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“And you weren’t in a rush to marry?”
He chuckled. “No, I knew I would do so eventually. At any rate, no one was in a hurry. Most of us set the wager aside as merely good fun until Thomas married. He sent us a letter, reminding us of the deal, so the pressure has been felt by all now.”
Marie smiled at the silliness of it all. Only men would ever think to do such a thing. “Is he the only one to have married thus far?”
“No, Andrew Langford married his lifelong love only recently. Though how that marriage came about is another delightful story entirely, as he practically fell into it. His wife matches him in intelligence and wit, though, which he desperately needed. I believe they are quite happily matched. Other than those two, the rest of us remain unattached. The rest of them, I should say.”
His smile slowly faded, and guilt racked Marie’s conscience.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I’m sorry you’ve had to give up so much for this marriage.”
He stopped walking to face her. “I do not blame you, you know. I did in the beginning, but I was wrong to do so, for none of this is your doing.”
“I suppose you’re right. Our parents were both determined to see it through.”
He looked away. “Just as we are determined to end it.”
Her heart sank, though she nodded in agreement all the same.
When they reached the village, Marie spent a moment at the haberdashers, looking through the ribbons while Charles went to the post office on his own.
Despite her best efforts, she simply could not focus on trivial matters such as ribbons and bonnets and trimmings, so she left the shop behind to wait for Charles’s return in the cool, spring air.
As she did so, she caught sight of the doorpost at the inn, an advertisement posted in thick letters standing out above the rest.
Maidstone Market Day
Third Week in March
Vendors, Entertainers, Animals, Food
Her mind churned over the information, though it fled as she turned and spotted Charles walking in her direction through the small crowds. His eyes moved from person to person until he finally met her gaze, and his features brightened.
Marie’s breath caught. He looked pleased to see her, a skip in his step and a smile on his lips that was finally genuine.
That could mean only one thing. He’d finally received a letter.
With an unpleasantly racing heart, she waited for him to reach her, pulling up her courage.
“You received a letter from Mr. Page,” she stated before he could say a word.
His features fell. “Oh, yes. I have.”
Was he attempting to hide his joy at the mere thought of leaving her?
“And,” she pressed, “what did he say?”
He pulled the folded paper from his jacket pocket, then extended it to her.
Mr. Charles Shepherd,
I regret to inform you that my source has yet to write back with any word as to your inquiry. I suspect he has simply not understood the haste I requested.
At any rate, I have been tasked to meet with Tristan while I am in London, so I will make discreet inquiries whilst there.
Until then, enjoy your latest adventure,
Mr. Barnabas Page
