Page 54
“Occupied again?” he asked, motioning to her stitching.
“As always,” she said. “Heading to the post office?”
“As always.”
They shared a smile, though she kept their eye contact brief as she pulled her attention to the fabric in front of her. The last few days had been comfortable enough. Their conversation had remained civil, if not a little stinted, but she would not murmur. Keeping each other at an arm’s length was wise.
He motioned to the window. “The sun is shining this afternoon.”
“Mmm. It has been quite some time. It should be very nice for you to not return sodden, I’m sure.”
“Indeed.” He hesitated. “Would you...would you care to join me?”
Marie poked her finger with her needle but managed to maintain decorum. He was asking her to accompany him? That wouldn’t do either of them any good. They spent enough time together as it was. Better to say no. At any rate, he would no doubt enjoy his time walking far better without her.
“That is very kind of you, but I’m afraid I must finish embroidering this handkerchief. I’ve put it off for far too long.”
Charles instantly accepted her pathetic excuse and left with only a silent nod.
Over the next hour, Marie wallowed away in self-pity, frittering from stitching to drawing to letter-writing to reading—before ultimately staring out the window in sullen silence.
She was tormented with thoughts of regret, loneliness, and ruminations about how much better her time would have been had she accompanied him. So despondent she was with her decision to remain at home, as she stared at the roses’ shadows on the grass, she determined to never again say no to a request from Charles to join him.
Growing used to his company now would make her life more miserable if their annulment occurred, but at the moment, that was Future Marie’s problem. Present Day Marie wanted to relish in the fact that Charles had wished her to come at all.
Finally, when Charles did return, she attempted to remain indifferent.
“Any news from Mr. Page?” she asked.
“I’m afraid not. But you’ve received a correspondence yourself.”
His boots thudded against the wooden floor as he extended the sealed letter to Marie.
She recognized her father’s handwriting at once and tore open the seal to read it as Charles made to stand by the window, hands clasped behind his back.
He was no doubt longing to get back out of doors already.
Dearest Marie,
I hesitate writing to you at all when your bridal tour ought to remain the focus of your attention, but I find myself compelled to speak with you on a delicate matter. As such, I trust you will forgive my intrusion.
The night of the ball, I was made aware that you and Mr. Charles Shepherd departed early without a single word of excuse or appreciation to the host and hostess of the party. I need not tell you how ungrateful and improper the slight was, not to mention inconsiderate, as the burden lay upon your mother and myself to make excuses for your poor behavior.
While I’m grateful you and your new husband are bonding, I cannot help but relay instruction in regard to the proper decorum of a married individual. One must learn to control one’s appetites—especially in Society—and remember that one’s duty is first to one’s host before accomplishing the equally important duty of bearing children, which you and Charles are clearly pursuing.
At any rate, I trust you are doing well enough now. We are fine here. Mother is redecorating—
“Marie?”
Marie looked up from the letter, her face aflame as her fingers clenched the paper. Charles watched her, his brow together.
“Are you unwell?” he asked.
“No, I’m...fine.”
His eyes dropped to the letter. “Then is someone else unwell?”
He must have seen her frowning as she’d read over Father’s preposterous assumptions. Honestly, the nerve he had to assume they’d left the ball early to...
