by Rose Pearson
“That pleases you, I hope, to hear this,” he stammered when she said nothing. “I am not pretending to feel such things as I have stated, Miss Weston – Marianne.”
At this, she pulled her hand away slowly, settling them both in her lap. “Miss Weston, if you please, Lord Galsworthy.”
He frowned. “My dear lady, if we are to be wed, then surely we can allow ourselves a little intimacy.”
“Once you have proposed to me, then perhaps,” she agreed with a slight lift of her shoulders. “But as that has not yet occurred, I am of the mind that we should remain in all propriety.”
The desire to fall on his knees and ask her to wed him battled at Philip’s heart for a moment, but he pushed it aside. There was still pain, still mistrust on her part, and he wanted to remove such emotions from her before he did so. That would require him to court her, as he had planned.
“Then might I call on you tomorrow afternoon?” he asked slowly. “I have been neglectful of you and I do not wish to be so any longer. I hope to resume our courtship, Miss Weston, if you will allow it.”
A tiny smile caught her lips but it was gone in a moment. “Tomorrow afternoon would be more than suitable, my lord.”
He inclined his head, feeling a sense of relief fill him. “Thank you, Miss Weston. I am looking forward to it already.”
Turning her gaze back towards the theatre stage, Miss Weston let out a long, audible sigh. Philip wanted to ask her what the matter was, wanted to reach for her again, but forced himself to remain where he was. He could not push her, not yet. Not when she was still so vulnerable, still so unsure of him.
“This play always has such a tragic ending,” she murmured as he settled his gaze on the stage, just as she did. “There is always so much death, so much pain, so much to endure.” Glancing at him, her lips tugged into a rueful smile. “And all because of a misapprehension, is it not?”
Philip considered this for a moment, wondering what Miss Weston was trying to say by such a statement. “And yet, I find myself almost jealous of the two characters in this play, Miss Weston. They had such a love for one another that nothing could break it apart. Only death took one from the other and, even in that, they were joined in the end. To find such a love, such a passion as that must be very rare indeed, I should imagine.”
She blinked, her color rising just a little, as though she had not expected him to make such a considered remark.
“You think about such things as that?” she asked a little cautiously. “You think of love?”
“Is that not what every person thinks of?” he asked, feeling his heart opening towards her all the more. “Is that not everyone’s desire? To be able to love freely and to know that one is loved in return, just as our fated Romeo and Juliet did?” They shared a glance and Philip felt his heart lift in a sudden delight. There was something between them now, he could feel it. Something that he prayed would only grow and flourish so that they might step forward into matrimony and happiness.
The rest of the evening was spent talking about all manner of things, with neither Miss Weston nor Philip paying any particular attention to the play itself. They bid each other goodnight and, as Philip pressed his lips to Miss Weston’s hand, he saw her blush and look away. That gave him more joy that he could express and he found himself smiling all the way home.
Chapter Thirteen
“You appear to be in rather better spirits these days, my dear.”
Marianne looked up from the letter she was writing to find her father looking at her with a fondness she had not expected to see. “Thank you, Father,” she said, putting down her quill. “I feel a good deal better.”
Her father nodded sagely, as though he knew precisely why such a thing was. “Indeed. You have Lord Henry to thank for that, I think.”
“No, Father, I –”
Waving a hand, her father came over to her and pressed her shoulder lightly, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. “I am just glad to see you so changed, my dear.”
“Thank you,” Marianne whispered, tears beginning to flood her eyes almost at once, such was the kindness of her father. Ever since their conversation almost a week ago, he had changed in his manner towards her substantially. It was as though he realized that he had not been as considerate as he had thought and she could not help but appreciate that.
“Now, about Lord Galsworthy,” he continued, coming around to face her. “I have considered the matter at length.”
Marianne’s stomach began to swirl. “He has been very attentive these last few days,” she interrupted, conscious that her father might not be aware of this fact, given that he had been in his study or out of the house whenever Lord Galsworthy had come to call. “Do you remember I spoke you last evening of the walk we had taken in the park only yesterday?”
Her father frowned. “Yes, I am more than aware of that, Marianne, but one thing still concerns me.” Looking at her steadily, he spread his hands. “He has not yet proposed to you.”
“That is because we are courting,” Marianne explained, unwilling to admit that she found herself still a little confused over her betrothed. “He is ensuring that we know one another well enough before the banns are called.”
Lord Bridgestone did not look particularly convinced. “I had intended to speak to him directly,” he murmured, frowning hard. “I think it best to remind him of his betrothal and his responsibilities to you. Indeed, I had not thought of staying in London for the little Season also, for I had thought you would be married by then, and Harriet can find herself a gentleman next Season, but now it appears as though we are to linger in London longer than I had planned. I confess, I do not like to linger, not when there appears to be no purpose to it.” His frown lifted slightly as he turned considering eyes onto her. “But, then again, there is still Lord Henry. He is still eager to court you but, of course, I have not given him permission. Perhaps I ought to inform Lord Galsworthy of this so that he might either propose to you or allow you to be free from the betrothal.”
