“Are you walking out, Marianne?” asked Charlotte.
Marianne was tying her bonnet on before the mirror, her fur-trimmed pelisse buttoned over her afternoon gown. She glanced from her reflection to the face of her cousin, whose watery eyes were fixed upon her with a slight frown of concern as she paused with her sewing in hand.
“Does my cousin need me?” asked Marianne. “For it is no hurry that I go out– it is only a diversion.”
“My mother is calling upon a neighbor,” Charlotte answered. “I was only surprised to see you thus attired, for you have not gone out above twice since the first week of your arrival.”
“Will you come with me, Charlotte?” Marianne’s voice was suddenly eager. “You would be most welcome–for I intend to walk far today and see a great deal of the countryside.” Her heart pounded more swiftly with these words; for she could not say what she meant by them, except that she did indeed intend to walk out. Surely Captain Lindley would not be there, for she had never answered his request.
“I cannot, I fear; for I must finish sewing my cushions today,” Charlotte answered.
“But what are cushions compared to the glories of Norland’s woods?” asked Marianne. “Oh, please, Charlotte. It would be a great favor to me to have a companion.”
Charlotte shook her head. “I simply cannot accompany you today, Marianne,” she answered. “But you must tell me of the scenery’s most interesting points when you return for tea.” With a smile, she removed herself to the drawing room as Marianne watched in disappointment.
She glanced behind herself once as she trod the path leading to Norland Park’s gate, as if hoping her cousin had changed her mind, or perhaps Julia was taking a stroll as well. The open lawn bore the traces of winter, the house seeming cold and aloof from this distance. She turned away and continued on.
Although the road was greatly churned with frozen mud, it would be a pretty place in the height of summer, she surmised, from the trees and gooseberry bushes along the lane and the canopy of branches curving overhead. There was no one else visible, so she took no haste to avoid a carriage or wagon–and there was likely to be no one on this road, she reminded herself. The best walk was taken on one’s own.
It was not until she turned the corner that she saw another besides herself on the road. Captain Lindley was facing the same direction as herself, upon horseback. It walked slowly upon the road as if he admired only this particular aspect of the woods and wished to linger; beside him, another horse's reins were in his hand as it lingered there also.
He sensed her presence after a moment, then turned towards her with an expression of surprise, then a warm smile of greeting.
“I did not expect to see you walking today,” he said. “Although, I confess that I hoped you might.”
She blushed. “Since we are walking the same way,” she said, “then perhaps you might show me the wooded scene of which you are so fond.”
“It would be my honor to escort you, Miss Stuart,” he answered. "See–I have waited for you and brought you something of amusement, besides."
"A horse?" she said. "But where did you find it–and you do not mean it as a gift?"
He laughed. "It is borrowed from the possession of Mrs. Hendricks," he answered. "She is quite willing to allow other ladies to ride it. It is a gentle creature and well suited to a lady's manners."
Marianne blushed. "It is only–" she began, "it is–I am no rider with regards to the side saddle, sir," she said. "I confess that I rode but little and in the country, where my manner of horsemanship did not matter, since it was only my great-uncle's fields."
Her statement may have caused her shame (for the first time in Marianne's tomboyish existence), but it produced only another laugh from Captain Lindley, much heartier than the first.
"I am not at all astonished to hear it, Miss Marianne," he answered. "We shall remedy it, then." Sliding down from his own horse, he proceeded to remove the side saddle by unfastening its buckles and straps.
"There," he said, setting it behind a row of bare gooseberry bushes along the road. "I shall fetch it upon my return; and if we are careful, then there shall be none to know you were riding in such unconventional fashion." This, with a wink as he held out his hand to Marianne.
It was wrong to be riding, she knew; wrong to accept Captain Lindley's invitation, even with the permission of the overly-generous Mrs. Hendricks with regards to her horse. But the thought of a swift gallop, even a brief one, was too much for Marianne to resist.
