“Though I know I’ve made a poor show of it, I am your friend.” He brushed a touch against her elbow, and George detested the wretched gloves that kept him from feeling the softness of her skin and the closeness that contact would bring.
Marian’s gaze flew to his hand, and then her glistening eyes turned to meet his. Those brown depths so often sparked with laughter or flashed with passion, but at present, they were filled with so much loneliness and sorrow; they begged for support from any quarter, and George’s heart broke at the sight.
“Marian,” he whispered, his hand grazing her arm once more, and her gaze fell to that contact.
Expression tightening, she seemed to fight against the heaving breaths that shuddered through her, the strain showing in her neck and shoulders. Tears broke free, wrenched out of her in a gasping sob, and George couldn’t stand it any longer. Drawing his arms around her, he pulled Marian close, encircling her. She did not return his embrace, but her head dropped to his shoulder as she let out the torrent stirring within her.
George’s heart could not settle on a single emotion at present. It soared high above them at the feel of her in his arms and sank to the lowest depths at the sound of her tears, swinging back and forth before George had time enough to acclimate to either extreme. And before he knew what to do with the crying lady in his arms, Marian shoved him, shaking her head as though trying to clear her thoughts.
“Do not take such liberties with me, sirrah! You haven’t the right!” The lady’s voice was raised, but the furrow in her brow made George think a fair amount of embarrassment was mixed with the anger she unleashed upon him.
Marian spun about, and George snatched up her hand. His mouth opened and words settled on the tip of his tongue to beg for her trust, but he knew he had not the right. Not yet. And so, he changed tact, dredging up the many things he’d longed to say over the past few years.
“I cannot tell you how many times I’ve regretted what passed between us. I was a fool who couldn’t see the value of the heart you offered me!” George let out a sharp sigh, shaking his head. “I wish I could go back to that night and force my younger self to see just how blessed he was to have gained the affection of such an incredible woman and keep him from being blinded by Juliette’s beauty.”
Marian yanked her hand out of his and scowled at him. “I am well aware of how lovely your wife was. You needn’t remind me of it, sir.”
“That is not what I mean. Simply that I did not understand how important friendship is to a marriage—”
With a scoff, Marian nodded. “Ah, yes. And now, you see how meaningless attraction is and wish to renew an acquaintance with your dowdy friend—”
“That is not what I said!” Heaven help him, but George couldn’t keep his voice from rising.
“Those may not be the words you used, Mr. Finch, but I understood your meaning well enough,” she replied, jutting out her chin at him with narrowed eyes. “Your wife was beautiful—something I will never be. You made that clear when you recoiled from me the moment I spoke my heart to you.”
George blinked, his gaze turning to the empty space around him as though searching for aid. He certainly needed it. In their time as friends, they had never truly argued, and George did not know what to do, especially as she seemed determined to twist everything he said.
“I did not recoil from you,” he said.
Marian’s muscles tightened, her scowl deepening. “Do not tell me what I saw that night, Mr. Finch.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, George thought through what to say, but whatever he’d planned had flown straight out of his mind the moment he’d raised his voice. Gathering his scattered faculties, George forced his voice and expression to relax.
“You have every right to be angry, Miss Marian.” George let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping. “I treated you poorly, and I am heartily ashamed of it. To my dying day, that will be one of my greatest regrets.”
Marian inched away, her brow furrowing as she studied him. But she said not a word in response.
“I said it before, but it bears repeating—I was a fool.” Tucking his hands behind him, George studied the tips of his shoes, but he knew he did not deserve to hide from her, so he raised his gaze once more, meeting her eyes. No matter how much sorrow shone there, he could never convey the entirety of his remorse. Then, with a huff, he added with a self-deprecating smile, “I assure you I have paid mightily for my folly. Juliette was not a terrible wife, but I realized quickly we were not and never would be friends. I had cast aside the dearest one I’d ever had, and I do not know if I can ever fully describe the pain and anguish that comes from such a realization. I have suffered—”
“You have suffered?” The question was quiet, hardly more than a whisper, but it was akin to the calm before the storm, lulling the world into believing that all was well before the heavens opened and battered the countryside.
George stiffened, watching Marian as she stared at him with a hard and unyielding expression.
“You, Mr. Finch, have had to bear the consequences of your poor decisions, and you stand there acting as though I ought to feel sympathy for you?” With each word, Marian’s voice rose, her eyes growing colder as she stared at him. “You humiliated me! And now that you realize the full breadth of your choices, you wish to make friends with me again as though nothing has happened?”
Marian was fairly shouting at him, her muscles tightening as though she wished to unleash more than her tongue at him. His pride longed for him to defend himself, but George knew he deserved every last bit of her fury. However, knowing did not prepare him for its power. The lady turned away as though to leave but stopped and faced him again as her breath heaved and her eyes glistened.
“You speak as though I ought to feel compassion for your ‘suffering,’ Mr. Finch, but do you have any inkling as to what I’ve suffered?”
Though the question was asked, George knew better than to answer it.
“It wasn’t your dismissal that hurt me so very much. Had it been kind and understanding, I might’ve recovered from it. But it was the look of abject horror on your face that pierces my heart again and again.”
Her words broke, and Marian covered her mouth and turned away. George longed to step closer and give her some comfort, but he couldn’t move past the accusation she’d leveled at him. He had spent countless hours recalling that evening, and the one bit of comfort he’d found in that mess was that he’d handled it with such delicacy. He wasn’t fool enough to think she’d been unaffected by his rejection, but George had thought it as kind as one could hope for in that situation.
Digging into his pocket, he offered her a handkerchief, but Marian batted it away, turning to face him again. A flower drooped from her coiffure, resting against her forehead, and she swiped at it, pulling it and several others free. With a jerk of her arm, she cast them aside. Marian wiped her cheeks, though there was little to be done to stop the tears that had begun flowing.
“Whenever I am at my lowest, it isyourvoice I hear, telling me I am without worth and others are right to shun me. It is your sneer of disgust I see when I think of opening myself to another. Again and again, it is you who reminds me how little I matter to the world. So, you will forgive me if I cannot find it in my heart to feel sympathy for your regrets.”
