Rachel responded in kind and added, “One spends decades with one surname, and then with a few words and a signature on a piece of paper, it is forever different. I still find times when I struggle to recall that my surname has altered.”
Leaning towards her husband, Mrs. Finch threaded her arm through his. “I know precisely what you mean. After my marriage, it was quite a few years before I stopped having any slips.”
And then Rachel uttered the words Marian had been dreading. “Might I introduce my sister-in-law, Miss Marian Wakefield?”
Marian moved into a bob but stopped when Mrs. Finch’s expression brightened. “Of course, Miss Marian. It has been quite a long time since we’ve had the pleasure.”
Brows raised, Rachel glanced between them. “You are acquainted?”
Mr. Lewis Finch nodded, but it was Mrs. Finch who rushed to answer, glancing at Rachel to say, “She was friends with our eldest, George.” Then, turning her attention to Marian, she took the young lady’s hands in hers. “It is so wonderful to see you. How have you been?”
Cursing her wretched cheeks, Marian tried to calm the flush of color that filled them and held onto her smile. “Quite well. And you?”
Despite knowing it was unlikely that their son had told anyone (no matter how shocked he may have been at her outburst), Marian couldn’t help but wonder what his family knew. They exchanged a few pleasantries, and she struggled to keep her thoughts on the subject at hand as she examined every tone and word, searching for any hint that his parents knew her shame. But like the other few times their paths had crossed, the Finches seemed as ignorant of the situation as her own family was, and some of the strain eased from Marian’s shoulders.
Marian had thought the passage of years might ease her discomfort, but the time was long past to accept that it would forever and always be her most mortifying moment, and the fact that only she and one other were party to it did not assuage the embarrassment.
“Perhaps we shall see more of you,” said Mrs. Finch. “What with George returning home.”
Quite unlikely, to Marian’s thinking. He had avoided her during the months between her dreadful outburst and his marriage to Miss Hutton and subsequent removal from Devon, and Marian doubted that would alter even if he were in the neighborhood. But she nodded, as that was precisely what Mrs. Finch expected.
“And how long will he be visiting?” asked Rachel.
“It is no visit,” said Mrs. Finch. “Now that he has completed his mourning and finished the business that needed tending to in Manchester, he is moving home.”
Rachel’s expression crumpled, her brows twisting in sympathy. “Yes, I was so sorry to hear about his wife’s passing.”
Mrs. Finch nodded, her bright eyes dimming. “The accident was such a shock to us all…”
There were moments when Marian detested her heart, and having it thump in such an erratic manner at that pronouncement was among the worst. Of course, it would be easier if she could discern what precisely it was saying to her, but it began beating against her ribs the moment Mrs. Finch began speaking.
George Finch was widowed? Logically, the news meant nothing to her, yet that traitorous organ flipped and wriggled, slipping about like an overexcited eel. Not that she reveled in his wife’s demise, but she immediately recognized the possibility it presented. Which was the precise reason she was certain their paths would not cross: she would not allow it. No matter that he did not and would never see her in such a light, her silly heart still felt something warm beneath the layers of self-reproach, anger, and betrayal—something that would never see the light of day. Marian would not allow herself to love someone who disdained her affection. Mr. George Finch may be free, but that was of no significance to her.
Now, she simply had to avoid the gentleman, which shouldn’t be difficult. His family’s home was quite a distance from Bentmoor, so such a thing wouldn’t occur naturally, and Marian couldn’t fathom any reason why he would seek her out. His return was of no consequence.
None at all.
“Might I have your attention, please?” Mr. Wrigley’s voice rang out over the gathering, bringing the attention to him as he motioned his wife forward.
“We have arranged for a little competition,” said Mrs. Wrigley, clasping her hands as she gave the crowd a wide smile. Motioning to the targets arrayed along the far side of the gathering, she added, “For those who wish to test their archery skills, we shall begin in ten minutes’ time. But remember, this is a partnered event, meaning your scores will be combined with those of your companion. So, ladies, choose carefully.”
Titters rose from the crowd, and Marian fought back a groan. Would Mrs. Wrigley not even attempt subtlety? Though she was not explicit in stating that the pairs must be man and woman together, her tone was clear enough that no one could mistake her meaning. There was no need to partner during such an event, but still, she had managed to make what could be an enjoyable event into another instance in which to bind the maidens and bachelors together. And another instance in which those who had few admirers would be forced to acknowledge it in front of all creation.
With a bob, Marian turned to leave.
“Are you joining the competition?” Rachel asked with a grin and a giddy tone that hid none of her excitement at that prospect.
Holding back the words she wished to say, Marian shook her head. “I am no archer. I intend to explore the grounds a little more. I’ve been sitting for far too long and would like a walk.”
But before she could take more than a few steps, Mr. Highmore appeared with a bow.
“Might I entreat you to be my partner, Miss Wakefield?” he asked. Rachel seemed close to expiring over that question.
“My thanks, Mr. Highmore, but I fear I had planned on going for a stroll instead,” she said, motioning off into the distance.
“Capital,” he said with a nod. “I would love to accompany you.”
With another bow, he motioned her forward, and Marian gave a quick farewell to Rachel and the Finches, happy to be rid of that conversation, if nothing else. Shifting her skirts, Marian strode forward at a brisk pace, and Mr. Highmore moved to match it. Tucking his hands behind him, he cast her a sideways glance.
