“No,” she said harshly. “I certainly do not. Good evening, Mr. Smith. Jane—” She spun on her heel and stomped out of the room, incensed and disappointed that she had started to trust him, hurried to her room with her maid on her heels.
She huffed out a breath. “And just as I was about to trust him too, but he proves himself to be just like the rest. Like my parents. I am just an object for marriage. No one cares about what I want to do with my life, how I want to travel, see places as far from this place as possible. I feel—I feel—” She plunked herself to a chair. Her gaze dropped to her lap, and a feeling of misery and disappointment sank on her heart. “—trapped.”
Jane took the seat beside her and reached out to hold her hand. “My Lady, if I may be so bold, but mayhap you are judging him too quickly?”
“No,” Rachel said stiffly. “He, just like my parents, sees me as a wife, but none of them see me as a person under it. It…its feels as I were chattel. Tonight, at our dinner, I am going to tell Mother and Father how I feel. That this marriage makes me uncomfortable and that it scares me.”
Looking unsure, Jane said, “I hope for the best.”
Even the good wishes, all Rachel heard was,and if they still force you to marry…what then?
***
Obediently, Rachel kept her head bowed and her eyes closed as her father droned on. She tried to listen to the words he was saying, but the words she planned to say to them took precedence in her mind.
She knew that it was best to keep her tone calm, meek, and pleading, but the words, laced with hurt, frustration, and even the feeling of betrayal, were not leaning into that ideal.
“…And for these bounties, we thank you, Lord, Amen,” her father closed.
Agreeing, Rachel laid her napkin on her lap while her mother asked her, “How was the session today, daughter?”
“It went well, but Mother, I do not want to do this,” Rachel pleaded. “I am not ready for marriage, and I do not think painting a portrait will help. Is it not a little tawdry?”
“Nonsense,” Archibald scoffed. “Your mother and I got married just a mere a year older than you are now. You will do fine.”
“But I do not want to marry yet,” Rachel said. “Which lord will marry an unwilling bride? What about a personal connection? What about love?”
Lady Mary eyed her sharply. “Love is superfluous to a marriage. It is God’s covenant, daughter, for you to be married. You two will live a good life; even if you must live in a marriage of companionship, you will marry.”
Feeling as she was losing her standing, Rachel asked, “But what if I grow to resent this man?”
“Prayer and patience will take even the notion of those emotions from you,” her mother waved her concern away as if she were a buzzing gnat. “You will marry the man we pick for you, and you will be peaceful, protected, and provided for.”
Now, she grew frantic, “But—”
“But nothing,” her father stopped her. “The portrait will be painted, and you will marry the man we choose. That is final. Now, be quiet and eat your dinner.”
Jerking as if she had been slapped, Rachel hung her head in defeat. Her appetite, little as it was, vanished, but she forced herself to eat. Holding back the aggravated tears, Rachel made it through the meal and excused herself to her rooms.
Jane, who was straightening up a few items on her dressing table, turned with a warm smile on her face—but seeing the distress on Rachel’s, her expression fell.
“Would you draw me a bath?” Rachel asked before she sank to a chair.
Her maid uttered something, but Rachel was too troubled and miserable to reply. She barely plucked herself up to disrobe with Jane’s absence and don a dressing robe. When the water was ready, she sank into the copper tub and finally allowed the tears to fall.
She sat back, staring bleaklydown while the dropletsdisappeared into the water. Her parents did not care about her feelings at all, and she felt the allegorical noose tightening around her neck.
Staying in the water until it went cold and her tears had dried out, Rachel weakly left for the rooms, donned a night rail, and slipped into bed. She tried to hold on to the fleeting hope that her life was not descending into a pit of hopelessness.
***
All night,William had tried to find an answer—any answer—to explain why Rachel had gotten angry and walked away from him the evening before. After a sleepless night and pacing around the room, no explanation had come.
Wearied, he leaned on the window and gazed out at the garden with tired eyes. When his gaze landed on Rachel’s slender form meandering through the bushes, his fatigue vanished. Pausing only to drag on a pair of trousers under his nightshirt and don his boots, William left the room and hurried to the garden.
Rachel’s back was turned to him, and he frowned a little at the drab, shapeless wrapper she had on. He could easily see her in a more feminine, frilly white silk version, its hems lifting with the slightest ebb of the wind.
His boot snapped a twig, and she spun on her feet, eyes wide with fright before she saw that it was him.
