“They will?” said Marianne.
“Of course. I meant it as a surprise, but since you are quite so Friday-faced, I thought it might be best to tell you now. They are eagerly awaiting you. And then next week we are all going to Evelyn’s home for Christmas, where we will be for several days. After that, we will look seriously into finding you a husband.”
Marianne nodded, knowing that there was no point in arguing with her aunt. Before she knew it, the carriage had stopped outside the home of one of society’s fine ladies. Her aunt escorted her inside, but Marianne was immediately overwhelmed by the pomp and circumstance—fine ladies walking up the steps, some of the older ones in their taffeta gowns which crinkled as they walked. Once inside, the smell of perfume and beeswax was overpowering. It was quite the crush. Champagne glasses clinked, and laughter drifted out from the ballroom as music filled the air.
Marianne took a deep breath, held it, and then pushed it out. But before she could really steady herself, a body collided with hers.
“Marianne! Marianne!” said her sister Evelyn, pulling her into a hug.
“Marianne!” Charlotte joined in. Her sisters surrounded her, and the three stood together while Aunt Eugenia clicked her tongue and mumbled something about decorum. However, when her sisters released her, Marianne saw that her aunt was smiling.
“I cannot believe you are back—finally! It has felt like forever. I severely chastised Aunt Eugenia for taking you off to Edinburgh and Brighton, removing you from our sight.”
“It was not frightful,” Marianne replied. “I loved it.”
Aunt Eugenia sighed. “Girls, I shall leave her in your care. Do try to talk her out of this notion that the convent is the best thing to ever happen to her, for it most certainly is not.”
The three sisters walked into the ballroom together, the two eldest on either side of Marianna. It was not quite so daunting for her this way.
“Did you truly think that the convent was a good place?” Charlotte asked, raising an eyebrow. “I cannot imagine it—to be locked away and have to pray so many times a day and work in silence...”
“I know you would not be able to work in silence,” Evelyn commented with a chuckle.
“I most certainly would not,” Charlotte agreed. “In any case, I never understood why you did that to yourself, Marianne?” she continued.
“I have never known such peace and tranquility as when I was at Saint Catherine’s,” Marianna said with a smile. “And being heredoes not make me regret it. In fact, I wish I were back there. I would much rather weave baskets amongst unwed mothers and nuns than mingle here with this rabid society—not the two of you, of course,” she added hastily.
“Weaving baskets,” Evelyn said, “can be worthy work. We did that not long ago—the women’s society did, and we sold them at market to raise funds for the orphanage. But to do it for life? I cannot imagine.”
Marianne pressed her lips together. “I would like to go back. I have not told Aunt Eugenia, but the truth is I have thought about taking my vows.”
“Your vows?” Charlotte said, in a voice that was much louder than was necessary, and which instantly drew multiple pairs of eyes.
“But you are not even religious,” Evelyn replied, her tone scandalized.
“I do not know if I am religious. I find peace in it, that I know. I certainly believe in God. Do I wish to make it my life, though? That I do not know. I’ve thought of it since I left. I must tell you, I was happier there than I have been since my childhood. I had company...”
“You have us,” Charlotte argued, pouting.
“Do I?” Marianne replied. “You are both far too busy with your adventures. Evelyn, you are always working with the women’s society on one project or another, and Charlotte, I feel as though you are always opening a school or expanding a school or some such thing.”
Charlotte threw up her arms. “But that is no reason to become a nun!”
“Hush,” Evelyn said. “He is here!”
“Here? Who is here?” Marianne asked. Evelyn jerked her chin toward the door, where a tall, dark-haired gentleman in a pair of tight pantaloons and a burgundy waistcoat had just entered.
“The Earl of Wexford,” she said.
Marianne frowned. Wexford... the name sounded familiar, but she could not quite recall where she had heard it before. Sensing her confusion, Charlotte leaned forward. “His wife passed away a few years ago, leaving him with his little one. He has been rusticating in the country ever since, somewhat like you, but for much longer. I am surprised he is re-entering society. I wonder if that means he is looking for a wife.”
Around them, whispers erupted as the ton started talking about the young man who had just entered. Marianne caught snippets of conversation—he never got over his wife...his poor little boy...has rejoined society after so long.
The man was obviously aware of the chatter because he looked about in a most uncomfortable manner, as though he would rather be anywhere but here. That was certainly something she could empathize with.
He looked miserable indeed; perhaps more miserable than even she felt.
“You did not tell me he was rejoining society,” Evelyn said to Charlotte, drawing Marianne’s attention.
