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She needed to take care, to resign herself that this was her future now. That Mr. Steele was not to be a part of it because he had other responsibilities.
But had he given up on her?
As another day passed by with her lodged securely in her room, she stared at the dark clouds preventing any sight of the sun. In one hand, she held the comb Mr. Steele had carved for her, her free fingers tracing the small flowers across the top of it.
She needed to look for the sunsets in her life, but what if the clouds were simply too thick to penetrate? What if there was no hope to be found?
A knock sounded at her door. That would be Jane with her food.
Marianne slipped down from her seat by the window and opened the door, frowning as Beatrice stood before her instead of Jane, a tray of food in her hands.
“What are you doing up here?” Marianne asked.
They had not spoken since that rainy day outside of Daffley.
“Mother sent me with the tray to see if you would speak to me, as you won’t speak to anyone else.”
Marianne hesitated. She was not in the mood to speak, especially with Beatrice, who apparently seemed to think she knew Marianne’s mind better than Marianne herself.
Still, she could not shut her out forever. With a sigh, she opened her door farther and allowed her in.
Beatrice entered, closing the door behind her with a soft tap of her heel. Silently, she set the tray on the table near Marianne’s bed.
“How have you been?” she asked softly.
Marianne shrugged. Surely Beatrice should know. Had she not just experienced a heartbreak of her own?
Beatrice sighed. “I know the pain you must be feeling now is rather poignant, but trust me when I say that it eases with time.”
Marianne turned away, sitting down on the window ledge. “Or you simply learn to live with the grief Father has caused.”
Beatrice hesitated, then she came to sit beside Marianne. “He only wants what is best for us, Marianne.”
“I know. But he does not always know what is best for us.”
“You truly believe marrying the woodcarver would benefit you?”
Her question was unassuming, but it nibbled at Marianne’s patience. “How can you think it would not?”
“Marianne, listen to yourself. He is poor. He will no doubt struggle with money for the rest of his life. And…” Her brow furrowed. “Father told us about the rumors surrounding his name.”
Marianne stood from the ledge at once, walking away with a growl of frustration. “The rumors were false! Why is that so difficult for this family to understand?”
Beatrice continued in a soft voice. “It matters not if they were false. His reputation—”
Marianne raised a hand, refusing to listen any longer. “Mr. Steele’s character speaks far more than what the world views as his reputation. I know my name would be brought lower by association. I know I would be poor. I know we would no doubt struggle. But…” She broke off with a sigh, her shoulders falling forward as a feeling of hopelessness overcame her. Why could her family not understand? “But what marriage comes without a struggle? And what love is not worth the fight?”
A small, faint line formed in Beatrice’s brow as she frowned. “I don’t understand. You would not mind, then, returning to the life we lived before Father made his fortune?”
Marianne knew her answer at once. “No. Not if that meant I could be with the man I love.”
Beatrice stared out of the window, her lips pulled down.
“Would you not do the same to be with Charlie Macrae?” Marianne asked.
She still had yet to process the fact that Beatrice had fallen in love with a stable hand. But surely that ought to connect the sisters more than anything.
“In truth?” Beatrice asked. “I don’t believe I would.”