“Father, please,” Marianne interrupted hastily. “You need not say a word to Lord Galsworthy. Our acquaintance is improving with every day that passes and I do not wish anything to occur that might bring any sort of difficulty to what has already been a trying situation.”
This did not appear to please her father, for he muttered something gruffly under his breath, shaking his head to himself before sighing heavily. “Very well,” he said after a few moments. “But if nothing has occurred before this time next week, then I shall speak to Lord Galsworthy myself, Marianne.”
“Thank you, Father,” Marianne replied, her stomach swirling with tension. “I quite understand.”
He left the room still murmuring darkly, leaving Marianne to sit back in her chair awash with a sudden relief. Closing her eyes, she drew in her breath slowly, forcing her heart to settle back into its usual rhythm. Everything she had said to her father was quite true, for she did not wish him to speak to Lord Galsworthy simply because they had been rubbing along rather well together the last few days. He had done as he had promised, calling upon her every afternoon and taking her either for a walk about the park if it was not too cold, or to the bookshop, always accompanied by Hetty, for propriety’s sake. Marianne found that she was rather looking forward to his company now, feeling a swell of excitement catch at her as she glanced at the clock, knowing it was but a few hours until she saw him again.
Returning to her letter, she continued writing quickly, even though it was only a few lines she intended to write. Reading it over, she found herself smiling happily as she finished it with the words, ‘Earnestly awaiting your return’, before signing her name.
For whatever reason, over the last week, she and Lord Galsworthy had begun to exchange letters. She had been most surprised when the first one had arrived at her door the morning after their visit to the theatre, breaking it open to read the words written within. It had been very short but had thanked her for her company the previous evening
and told her just how much he was anticipating his visit to her that same afternoon. She had not written back to him until the evening, once he had left from his afternoon call. She mentioned how glad she had been of his conversation and his company, hesitating only once before finishing her letter with the words she had always used.
Even now she wrote them, discovering that in her heart she truly was looking forward to being in his company once more.
Sanding it, she quickly folded it up, sealed it and rang the bell, waiting for the maid before telling her to send the letter to Lord Galsworthy at once. Then, with only an hour or so before he was due to arrive, she hastened up to her room to prepare herself for his visit.
As the maid restyled her hair, Marianne reflected on just how much things had changed in her own heart with regard to Lord Galsworthy. This time last week, she had been utterly broken-hearted, convinced that Lord Galsworthy would never feel anything real for her and that he would go into their marriage with reluctance and unwillingness. Now, she felt herself convinced that this was not the case, that her betrothed was, in fact, almost eager to wed her. The way he had spoken deeply, so honestly, about the love that he believed almost everyone longed for had spoken to her heart. She had seen the vulnerability deep within him and had responded to it. Had he not been honest with her, then she might never have known that he too longed for the same things as she: to have love dwelling in her heart, and to have that love returned. Of course, having had an arranged betrothal, she had never considered that such a thing would be possible, but mayhap, in time, it might blossom between them. There was certainly an affection for him now in her own heart and she was quite sure he felt something akin to her own affection, for the way he looked at her now was so very different. There was a warmth in his gaze, a happiness in his smile that had not been present before. It was as if, having moved past the difficulties which had first met them, they had begun to uncover one another’s true self. Marianne found herself more free in his company than she had ever been before, although why he had not yet proposed to her, she could not say. That was the only difficulty which still lingered in her mind, still tore at her heart. Was there a reluctance there? Or was it that he simply desired to know her better before the banns were called?
“Mayhap I should ask him,” she murmured to herself, startling the maid who was just finishing with her hair. Flushing, Marianne waved for her to finish before deciding to keep the rest of her thoughts entirely to herself.
“May I say that you look quite wonderful this afternoon, Miss Weston?”
A blush caught her cheeks. “Thank you, Lord Galsworthy,” she replied as the carriage came to a stop. “You are very kind.”
He smiled at her, his eyes brightening with warmth. “It seems we have arrived,” he stated as the carriage door opened.
Marianne did not hesitate, climbing out carefully. Hetty followed them, closely, but not so closely as to intrude upon their privacy. Lord Galsworthy offered her his arm and she took it at once, feeling her heart swell within her as she did so.
“Now,” Lord Galsworthy said, spreading his arm out towards the magnificent building before them. “This gallery ought to delight and entertain you quite thoroughly, Miss Weston. And, if it does not, then I must pray that my conversation does so instead. Given my previous failures, I can only hope that it will do so today.”
She laughed and patted his arm as they began to walk together, eliciting a wide grin from him. “You need not think so poorly of yourself any longer, Lord Galsworthy. Your conversation has much improved this last while. In fact, I greatly enjoy conversing with you.”
His smile faded but was replaced with a look of delight. “Is that quite so, Miss Weston?” he asked, looking at her with such an intensity that it quite took her breath away. It was as if he was not quite sure whether or not he could believe her.
“It is quite true, I assure you,” she stated firmly, seeing his expression of sheer joy, which brought a smile to her own face. “I think we are rubbing along quite well together, Lord Galsworthy.”
