Sister Bernadette emerged from the building.
“Marianne,” the Mother Superior said. “We received your letter about a day ago stating that you wanted to come back, but you are already here?”
“I hope you do not mind,” she said. “I could not wait for your reply. I had to get away from London. And I so longed to be here. You will not send us away, will you?”
“We would never,” the Mother Superior said. She took Marianne’s hands in her own, then looked at Juliet. “Juliet,” she said, and wrapped her in her arms.
“I am pleased to see you again, although I’m sure you’re not as pleased to see us.”
“I am back sooner than I thought, but it is good to be home,” Juliet said, and Marianne heard the sincerity in her voice.
Marianne looked up to see Sister Bernadette, who looked at her with a certain frown she was all too familiar with.
“I hope you will allow us to remain.”
“Of course, we will allow you to remain,” the Mother Superior said. “I would never send you away. Come now. I will show you to your chambers. It is the same one you had before.”
“Of course,” Juliet said. “The drafty one.”
“Do be grateful,” Sister Bernadette said.
As Marianne followed them back into the convent, thoughts of the life she had just left behind slipped to the back of her mind.
This would be her home for now, at least until she knew for certain where her home would really be.
That night, Marianne slipped under the thin blanket on the hard bed in the small room where she had lain four months before being turned into Lady Wexford.
The room was familiar. Even the same chill clung to the air.
And yet it was different because she was different.
She rolled on her side and looked at Juliet, who was lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling.
As if sensing her looking at her, Juliet rolled on her side and looked at her. “Are you glad to be back?”
“I do not know,” Marianne replied. “I feel comfort here. I feel happiness here. But at the same time, it is odd. It is not as it was. But maybe it is simply because I’ve come from a different life.”
Indeed, it had been quite different this first evening.
They had eaten together in the grand dining hall, which they all shared.
They ate the same hearty soup with bread baked by the nuns themselves.
It had been delicious—delicious in its simplicity, at least. They had sat together, then they had prayed.
And then they had all retired early. There would be another midnight mass, but she would not participate.
She hadn’t when she had lived here before.
It was all familiar. The rhythm of the place felt the same as it always had.
It would take time to get used to it, however, no matter how familiar it felt.
“I wonder which nun here used to be a highborn lady,” Juliet said, drawing her from her thoughts.
“I do not know. Perhaps we will find out. It would be rather interesting.”
“It would, wouldn’t it,” Juliet said with a chuckle. “I do hope you decide where you wish to go soon. I do not want to remain here forever.”
“I promise you, I will know soon. And even if I decide to stay here, I shall ensure that you have a monthly stipend so you can do whatever you please.”
“I do not wish to be parted from you,” Juliet said. “It is true, I do not wish to be a maid forever or live at the convent forever, but I do not want to be away from you. You are my friend.”
“I appreciate it,” Marianne said.
They continued to lie on their sides, conversing, until, after a while, a gentle snore came from Juliet’s direction.
Marianne turned her head and looked at the ceiling.
Her thoughts wandered to Lucien. What was he doing now?
Was he lying in his bed thinking about what had happened between them?
Did he regret what had happened? Or was he not thinking of her at all?
She must have drifted away to the land of nod after a while, because the next thing she knew, the blanket was being ripped off her as Juliet stood before her.
“Well, come on then. You wanted to come back to the convent. Time for Lauds!”
She groaned and grumbled, but then chuckled because really nothing at all had changed.
Here they were again, as if the last few months had been a dream.
But then unease settled in her stomach again because she knew it hadn’t been a dream.
It had all been real. The kisses, the gentle touches, the disappointments.
The love that had grown in her heart for both her husband and the child.
Quickly, she dressed, putting on the same simple dress she always wore in the convent, and followed Juliet into the chapel.
As they walked, they saw Sister Bernadette accompanying another unfortunate young woman with a swollen belly.
Anna, the girl that they had befriended on her last day here, had left.
Her baby had been given over to a family who hadn’t been fortunate enough to have any of their own.
This new girl—whose name she did not know yet—had taken her place. How odd that nothing truly ever changed.
During Lauds, Marianne followed along with the familiar words in the prayer book and sang the hymns alongside the nuns.
The peace she had thought was there, but it didn’t penetrate as deeply as she needed it to.
She was looking down at the floor, wondering why it hadn’t, when Sister Bernadette rose and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You ought not to cry in here.”
She looked up. Cry? Was she crying? It was only then that she realized her cheeks were wet.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, getting to her feet.
To her surprise, Sister Bernadette did not scold her or even dismiss her. Instead, she placed a hand on the small of her back and led her out of the chapel. Together, they walked into the small study that was just off the Mother Superior’s own rooms.
“Sit,” Sister Bernadette said. “Would you like tea?” To her surprise, Sister Bernadette had already prepared something she didn’t usually do until after breakfast.
“Tell me why you are really here,” Sister Bernadette asked gently.
Marianne looked up. “I thought I explained well enough in my letter why I have come. I have sought the peace of this place once more.”
Sister Bernadette raised a hand to stop her. “You wrote in your letter that things between you and your husband were not well and that you were therefore leaving to seek your peace here. But—”
Marianne sat beside the nun and shrank under her penetrating stare.
“I said I needed peace and quiet. The world out there is not the world for me. So I have come to the convent.”
“You wish to take your vows?” Sister Bernadette prompted.
“No, not quite,” Marianne said. “That is to say, I haven’t decided that I will take my vows.”
“Child, do not tell Banbury tales. If you wished to take your vows, you would know by now that this is what you wanted to do. Instead, you left here and were married, and now you’re running away from your husband.
I know you well enough to know that was not an easy decision, as I can see that you struggle still.
I do wish you would confide in me. All you girls come here for a myriad of reasons, and you are all the same—you wish to confide in me, and then when you finally leave, you regret not doing it sooner. ”