As they walked along, Marian sorted through all that she’d learned today, and it was clear to her that Mr. Clements was the superior choice. She couldn’t claim they were perfectly suited for each other, but they suited enough. There were only five weeks left, after all.
“This was a lovely afternoon,” she said, slanting him what she hoped was a coy smile. It was a bit difficult to manage whilst walking side-by-side, but Marian thought it successful. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“You are quite welcome,” said Mr. Clements with a nod. “And thank you for accepting my invitation.”
But he said not a word more. Surely that was the perfect moment for him to extend yet another invitation, but Mr. Clements said not a word. They reached her lane, and the drive into Wrenwood Lodge came into view. Perhaps he was awaiting their farewells before securing her for another outing. Marian fidgeted with her shawl, straightening the fringe as their destination grew ever closer, and though she scoured her thoughts for something more to say, there was nothing there. Or at least nothing witty or interesting.
“Have you spent much time out on the moors?” she asked.
“Some, but not much.”
“I love looking out at the rolling hills dotted with heather. Have you seen the moors in bloom?”
Mr. Clements shook his head.
“You ought to.” Marian waited for him to chomp on that well-baited hook like a hungry fish, but Mr. Clements merely nodded as they stepped onto her family’s drive. He must be gathering his courage to ask her; he had proven himself quite timid in social situations, so it was unfair of her to expect him to seize upon her hint so readily.
Then they stood on the front steps, and Mr. Clements gave his farewell, turning away without a backward glance. Surely the fellow only needed a bit more encouragement.
Marian fought against a blush as she forced out the words. “It would be a shame to miss the heather. You cannot go another year without seeing the moors in their glory. I know of a lovely vantage point, and it is not far from here.”
Good heavens! Why hadn’t she simply just thrown herself at his feet and begged him to accompany her? Marian shifted in place, her gaze darting to the front door and the gravel at her feet and anywhere else that wasn’t Mr. Clements.
“I apologize if that is too forward, Mr. Clements. I did not mean to put you in an awkward position. I simply thought you might enjoy the view and that you might enjoy my company—” Marian groaned inwardly and changed direction. “Not that I think you have a marked interest in me.”
What was she saying? She could hardly hear herself speak with her father’s edict ringing in her thoughts. Her heart thumped in time with the clocks, ticking down each second that drew her closer to judgment day.
Mr. Clements held up a staying hand. “I apologize, Miss Wakefield. Though I had hoped to avoid speaking to you directly, I have given you reason to anticipate another invitation, and it is only right to tell you I shan’t be calling on you again.”
Marian’s heart did not sink at that wretched news, for that supposed her heart still existed, and at that moment it had fled her altogether. She blinked at Mr. Clements as the fellow shifted from foot to foot, and she struggled to know what to do.
“Whyever not?” Of all the things she could’ve said, that was not the right one. Not the worst, perhaps, but one could not maintain one’s dignity after such a question.
“You are a fine lady, Miss Wakefield.” Mr. Clements said that with a sincerity that would’ve warmed Marian’s heart had it still resided in her chest, and she wished he would simply end it there, but he added, “However, I do not think you are the right lady for me.”
Gathering closer her self-respect and decorum, Marian gave the gentleman a gentle nod as Mama or Rachel would do in such a moment; a lady accepted loss with grace and equanimity.
“What have I done wrong?” The question slipped out, and she longed to shake herself, but the world pressed down on her as she realized exactly what was happening. Mr. Clements was taking his leave of her. He wouldn’t renew his addresses, and she had naught but five weeks left. Five.
Mr. Clements shifted from foot to foot, his gaze darting away from her as he cleared his throat. “I enjoy your company, Miss Wakefield. You are a fine lady, and I know you shall make another gentleman a fine wife. However, I have spent some time considering—pondering, really—what I need in a marriage partner. A vicar requires a certain type of woman at his side…”
The fellow hemmed and hawed, his sentences beginning and ending without reaching any conclusion, which was quite an odd thing to see when considering that the gentleman made his living giving speeches every Sabbath.
“Mr. Clements, please,” said Marian, raising a hand to forestall yet another rambling sentence. “Be honest with me, sir.”
Tucking his hands behind him, Mr. Clements nodded. “I need a wife who will aid me with my parish, and though you are active in your charitable pursuits, I do not wish to be forever mediating disputes between you and the other ladies. I enjoy your company, but you will not suit as a vicar’s wife.”
Marian struggled to breathe. It was as though every muscle constricted, pulling at her all at once as she considered his words. “I can change, Mr. Clements. I can improve. I am trying. I promise.”
Mr. Clements gave her a quick bow. “My apologies, Miss Wakefield, but my mind is made up.”
Turning on his heel, he left with far more speed than he’d arrived, and Marian called after him. Closing her eyes, she winced at her pleading tone, but she couldn’t help it.
Papa’s voice echoed in her thoughts, reminding her of the coming deadline and dredging up her matrimonial prospects. There were widowers aplenty among her father’s friends from which Papa could choose. Marian wasn’t desirable enough to be a trophy on her husband’s arm, and those gentlemen no longer cared about marrying for status or wealth. No, Marian would be a nurse. A workhorse. A body to warm his bed. A tool.
Marian’s stomach churned, sending a wave of nausea through her. Tears gathered, but they were kept at bay by another possibility. Mr. Highmore may be a bore, but surely that was better than marrying a man of her father’s choosing. He would treat her with respect. He had all his teeth and did not smell of decay.
Good heavens. What had she come to? When had good hygiene become the only requirement to which she clung? But that question was easily answered. With Papa’s deadline looming, Marian had not the luxury of being choosy. And with Mr. Clements’ dismissal, Marian had only one prospect left.