“You cannot know how much joy that brings me,” he replied in a voice which was a little tight with emotion. “I have always feared that I…” He trailed off, not looking at her as his jaw worked for a moment. They had stopped walking by now and her hand slid from his arm as she turned to face him, wanting to look into his face.
Lord Galsworthy still remained silent. She waited, her heart quickening all the more. “What did you fear, Lord Galsworthy?” she asked, unable to bear the silence as he still let his gaze drift away from her.
“I have always feared that I was making you deeply unhappy by insisting we honour our betrothal,” he said slowly. “I was torn over it for some time, I will admit, but I simply could not let you go, even if I saw that you could have found happiness with another.”
Slowly, his gaze lifted and Marianne felt herself shiver with the intensity of his eyes. She trembled violently as he took her hand, looking deeply into her eyes.
“Have I chosen the wrong path?” he asked, his voice a little hoarse. “Did I take you from the better, more deserving gentleman?”
In a rush, Marianne realized that Lord Galsworthy was talking of none other than Lord Henry, and a flush crept into her cheeks almost at once. “My lord, Lord Henry is nothing more than an acquaintance. Whilst I will admit he has been more than attentive; my heart has never pined for him. You need not concern yourself with that.” Although, Marianne had to admit that to know that Lord Galsworthy had been considering her so carefully, had been willing to give up their betrothal so that she might be happy and content, meant a very great deal to her. That was kindness itself, that was the consideration and the care she had always hoped to see. Her heart swelled with a sudden, strong affection and she squeezed his hand. “You need have no doubts about my contentedness in this situation, my lord,” she finished reassuring him. “I am more than happy, I assure you.”
The smile on his face was one of relief and, turning, he offered her his arm, which she accepted without hesitation.
“Come, Miss Weston,” he began, clearly delighted with what she had shared with him. “Let me endeavour to make you as happy as you have made me this afternoon.” So saying, he led her into the gallery and their afternoon together began.
“You look very contemplative, Miss Weston.”
Marianne started visibly, only to feel Lord Galsworthy’s hand on her arm for a moment as though to steady her. Heat pooled in her belly, sending sparks all through her as she turned a little to look at him.
“Are you quite all right, Miss Weston?”
“This caught my attention,” she murmured, gesturing towards the large painting that hung on the wall of the gallery. “It seems so… freeing.”
Lord Galsworthy turned to study the picture himself, his expression growing dark for a moment. Marianne wondered at it, for the painting was one of the sea crashing wildly onto the shore. There was such beauty in the strokes that she felt as though she herself were almost standing in the middle of the beach, letting a handful of sand run through her fingers, the chill sea air blowing through her curls.
“The sea is not a place I consider favourable,” Lord Galsworthy murmured, shaking his head to himself before turning to face her. “The voyage to India was not one that I enjoyed in any way, although it was a little easier on the return.”
She turned to him, having quite forgotten that he had sailed so far across the world. “Oh, but did you never once feel the sense of freedom this picture conveys?” she asked almost breathlessly. “Did you never once stand on the deck and stare out at the wide expanse in front of you, without having any idea as to where you were?” She sighed dramatically, one hand pressed to her heart. “I would give anything to see the ocean.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You have never seen the ocean?”
“Never,” she replied emphatically. “I do hope to see it one day soon, although I cannot say when.” She smiled softly, feeling her heart quicken wit
h nervous anticipation as she continued to speak. “Mayhap my wedding trip might be the opportunity I have been waiting for.”
Lord Galsworthy seemed to jerk a little at this but, much to her relief, he smiled and did not appear to be in any way ill at ease as she had expected.
“Perhaps it would,” he agreed, offering her his arm again. “Might you like to walk a little further through the gallery with me, Miss Weston? There are, I am quite sure, several more paintings to see.”
“But of course.”
As they walked into a smaller, rather dark room, which appeared to be filled with a good number of sombre paintings, Marianne became all the more aware that her heart had not slowed down its frantic pace in any way whatsoever. In fact, it had quickened all the more as she had taken his arm and now the urge to stay close to him continued to grow. The room was entirely empty, other than a gentleman seated in the corner who, she presumed, was meant to ensure that no-one touched nor took any of the paintings. However, it appeared as though he was sound asleep and he certainly did not even move as they walked into the room.
“This is a little melancholy,” Lord Galsworthy murmured quietly, drawing closer to a few paintings on the wall. “I would never have any such works in my home, for I fear they are much too gloomy.”
She laughed and pressed his arm. “On this matter, I quite agree, Lord Galsworthy. I prefer paintings which are brighter and more cheerful, and intend to fill my home with all such manner of things which will make me smile every time I see them.”
He turned to her then, letting her hand free of his arm. “You make me smile almost every moment that I am with you, Miss Weston,” Lord Galsworthy said, his voice quiet but his eyes filled with a deep intensity that sent a trembling all through her. “I have never deserved to have been given a second chance to prove myself, but your kind heart and sweet nature have blessed me with more than I have ever deserved.” His jaw worked for a moment but he did not remove his gaze from hers. “I ought never to have turned my back on you and run, Miss Weston.”
