“I do not mean as a friend.” Why did her heart insist on beating so? Marian could hardly hear her thoughts above that rapid thump that sounded in her ears. “From almost the beginning of our acquaintance, my heart has belonged entirely to you. I’ve hoped for so long that you might see me in such a light, but I cannot remain silent another moment. I must tell you that I adore you in every sense of the word.”
Marian was certain she would expire on that very spot in that very minute. Her insides knotted together, twisting and wrenching until she was so tied up she could hardly breathe. Silence stretched out, and George stood there, blinking.
“Are you twitting me, Miss Marian?” George’s brows were so furrowed she could hardly see his eyes, and Marian wished she could laugh and nod, waving the whole thing away like some wretched jest, but now that her facade had crumbled, she could not erect it again. Her emotions had been unleashed upon the world, and there was no stuffing them back into the hidden recesses once more.
“I am in earnest.” Marian didn’t know how she managed the words, but they sprung forth, disappearing into the night.
The gentleman stepped backward, placing a firm space between them, and though his expression held a degree of passive politeness, Marian saw the flash of his true feelings buried beneath his manners. The tightness of his lips and tensing of his muscles were nothing to the flash of horror that shone in his eyes, and there was no other way in which Marian could think to describe it. Perhaps some might say it was merely dismay, but there was a level of dread that stretched far beyond the bounds of mere disappointment or unhappiness about the situation.
“I do beg your pardon, Miss Marian, if I have raised your expectations or given you reason to believe I return your affections.” The gentleman’s tone grew distant and formal, his arms stiffening at his sides until he stood at attention like a soldier reporting to his superior officer. His words grew clipped, spilling out with speed and a desperate quality as he continued, “I am honored that you hold me in such high regard, and I wish I could give you what you desire, but I fear my heart has been secured by another. I am courting Miss Hutton, and as much as I admire you, I fear no one can compare to her. She is the best of women with such beauty and grace…”
George blasted out a heavy sigh, scrubbing at his face as he turned away. “I do not wish to cause you pain, but your declaration has taken me quite by surprise.”
Shaking his head back and forth, he sent her a wide-eyed look full of the startled shock that had taken hold of him. “You are my dearest friend, but I have always thought of you as a sister, not a woman—” George winced. “I do not mean a woman. Of course you are a woman. Just not a woman, woman. The sort I would court and marry and…” He let out another tense breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am making a muck of this.”
The man babbled, tiptoeing around the words he wanted to say and apologizing for the ones he let slip forth, and Marian stared at him. For all that poets and lovers spoke of heartbreak as though that organ could shatter, she did not feel knives of pain slicing through it or some great blow that splintered that poor hapless thing into a million pieces. No, it was as though fingers wrapped around her heart, crushing it into a small, crumpled thing, leaving behind a void in her chest.
Marian stood there like the cold, unfeeling statue she was, her gaze lowered to the ground. And then his hands reached for hers, taking them in a gentle grip.
“I am so very sorry, Miss Marian,” he murmured. “I wish I knew what to say.”
Pulling her hands free of his, Marian turned away, wrapping her arms around her middle. “You have made your feelings very clear, sir. There is no need to say anything further.”
A beat of silence before he hazarded to ask, “Might I escort you back to the ballroom?”
Marian’s throat was too dry to speak, though she managed a quick, “I would like to remain out here a moment longer. Return to Miss Hutton.”
His footsteps shifted on the stone walkway, and Marian felt him standing there at her back, so very close. “I do not wish to leave you alone—”
“Leave me be!” Marian snapped the words and sucked in a breath to hold back the tears brimming in her eyes. She would not cry. She would not! It was bad enough to have made such a fool of herself—she would not give him her tears as well. Marian Wakefield was stronger than that.
Eyes closed, she willed him to listen. To go. To leave her in peace, though there was little of that to be found. Footsteps moved away, disappearing into the distance, and Marian’s lungs heaved, her body shuddering as she wiped furiously at her cheeks.
Alone at last. Alone as she had been before Mr. Finch. And would be long after.
Chapter 5
Five Years Later
There were all sorts of contrivances people employed to keep their temper in check, but Marian had exhausted them all. Counting often gave her a modicum of control, allowing her the time and focus to keep herself from speaking the first, second, or even third thought that sprang to mind. But at present, even her fourth, fifth, and sixth thoughts weren’t things she ought to speak.
Turning her gaze to the lawn stretching around them, Marian tried to focus on the beauty of their surroundings, for the Wrigleys’ grounds were quite lovely. The summer had been excessively dry, leaving the skies clear and bright, the sun stretching overhead to scorch the earth below, to the delight of the hosts and their guests, who gave no thought to all the farmers praying for a few raindrops from the heavens. The crops might be ruined, but at least the Wrigleys’ afternoon entertainment was a success, which was what mattered most if one were to judge by the number of times the company expressed gratitude for the clear skies.
Marian was quite grateful for the tent that provided a bit of shade for those beneath. They had erected several on the grassy knoll, situating the majority of the blankets under those covers, though with a few sitting in direct sunlight for those who were less bothered by the heat. Many of the guests were meandering from shade to shade, but Marian was in no mood to traipse about in the boiling sun; even a parasol did little to hold back the heat.
Puffing out her cheeks, Marian blew out a breath, casting aside such thoughts, for they added to her dark mood.
“Do stop making that face, my dear,” murmured Mama. “It makes you look like a frog.”
Eyes narrowing, Marian breathed in through her nose, holding the breath for a full count of twenty before letting it out again and facing the source of her present ire.
“I know you do not care to discuss such matters, Mama, but ignoring the issue shall only add to our troubles.”
“Now is hardly the place to speak of such things.” The lady smoothed her skirts, though Marian didn’t know why Mama bothered; as they were all seated on the ground, there was little to be done about the wrinkling of one’s dress.
“You say that regardless of the time or place, and there isn’t anyone nearby to hear,” replied Marian, casting a pointed look at the blanket occupied solely by their family. “We continue to employ Powell not because he is good at his position but because of tradition. Most households make do without a butler, so we needn’t hold to pretension. He hardly does more than decant the wine, answer the door at times, and make the footmen miserable. If we did away with his position, we could afford to pay those other servants—who do far more—the wages they ought to have and still save money.”
Marian turned her gaze to her sister-in-law, but Rachel gave her only a commiserating smile in return, which made Marian think the expression was more patronizing than earnest. Could no one understand simple logic? Marian didn’t think she was so brilliant to see something no one else could, but in moments such as these, she thought she must be either extraordinarily intelligent or mad.
