by Abby Ayles
Nevertheless, Lucy was glad that her friend would continue to see her. And especially glad that she would soon see his home, for, despite her disgust at her mother's desire to snoop, she was a little curious herself. She knew full well why her mother had pressed for him to visit more often, but she also knew he would remain true to his conviction. No matter what her parents said or did, he had no intention of marrying.
He was especially the worst person for them to pursue for a proposal since the pact. Not only were they trying to get a man who was completely against marriage to court her, but he was also committed to helping her avoid marriage. In the time they were supposed to be courting he could help her evade her usual range of suitors.
“Are you alright, Lucy?” her mother's voice sounded in the doorway. “Did you eat too much? Do you have indigestion?”
Lucy sat up a little. “I think it was the coffee,” she replied.
“I said you should not have it,” her mother said, sitting on the edge of the chaise longue beside her. “Shall I call for a doctor?”
Lucy shook her head. “I will be fine, it will pass.”
“So... do you think we could persuade you to see Lord Jones more in earnest?” Lady Fitzgerald asked tentatively.
Lucy shook her head. “I do not think he is interested in marriage.”
“Many young men say that, and are stubborn, especially at his age, but are eventually persuaded,” her mother replied.
“I am not sure he could be, he seems very convicted,” Lucy insisted.
“I wish you would make more of an effort,” her mother said with a sigh. “Men do not drop out of trees, you know?”
“I know,” Lucy replied. “It's just that... I want to wait for the right man. Men may not grow on trees, but there is more than enough of them. I want to be a little selective.”
Lady Fitzgerald seemed disappointed even though the smile on her face reached her eyes. “But I fear you are too selective. I fear that you will never marry at all.”
Lucy felt the words stab her heart. Of course her mother was worried about that. But avoiding marriage was the literal purpose of her actions. Her mother would never get the conclusion she desired because, no matter what she did, Lucy would never want for herself what her parents wanted for her.
“I... I am sorry if I cause you any pain,” she said. And she genuinely felt it. Unlike Andrew, who seemed to take some depraved joy in making people squirm, she hated what she needed to do to keep herself unmarried.
“No, I am sorry,” her mother replied. “I try and try to make sense of you, but I feel as though I do not truly understand who you are anymore. And how can I help my own daughter when I do not even know who she is?” A tear rolled down her mother's cheek, leaving behind a trail of white and smoky makeup.
Lucy sat fully upright and embraced her mother tightly. “I... I am not sure who I am, mother. I need time to work that out. And I feel that you and father are pushing me too much.”
“All we want is for you to do well in life. Lucy, your father and I will not be here forever. You have no siblings, no aunts or uncles. When we are gone you will be alone,” her mother explained. “And the world is not a simple place. You will have the house, and some income. But it will not be a nice life. And it may not be easy for you to find a man after that. I had an aunt myself, who was a spinster. She always regretted not listening to my grandparents, and she no longer had anyone who could help her find a husband. She wanted children and could not have any. I... I do not want that for you.”
Lucy felt her heart breaking a little. No wonder her mother was so intent on finding her a husband as soon as possible. She, herself, had painful memories of what it would be like to be unwed. She wanted her daughter to have the same security and love that she experienced with Lord Fitzgerald. And Lucy felt some compassion towards her mother, a pull to marry if only to allow her mother to live the rest of her life with a satisfied heart, not a burdened one.
Even knowing all this, Lucy could not find it in her heart to open herself up to marriage. There was just too much wrong with it. But if there was so much wrong with marriage, and so much wrong with being unwed, then what was the solution? Neither alternative sounded good to Lucy.
She did not want to marry a man who did not love her, or to be forever bonded to someone who could turn out to be terrible. But she did not want to end up an old spinster either, always regretting her solitude and her lack of children. What she wanted was the fairytale romance. She wanted a man perfectly suited to her, who would not lie to her, and who would love her and have children with her, and then go on to care for her until the end of their lives.
But that was not real. And so her options were loveless marriage or spinsterhood.
Lucy wished more men were like Lord Andrew Jones. He was a perfect example of what men ought to be like. And yet... he was rare. And even he could not be trusted. After all, he could be deceiving her. The only way to know for certain that a man was not tricking her into marriage was to not marry him. And, after all, loneliness would be better than abuse or neglect...
Her suitor the next day was definitely nothing like Lord Jones. He was, in many ways, nothing like any man she had ever met before, and not in a good sense. Lord Thompson was the very image of a pompous aristocrat, the sort of person even a Prince would say was too soft and vain. His hands and hair were perfectly manicured, he dressed in more jewels than any woman would dare to wear, and he was too concerned with the state of his suede boots to brave a walk in the garden. So they sat in the front room as Lucy attempted to discourage him.
But that was another way in which he was unlike any man she had ever met: no matter what she said, or how indignant he got, he would simply not back down.
“I... I heard that you were cruel, but I did not believe you were this bad,” he said indignantly. “And with that haircut. I am doing you a favour. Most men would not even see you until you grew it out again.”
