by Abby Ayles
“Marianne,” her mother began, “what do you think of... Enrique de Sevilla?”
Mary drew a deep breath. “I am sure he is quite lovely once one gets to know him,” she insisted.
Her mother was hesitant. “Of course,” she eventually replied with the weary voice of a woman resigning herself to fate. “Shall we invite them to dinner?”
Mary nodded. “I believe that could be enjoyable.”
Their eyes met. Both could tell that the other was not at all happy with this situation. And yet both could tell that the other was determined to see it through. Mary so as to not encumbrance her parents.
Mary's heart ached and begged her to hug her mother, cry, and say she did not want to marry Enrique, not now or ever, or anyone like him. She wanted to say that she would wait for someone appropriate and trust her mother, and try to be a good daughter and not a burden to them. But she knew a lady did not cry and beg and defy her parents. She would go through with this, if this is what it took to make them happy and liberate them from the pain she was causing them.
Walking back into the room, Lady Elridge approached Lady de Sevilla and curtsied. “I would like to invite you to dinner,” she said.
Lady de Sevilla curtsied also. “I am most grateful, but we must decline,” she replied.
Lady Elridge looked to the two men.
“We have been speaking,” Sir Elridge said, “and we have concluded that Marianne and Enrique, though both wonderful children, are not a suitable couple for one another. Their marriage would not be satisfactory, or successful, for either of them.”
“I believe that my son would be much happier to marry a Spanish girl,” Lord de Sevilla explained. “We need to see... a passion between a couple before we allow them to marry. Or else the marriage will not be successful. Thus far, English girls have not been of interest to him. So we shall look back home.”
Lady Elridge looked as though she was not sure whether to be relieved or insulted. Mary had hoped her mother did not want this courtship to go forward in the first place. But now that it was them deciding against it, Mary did not know what her parents were thinking. Lady Elridge nodded and forced a smile. “I am pleased with your decision,” she said, not sounding at all pleased. “Now, I must make some arrangements for dinner.” She left the room obviously quite flustered.
Mary curtsied to the de Sevillas and followed after her mother.
Chapter Ten
Mary saw her mother sitting in an armchair in the corner of her room. She looked suddenly worn, old beyond her years, and so very, very tired. Mary knocked lightly on the open door. “Come in,” Lady Elridge replied.
Mary walked over to the chair and perched herself daintily on the arm of it before wrapping an arm around her mother's shoulder. “Father is right, there shall be more suitors,” Mary said quietly.
Lady Elridge smiled meekly. “More like Duke Haskett, or more like Mr. Enrique de Sevilla?”
“Neither, I hope,” Mary laughed a little. “I would much prefer a suitor who stays.”
“I was not happy with your father's choice,” Lady Elridge said in a conspiratorial tone, “and I am actually quite relieved the family saw the incompatibility.”
Mary nodded. “I did not like him either, and he did not like me.”
Lady Elridge laughed a little. “And I do not even know if I ought to be insulted or not. Did you see her clothes? Is she above us, below us? How can I decide what to think of her actions when I do not know where they come from?”
“If she was rude, then you ought to be insulted, whoever she is,” Mary replied.
Lady Elridge shook her head. “That is just the thing, Mary, rudeness depends wholly on the person.”
“It ought not to,” Mary replied.
“But it does. Do you expect a small child to know to keep her skirts down?” Lady Elridge asked.
Mary pondered it. “A very small child would probably need to be reminded several times,” she concluded, “but an older child should know better.”
“And an adult woman?” Lady Elridge asked.
“Unless she is mentally deficient, I would never expect an adult to need reminding of such a thing.”
“And there we already have three standards for rudeness. The young child is not rude, and nor is the mentally deficient woman. Crude, perhaps, but they do not know better. Whereas the older child would be considered rude, and the adult woman unbelievably rude should they forget their modesty,” Lady Elridge explained.
“But Lady de Sevilla is an adult woman,” Mary replied.
“That was but an example, Mary. What I mean is that rudeness depends on what is expected of a person. If Lady de Sevilla were our equal, or our inferior, then nothing would justify her behaviour as she should not have anything better to do. She ought to have made the time to visit us, and have no need to leave early. However, if she were our superior, then she probably has much better things to be doing,” Lady Elridge concluded and glanced at Mary. “Do you understand?”
Mary hesitated. “Was Duke Haskett rude?”
“Ordinarily I would not presume to know whether or not a Duke is being rude... but considering he deemed it fit to apologise, I suppose he must have been,” Lady Elridge concluded.
Mary could see in her mother's face that even talking about Duke Haskett caused her much pain. The man's words had caused her mother great distress, and cut deeply into her pride. And yet... Mary forgave him. Mary knew her mother had been acting selfishly and thoughtlessly. She had not deserved to be spoken to the way he spoke to her. But he could not be entirely blamed for his speech either.
A thought struck Mary. What if she had fallen in love with Duke Haskett? Truly in love, like a girl in one of Antoinette’s favourite romance novels. Then what? What if Enrique de Sevilla had been a perfectly reasonable young man, and she was simply blinded by her passion for Duke Haskett? What if... she could never love or respect another man again?
