Chapter 33
MARIANNE
Marianne sat in the common room, sewing a small linen shirt for one of the orphans.
Around her, the other women worked quietly.
She sat between Juliet and Sister Mary Agnes.
Across from them was a new girl. She could not have been above seventeen, belly swollen, eyes always red, just as so many other unfortunate souls before her.
“You're getting quite good at that,” Sister Mary Agnes said, looking at Marianne's stitches. They were sewing items for the orphanage for winter. The work had always steadied her. Using her fingers to create something useful had always been her way of quieting her troubled mind.
Once, she had felt the same when in the chapel, when doing menial tasks, but this time around, such solace eluded her. It had taken time to come to terms with this reality. She had supposed the peace would return the moment she stepped through the doors, but no.
“Thank you,” Marianne said. “Though I'm nowhere near as good as you.”
“Nonsense. You have a gentle hand. That's what matters. You will do well if you choose to remain here with us.”
Juliet snorted but said nothing. Marianne knew what she was thinking.
That they were biding their time here. Marianne was not going to take her vows.
But she couldn't return either. Even though foolish fancies of Lucien had plagued her nights.
Thoughts she'd pushed away the moment they surfaced. But thoughts that left an echo anyhow.
Even during the daylight hours, now her mind kept drifting back to Wexford Hall. To Henry. To Lucien. What were they doing? Did the boy pine for her? Did Lucien think of her at all, or had he moved on, relieved to be free of her presence?
The door opened. The Mother Superior entered, followed by Sister Bernadette. And they walked straight to her. What had happened now? Was someone ill? Or worse?
“Marianne,” the Mother Superior said. “You have a visitor.”
Marianne looked up. “A visitor? I wasn't expecting anyone.”
“Nevertheless, you have one.”
Marianne set down her sewing and glanced at Juliet, who shrugged, looking as confused as she felt.
Perhaps Charlotte or Evelyn had come to look in on her.
They both knew where she was, had both written to her and entreated her to come home.
Even Rhys had written to tell her Lucien had been most wretched in her absence.
But she hadn't believed him, not truly. Rhys always wanted to see the best in Lucien.
And even if he was wretched, he would recover in due course.
She stood and smoothed her gray dress. “Very well.”
As Marianne followed them down the corridor, a strange feeling came over her. She'd done this before. She'd followed the Mother Superior to meet an unexpected visitor. That time, it had been Aunt Eugenia who came to bear her away into matrimony.
Her heart started pounding.
They stopped outside the small receiving room. Sister Bernadette turned to her, looking almost apologetic.
“I must beg your forgiveness if this distresses you,” Sister Bernadette said quietly. “But I had to do something. I saw how miserable you were, so I wrote a letter.”
Marianne stared at her. “A letter? To whom?”
Sister Bernadette only squeezed her hand and stepped back.
The Mother Superior smiled. “People sometimes deserve a third and fourth chance, my dear.” She nodded toward the door. “Go on.”
Then she walked away too. Marianne reached for the handle and opened the door. She knew at once who awaited her.
Lucien.
She wasn't sure how she knew it, but something within her was certain.
And indeed, Lucien stood by the window. He wore traveling clothes. Dark pantaloons, a simple coat, his cravat loose like he'd been tugging at it. His hands were clasped behind his back. Even from across the room, she could see how tense he was.
At the sound of the door, he turned.
Their eyes met and neither looked away. Though neither spoke.
Marianne felt as if all the air had left her lungs. He looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes and his countenance weary. But his gaze was intense, like he was trying to read her thoughts.
“What are you doing here?” she managed to say.
“I have something I must say to you.” His voice was rough. “Please. Let me speak before you make up your mind. Before you send me away.”
She nodded, unable to speak even if she'd wanted to. She wanted to run to him. She wanted to yell at him. She wanted to cry. All of it all at once. It made no sense. As always when he was involved, her emotions were in turmoil.
Thus, she stood there, hands clasped in front of her.
Lucien took a deep breath.
“There are things I didn't tell you,” he said.
“Things I should've told you from the beginning.
I've lived with fear and guilt for a long time, Marianne.
Deep guilt that's affected every decision I've made.” He ran a hand through his hair.
“My first wife and I were ill-suited. I have hinted at this before.
But you didn't know how truly terrible our marriage was.
She held no affection for me. I didn't particularly care for her.
I kept hoping, foolishly, that she'd eventually become the wife I dreamt of.
That we'd find some happiness. But that wasn't fair to either of us.
She didn't want to be my wife. She didn't want to be a mother to Henry.”
Pain tinged his every word.
“I endeavored to win her affection, or even her regard, but it was in vain. She had been against the marriage from the start and fought it. I found this out later. In due course, I found out she was having an affair,” he said, voice dropping.
“With Lord Rochford. A gentleman from the neighboring estate.
I was hurt. Angry. Humiliated. But more than that, I was devastated for Henry.
Because she couldn't love him, his own mother couldn't love him. Just like my father couldn't love me.”
He looked away, staring out the window.
“I also found out she was planning to run away. Leave me, leave Henry, go to him. And the night she left...” He swallowed.
