“We all have our weaknesses, Marian.”
Canting her head to the side, she considered that. “True, but I cannot help but feel as though my weaknesses are greater than my strengths.”
“Oh, posh.” Rachel brushed that away with a wave of her hand. “You certainly have your opinions, but you are…” The lady paused, her brow furrowing as she searched for the proper word. “You are earnest.”
“Earnest?” Marian blinked.
Rachel nodded. “I never worry you are hiding the truth from me or softening your words simply to spare my feelings. You are honest, which is unique in society.”
The tone was everything pleasant and amiable, but Marian didn’t think the compliment spoke well of her. Perhaps she was inferring meaning to Rachel’s words, but of all the qualities her sister-in-law might’ve mentioned, Rachel had chosen to highlight Marian’s brutal honesty. Not sparing feelings was hardly a good thing.
“Do not let it get you down, Marian,” she said with a bright smile. “You are a good person and a good sister-in-law.”
And before Marian could say another word on the subject, Rachel bustled out of the bedchamber, leaving Marian alone with her thoughts again—and they were in a far worse state than they’d been when Rachel had arrived.
Was that how her sister-in-law saw her? Marian supposed she ought not to have asked the question if she hadn’t wanted honesty, but it was quite lowering to know that the characteristic that most defined her to Rachel was her sharp tongue. Yet was it any wonder that she would say such a thing?
Turning back to her dressing table, she studied Mr. Finch’s bouquet. No doubt other ladies were well accustomed to receiving such tokens from gentlemen, but Marian couldn’t help but think of how Mr. Finch was the only gentleman who had sent her such gifts with any frequency. Though couched in overtures of friendship, he’d always ensured she received at least a few flowers after an assembly or ball.
“Every lady ought to receive flowers,” he’d said. Was it any wonder she’d lost her heart to him? Few paid her any mind, yet Mr. Finch had gone out of his way to make her feel wanted.
And now, he was back to his old ways.
Marian didn’t know what to do about that. It had been confusing back then, and it was doubly confusing now. Mr. Finch’s note sat beside the flowers, staring at her. She wasn’t certain she had the strength to read it, though she also knew she did not have the strength to ignore it. Life would be so much easier if he simply remained a villain.
Yet as Marian considered that idea, she realized she couldn’t say he’d ever been one. What was his great failing? That he hadn’t returned her affections? He’d recoiled from her, but surely that was entirely natural when an undesired and unexpected declaration was thrust upon a person, and for the first time, she considered the situation from his perspective. It didn’t excuse the harm he’d done to her, yet did he deserve all the blame?
Perhaps he’d been a touch too overt in his preference for her and raised her hopes, but it hadn’t been malicious. And she certainly hadn’t spared his feelings last night when telling him off. There was no denying that her words had struck their mark, for Mr. Finch’s expression had fallen with each syllable. She had laid the entirety of her troubles on his shoulders, yet how much did he truly deserve? How much of those troubles were of her own making?
Festering. An apt description. Even a minor injury could putrefy, the poison spreading until all was lost, and Marian’s heart was in a similar state. Though much of that old pain did not touch her daily life as it once had, Mr. Finch had left a mark, and rather than healing it, she had allowed it to rot away until it tainted the whole of her.
Gathering her courage close, Marian broke the seal of his note and ran her eyes over the pages, of which there were many. Altogether, it must have taken him some time to write out all the lines (even assuming he’d made only a single attempt). They were filled with more sorrow and apologies, and with each sentence, Marian recalled all the many little things she had adored about the man.
She read through the letter twice more, her heart swinging back and forth as it had since he had reappeared. Friendship. Despite its ending, his had been the most important of her life, and she couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to recapture that joy.
Staring into the mirror, Marian recognized the features reflected there, but she did not feel like herself any longer. She did not recognize the heart beating in her chest. She didn’t like who she’d become—or rather, the woman she had made herself into.
Her eyes fell to the flowers once more, and she had to acknowledge the truth of the matter: she had been better with Mr. Finch around. He had a way of softening her edges and calming the raging storm. Despite her inability to control her wayward heart when it came to him, something in Mr. Finch had allowed her greater control over herself. Without him, and with the added pain of his rejection, Marian had devolved into chaos and bitterness.
A friend. This friend. She studied the flowers and the note and knew that if she did not tread carefully, her heart would be in more danger than before. Yet she couldn’t deny that Mr. Finch had always excelled at drawing out the best in her, as she had with him. It was the most significant reason she had given her heart to him so unequivocally.
Knowing he only sought friendship might make it easier to guard herself. There was no need to wonder over his motives any longer, and that would allow her greater control over her wayward feelings.
Yet even as she debated the issue, she laughed at herself. There was no need to feign indifference or pretend she had not already made her mind up. Heaven help her, but with his apology sitting before her, Marian knew she could not turn him away. She never could. Not her Mr. Finch.
Chapter 15
An invitation was a good thing. Surely it must be. A lady didn’t invite a loathsome person to pay call on her. Did she? George crossed his arms and stared at the road ahead, his attention only tangentially aware of the horse he steered towards Bentmoor. In truth, there was little point in speculating, as many people handed out invitations without preference, though George couldn’t imagine Marian doing so.
The gig rocked as he considered that. He could well see Marian extending a sympathy invite. If she felt the need to extend an olive branch or to reach out a hand of friendship to someone in need, the lady would not hesitate to do so.
Marian Wakefield was a tempestuous lady, to be sure, but he could not imagine her being purposefully cruel to another. Yes, she might rant about it in private, and she may nurse a grudge, but Marian would not cross the line into knowingly causing hurt to another. The pressure in George’s chest eased as he considered that. Her invitation might not be born of friendship, but there was no malice attached to it. Of that he was certain.
The outskirts of Bentmoor appeared, and George was no closer to understanding the sentiments behind her invitation today. He’d had several days to consider it, and there was little point in debating it yet again.
Of one thing he was certain—Marian needed a careful touch. For all his determination to rush in and sweep her off her feet at the assembly, the interlude had taught him in no uncertain terms that his actions had caused significant damage, and that needed addressing before he would win her heart. Assuming he could.
George’s heart hung heavy in his chest as he replayed the words she’d spoken. Those eyes of hers, so often flashing with all the passion of her heart, had glistened with the heartache she’d suffered for so many years. Like so many others who thought their suffering unique and without equal, George had believed his trials greater. Dunce that he was.
