One that suits the woman I’ve yet to see—though how I know that, I cannot say.
Since the dawn of philosophers—admittedly perhaps, since the dawn of time—the question of the cost of freedom had been asked, debated, answered, asked again, and debated again. Thoroughly, and to no true conclusion.
Some part of Hypatia had been content to accept thatfreedom had no price, and thatso long as one was free of spirit and mind, they were free. Some nights, she had comforted herself with such assertions, only now, in this moment, she knew that though such assertions were likely unfathomable truth, the tangible truth of her life, was that her freedom had a price.
A very neat and tidy price: one thousand pounds.
A fortune for some; a paltry pittance to others.
To her, the most blessed number in existence right then.
Perhaps she was being somewhat overdramatic—so many were in worse circumstances, so many whose freedom truly had been wholly stripped away—only it didn’t feel thus. It felt as if she could hear the doors to her admittedly comfortable prison unlocking, not quite cracking open yet, but unlocking. She could almost see a path beyond them, a path of hope, and possibility. Of a future, beyond that which she’d believed she’d been condemned to for so long.
One might wonder, what precisely it was that was so terrible about her life, that would make her exult so at this new future, married to a stranger she’d met approximately eleven minutes ago. That would make her so easily eschew and abandon her family and known comforts, for uncertainty, and a pig farm; that would make her call the shackles of marriagefreedom. And Hypatia would readily tell you, that it was a lack of freedom, a lack of agency, and a lack of existence as herself, that defined the terrible nature of it. Not anything highly unusual for her sex, however something which in some cases could be remedied with the right choices, and so therefore here she was, remedying it.
Once, well, many times actually, she’d pondered running away, only good sense, common sense, and yes, fear had won out. There was a difference between knowing you had some skill and will, and going out into the world with only that and a very small sum, scrimped and saved over the years, to your name. For someone as practical as Hypatia, who knew well enough how quickly the world could swallow up whole and spit out the best intentioned and most capable, there was risk, and then there wasrisk. In her position, she could afford the former, but not the second.
She had also pondered marrying—as she was agreeing to now—a few times. However, she’d never met anyone remotely interested in her or her thousand pounds worthy of the risk—only of her father’s predictable refusal—and she might’ve looked further afield, perhaps for love, except really, she had better things to do. With her skills and education, she might’ve also found employment, as a governess or a teacher or something of the sort—however that she had never tried, for it would have been too easy for her family to come fetch her, and drag her back. Were they truly so desperate… That she couldn’t know for certain, but she wagered they might be, after a time,indispensableas she apparently was to them all. As for more permanent choices—such as entering the nunnery or becoming a missionary or so on—well, one had to believe in the Almighty, and the cause, and she did not. Therefore that was that.
So yes, in the end, she’d contented herself with her lot. Hoping that some other opportunity or chance might cross her path in time. Her existence not terrible, not happy, but known, and therefore endurable. A slow erosion, of will, of want, of hope; one which might’ve very well eroded her to the last grains of herself, made her too well accustomed toendurableandknown comfortsto ever leave them, had it not been for this man. This chance, the one she had been waiting for; perhaps the lastand only she would ever have. Well timed too, for if her family had her way, her sister would be wed and birthing her own brood within the year—God and everyone willing save Hypatia—and then where would Hypatia be?
Either covered in the dirty linens of babes or tending to Mother and Father.
Or both.
Therefore, Hypatia was now choosing to take a chance on a man she’d met twelve minutes ago, rather than accept that fate, or any such. Choosing to leap into the unknown, rather than facing another untold number of decades catering to her family’s every whim, every dictate, every supposed need; a known future which would only get worse as her parents aged ever more, and her sister grew her own family. Hypatia would be expected to serve and care for them all, as she’d always done, and that was not something she was prepared to do.
