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 orEvelyn 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 ofit 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.”
