Whirling about, Marian stormed away, disappearing into the darkness. George’s feet moved to follow, but his good sense knew better than to do so, no matter how his instincts pushed him to set things to rights again.
“I am sorry.” The words were too little, and she did not hear them, but he needed to speak them all the same. George backed up and leaned against the tree trunk, needing something to keep him upright.
It felt as though Marian had taken a hammer to his heart, leaving it crumpled and bleeding, though it was everything he deserved. He longed to say something—anything—that might defend himself against such accusations, but what was there to say? Marian may have spoken in the heat of the moment, but he did not doubt her words were true.
George’s stomach churned, turning about as his whole being grew heavy. Good heavens, what had he done? In the years since that wretched night, he hadn’t given Marian’s feelings much thought. Or not as much as they deserved. He’d known his rejection had hurt her, but her accusations battered against him until his whole being felt splintered and broken.
Covering his face, he sagged against the tree and wondered what he could do to heal the damage he’d done. When he looked out at the world again, his eyes fell to the flowers on the ground that she’d left in her wake. Crouching down beside them, he picked up a pink rose and held it to his lips.
“I am so very sorry,” he whispered again, hoping the breeze might carry the words to her.
Chapter 14
Fantasies were fickle things. Though they provided much entertainment, they rarely came to fruition. On rare occasions, reality exceeded expectations, but more often than not, those imaginings fell short. Marian had often dreamt of Mr. Finch returning full of regret and remorse, but it had not played out in any fashion remotely resembling what she’d pictured. Nor had unleashing her heartbreak brought her any of the triumph and vindication she’d hoped to find.
When she’d climbed into bed the night before, she had expected the sun to rise on a new day full of new possibilities. A new Marian. But she’d awoken to a sour stomach.
Sitting at her dressing table, Marian fiddled with the flowers sitting on the tabletop and stared through her bedchamber window. The Wakefields did not own a vast estate or tracts of land, but they had a plot of green behind their home, and Marian had often found comfort staring out at the leaves dappled with sunshine and the butterflies flitting amongst the flowers.
The evening had been a disaster on every front. Despite all her efforts, the assembly had proven more vexing than diverting, and the evening had only worsened when Mr. Finch arrived. The scene played through her thoughts, and she struggled with her emotions, which swung like a pendulum.
Marian had always imagined what it would be like to be held by Mr. Finch. Though she avoided such fantasies most of the time, her thoughts too often disobeyed her whilst lying in bed, waiting for sleep to overtake her. Wrapped in the black of night and without other things to distract her, Marian’s mind often strayed, picturing a man beside her with his arms wrapped around her. And of course, a certain gentleman had featured in those fancies.
Not one of her dreams aligned with what had drawn them together last night, but when Mr. Finch had held her so tenderly, Marian couldn’t help but accept his comfort. It was like sheltering beside a fireplace, all cozily wrapped up while the winter wind whipped up the snow billowing just outside the window. A haven in the storm.
That peace had faded the moment she’d realized what she was doing, and Marian couldn’t decide if she were angrier with herself for having been so weak or with Mr. Finch for having spoken such tripe. Standing there spouting off about how much he’d suffered for his mistakes. Marian’s teeth clenched together, and she sucked in a deep breath, flaring her nostrils, as she replayed that moment again.
The pressure in her chest grew, squeezing her until she felt ready to burst, and she let out a deep sigh and leaned forward, pressing a hand to her mouth and wrapping the other around her waist. She rubbed at her face as a wave of exhaustion swept over her. The day was still young, yet she felt as though it was well into the night. Had she gotten any rest?
This was the problem. The most pressing and vexing issue of the lot. Others had no difficulty keeping their hearts in check. They went about their days without being so wound up that they caused a scene or spoke words best left unspoken or spent the night tossing and turning in their beds. Whether filled with giddiness or rage, Marian felt as though her heart were too big for her chest, always pushing past her safeguards and taking control.
She frowned, her teeth clenching together as she recalled her behavior, remembering each and every detail of what she’d said and done. And with each remembrance, her cheeks grew flushed. She couldn’t regret the honesty of her words—she’d needed to tell him her feelings, and there was nothing shameful in that—but in the light of day, she couldn’t say she was proud of her behavior. Marian felt like a boat on a storm-tossed sea, and Mr. Finch was splashing about, adding to the tumult. She couldn’t say she cared if Mr. Finch drowned in the dark depths, but she cared that far too often the tiller ripped from her hands, leaving her at the mercy of the torrent as her heart raged about. Speaking without thought. Acting every bit the shrew.
Staring at the bouquet on her dressing table, Marian brushed a finger across the soft petals. The roses were the same as those she’d worn last night, and mixed with them were various flowers of darkest purple and rich pinks, accented with bright sparks of orange and the deep green of the foliage. She did not have a favorite flower (as it was impossible to choose just one), but the color palette was her favorite. Despite the time apart, Mr. Finch had not forgotten it.
A knock sounded at the door, and Marian tucked the flowers out of sight as she called for the person to enter.
“There you are,” said Rachel, sweeping into the bedchamber with a smile. “Your mother asked me to remind you of our visit to the Meechams this afternoon. She thought you might like to wear your white and pink day dress with the black trim.”
Marian sighed. One would think that a woman of eight and twenty was beyond the age of having her wardrobe decided for her. Mama might have couched it as though she was bending to Marian’s desires, but as the lady hardly knew Marian’s tastes in fashion, it was no great leap to know Mama favored the gown and wanted her to wear it.
Of course, Marian was free to do as she pleased as long as she was willing to shoulder the consequences. Mama was never cruel or critical, but neither did Marian wish to bear her mother’s disappointment. It was trying enough to be forced into social settings she detested, but having her mother cast her gown sorrowful glances only added to her discomfort. To her thinking, Mama’s choice in gown did not flatter her, but wearing it was no great burden.
“What time are we to leave?” asked Marian.
“After luncheon, so it is no great hurry,” said Rachel, though a glance at the clock on her wardrobe told Marian the time was arriving far quicker than anticipated. How long had she sat about, thinking of Mr. Finch?
With a parting smile, Rachel turned back to the door, but an urge took hold of Marian, and she spoke before she thought better of it.
“Do you enjoy my company, Rachel?”
Her sister-in-law paused and turned to face Marian again with a wry smile. “What a question.”
“It is an earnest one,” replied Marian.
“Of course, I do.” Rachel punctuated that with a tittering laugh, and Marian couldn’t help but think there was a touch of strain to the sound, though she could not swear it. “I cannot believe you would ask.”
“But why do you like me?” Marian’s hands twisted in her lap, and she took a deep breath before continuing, “I have been considering my conduct towards others, and I cannot help but think I am far too critical. I was not always so sour, and I cannot say with any certainty that I like the person I have become.”
