Chapter 4
Ishould focus on breakfast, surely. But all Maria could think of was the conversation that she had had with Violet the night before.
Violet had sat on the edge of Maria’s bed and explained, quietly and without flinching, what Maria’s mistake meant.
You could have ruined yourself completely, Violet had said, her fingers warm over Maria’s cold ones.
And Nicholas with you. Not by wickedness but by carelessness.
It would not matter that you meant no harm.
If a maid saw you enter or leave. If a footman paused and heard you speak.
It takes so little to make a tale and so much to mend it.
Maria had listened, ashamed.
I thought….she had begun, and could not finish.
Now she stood in the breakfast parlor and did not know where to put her body.
“Good morning,” Prudence Bastable murmured, appearing at Maria’s elbow with a small plate. “Breakfast is lovely, is it not?”
Immediately, having her around put Maria at ease. She was one of her friends at the nunnery. Recently, she had been reunited with her family. It brought her some solace that someone else was having the same experience, fitting into society as her.
“Good morning.” Maria tried on a smile. “I’ll opt for the roll, I think.”
They moved together and then both took a seat.
The breakfast table was a full house. Nearly all of the guests had now appeared. Nicholas looked as he always did at breakfast in a full house: delighted. The sight of him made Maria’s eyes sting. He would not look like that if he knew what she had almost done to his name.
She felt a sense of paranoia overcome her. What if someone at the table knew what she had gotten up to the night before? She scanned the faces of the guests, which appeared to be innocent enough at first glance. Still, what was to say that they did not know?
She felt as though her life was a game of Chinese whispers, where gossip would travel from one curious ear to the other until finally ending in her ruin.
What would be worse? She thought to herself. A life forever confined in the nunnery, or a life forever confined as a burden in her brother's house, because no one would want to marry her after they found out?
Of course, there was the third option of her marrying the duke… but somehow, that felt like a far-off reality that would never come to fruition. Still, the idea made her cheeks turn red.
“Maria?” Prudence said softly.
“Huh?” Maria said, snapping out of her reverie. “What?”
“You seem rather worried about something,” Prudence said, as perceptive as always. “Is something the matter?”
“Oh, nothing,” Maria tried to wave her hand.
“You are a terrible liar,” Prudence countered. “You must tell me. It would take the load off your mind.”
“But there is nothing to say,” Maria said, lying again. It was not as though she did not trust Prudence; she did. Very much so. But she did not wish to speak about it yet.
Somehow, speaking about it would make it all the more real. And besides, she had already made a vow to Violet that the incident would not leave her mouth.
“There is always something to say,” Prudence shrugged her shoulders. “Of course, if you do not wish to indulge…”
“Do not take it personally,” Maria offered a smile and then squeezed her friend's hand. “But it would be better if we only focus on our breakfast for now.”
Prudence looked as though she had more to say, but before that, they were interrupted.
“Miss Havenford.” Peter Morton’s voice called out. “May I…?”
“Please,” Maria said. She indicated the chair to her right.
Peter sat at a distance required by propriety.
“Did you sleep properly, Miss Havenford?”
“Yes,” Maria nodded. Their conversation continued. He asked for nothing thrilling, only whether she had slept, whether the music had pleased her, and whether she had tried the marmalade.
“I slept tolerably. The music was lovely. The marmalade looks very fine,” She heard herself reply, polite and flat and much too short.
Prudence’s eyes flicked to Maria’s hands and back again.
Peter did not push. That should have comforted her; it did. It should also have opened her. It did not. Somehow, she found herself wanting more.
He did not take offense. He accepted the limits she offered as if they were a token.
It was at that moment that the Duke of Verwood entered the room.
A handful of ladies glanced; a handful of gentlemen stiffened. The change was hardly anything, but it did not go unnoticed by her.
He had the presence to change the mood of a room when he walked in, should he wish.
Stephen came no nearer than the far side of the table. At first, there was no interaction between them. In fact, she tried her hardest not to glance in his direction.
But then he looked; she felt it; he looked away, and she hated that there was any part of her that wanted to be found again just to be sure she had been seen.
“Miss Havenford,” Peter said, returning from exchanging a word with Prudence. “Would you walk when you have done with your tea? The east lawn is rather handsome at this hour.”
“Yes,” Maria said, and then heard how the word sounded. It did not signal too much of an interest. “If you like.”
“I do,” he said, which somehow did not make the invitation press upon her. “But not if you have letters to write.”
“That is very gallant of you,” Prudence murmured into her coffee.
Peter offered a rueful little smile. “Gallantry should be unnoticeable, Miss Fairchild, or it ceases to be gallantry and becomes performance.”
“Then you are not doing it very well,” Prudence said.
Maria should have laughed with them. Instead, she took a sip of her tea, which she did not need, and said, “Perhaps, Mr. Morton, later in the morning. I find I have… correspondence.”