A panic took over her heart and, drawing a deep breath, she stood up from her perch. “I believe I require some fresh air,” she said to her mother. “I shall be in the garden.”
“Are you well, Mary?” her mother asked.
Mary forced a slight smile. “I am simply in need of a little air, that is all.” She knew her mother could tell something was amiss, but left the room before anything more could be said.
Mary made her way swiftly downstairs, seizing her coat, gloves, and bonnet on her way to the door. The de Sevillas had left, and her father was nowhere to be seen, probably in his office. Mary wandered towards the parlour, quickly spotting the door to the servants' quarters. She knocked. The door swung open a few seconds later to reveal the housekeeper.
“Yes, Miss?” she said.
“I must run an errand, would you send the driver?” Mary asked, hoping to come across as authoritative.
She did not.
“Have you asked your parents for their permission?” the housekeeper asked, eyebrow raised.
Mary nodded. “Of course I have.”
The housekeeper looked unconvinced. And, for a moment, Mary was afraid that the housekeeper would march upstairs and ask her mother directly. “Very well, I shall ask the driver to be with you immediately,” she replied.
Mary breathed a sigh of relief as the big door closed. Miss Ramsbottom may have been suspicious, but she was apparently not too suspicious. A few minutes later the door opened once again and the driver, dressed and adjusting his gloves, nodded politely at her. “The coach will be at the front in a few minutes, Miss.”
Mary smiled. “Thank you.”
Making their way to the front door, Mary felt a tightness in her chest that would not leave. What if her parents caught her before she left? Or what if they sent someone after her and stopped her? Or if they noticed her absence and she were punished? It was not too late to change her mind, go back indoors, and pretend she had never intended to leave.
But she had to. For her own good, and her family's pride, she had to.
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After getting into the coach, she handed the driver an envelope before he could close the door. “Here, please.”
He glanced at the address, raised his brows in surprise, but said nothing as he shut the door and made his way to the front of the coach.
Now it was most certainly too late to turn back. The one comfort she had was that this coach, this horse, and this driver were the best and fastest way into town. Even should her parents chase after her, not only would she have a head start, but they would have an inferior coach, an inferior horse, and a general servant driving.
At least the Winter cut backs were proving of some use.
* * *
The mansion was something even Mary had never seen before. It towered above her like a mountain, like something that simply could not be made by Man. Usually she could tell from the outside of a building whether someone was home or not, but not this one. It felt like a castle.
With slight trepidation, she walked up the path towards the front door. Like on a church, there were two enormous ten foot tall wooden doors, with smaller, human-sized doors set in them. When she was little someone had told her that the small ones were for the humans, the big ones for Angels. It put true fear into her for years, until she found out it was for processions and parades. But now she felt that same fear, the fear of standing before someone a thousand times more powerful than yourself. The fear of being too small.
She knocked on the door and waited.
After a few minutes of standing, heart in her throat, she knocked again.
Nothing. No visible lights, no sounds within. The lawn had grown too high to walk on. The house had not been lived in or tended to for at least a week now.
So if he was not here, and had probably not even stayed here when he last visited... where was he?
Mary walked back down the path towards the coach, where she handed the driver a fistful of coins to buy his silence. “Please drive me to Antoinette's house now. And do not tell my parents I was here.”
The driver looked down at the coins. “No Miss, you went straight to see Miss Byrd.”
“Thank you.” Mary smiled as she climbed into the coach.
* * *
“Mary!” Antoinette exclaimed as her cousin was escorted into the front room. “I didn't hear you were coming.”
“It was a spontaneous visit,” Mary replied with a slight nervous giggle.
“Do your parents know you are here?” Antoinette asked.
“No,” Mary said a little nervously.
“I shall send a letter back with your driver, I am sure they are worried sick.”
Mary nodded. “Thank you.”
Once the letter was penned and on its way, Mary and Antoinette withdrew to the privacy of the lounge.
“Well,” Antoinette began, “now that we are alone... why did you not want your parents to know you were out?”
Mary laughed a nervous laugh. “Well... originally I was not coming straight here.”
A mischievous glimmer shone in Antoinette's eye, as though thrilled she had finally persuaded her innocent little cousin to be a bit more daring. “Where were you going?”
“To try and find Duke Haskett,” Mary said, her face feeling warm like she had been standing in the sun.
Antoinette let out a brief squeak of excitement. “What for? Did you see him?”
Mary felt her blush growing hotter and hotter. “I... I believe I am in love with him. And if the only way I can make my parents happy is by marrying, then I would like to try my best to marry a man I already love. Besides, my mother adores him.”
“What did he say? He must have thought you had gone stark raving mad,” Antoinette said in a tone of voice which suggested more rapture than concern.
“That's the crux of it: he was not at his manor,” Mary added with a sigh. “And it looks as though he has not been there for weeks. No servants, nothing. I have no idea where next to look for him.”
Antoinette was staring at her like she had grown a second head.
