“I know, but what could it be?” she wondered.
The mystery stayed with her until just before dinner, but no matter how she tried to find a reason for William’s distance, nothing came. She gave up when a messenger came to her bearing a jeweled diadem from Lord Strathmore.
If she did not fear the wrath of her parents, Rachel would have chucked the whole thing into the fire. Instead, she propped it up on her dressing table, hating how the jewels reflected her face back to her in shards.
If I marry him, I will be broken too.
Resting the jewel down, Rachel went to finish her evening routine of washing and prayers. The only thing she prayed for was for a miracle to free her from the marriage to the horrid lord.
Her sleep was fitful, and when she woke, it was with the news that her parents would be arriving home that evening. Instantly, her mood soured. The day of her engagement was looming, and soon, her marriage day.
She knew that her parents would have wanted her married off the next day, but they would hold on to the church’s rule of publishing banns for three consecutive weeks—then she would be married. Even that stretch of time was no comfort to her.
Drearily she went through her morning routine and arrived at the garden’s pagoda to find William there, a bit cheerier than he had been the day before. Sadly, her mood was the direct opposite.
He took one look at her and, before she sat, embraced her warmly. He did not say anything about her unhappiness, but she treasured the gesture. Going to her place, Rachel sat.
What if I run away?
Reflecting on a conversation she once had with William, she sighed. She had nowhere and none to run to. With no special skills or intimate knowledge of navigating London or anywhere else, she had to rule running away out.
If she were to leave, her only option was to go to a nunnery, and that would stop her from marrying. If marriage to the lord and taking asylum in a nunnery were her options, she would never be happy.
She kept the thoughts to herself, but from the growing concerned looks William kept flickering at her, Rachel suspected that he knew about her worry. Jane came back with a tray of drinks and a stricken face. Rachel made to ask her why but following on the maid’s heels was her mother.
Lady Mary’s stoic face was never comforting, and now, the tight line of her lips made it more so. Rachel reached for a glass of water to delay speaking to her mother and sipped it.
“Daughter, your father and I have come back earlier than expected,” Lady Mary then greeted William. “Mister Smith, I assume you are making headway in the portrait?”
“I am,” he said, not reacting to the rather brusque words. “If you would care to look?”
Lady Mary came to his side, glanced at the paper, then glanced up at Rachel where she sat. Her gaze moved between the two before she nodded. “It’s almost complete.”
“Yes,” William said as he reached for his pencil. “And then we will go on to the painting. Of the three drawings, which of them do you prefer, Your Grace?”
“I think this one is best,” Lady Mary said, gesturing to the drawing in front of William. “It has more character than the rest.”
“I suspect that I will finish this in a day and begin the painting,” William said. “The painting is going to be a delicate process, but I am confident that it will be ready before the marriage ceremony.”
The mention of her marriage made Rachel feel sickened. Instantly, she reached for her glass of water and drank half of it.
“Good,” Lady Mary nodded curtly, then faced Rachel. “Your father and I need to speak with you when you are done here. We must go over the details of your engagement and marriage ceremony.”
Rachel rested her glass down. “Yes, Mother.”
Lady Mary leveled a narrow-eyed look at Rachel but said nothing. With a curt nod, she turned to the path and went inside the house. Sighing, Rachel said, “I am not anticipating anything in that meeting.”
“I’m sorry,” Jane commiserated.
Shaking her head wryly, Rachel sat for the rest of the sitting, dreading every passing moment. When William told her she was free to go, Rachel headed off to the house with leaden feet. She got to her father’s study and, after a steadying breath, knocked on the door.
“Come in,” he said.
Inside, she found her mother already seated and nursing a cup of tea in her hands.
“About time,” Lady Mary muttered. “It seemed as if Mr. Smith would keep you forever.”
I would prefer that more than anything you are going to force me to do.
