Chapter 9 #2
“I don’t need kindness from cloth,” Maria said, unable to help herself. Whenever she was with her closest of friends, honesty came easily to her.
“You need it from somewhere,” Prudence said mildly. “We’ll take it where it comes.”
Temperance spat a pin into her palm, then looked horrified at herself and reached for a dish.
“Sorry. Habit. The nuns used to say we’d swallow our own mistakes.”
“We did,” Charity said. “Just not pins.”
“Speak for yourself,” Prudence smiled.
It was the usual chatter amongst her friends, but Maria’s mind was spiraling.
“I can’t do this,” Maria breathed finally.
“Can’t do fittings,” Charity asked, “or can’t do weddings?”
“Can’t do any of it.” Maria stared at the window, at nothing. “I feel like I’ve been picked up, turned, and set down heading another way without anyone asking if my feet were attached.”
“Your feet are attached,” Temperance said briskly. “No need to be so dramatic, darling.”
The dressmaker clicked her tongue.
“We must finish the hem before luncheon,” she said. If she sensed the tension in the room, she definitely did not make a fuss about it, to Maria's relief.
“We will,” Charity said. “Would it be possible to give us a few moments alone, perhaps?”
Maria felt grateful. The dressmaker nodded and then finally left them alone with the privacy that they needed.
“All right, Maria. Start at the beginning. What is this about?”
“Running,” Maria said without thinking.
All three of them stared.
“Running where?” Prudence asked, steady as always.
“Anywhere,” Maria said. “The kitchen gardens. The next parish. Scotland. I don’t care. Away.”
Charity traded a glance with Prudence over Maria’s shoulder. “You won’t do it.”
“I might.”
“You won’t,” Charity repeated, matter-of-fact. “You’ve only ever run from one thing in your life, and that was toward us.”
“If you run again, it would need to be toward something. You hate empty roads,” Temperance added.
Maria wanted to argue. She didn’t have the energy to lie convincingly to people like them. They were too close, and it would be a difficult thing to achieve.
“Fine. I hate empty roads.”
Prudence set the water down and folded her hands.
“What are you actually angry about? The absence or the man?”
“The man,” Maria said, too fast. “No. The absence. Both.” She dragged a hand through the loose hair that hadn’t yet been bullied into order.
“He hasn’t come since that night. Nicholas says he’s been sending notes to the vicar.
I suppose he is busy with his duties apparently, but not time to… not time to…” She floundered.
“Not time to look you in the face,” Charity supplied.
“Yes.” Maria scowled at the carpet. “And when he was here, he barked one sentence at me like a command and left. He could have…said something else. Anything else.”
“Like what?” Temperance asked.
“Like ‘I don’t want to marry you but I will’,” Maria said. “Or ‘this is a contract and I expect you to be punctual’. Or ‘I have reasons I will not share’. At least then I would know which sort of wall he planned to be.”
Prudence rubbed her temple.
“Have you considered that he might be doing the sensible thing and staying away because he knows your brother would set him on fire if he lingered?”
“Violet would set him on fire first,” Prudence observed.
“I don’t want him burned,” Maria said. “I want…I don’t know what I want.”
Silence again.
Charity reached for the scone tray and handed Maria the least stale.
“Eat. Then tell us what’s underneath the anger.”
Maria bit and chewed. And then tried to make some sense of her thoughts, which were now flowing in all directions.
“I don’t understand him,” she said around the crumb. “He told me he would never marry. He told me I had a week, and he would find me someone. Then he offered himself as a deadline. And then he….did the thing he said he would never do. Why?”
“Because he meant the other thing more,” Prudence said simply.
“What other thing?”
“Keeping you safe,” Prudence said.
“That can’t be it,” Maria said. “If that were it, he could have given Mr. Rondell a shove and sent him tumbling into the stables. He could have told Nicholas to toss the man out.”
“He could have, but he chose a bigger solution. Does that not tell you something about his aims? And please note, I am not suggesting you owe him your gratitude for doing the obvious right. I am only saying the obvious right is relevant,” Prudence cut back in gently.
“He is relevant and I hate it,” Maria made a sound that was not quite a laugh.
“Hate is a strong word…” Prudence chimed in.
“I don’t hate him,” Maria admitted, glum. “I hate that he gets to decide the pace of the room. I hate that he said one sentence, and then everything is happening exactly as he wishes for it to be. I hate that he looked at me that night as if…” She stopped, appalled at herself.
“As if what?” Temperance pounced.
“As if I were…” Maria groped for a word that wouldn’t make her sound foolish. “A choice. Not a mess. And then he left. It makes me furious.”
Prudence’s mouth softened.
“That would do it.”
“It would be easier if he were cruel or stupid,” Maria gave up. “He is neither.”
“Then treat him as a problem that requires a plan, not panic,” Charity said. “We were raised to sort problems. It is our only real skill.”
“I can think of other skills,” Temperance said, counting on her fingers. “Stealing jam, mending sheets….”
“Temperance,” Prudence warned.
“I am being supportive,” Temperance countered, unrepentant.
“You are,” Maria said, laughing in spite of herself. “All right. Plan. What is the plan?”
If there was anyone in the world who could save her, it would be her girls.
“Do not run,” Prudence said first. “Running gives people stories they do not deserve to tell.”
“Attend your fittings,” Charity added, deadpan. “It is unwise to marry in a half-made gown.”
“Eat,” Temperance said. “And sleep. And throw something at a wall if needed, as long as it is not a plate.”
“Talk to him,” Prudence finished.
“What would that be?” Maria asked. “I cannot think of a thing to say to him.”
“Then ask for specifics,” Charity said. “Where you will live. Whether he means for you to host or hide. Whether he expects children or silence. Whether he thinks you are a project or a person.”
“That last one matters,” Maria looked down at her hands.
“It matters most,” Prudence said softly.
It was that moment that the dressmaker came back into the room.
Temperance went to work, humming under her breath, her hands quick and bossy. Prudence and Charity took turns distracting Maria with lists: flowers, guests, music. At one point, Violet came in, read the room in two seconds, kissed the top of Maria’s head without knocking pins loose, and left again.
“Alethea wrote,” Prudence said after a bit, sifting envelopes. “She is still in Bath. Honeymoon is going well. She says Oliver has discovered that walking is improved by holding hands for miles.”
“Of course, she says that,” Charity said fondly. “She will return in a few days, in time to tell us we tied the bows incorrectly.”
“Did she say she was happy?” Maria asked, surprising herself with how much she wanted the answer.
Prudence smiled down at the letter.
“She did not use the word. She does not need to, though. It seems very much implied.”
Maria let the thought sit in her chest. Alethea is happy, far away for now, returning soon with stories. It steadied her more than she expected.
By noon, the seam was decided and the hem obeyed. The dressmaker declared victory and went to boss someone else. Temperance shook out her hands, proud of her own work. Charity collected the pins like a small general accounting for troops.
“Eat,” Prudence said again, and no one argued.
“Do you remember,” Temperance said suddenly, “when we once planned a fake wedding for the laundry cat?”
“It was a real wedding,” Charity looked appalled.
“It was a cat and a broom,” Prudence said.