Chapter Twenty-Nine #3
“With all my heart, my darling, beautiful, fiery little wife. I love looking at you and talking to you. I love coming home to you and quarreling with you. I love carrying you to bed, warm with sleep, though I suspect I would love even better waking up beside you.” These declarations he punctuated with appropriate ardor, and it was some minutes before Maria could recall herself once more.
“But—but—stop a moment, Benjamin. Stop! Why did you never tell me so? Why did you keep a secret from me? I must know it now—can you tell me it?”
“I can, and I will never keep another from you, if I can help it,” he promised.
“And if I said nothing of loving you before, it was because I thought of this moment. I thought how we would start our union anew, as it should be. A love match where we faced the future together—whatever it might hold, in the way of home and family—without fear of starving in the hedgerows.” But he continued to kiss her throughout this speech, and thrilling as his words and caresses were, Maria couldn’t rest until she knew all.
Therefore she pushed him onto one end of the sofa and took the other, setting a cushion upright between them.
“Tell me,” she urged, “and then we may kiss all we like.”
“Very well,” he sighed, watching her through lowered lids. “But I wanted to be sure of myself before I told you anything.”
“And now you are? Go on, then.”
Tossing the dividing cushion to the floor, he tried to pull her against him again, but she just as resolutely restored it and moved away.
He grinned. “All right. Have it your way. For now. Let me see…the Big Secret. Dearest Maria, what would you think of living in Iffley again, near your family?”
“I would like it very much, of course. Though I think, now the ice is broken, I may visit there now, even if Mrs. Dere frowns at me throughout.”
“But would you rather live in Iffley or in Pembroke Street?”
She stared. “Iffley, I daresay, even if, in Oxford, we didn’t live above Chop and Co.
Has someone offered you a curacy, Benjamin?
There is only St. Mary the Virgin in Iffley, and Mr. Terry said nothing about taking on a curate.
” But before he could reply she shook her head.
“No—that’s not it. It’s something else because there was the day you smelled of horse—”
“You noticed that, did you?” he chuckled.
“No, it’s not a curacy. I’ll be brief. Several weeks ago, I received a letter from the baron.
” He raised a hand to defer her questions.
“He told me he had unfortunately lost his estate manager, and would I care to replace him? We would work closely together, and there would be a lodge to occupy, and if I decided it wasn’t what I liked, there would be no harm done. ”
Amazed, her lips parted, and a minute passed before she could form words. “Then—it wasn’t Austin who was reading those books in your chambers at New College!”
“It wasn’t. I think I can safely say the only one less likely than I to be reading such books would be Austin.”
“But—not that Lord Dere’s offer is not generous—but—indeed, neither Austin nor you strike me as obvious estate managers,” she said, shaking her head determinedly.
“No. And you must tell him so—graciously—if you like. I mean I will not reproach you if you refuse it. Between us we will manage.” Saying so gave her a pang, however.
Employment? A lodge in Iffley? Nor could she suppress a twitch, remembering how she had given up her own post with the Cheneys.
It doesn’t matter. I can find another. Benjamin didn’t even want the baron to give us furniture, after all!
“O Maria of little faith, why are you so certain I could not do it?”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t, Benjamin. I said you wouldn’t like it! Crops and livestock and such.”
“I don’t know about that, Maria. I like to be active, and I like to learn new things and try new things, and I’m still a decent rider, even if I hadn’t ridden much in years.
I have a good head for figures. But to be certain I could acquit myself respectably, I wanted to consult my cousin Tyrone in Winchester.
He manages my cousin Florence’s—his sister’s—estate of Hollowgate, and you would have deemed him even less likely than I or Austin to choose such employment.
Tyrone is the writer and reader cousin, you remember, whose book I helped publish. ”
“I remember,” she murmured, feeling a growing eagerness. Could this really happen? “And what did your cousin say?”
“First he had a good laugh at my expense—as Austin also did, I might add—but when I pressed, he settled down for serious discussion. In fine I want to try it, Maria, if you’ll let me.
Not just for the income and Iffley and the home, but because it will require such a wide scope of knowledge and skill!
But only if you want to try it too. Because more even than this I want to build a marriage with you. A happy one. A real one.”
“But Benjamin,” she fretted, “you didn’t even want Lord Dere’s wedding gifts!”
“I didn’t,” he conceded, “but that was because, generous as he is, they were a species of lavish charity. This would be an occupation, Maria. If I did my work well—and I intend to—I would be of service to him. I would earn whatever we received.” Once more he threw off the cushion and drew near her, so that their knees touched and he could take her hands in his.
“So tell me, love, have you any other misgivings? Will you come with me willingly, or must I kidnap you?”
She threw herself into his arms, landing in his lap and nearly causing them both to slide off. “I will follow you anywhere in the world! To the hedgerows or the workhouse or to Perryfield, Benjamin. I only want what you want and to go where you want to go, so long as you love me.”
“Is that so?” he murmured into her hair, reaching up to tug it from its pins.
“I rejoice to hear it because I will go nowhere without you. Oh, Maria! When I arrived back in Pembroke Street to find you gone! All dark and empty—No. I don’t intend ever to be without you again.
But I’m glad I won’t have to beg because a cart comes tomorrow afternoon for our movables. ”
“Tomorrow!” Turning her cheek so that his mouth found her ear instead, she looked with consternation around the room. “Then we had better begin packing!”
Chuckling, he rose to his feet and then bent to scoop her up. “What a very good idea, wife. Perhaps after a good night’s sleep?”
“Benjamin! It’s only noon. Rundell will surely come in sometime.”
“True,” he answered, tossing her upon the coverlet. “Let me go and bolt the door.”
The End