“The night she left, there was a terrible storm coming. Thunder and lightning. I knew I should have stopped her. The bridge road is prone to flooding. I should have stopped her from leaving. But a dark corner of my heart had ceased to care what happened to her.”
His hands clenched into fists.
“I was so angry. So humiliated. So devastated that she cared so little for our son. So I let her go. I stood there and watched her leave, knowing it wasn't safe. Knowing she could be hurt. And I did nothing.”
“Lucien,” Marianne breathed, stepping toward him.
He held up a hand.
“You know of the accident and that she died, of course. I've lived with that guilt ever since. Knowing I could've stopped her. That I should've stopped her. That my anger and pride cost her her life.”
“But that wasn't your fault,” she whispered.
“Perhaps not. I have come to accept this in my heart. But it does not alter what it wrought on me and my life. Our life,” Lucien continued, “I became certain I could never make any woman happy.
That I was broken. That I'd never be enough.
I never felt like I was enough for anyone.
Except my grandfather, and he's gone. And Mrs. Greaves, but she worships the ground I walk on, so she hardly counts.”
Despite everything, Marianne let out a small laugh. “That's true. You can do no wrong in Mrs. Greaves's eyes.”
A ghost of a smile crossed Lucien's face. “Not any more. Letting you go tarnished my reputation with her considerably.” He stepped toward her. “It's thanks to Mrs. Greaves and Sister Bernadette that I'm even here. Because I thought there was no chance we could ever be together again.”
“Why?” Marianne asked. “Because I left?”
“Because I treated you the way Arabella treated me,” he said, voice raw.
“She rejected me. She made it clear she didn't want me.
And I did the same to you. No—I did worse.
Because Arabella never loved me. But I loved you.
I love you. And I let you know that, then took it away.
I hurt you over and over. I behaved terribly.
And I couldn't let go of the guilt, the fear that I'd make you as miserable as I made Arabella.”
“You didn't make her miserable,” Marianne said. “She made herself miserable. She made choices. You can't carry the burden of her choices, Lucien. You were as trapped as she was.”
“I know that now,” he said. “Or I'm trying to. Trying to believe it.” He closed the distance between them.
“I was wrong, Marianne. So terribly wrong.
And if you can never forgive me, I'll understand.
But I had to come. I had to tell you the truth.
I had to tell you I love you. That I've loved you, even when I was too much of a coward to admit it.”
Marianne looked up at him, tears pricking at her eyes.
“I was wrong too,” she whispered. “I shouldn't have run away.
I ought to have given you another chance when you came to find me at the ball.
All I ever wanted was for you to tell me why you were so changeable and why you could not truly be with me.
I didn't give you the chance. I was so hurt.”
“I hurt you,” Lucien said, reaching up to cup her face. “I hurt you terribly. And I'm so, so sorry. I miss you.”
“I missed you so much, too,” Marianne replied, her voice shaking. “But I can't live a life where I'm constantly rejected. Where I never know if you want me or not.”
“I know,” Lucien said. “I know. That was my life with Arabella.
Constant rejection. Constant uncertainty.
Never knowing where I stood. And I did that to you.
I swear to you, Marianne, I'll never do it again.
I've finally learned my lesson. I finally understand that I had happiness within my grasp, and I threw it away.
And I'd understand if you hate me. If you never want to see me again.”
“I don't hate you,” Marianne said. “I could never hate you. I love you. I've always loved you.”
“Then come home,” Lucien pleaded. “Please.
Come home. Be my wife. Be Henry's mother.
Let us be the family we should've been from the start.
I swear to you, Marianne, I'll spend every day for the rest of my life proving you can trust me.
That I'll never shut you out again. That I'll never let my past ruin our future.”
“And I'll never run away again,” Marianne said. “I'll stay. I'll fight for us. Even when it's hard.”
“Especially when it's hard,” Lucien agreed.
They stood there, looking at each other. Then Marianne said, “Do you remember when you told me I wasn't made for drawing rooms and balls?”
“I do,” he said with a smile. “It is one of the things that made me want to be with you.”
She smiled, but took a deep breath.
“I don't think I'm made for high society at all,” Marianne said. “I tried. But it isn't me.”
“I'm not made for it either,” Lucien said. “Never have been. We can live as we please, Marianne. The three of us. We can travel. See the world. Visit the ruins we've read about. Take Henry to see the Colosseum, the pyramids, and the temples of Greece. We can live the life we want, on our terms.”
“I'd like that,” Marianne whispered. “I'd like that very much.”
“Does that mean...” Lucien began, hope in his eyes.
“It means I forgive you,” Marianne said. “If you can forgive me.”
“You do not need my forgiveness, my love.” He pulled her into his arms.
Marianne laughed through her tears, wrapping her arms around him.
“I love you,” Lucien murmured into her hair. “So very much.”
“I love you too,” Marianne said.
And then he kissed her. All the fear and loneliness that had consumed her melted away, replaced only by the warmth of his body against hers.
When they pulled apart, they looked at one another, beaming.
“Shall we go home?” Lucien asked.
Marianne looked up at him and nodded.
“Yes,” she said. “I think we shall.”
And thus, the two of them locked hands and made their way out of the chamber. She would collect Juliet, and together, they’d return to the home she had left behind, knowing that this time around, she would never leave it again.