by Rose Pearson
After a few more minutes of silence, his mother rose from her chair and, as she passed him, put one hand lightly on his shoulder.
“My dear son,” she said with a good deal more gentleness than he had expected from her. “I have always wanted the best for you. I have high expectations for you and you have never once neglected to fulfill them. However, it appears that there is a lack of openness between us and for that I am truly sorry.”
Looking up at her in surprise, Philip saw his mother’s sadness and felt his heart wrench. The truth was, he had often longed for a closer acquaintance with his mother but, even as he had returned home to England, he had braced himself for the harsh words and the criticism that would undoubtedly come his way.
“I have not been the kindest of mothers, have I?” Lady Galsworthy continued, her voice quiet and tremulous as her gaze drifted away from him. “I have been unbending, unflinching and unkind.” Her lips trembled, tears filling her eyes, and Philip felt his heart break asunder, even though he could find nothing to say that would refute all that his mother said. It was quite true. Every word of it.
“I am astonished to hear that you are so unsure of your betrothed,” she said hoarsely. “You have never spoken to me of such a thing before, Galsworthy, but I do not blame you for that. It is I who is at fault for never encouraging you to speak with openness and honesty. There is a good deal I must reflect on.”
“I did not mean to wound you, Mama.”
A tight smile crossed her face, a single tear trickling down her worn cheek. “You have not,” she replied quietly. “This is not your doing, Galsworthy. It is as though I have only just seen myself as I truly am, as though I have only just now noticed the knife which I placed in my heart so long ago.” Her hand tightened on his shoulder before she let go entirely. “I must go.”
Philip watched her leave, feeling entirely helpless and yet almost relieved that they had been able to have such a conversation. It was not as if he was glad to see his mother so upset, but glad for that the freedom with which they had both spoken. His mother was quite correct to say that he had never spoken to her with such honesty before and, now that he had, it appeared to have revealed a great many things to her, as well as to himself.
Perhaps there was more to his mother than he knew. Mayhap, underneath her sternness and harsh words, there was a heart which was filled with affection for him. This had been her way, perhaps, of seeing he had the best in life, that he would have a wife and family with which to surround himself and carry on the family line. He had always thought she cared for nothing more than duty and honor, but mayhap he had been mistaken in such a thing. For someone to change so quickly, so drastically, had quite taken his breath away.
It was not as though he needed his mother’s permission to bring an end to his betrothal, but the thought had never really come into his mind with any degree of true consideration, given the shame and the pain that it would bring. Now, however, he realized that his mother might be a little more open to the idea, as she knew how he truly felt about the matter.
“No,” he said aloud, his eyes turning to the breakfast tray as he tried to put all such thoughts from his mind. “No, I have given my word and I will see it is done.” He could not turn from the lady – or his mother – now, given that he had promised to marry Miss Weston. Whether he wanted to do so or not, Philip was not about to break his word, for to do so would be quite unconscionable. His word was entwined with his honour and he would not bring shame to his name by doing such a thing.
“Then you shall meet her this evening and do all that is expected,” he told himself, pouring now lukewarm coffee into his china cup. He drank it anyway, his heart filled with all sorts of questions, surrounded by a great many swirling emotions. He felt as though he might come apart at the seams, quite overwhelmed by everything that had just occurred and all that would occur later that evening.
Once you propose to her, then you will be a good deal more settled.
Gritting his teeth, Philip tried to find the determination to do such a thing that very evening, but try as he might, his reluctance continued to pull him back. No matter what he did, not matter how hard he tried, he simply could not find the desire he needed to propose to the lady. It seemed he was to be in torment for a little longer.
Chapter Seven
“My dear Miss Weston!”
Philip’s stomach twisted itself in knots as he saw his bride-to-be enter the drawing room with her father by her side. She did not look at him but greeted his mother with grace and elegance. She enquired after Lady Galsworthy’s health and, having been assured that the lady was doing wonderfully, stepped forward to greet Philip.
Still, she did not look at him. Philip cleared his throat and took her hand in his, bowing over it as he was expected to do. “Miss Weston,” he said in a voice that was a little too hoarse for his liking. “How very good to see you again.”
She smiled tightly. “I hear you have been back in London for some days, my lord.”
There was a veil covering her words and, attempting to draw it aside, Philip found himself able to discover a small hint of anger behind it. “Yes, Miss Weston,” he replied, his heart hammering in his chest as he spoke. “Unfortunately, I have been rather unwell. Becoming used to dry land again takes a little more time than I expected.” It was not the entirety of the truth, but it would do.
There was a moment of silence. Throwing a sidelong glance towards his mother, Philip saw that she was busy conversing with Lord Bridgestone, Miss Weston’s father. It was quite purposeful, he was sure, so that he would have ample opportunity to speak to Miss Weston. Her sister, Miss Harriet Weston, was also standing a little further away, although her sharp eyes lingered on them both without any sense of shame at doing so.
“I see,” Miss Weston replied, her gaze finally settling on his. Philip found her eyes to be as cool as the sea on a rough, stormy day, the ice in them beginning to freeze his heart. “You must have been terribly ill if you could not so much as rouse yourself in order to pen a short note to your betrothed.”