"Thank you," she said, allowing him to help her upon horseback. Her skirts spread over either side of the horse, her ankles and part of her calf exposed in girlish fashion–not at all proper but far more comfortable than the fashionable Miss Ashford's gentle means of trotting in the park. The horse cantered along beside Captain Lindley's own, tossing its mane impatiently as it picked up speed along a path veering away from the road.
"Do you race, Miss Marianne?" he called. In response, Marianne clapped her heels against the horse's side. The mare ceased trotting and began to gallop, catching swiftly the speed of Lindley's horse.
It was her first time to be free since arriving at Norland Park; she relished the feeling of the wind in her face, its cool presence sharpened by the scent of greenery growing close along the road. Her bonnet tumbled down her shoulders, dangling only by its straps as a few of her curls drew free of their pins.
The path widened, giving her an advantage with which to pass him. Leaning forward, Marianne flattened herself against the mare's neck as it galloped past Captain Lindley. She heard him shout as he slapped his reins against the steed's neck. He raced along behind her as she glanced back, a smile of pleasure on her face.
Again, she was a mere girl galloping across the fields of Brawley Court on Colonel Miles's gentle old pony–who hurried to please no one but Miss Marianne on her visits. She was a tomboy astride the gentlest mare in Donnelly's stables, the one which was meant for a young lady's lessons in genteel riding.
A branch snagged her skirt, something she ignored. A little rip in her dress–what would it matter, compared to this? The freedom of feeling her hair flowing behind her, free of bonnets of velvet or straw, her form moving fast against the wind. Was this what Captain Lindley felt when riding with his regiment? Speed tempered by the thoughts of battle, the smell of smoke and powder drowning out any carefree emotions.
"Wait, Miss Marianne," shouted Captain Lindley, "else we shall miss our intended destination!"
The sound of his voice broke her imaginings of such adventures, drawing a blush not inspired by the cold wind fanning her cheeks.
Obediently, she drew the reins tighter, pulling the mare to a slow trot, then halted beside the path. Dark branches brushed against her hair as she turned to face the young officer who slowed to a canter.
"Well done," he said, slightly out of breath. "You are an excellent horsewoman, Miss Stuart."
"It has been a long time since I have had such enjoyment," she said. "I thought I might have forgotten how to ride." Her cheeks were flushed, eyes aglow with happiness. The young man gazed at her with admiration for a long moment before sliding down from his horse.
"Come," he said, holding out his hand. Helping her down, he kept gentle hold of her fingers as they moved towards the wooded border ahead, something which Marianne did not endeavor to correct for some moments.
Chapter Twelve
“Is it not the most beautiful sight in these parts, Miss Stuart?” asked Captain Lindley. “When I saw it, I thought of Scott’s Lady of the Lake. I thought of it again, I confess, upon our encounter in Colonel Hendricks’s drawing room.”
In the midst of the woods was a round pond formed by nature, its surface frozen thickly with ice. A ring of pale-barked trees and narrow saplings formed a ring around the banks, their trunks dusted with a thin layer of snow. The icy surface was etched with frost, the shapes of darkness below taking form in Marianne’s imagination of sunken logs and jagged rocks.
“It is a
fairy land,” she answered, at length, “if one believed such tales. Else it is a sort of elegance on earth. I wish it were not so cold and fragile; that it would not melt away as soon as spring touches it.”
She trod closer, grateful for Captain Lindley’s hand upon her arm as she approached the edge. A distorted reflection revealed the two of them close together, a sense of movement and shadow from the faint light above.
“There must be living things below us,” she said. “The dark shapes might be fish dwelling in the depths. The tangle of weeds and reeds trapped below–what must they be like in such a cold place? Is it alive and awake below there, or else is it sleeping and darkness?
“Some of my fellow officers have spoken of skating across its surface,” he said. “But I would not wish them to spoil it so. Even for the thrill of a swiftly gliding step–providing one does not lose their balance with the motion.”
“I am glad you did not let them spoil it,” she said. “For what if the ice had broken–the danger if someone had fallen through. One of your friends might have been killed by such an event.”