“And most women would not see a man who cares more about his shoes than his soul in the first place, and yet here we are,” Lucy replied.
“It is not a crime or a sin to wish to look my very best,” he said indignantly.
Lucy rolled her eyes. “Vanity is most definitely a sin, as is being too proud to admit to your own vanity.”
“Then there is not a woman out there who is sinless,” he insisted.
Lucy shook her head. “We are held to a different standard than men. You, on the other hand, are going out of your way to display yourself like some sort of an overly enthusiastic peacock.”
“And you noticed,” he replied. “And I can see you have nothing bad to say about my sense of dress, so I suppose it is working.”
“I have only not said anything bad yet because I do not even know where to begin,” Lucy replied.
This was exhausting. She had gone through her entire protocol. When she ignored him and replied with single words and sounds, he had simply talked about himself for half an hour straight. When she had tried to lord herself over him he had thought she was flirting by showing off.
Now she was being rude and he was happily bickering with her, getting more and more insulted by the second, and refusing to leave.
“You do know that all of this will not endear you to many men?” Lord Thompson said. “If you wish for a man to marry you, you ought to show him more of your feminine side.”
“I do not wish to marry some petty, snobbish, vain man such as yourself,” she replied.
“And I suppose you believe you can do better?” he asked with a slight laugh.
Lucy was caught off guard by this, but quickly bounced back. “Indeed I can. I do not know why my parents keep setting me up with lesser men such as yourself.”
She had thought she had done enough to push him away. But this man was particularly resilient. It was a losing battle to try and scare him off. He just laughed and shook his head.
And, however much she needed to pretend it was not affecting her, his insults
were slowly eroding her self-esteem. She was feeling worse and worse by the minute, and she just wanted him to go away and never return. But even after all that he just smiled and sipped his tea, as though she had just complimented him on his rings.
Thankfully, the clock struck ten and he stood up, arranging his clothes so that everything lay just so. “I am terribly sorry, but I must away. I have a meeting in an hour and I must be prepared. Do not fret, it is not another young lady.” He smiled.
“Oh, I would not believe you if you said it was, but one can hope,” Lucy replied.
She was glad when he left the room and the servants closed the door. She sank back into her chair with a frustrated groan.
Lucy sighed. Why was he still interested? She had done everything she could to insult him, and yet he came back for more, and more again. Could it be he liked this? Was this something some men liked? Whatever it was, it was annoying.
She felt completely and utterly exhausted. It was not right that she kept having to do this. It was not who she was, who she wanted to be. And yet the more she did it, the more she found it becoming her second nature, the more she questioned her own identity. It was as though the person she was pretending to be was overtaking her, stealing her body and her mind.
Perhaps this was what had happened to Lord Jones? Perhaps after so long pretending to be cold and cruel and to take pleasure in the suffering of others, he had become that way? Lucy shook her head. No, it was probably just who he was. If Duke Perry was two-faced, then perhaps other men were two-faced as well. She chastised herself for trying to make excuses for Andrew. He did not need or deserve to have her defend him. No man needed or deserved to be defended by her.
Chapter 8
Lucy spent the few hours after her encounter with Lord Thompson recovering from having to talk to Lord Thompson. It felt like she had been drained of all her lust for life and left with only her contempt for humanity and a deep desire to sleep for the rest of the afternoon. She even made her way to her bedroom, where she collapsed on top of the covers and lay, staring at the ceiling, wondering how someone can be so stubborn, and worrying that perhaps there was some truth to his insults.
She was not sure why, even though she had no desire to marry, his accusation that she was not marriageable had hurt her so badly. Nevertheless, it had. Then, it struck her. Marriage was a way of demonstrating love, commitment, and faith. When a man said she was not worthy of marriage, she understood him to be saying she was unworthy of being loved, committed to, or bonded in the eyes of God. It was fine for her to choose not to marry. But the suggestion she was not able to hurt her deeply.
Hearing the clock strike one, she got up and made sure her hair was brushed neatly for lunch. It felt odd to only pull the brush a couple of inches before her hair released it. Although she still liked the way her hair looked, she was beginning to feel it was a little alien. As though the face in the mirror were no longer her own.
Stopping her on her way downstairs, her mother asked for her attention before lunchtime. “Lucy, I need to talk to you,” she began.
Lucy was fairly sure it was about Lord Thompson. She followed her mother to some seats in the front room, fully expecting to be told off for insulting him so much.
“Did you like Lord Thompson?” Lady Fitzgerald asked.
Lucy shook her head. “Not at all.” She sighed, feeling a little sick just thinking about him.
“He seemed rather taken with you,” Lady Fitzgerald replied. “Would you prefer Lord Jones?”
Lucy shook her head again. “I am not sure if either of them is right for me,” she replied.
Her mother just looked out the window for almost a minute. Lucy knew better than to get up. Lady Fitzgerald would say when she was done.
“Who do you want to marry, hypothetically speaking?” she finally asked. “Lord Thompson or Lord Jones?”
“I do not want to marry...” She wanted to say 'at all'. But she did not have the courage to do so. She did not have the courage to hurt her mother like that. “... either of them,” she concluded.