“What is it? Is it my hair?” Mary asked, petting her tight bun.
Antoinette shook her head. “You haven't heard, have you?”
“Heard?”
“About Duke Haskett, and his estate, and the settlement?” Antoinette suggested.
Mary shook her head. “I have not heard from him nor about him since the Isle of Wight.”
“You may wish to make sure you are firmly on your seat,” Antoinette began, “because this might come as a shock but rumour has it that Duke Haskett is in serious financial trouble. He had some legal action taken against him following his inheriting of the Duchy, and there was a large settlement. Well, all these unattended manors around York are due to that. He had fired many servants to save money, and now he is having to sell manors and family belongings simply to avoid debt.”
Mary was staring, wide-eyed. “Heavens!” she finally managed to say with a gasp. “Will he be alright?”
Antoinette nodded, then hesitated. “Well, I expect so. I only know the rumours. Perhaps it is not as bad as they say. Or perhaps it is worse. Who can tell? Whatever the case, his Grace is not in as good a position as he seemed to be suggesting, and the parents of the various young women he was courting are less than happy, as I am sure you can imagine.”
Mary nodded. “I can. I am sure my mother would be furious too if she had found out that a suitor had been lying about his wealth. But that confirms it for me.”
“Confirms what?” Antoinette asked.
“That he cannot be a good match for me. He has lied to me twice already. How many more lies could I stand?” Mary sighed, anger building in her chest.
“He may still have a great fortune, far greater than your family. And he is still a man of great status and connections,” Antoinette said. “And now that no higher class woman will have him, perhaps you stand a chance of becoming Duchess of York.”
Mary shook her head. “No... I cannot. How could I marry a man who lies to me continually?”
“And who is a Duke? And whom you love?”
Mary shook her head again. “Love is a fool’s word, I cannot trust my heart on matters such as these. My head is wise and my head tells me that no good can come from a man who will not tell the truth.”
“But you love him,” Antoinette replied with a slightly mournful tone.
“I do. Or, at least, I think I do,” she paused, “thought I did. But unless he can swear to forever be honest, how could I marry him?” Mary felt her heart ache as she continued to insist against him. She desired him so much. But she knew that it was not to be. “Now, let us talk of something more jolly before my parents come to find me.”
* * *
As expected, Mary's parents were not happy with what she had done; she saw it in their eyes. It appeared that they were relieved that she had gone to see Antoinette and no one else, but they were confused and frustrated by her sudden defiance. Mary had attempted to pretend she had simply forgotten, but the housekeeper had informed them of her lie already. Thankfully the driver was sticking to her story—apparently the only person around her household who had her best interest at heart.
But now they sat at the dinner table with an awkward silence hanging over them as Mary wondered what to do next. She was thankful in a way that he had not been home, now she knew she had been lied to a second time. But despite everything her situation had not changed from that morning, and a creeping fear was suggesting that she was not as marriage-worthy as she had thought.
Interrupting her train of thought, there was a loud knock at the door. It echoed through the silence.
Sir Elridge furrowed his brow and put his cutlery down. “I wonder who it could be at this time of night.”
“It's been such an eventful day already,” lamented Lady Elridge.
Mary too was feeling very tired and not prepared to greet guests. But apparently there was no avoiding it. The knocks came louder and stronger. And then stopped.
After a moment's silence, the
housekeeper's footsteps approached the door. She peered in. “Sorry to disturb you, but we have company.”
“Can they not wait?” Sir Elridge replied.
“It is Duke Haskett, Sir.”
Chapter Eleven
Duke Haskett? After everything she knew, she still felt her heart leap a little. She took a deep breath and had another sip of wine to steady her nerves. No, he was not an appropriate man. He may be of great status, and therefore worth entertaining a night, but she ought not to think of him as a suitor any longer.
“Please, invite him in,” Sir Elridge said, “and set him a place at the table.”
The housekeeper nodded and the door slowly closed behind her. As the servants laid a new place at the table, the door opened again, but what emerged from behind it came as a shock to everyone. It was Duke Haskett and he did not look well.
His clothes were not pressed and were soiled, as though he had worn the same ones for days. His hair was tousled and his beard had growth. Beneath his eyes were two deep purple marks, as though he had not slept for days. There was a clatter as Sir Elridge dropped his fork into his plate.
“Duke Haskett!” exclaimed Lady Elridge, “whatever has happened to you?”
He shook his head and sighed. “I... I have encountered some misfortunes,” he said, seating himself at the place which had been set for him. “I endeavoured to protect myself against them, but to no avail. My wealth is fast dwindling, and my fair weather friends have left me. All I ask is a little sympathy in my time of need.”
Mary could see the conflict on her mother's face. But eventually she smiled softly. “We shall provide you with food and board until further notice. Our wealth may not be as great as you are familiar with, but we could easily support one more until you are back on your feet, is that not right, James?”
Sir Elridge nodded. “Anything for our Duke.”
“Should I even remain your Duke much longer,” Duke Haskett said with a sigh. “My brother is claiming his right to the Duchy, and perhaps he shall win that claim.”