“A tragedy indeed,” answered Captain Lindley. “My father once told me of a man who fell through the ice and became trapped beneath its surface. A great pity that there was none by to save him when it occurred.”
Marianne shuddered. “Imagine,” she said, “being trapped beneath such a surface, peering through the ice as if it were glass. Touching the thin barrier one cannot break, feeling the icy depths around you.”
To her surprise, Captain Lindley laughed. “Your description is like no other I have heard,” he said. “As if you have seen the tragedy of a burial at sea which the naval officers describe–or the unfortunate victims of piracy sunk by their heartless captors.”
“It is too vivid,” Marianne blushed. “I have read too many books, I suppose; my father would blame Caesar and Waterloo for such remarks and perhaps he is right.”
Her feet were unsteady as she moved again towards higher ground. Captain Lindley touched her arm to support her, lowering his eyes to meet her own with this gesture. “I would not have it otherwise, Miss Stuart,” he said, gently. “Yours is an uncommon mind, I think, which need not be ashamed of its lively thoughts.”
His picture painted in words was very different from the liveliness of Mrs. Hendricks at her card party; very different from the opposite nature of her demure cousin Charlotte or the shy Lucy Sanford. Whether it was a contrast which pleased her, Marianne’s mind was not certain; for it was very much occupied with the sensation of Captain Lindley’s hand upon her own.
They walked towards the wooded path almost hidden by the tangled growth of gorse and bracken, its leaves touched by ice in the cold temperatures. Marianne’s pelisse bore testament to much of this natural path, although Captain Lindley endeavored to shield her as before by walking ahead and parting the branches whenever possible, so that his own coat was much marked for dampness.
“You need not go first, for I was not afraid of its overgrowth the first time,” she said. “Did I not happily face such a cold hedge for the sake of the pond’s charms?”
“Yes, but–” he began, looking over his shoulder at her, then pausing in his steps.
“I suppose I intended it as the mark of a gentleman,” he answered. “I had forgotten that gallantry has its limitations with you, Miss Stuart.”
“I do not protest to gallantry,” she replied, “I only protest to your coat bearing the unnecessary force of our path.” Taking his arm again, she walked beside him, helping push aside the low-hanging branches of an oak sapling as they emerged on the road again.
“I admire that; I do indeed,” he answered, as they continued on slowly in the direction of Norland Park. “You would have made a better explorer in another life, as I said before, and the limitations of this life afford you few opportunities for adventure–be they as cold and damp as this one.”
“The cold and the dampness are but little to me,” Marianne answered. “My cousins shall be concerned, but scarce one of them will stir out of doors without muff or cape or–” she blushed, recollecting herself.
“I should not tell tales of young ladies’ habits,” she said. “For am I not one of them, and therefore guilty by association? For today I am attired as you see–with stout shoes and fur trim to prove my fears of the last winter storm to pass this way.”
Captain Lindley smiled, but made no reply. He seemed to be thinking upon other things as they walked along, the two of them falling into silence. She did not feel uncomfortable by this change. In fact, she had begun to feel something of the same anticipation which crept over her at the card party.
Was it possible that she–Marianne Stuart–might be entertaining feelings for a young gentleman? Surely not; her cheeks flushed at considering such a motive. Surely it was not possible.
When they were upon the path again, he helped her mount the horse. They did not race as they made their way towards the road again, their horses side by side. It was a companionable silence between them for several minutes, with Marianne stealing a glance of curiosity at the young man more than once.
Her own feelings were a mystery to her–but she could not deny the interest she felt in the officer despite her desire to do so. Perhaps it was merely the charm of his adventures, she told herself. An envy for his carefree life, his natural ease with anyone of any rank or station.
When they reached the point where Mrs. Hendricks's saddle was hidden, he paused and helped her climb down, carefully fastening the side saddle back into place. This was the moment of their parting, she supposed, although she did not wish it.
“I suppose we must turn back,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I promised to drink tea with my cousins this evening and they shall worry if I am late.”
“Then allow me to escort you there,” he said. "If I may have the privilege, Miss Stuart." He shifted both pairs of reins into one hand, the other taking her arm again as they strolled along slowly.