She was not sure whether Peter heard correspondence or cowardice in the words. He only bowed.
“Then I hope your letters are received with joy,” which was so gentle that she found she had to swallow twice.
Maria could not endure another second of being a person who might shatter.
She rose and said her farewell. She managed three steps past them when someone called out her name again.
“Miss Havenford.”
She turned…
Stephen stood ten feet away, hands linked behind his back. In the morning light, he looked too much like himself. She discovered, to her irritation, that she preferred him less well in daylight. The night gives a rake the right to be dangerous; morning makes him look like a choice.
“You left your breakfast,” he observed. “Mr. Morton looked bereft.”
“He did not.” Maria arranged her face into something courteous. “He looked perfectly well.”
“Of course, he did,” Stephen said placidly. “He is too well-mannered to look otherwise. You, however, resemble a woman who has escaped an unpleasant parson.”
“I have escaped nothing,” she said. “I am going to write a letter.”
“To whom?”
“That is hardly your business.”
“On the contrary,” he said, entirely without shame, “this week almost everything about you is my business.”
She stiffened at his words.
“That is not true.”
“It is.” His tone cut neatly. “By securing last night’s disaster behind a door, we made a bargain, one you insisted upon by forcing me to make it. I now have six days to find you a husband. You, therefore, have six days to be as close to useful as possible. This morning you were not.”
“Useful.” She tasted the word and found it bitter. “I am not a parcel to be wrapped and sent.”
“You are a woman who asked the night to do what daylight had not,” he said. “The night refused and placed the task into my hands. I will require you to help me with it.”
“I was…nervous,” she said.
“So? Are you waiting to be less so?” Stephen raised an eyebrow. “You must understand that is not the right way to go about things. Sometimes, even when we are nervous, we must do the thing that is required of us.”
“It sounds much easier to prescribe such a thing to me,” Maria replied. “But I hope you can empathize that it is much harder in practice.”
“Perhaps so, but my advice to you is accurate and realistic,” He tipped his head. “You were polite to Mr. Morton to the point of insult. You answered his kindness with curtness. You do not have to be a flirt, but you do have to be present.”
“I do not…” she sighed. “I will do better this afternoon.”
“No.” He smiled very slightly. “You will do better tonight.”
“Tonight?” she found herself growing irked at the way that he was simply ordering her to do things. The arrogance of it all.
“Midnight.” He said it like a place rather than a time. “The library.”
“I cannot meet you at midnight in the library,” she said, her eyes widening. “That is precisely the kind of behavior that got me into trouble in the first place. Besides, I am not too fond of the manner in which you are simply ordering me.”
“There is a difference,” he reminded her. “Our first meeting had been entirely decided by you, and I did not have much of a say. This time, I am inviting you. And if I am to get you out of trouble swiftly, you must learn to accept my orders.”
“I am supposed to accept?”
“You will,” he replied simply.
He left her with that, just walked away down the corridor, and turned toward the back stairs and was gone, confident as ever.
Maria stood and burned for a long minute. How arrogant, she fumed privately. It was infuriating to be spoken to in this manner, but she knew that he was trying to help her. In his own infuriating manner.
It was going to take a while getting used to it.
Once she had calmed herself down, she returned to the breakfast room and stood for another moment, watching the way people rose and sat and smiled. She found Prudence with her eye.
“Letters?” Prudence said mildly when Maria reached her side again.
“Later.” She sighed. “Will you walk?”
“If you like.”
They went out together to the terrace while the house finished eating itself full.
“Prudence.”
“Mm?”
“Do you believe I was too curt with Peter at the breakfast table this morning?”
Prudence gave her a long, worried look.
“I believe you appeared to be a bit distracted, is all. One might interpret that as curtness.”
“Did he?”
“Well, I cannot read minds,” Prudence replied. “But you did say no to his offer to go for a walk.”
“I don’t want to seem cold. I get nervous, and my voice goes sharp.”
“You were nervous,” Prudence said. “That’s all.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.” She linked their arms. “Try this the next time, perhaps, pick one true thing and say three simple sentences about it.”
“What if I say the wrong thing?”
“Then you say another. People restart all the time,” Prudence shrugged.
Maria huffed a laugh.
“I just want to be liked.”
That was the truth of it, was it not? Behind all of the complications, all she wished to be was accepted somewhere where she did not have to feel like a burden on anyone.
“I’d rather you be known,” Prudence said. “Liked usually follows.”
They walked a few paces.
“A practical tip,” Prudence added. “If you don’t want something, say no kindly.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“It works. And loosen those shoulders. You are carrying too much tension.”
Maria exhaled, shoulders loosening. “Better?”
“Much.” Prudence smiled. “There you are.”
“Thank you,” Maria said. “If he asks again, I’ll answer as myself.”
But somehow, she was not talking about Peter anymore.