“Well what do you want from life?” Lady Fitzgerald asked.
Lucy felt as though the opportunity had been placed right in front of her. Now was the time. Now was her chance. All she needed to do was tell her mother that she was scared of marriage. That she had been hurt by Duke Perry and she was not ready to move on. That, between a bad marriage and spinsterhood, at least a spinster could lead a life of her own. But she could not bring herself to. She knew it would cause her mother so much undue pain.
She fidgeted a little. “To be fair I am not sure what I want. But if I do not know what I want, then how am I supposed to commit to something now?”
Her mother sighed wearily. “Lucy, you cannot put this off forever.”
“Not forever,” she replied, “just until I know what I am doing.”
“Or until you have recovered from the heartache Duke Perry gave you?” Lady Fitzgerald asked.
Did she know? Did she really understand? Lucy felt a surge of excitement, a sense of deep relief accompanying it. Perhaps her mother really could support her through all this. She smiled meekly.
“Lucy... I know Duke Perry was a good man, but we all miss out on great opportunities. You will only miss out on more of them if you continue to pass up suitors due to the flaws you perceive in them. Give them a chance and some may match up to Duke Perry,” her mother continued.
Lucy felt her heart sink. No, her mother did not understand. Not in the slightest. Did she really think it was about comparison? That Lucy was so naïve as to think that her first true love would be her last? No, it was all the opposite. She feared that she would love like that again, be made a fool of again.
“But mother,” she replied, “I cannot make a decision that will affect my entire life if I am not certain of it.” Her mother did not and could not understand her. At least she could play into her mother's own ideas and use them to her advantage.
“A young woman often has to make decisions which will affect her for years to come. Who and when to marry, how many children to have, whether she wants to adopt... You cannot predict the future, Lucy. You cannot tell what fortune will cast your way. All you can do is make the best choice and persevere with it,” her mother explained.
Oddly, Lucy realized this advice actually did make sense. Even if her mother did not understand her, she had somehow said something relevant to Lucy's own feelings.
She could not predict the future. She could not make a decision and just assume it would work out. And perhaps her decision to avoid marriage at all costs was the wrong one. It was a commitment, after all, and much like a commitment to marriage could go wrong, it was possible her commitment not to marry could go wrongs in ways she could not even begin to imagine.
Lucy was still not certain. She understood what her mother meant, and it even applied in some ways to her own thoughts, but... it felt more complicated than that. It felt too complicated. If she couldn't truly predict the future, which nobody could, then what was she supposed to do? Just go with the flow and hope that she ended up somewhere nice?
That felt like too little control to her. She sighed. “I shall think about that, mother,” she finally replied.
Lady Fitzgerald seemed more than a little relieved. She wrapped an arm around Lucy's shoulder and hugged her a little. “You think about it, then. You will never regret giving something a little more consideration.”
Lucy nodded.
“Anyway, I have some more good news for you,” her mother said. “A letter has arrived announcing the marriage of Thomas Byrd and Julia Blackmore.”
Lucy was more than a little surprised. “Did that announcement arrive this morning?”
“It did. Isn't it lovely? It is nice to see something like that working for them, especially when so many people who go to the Mission end up losing their betrothed.”
“I feel it is a little rushed, though,” she replied.
“Anything would be too rus
hed in your eyes,” Lady Fitzgerald said. “They have been engaged for over a year now.”
“But for most of that he was in India,” Lucy said. “They barely know one another.”
“They have been writing, which is more than enough to get to know someone,” Lady Fitzgerald insisted.
Lucy wanted to correct her. She wanted to point out that people tell all sorts of lies in letters, and that even people in India with the Mission could get letters saying one thing, when the complete opposite was happening back home. But she decided to let her mother have this one.
Lady Fitzgerald seemed genuinely thrilled by weddings, more so than by any other sort of major event. She had a strong romantic streak and it always came out for a wedding. At least Lucy knew where her own fairy tale ideals had come from.
As they waited for lunch to be served, Lucy could only think of how odd it was to picture those two marrying. Sure, they were deeply in love. But... it seemed so strange nonetheless. They had not seen one another for a year, and they had been separated a few times before that. Somehow during Thomas's short stays in England they had courted, become engaged, and now were marrying. But in total they had probably only spent a couple of weeks together. Could two people really grow to love one another over a couple of weeks and some letters?
“Are you alright?” Lord Fitzgerald asked. “You seem a little confused.
Lucy shook her head. “She ought not to. He ought not to,” she said quietly.
“Ought not to do what?” her father asked her.
Lucy looked up. “Thomas and Julia. They are getting married too soon. I do not even know if they have thought it through properly.”
“Lucy, it is their relationship and their marriage. I am sure they and their parents have given it plenty of thought and discussed it at great length,” Lady Fitzgerald replied.
“But... What if they are mistaken? What if they are not both ready?” Lucy asked.
“Do not say such nonsense,” her father replied. “One is ready for marriage as soon as one comes of age, the only question is whether the person is suitable.”
