“Did you accept?” Emily asked.
Mary nodded. “Yes.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “On the condition that Mr. Crawford escorts me.”
Cassandra choked on her tea while Emily clasped a hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp. It took a second for them to recover.
Cassandra darted a quick look toward the roof and leaned forward in her seat. “Have you developed a tendre for him? For Mr. Crawford that is?”
“We'd understand if you have,” Emily whispered. “He's marvelously handsome. And tall too. I mean, Mr. Townsend is good looking, but between him and Mr. Crawford...” Emily sighed while Mary tried to still the flutter in her belly.
“I don't know,” Mary said. Was it a tendre or merely a physical attraction? “I cannot concentrate on anything when he is near. Or even when he's not. Thoughts of him follow me wherever I go.”
“I felt that way about Timothy,” Cassandra said. “He and I were mad for each other, which is why we chose to give in to passion and live in the moment.” She smiled with a mixture of sadness and sentimentality. “I'm glad we did, because if we hadn't, Penelope wouldn't exist. At least through her, a part of Timothy survives.”
Mary inhaled deeply. Compared to Cassandra who'd loved and lost, her own romantic complications seemed trifling.
“Would you let Mr. Crawford court you instead of Mr. Townsend, if that were an option?” Emily asked. “Considering your reluctance to marry, would you be open to the idea of becoming Mr. Crawford's wife?”
“I'm not sure.” And she knew he definitely wasn't either, or he'd have suggested that option instead of insisting they curb their desire. “I've grown accustomed to my independence, and I enjoy living with you and the children. To give that up is not something I can imagine doing.”
“But will you still feel the same twenty years from now, Mary?” Cassandra placed her hand over Mary’s. “Can you honestly tell me you would have no regrets?” Mary shook her head with increasing uncertainty. “Then why not embrace the passion you feel and see where things lead?”
“Because the last time I tried that it broke my heart.”
Emily nodded as if understanding. “I know,” she said, “but unlike last time, you're not a young debutant pinning her hopes on the man who kissed her. You're a grown woman with the freedom to make your own choices now. If you want to marry, there's at least one man eager to have you, and if you don't, then that is fine as well. Furthermore, you have two very loyal friends who are willing to support you no matter what you decide.”
“And if it is an affair with Mr. Crawford you want, neither of us would judge you,” Cassandra piped up.
Mary squeaked while Emily responded with a giggle.
“You cannot be serious,” Mary muttered. “The scandal would be—”
“Nonexistent,” Cassandra claimed.
“Think about it,” Emily said. “Nobody would have to know.”
“Except us,” Mary reminded them. She shook her head. “I cannot believe we're discussing this. That you would even suggest it.”
“Think of who you are talking to,” Cassandra said.
“Well yes,” Mary agreed. “I can understand you, perhaps, but Emily?”
Emily pursed her lips. “We are not living sheltered lives anyone. I have read a few books here and there, and I have listened to everything Cassandra has been willing to share. Which is quite a lot.”
Mary stared at her in dismay. It was like looking at a completely different person from the one she'd been living with for the past five years.
“And,” Emily added, “since I have never even enjoyed a man's attention, I can promise you, Mary, that if I ever have the chance to spend just one night with a man like Mr. Crawford, I will take it.”
The glint in Emily's eyes and the fierce determination in her voice gave Mary pause. Unlike her and Cassandra, Emily had never even been kissed, and while her own experience with kissing had led to disaster, she didn't regret knowing what it was like. Which was probably similar to Cassandra's opinion on lovemaking.
“I don't know if I can,” Mary told her friends. She picked up her teacup and stared down into the dark brown liquid. “Five years ago, I fell in love when Wrenwick kissed me. For weeks he courted me in secret, assuring me he would soon make our engagement official. But that never happened, because in the end, he didn’t dare oppose his father’s wishes.” She sighed with lingering disappointment. “It took me years to recover from the hurt I suffered when I realized I didn’t matter as much to him as I thought I did.” She sipped her tea. “I cannot go through that again.”
“Then wait a while,” Cassandra suggested, “until you figure out what you want.”
“Miss Clemens,” Daphne said, drawing Mary's attention away from her friends, “can you please help me paint a kitten so it looks just like Raphael?”
“I can try,” Mary said and set her cup down. Rising, she went to admire the girl's work. “But I cannot promise you I will succeed.”
“You always say trying is half the challenge already solved.” Daphne moved aside and handed Mary her paintbrush. “I'm sure your attempt will be better than mine, anyway.”