He swallowed hard, seeing the reason for her upset and yet finding the way that she was directing it towards him to be both insincere and foolish. “If you are filled with discontent that I did not write to you the very moment I came to shore, then you may be honest with me, Miss Weston,” he replied firmly. “Perhaps it is for the best that we are both honest with one another, since I feel that very little of such a thing has ever passed between us. If I am to tell you the truth, my lady, it is that I was not certain of the reception I would be given from you. I have had several things on my mind of late and some have taken a good deal of getting used to.” Even the fact that, as I held your hand in mine, my heart quickened a little.
Something changed in her expression, although she said nothing. He could not quite make out what it was, although there certainly was an astonishment that he had spoken to her so directly.
“Why do you not talk with Miss Weston out on the terrace?”
He turned his head to see Lord Bridgestone beaming at them both, evidently delighted with his rather impertinent suggestion. After taking a moment to regain his composure, aware of how Miss Marianne Weston and Miss Harriet Weston were both blushing furiously with the shame of what their father had said, he turned back to his betrothed.
“Of course, Miss Weston. How foolish of me to keep you here when we might talk with a little more privacy out on the terrace,” he said with a small smile that did not betray his frustration. “Might you wish to join me?” Holding out his arm to her, he did not miss the way she hesitated for a moment before accepting it. Of course, given that both their families knew of their betrothal, there was no great surprise at this from either his mother or Miss Weston’s sister, but Philip was all too aware of the other guests who, as yet, did not know of their arrangement.
The terrace was quiet and he felt Miss Weston’s hand fall from his arm almost the moment they reached it. The door was still wide open and a
few other guests came and went, all laughing and talking as they did so. He and Miss Weston stood to one side of the terrace, half hidden in shadow. Miss Weston looked directly ahead of her, her expression set hard. Philip found himself in the usual position of not knowing what to say to the lady, realizing that he had, after a moment of honesty, retreated back into himself, to how he had been before. This was how he had behaved with her before he left for India – quiet, reserved and entirely boring. Whether or not he had the desire to marry her, Philip knew that he would have to make more of an effort to converse with the lady, to know her better so that he might find the courage to propose and start the wedding plans.
“How was your time in India, my lord?”
She had not looked at him but he found himself grateful for it, given that he felt a good deal less ill at ease when she was looking away from him. “It was productive,” he replied, with a small shrug.
“I was grateful for your letters,” she continued, her voice soft, her words no longer bearing the hard edge that it had once done. “I do hope you found some enjoyment in my correspondence.”
“Of course.”
The agreement came from him without hesitation and, at that moment, Philip realized that yes, he had been quite glad of the letters. He had not realized it before now, looking back on his time in India with a perspective which was slightly different from how he had considered it during his time there.
“Truly, Lord Galsworthy?” Miss Weston turned to face him now, her face pale in the moonlight, and he was struck again by just how very lovely she was. Uncertainty laced her words and he found himself nodding fervently, eager to prove to her that he had truly been glad of them.
“Your questions were always of interest to me,” he said honestly. “I was glad to receive each letter, although I apologize that I did not always reply to you with the frequency you deserved.”
A small smile tugged at her lips and, with that, Philip felt himself relax just a little. For the next few minutes, their conversation flowed with a good deal more ease than he had expected and he found himself beginning to enjoy what they spoke of. There was a growing sense of effortlessness as they spoke and Miss Weston herself appeared to be a good deal more open than before. This was not the lady he remembered, surely? When they had parted, he had felt relief in leaving the doubt-ridden Miss Weston behind, but now she appeared to have a good deal more strength within herself, as though she had made the decision to simply get on with things as she was expected to do. Perhaps, he thought to himself, as she laughed at something he said, there was more to Miss Weston than he had allowed himself to believe. Mayhap, once the uncertainty and confusion had dissipated from her, there might be a friendship which could grow between them. He might be able to actually enjoy her company, instead of fearing that there would be nothing between them for the rest of their days. As they continued to converse, as she continued to smile, Philip felt his heart begin to release itself from its confines of doubt and frustration, a warmth beginning to spread through it as he regarded her. She was, he realized, witty and bright, with good conversation and an elegance that brought him nothing but delight. Why had he not seen in her such a light before?
“I am truly sorry I did not write to you the very moment I returned to England,” he said truthfully, seeing her smile begin to fade away. “Miss Weston, I will confess that I have been the most selfish gentleman these last few days. I have thought nothing of others, putting my own health and my own requirements before anything else.” Looking up at her, he felt a stab of guilt. “Even you, Miss Weston. That was quite wrong of me, I confess. Might you be willing to forgive me?”
There was a moment or two of complete silence. Miss Weston was looking back at him steadily, although her face was shuttered so that he could not read her expression. He could not know what she was thinking, finding himself growing more and more anxious as the moments passed.
“I think, my lord, that I have very little choice in the matter,” she said eventually, her gaze drifting away from him. “After all, we are to marry and one cannot exactly hold a grudge against one’s husband.” The corner of her mouth quirked and a wave of relief crashed all through him.