"I must thank you again," she said, "for your kindness in borrowing Mrs. Hendricks's horse. And for showing me the splendid scenes which I have missed in my visit to Norland."
"I am only glad you did not miss them entirely," he answered, good-humoredly. "That would have been the tragedy for one as devoted to nature's beauties as yourself."
“Will you drink tea with us?” she asked, impulsively. “My cousins would extend the invitation, I am sure. They would be pleased to make the acquaintance of one known to me in London society.”
“I would be happy to make their acquaintance again,” Captain Lindley answered. "Your cousins were pleasant at Mrs. Hendricks's party, as I recall. Although I must admit their conversation cannot be compared to your own," he added. "For I believe," he lowered his voice, "that your cousin Charlotte spoke entirely of ribbons for a half hour upon that occasion."
In response, Marianne stifled a laugh. "I fear that it is a subject that I cannot master tolerably for their sakes," she answered. "They found consolation in Mrs. Churchill's opinion upon the matter, as well as the Colonel's wife."
"Nevertheless, their conversation will not lessen the honor of their invitation, since it is by their generosity that I meet you again," he answered. His gentle words produced another blush upon Marianne's cheeks, not entirely for the sake of her cousins' lack of interesting topics.
Perhaps the honor seemed lessened to the young man’s mind when he found himself in Mrs. Sotherby’s drawing room. Three staunch figures gazing across from him on the sofa, their expressions marked by a coolness of speech and manner which was unmistakably not in his favor. Even the friendly Miss Sotherbys of the Colonel's card party seemed altered in friendliness by the presence of their maternal guide and her instinct for gentlemen's propriety.
“Your regiment is under Colonel Hendricks, is it not, Captain Lindley?” inquired Mrs. Sotherby.
“Indeed, Ma’am,” he answered. “I have but lately joined their ranks upon the purchase of my commission. My father–Mr.
Samuel Lindley– is a relation of General Phelps, of whom I am sure you have heard much, Ma’am.” With a glance at Marianne, as if to assure her this would soothe the good lady’s fears.
“The general’s career is greatly spoken of,” was all Mrs. Sotherby cared to reply. “Have you been acquainted with Miss Marianne for very long?”
“Since just before I departed from London,” said Marianne, interrupting. “Captain Lindley was kind enough to offer me assistance in the Park one day. We were introduced by General Phelps at the Sanford’s ball. General Phelps is a great friend of Papa’s, you know.”
Mrs. Sotherby pursed her lips in reply. She lifted her teacup from its saucer and took a sip from its contents, a movement mimicked by the two daughters on either side as if the ripple of a wave was carried out from the shore.
At length, she set the cup in its saucer again. “Are you much occupied with maneuvers in your regiment?” she asked.
“Indeed, Ma’am,” he replied. “Much occupied.” His look was directed at Marianne, as if a sign of surrender on the grounds of Mrs. Sotherby’s goodwill.
His hostess’s manner seemed slightly improved by this response. “I am glad to hear that the Colonel has an active body of soldiers willing to attend to their duties.” With a smile, she lifted her cup of tea again and remained somewhat polite for the remainder of the visit.
Chapter Thirteen
Mrs. Sotherby was not long in writing her mother with word of Captain Lindley’s visit; for she was aware from the strong hints in Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s previous post that such a young man existed and had exhibited signs of boldness. A young man with a commission and the possibility of a career, ‘tis true, but a young man beneath Marianne’s chances, nonetheless. It was best to mention the encounter straightaway, for Mrs. Sotherby was not a woman to shirk from unpleasant news nor shield her sense of duty from possible criticisms.
He will not do, she continued, after relating the incident. Having met him and conversed with him for above a half-hour, I am convinced of it; for he is too young and without a firm promise of advancement in his career, General Phelps or no. That is not to say he will come to nothing, certainly, for he might make something of himself with due diligence to his Colonel, although I suspect nay–nevertheless, he is a far better suitor than the shopkeeper you mentioned once before.
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