Some might view it as duty, or honour, to care for one’s family thus. And in many cases, it was. In this case however, it was neither of those things, and to boot, love was lacking from the equation too. For in her experience, love, duty, familial obligation, could all be eroded away, like the self, by a lack of agency and freedom. Love, in her opinion, was a choice; one couldn’t therefore love, if no choice to do so freely was given. Once perhaps, she had loved them all, her sister Epi most of all, before diverging paths and purposes divided them; once perhaps, she might’ve given them a second thought in all this, however not now. Not tonight. She had to think about herself, not everyone else for once; they would fare well enough without her. If not, well…she did not wish them ill, but neither could she set herself aside again because they expected her to. So here she was, making the first choice she’d made truly, entirely, and without reserve for herself; the first choice thus she’d perhaps ever made in her life.
If an Essex smith can become an earl, perhaps I can become…someone entirely of my own.
‘Should we…shake on it?’ Thorn said, startling her from her little self-indulgent moment of reverie and marked solemnity.
She thought of him thus instinctually—Thorn—as that was how he’d just introduced himself, and they were to be married if all went according to this spontaneous plan, so she supposed some familiarity was allowed, and would foster a good partnership.
Pushing any doubts or fears aside that he might rescind his offer once he fully saw her—not that anyone had before, and besides, she had told him of her plainness, and that didn’t seem to factor into this transaction,money for freedom—she rose, and stepped away from her shadowed nook to meet him as he rounded the ridiculous miniature fountain standing between them.
Extending her hand, she watched for any sign of shock, displeasure, or disappointment, but found nothing but a reassuring smile, and continued sparkling in his gaze.
‘I suppose we should discuss some details,’ he said, wrapping his hand around hers, and she smiled, not just because he continued to prove himself ieminently clever and practical, but because he had a good handshake.
Strong, and sure; warm but not despicably wet as some were wont to be, and overall she noted that her body felt at ease in his presence.
It had from the moment he’d appeared along the path, bursting into her bubble of respite and peace, hence why she’d indulged in conversation as opposed to sinking further into the shadows, and making herself discreetly scarce, which would’ve been her typicalmodus operandi.
Something which should be said, was that her instinctual lack of wariness of him, had absolutely nothing at all to do with hisobjective, and striking, handsomeness—nor did her agreeing to these marriage plans. Hypatia might’ve been called many things by various persons of varying levels of acquaintance, however,a fool who trusted a pretty facewould’ve never been one of them.
However, yes, objectively, he was handsome. Square-jawed, with symmetrical but finely honed features. Long, straight, somewhat blunt nose. Thick, mostly straight, but also gently arched brows, over slightly hooded, downturned eyes, of a sparkling cerulean blue, visible even in the gloom of the dusky garden. A wide mouth, with the perfect little dip in the upper lip, which itself was that little bit smaller than the lower—though both the right balance between full and narrow to follow the symmetry of the other features. All that topped off with non-noticeable ears, a mostly tamed mop of semi-curled, semi-straight thick hair, and a thick, solidness of figure that demonstrated the strength required for his previous occupation, though she suspected the broader-than-average shoulders, and towering height he worked to diminish by curving inwards slightly, were inherited from his forebears.
Overall, he had the air and energy of a pastorally perfect and quintessential British son; mixed in with a charming rogue, and potential of a rather endearing pup, the latter mainly due to those downturned eyes which looked entirely capable of mischief and pity-inducement. This was all reinforced somehow, by his fine, but notexceptional, evening dress, which both suited him, yet didn’t in the least.
In all honesty, this handsomeness didn’t hurt—in her decision to marry him—it was rather like choosing one painting or ornament over another for one knew one could bear to look at it for years on end.
However, it was primarily her instinctual ease which, along with desperation, was one of the main reasons she was going along with this seemingly impetuous and foolhardy plan.
‘We should,’ she agreed, releasing his hand. ‘There will be no time to meet again, I think, and all my correspondence is read.’
He frowned at that, a line appearing perpendicular to his right eyebrow.