“Indeed not,” he replied, one hand at his heart as he gave her a short bow. “Thank you, Miss Weston. You are very kind.”
“This honesty you speak of, my lord,” she continued the moment he lifted his head. “I confess that I feel this has long been lacking in our… acquaintance. Even though you have been in India and I lingering here in England, neither of us have ever truly been open with the other, not even in our correspondence. Would you agree?”
He nodded. “I would,” he stated without the slightest hesitation. “I confess that I had not thought to be so with anyone of my acquaintance, but after a conversation with my dear mother earlier today…” He trailed off, caught up with his thoughts as he recalled just how upset his mother had been at his confession. Glancing up, he saw Miss Weston looking back at him with a good deal of interest on her face, waiting for him to continue. Feeling heat ripple up his neck and into his cheeks, he cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back, knowing that to be open and honest with her would require a good deal of vulnerability on his part, a vulnerability he was not at all used to. He could not tell her of the jealousy he had felt upon seeing her with another gentleman, not yet. It was all too new to him, too strange an emotion. At the very least, however, he could tell her what it was he wished for them both to be to one another. That honesty would not reveal too much of himself as yet. It would take time for them both to be open with one another, he realized, even though it was he himself who wished to be closer. “What I am trying to say, Miss Weston, is that I do not want to remain strangers. I am tired of pretending.”
A frown caught her brow. “Pretending?” she replied, looking a little confused.
It was not something he wanted to explain, realizing that he did not need to express to her how much he had despised the thought of marrying a lady he did not know and certainly did not care for, given that it would only injure her. All that was required was that he attempt to be a good deal more honest with the lady from this day forward. “That does not matter,” he said, waving a hand. “What I hope for, Miss Weston, is that we might develop our acquaintance further with every day that passes. I confess that the betrothal was rather a shock to me, but that I am resigned to it now. I –”
“Resigned to it?”
Miss Weston’s voice had become hard and Philip caught his breath, realizing what he had said.
“Miss Weston,” he began, stammering as he tried to find some way to explain what he meant. “You must understand. I –”
“I quite understand,” Miss Weston interrupted, her back stiff and eyes blazing. “You have decided to be truthful with me, Lord Galsworthy, and so the words of truth have come from your lips. You are not in any way pleased about our union and therefore are making as little effort as possible with our acquaintance. You speak of honesty, but it is only to wound me. Your words prove to me what I have long thought – that you do not wish to marry me, that you care nothing for me and have decided to make no considerable effort to further our acquaintance, to know my character and my heart.” Her eyes flooded with tears and Philip felt himself flush with embarrassment. Somehow, he had managed to make a cake of himself and, worse still, had brought Miss Weston pain.
“Do excuse me, Lord Galsworthy,” she finished, stepping past him. “I find that our conversation and your truthful words no longer bring me any sort of joy.”
“Please, Miss Weston, wait!” he exclaimed, reaching for her arm. “That is not what I meant to say. I mean, it is, but that is not how things shall always be, I am quite sure of it. I do not know you as I intend to. The furthering of our acquaintance will quite change my attitude, I am certain of it!”
You have made things all the worse.
Closing his eyes, Philip let his hand drop from her arm, aware of how she was looking at him. Th
ere was a sadness and an agony in her eyes that he could not bear to see.
“If that is the case, my lord,” she replied in a voice broken by deep, painful emotion, “if that is truly what you feel, then I expect your public proposal to occur very soon, so that we might begin preparations for our wedding day. Else I shall know that you are still as resigned to your fate as you have always been. Your lack of willingness, your lack of contentment over our betrothal will continue to hold you back.” Blinking back her tears, she lifted her chin and regarded him with an almost regal expression, back to being entirely composed once again. “Good evening, my lord.”
“Good evening,” he replied hopelessly, wishing that he could fade into the shadows and hide there until Miss Weston and the rest of his guests had left his townhouse entirely, leaving him alone with his shame and regret.
Chapter Eight
Marianne did not know what to do with herself. It had been two days since Lord Galsworthy’s celebration, two days since he had spoken to her with honesty and truthfulness, and two days since she had felt her heart smash into a million, fragmented pieces.
“Marianne, dear.”
Lifting dull eyes towards her sister, Marianne tried to smile but felt entirely unable to do so.
“You cannot still be so broken-hearted, not when you told me you had no affection for the gentleman whatsoever,” Harriet murmured, sitting down carefully in a chair adjacent to Marianne. “Whatever occurred that has upset you so?”
Marianne had not spoken a word about Lord Galsworthy’s conversation to anyone, not even to Harriet, but Harriet had immediately been able to see that there was a deep sadness growing within Marianne’s heart and had surmised that something had occurred between Marianne and Lord Galsworthy.
“You are remembering that Lord Galsworthy and his mother are to dine with us this evening, are you not?” Harriet continued when Marianne said nothing. “Along with a few other guests, of course. You must improve your countenance by then, my dear sister, else everyone shall wonder at your despairing looks and tortured eyes.” A small, sympathetic smile crossed her face as she touched Marianne’s hand before rising to her feet.
