That was Mama’s encouragement, raw and gutting like a slap.
But it was enough to make me hide deeper into myself. My terror stayed with me. My skin felt clammy. My palms wet through my gloves. But my posture was perfect, and this Croome girl held her chin high.
Something touched my hand.
I looked up and saw Mr. Marks. He took my arm and escorted me back into the house.
Crossing the threshold made me happy. It didn’t matter what he said. I giggled at being led inside.
“Ruth?” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I have to head to the Lincoln’s Inn. There’s always so much work. You do understand?”
“Of course I do.”
He kissed my forehead. “That’s why we’ll be great together. You feel my drive for justice. You know how much my clients need me.”
My joy faded. Disappointment took its spot. It hit me that he was leaving. “I understand that you do what you must.”
The look on his face didn’t seem encouraged. His smile was a little lawyerly. Had he become like a judge who’d heard false testimony?
His lips thinned, and he leaned down close to my ear. “I know that you wanted me here longer. I came this time, but I’ve work to do. Work now, then my schedule should be clear next week for a drive in Hyde Park. I’ll be fully available for any little outing or ritual you have in mind.”
Rituals?
I’d been open about my fears, my panics in the letters we’d exchanged. Was all of this a ritual? Were gatherings with my family rituals? “Next week, Mr. Marks. If your schedule holds, that’s something to look forward to.”
“Mrs. Wilky…Ruth, don’t be like this. I’ll make it up to you.” He fumbled with the silver pocket watch Mama had given him as a Christmas present when she’d thought my accepting his offer was imminent. “A drive in the park next week will be wonderful. You’ll have my undivided attention.”
A closed carriage would be wonderful. “Tea here would be nice, too.”
“Ruth, I’ll make this up to you.”
I wouldn’t beg him to stay. I’d begged enough for a lifetime. I was safe in the house, where I needed to be. Ours was an honorable arrangement, a platonic one.
No overthinking things.
No expecting more or giving more.
I pinned on that practiced smile again, one Mama would be proud of. “You go and prepare and win that trial for me. I’m inspired by your dedication.”
He kissed my cheek. “Next week, Mrs. Wilky.”
The man hummed and bounced his way to Clancy at the entry.
Should I follow and watch him don his hat and coat and wave as if I were pleased?
I didn’t have it in me today. Instead, I turned and went to the threshold and looked out at the garden party.
A hand wrapped along my arm. “Ruth.”
Ester’s friend, Mrs. Fitzwilliam-Cecil hugged me. With her arm wrapped about my waist, I was ushered outside to where Ester and her other confidante, Lady Hartwell, stood.
Mrs. Fitzwilliam-Cecil was a vision in sage, the viscountess one in light burgundy. Ester slipped to the other side of me as if to block my escape.
Breathe, Ruth. Shut up. Take this. Smile.
“We are so excited for you.” Lady Hartwell was gleeful, her bisque bonnet set like a tiara on her auburn curls. Her baby bump was starting to show.
“I’m glad you all could make it,” I said. “You just missed Barrister Marks. He couldn’t stay. A trial needed him.”
