The Proposal

by Lori Wick

  “Are you leaving?” James asking, feeling so tired he thought he could cry.

  “Just down to the common room, James. Go ahead to sleep. I’ll be back shortly.”

  Jennings had said all of this while slipping back into his jacket. A moment later he was out the door and to the stairs. He took them down and entered the room, a bit darker than he remembered, and the moment he did, a woman stood from her seat by the fire.

  “Mr Jennings?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I would beg a moment of your time.”

  “Please sit down, Mrs...” Jennings began.

  The woman didn’t answer but did resume her seat. Finely dressed and not young, she was terribly distracted, her hands twisting her handkerchief into knots.

  “Are you unwell?” Jennings asked from the seat opposite her, his heart wrung with a certain measure of compassion.

  “No, sir, I thank you, but I must tell you something. It’s about Mrs Smith.”

  Jennings’ frame tensed, but he sat still, his mind racing with what this woman could want.

  “I thought a huge injustice was being committed,” she began apologetically. “I thought I was doing the right thing when I hired Mr Hayter to represent her. Mrs Smith was our nanny for years. I thought she was wonderful. My daughter was always so quiet and well behaved.” Some emotion overcame the woman just then, and she stopped to compose herself. After a deep breath, she continued very quietly.

  “I don’t see my daughter very often; she’s moved far from London,” the woman said in obvious pain and regret. “But I did see my daughter after the trial, and from her I learned the truth.” The woman raised tortured eyes to his. “Mrs Smith was horrible to my Elisabeth. She was cruel and impatient and made sure the bruises didn’t show.”

  It was too much for the woman. Even knowing her daughter was no longer in harm’s way, the thought of what she’d been through was too much for her.

  Jennings remained quiet while the woman cried, his heart so thankful that it hadn’t taken years to learn of Penny’s pain. Nevertheless, he didn’t think anything could be done to reverse the decision of the judge. The trial was over. He could speak to a lawyer about entering new evidence, but would this Elisabeth, who now lived far from London, wish to testify? And if she was willing, would they find Mrs Smith again?

  “I don’t suppose anything can be done by the courts now,” the lady continued, “but I had to come to you. I had to make it right with you.”

  “Will you tell me your name?”

  “Mrs Dashwood of Bath. I was to your home at Collingbourne. I talked to your man. He was kind enough to tell me where you’d gone.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Dashwood. I shall look into this when I return. If the courts do want to hear further testimony, they might need to hear from your daughter.”

  “She would be more than willing to have her say about Mrs Smith. I shall write to you at Collingbourne so you’ll have my address. If you need Elisabeth, contact me.”

  And with just a soft word of goodbye, Mrs Dashwood rose and exited. Jennings stood by the fire long enough to hear a carriage pull away and assumed she was safely on her way. He mounted the stairs slowly, thoughtfully.

  Thomas opened the door, his eyes searching out some kind of reassurance. Thankfully Jennings caught his anxious gaze.

  “I’ll tell you in the morning, Thomas,” he answered the unasked question. “Get your rest now.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with Penny or Marianne, is there?”

  “It was nothing like that, Thomas—just a woman desperate to set the record straight.”

  Thomas nodded.

  “Goodnight, sir.”

  “Goodnight.”

  The lantern was still burning next to Jennings’ bed. He could see that James was sound asleep and assumed Thomas soon would be. In light of that he felt free to burn the lantern a bit longer, and he reached for his Bible.

  Tonight his mind was on God’s sovereignty. He remembered how frustrated he’d been when Mrs Smith had gotten off, but it hadn’t been long after that when he’d understood how God had been in control the entire time.

  Jennings had it in his mind to look for a verse that spoke of God’s sovereignty when he found himself in the first chapter of Second Timothy. He began to read, going over things slowly when they did not make sense, and stopping in his tracks on verse five: “When I call to remembrance the unfeigned faith that is in thee, which dwelt first in thy grandmother, Lois, and thy mother Eunice; and I am persuaded that in thee also.”

  Jennings had not been reading the Bible long, but even at that, he couldn’t recall reading about a man’s mother and grandmother in this way. It sounded to him as though Paul credited Timothy’s faith to his mother. And then his mother’s faith to her mother.

  Jennings read it several times over, determining to ask Palmer or Pastor Hurst if this was usual. He thought about it as he readied for bed—he was now well and truly tired— and even after he lay down. The lantern still on, Jennings raised himself up and looked over at the other bed. The boys were sound asleep.

  Jennings eventually turned the lantern down and laid his head on the pillow. His mind as full as it was tired, he fell asleep with the children in his prayers.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Her name was Mrs Dashwood,” Jennings explained to Marianne and the children at the breakfast table about his evening visitor. “Mrs Smith worked for her years ago, and just as with you, Penny, she was not kind. Mrs Dashwood didn’t know this at the time. She sent a man to represent Mrs Smith at the trial, and because of his defense the court let her go free. Later when she spoke with her daughter, she learned the truth.”

  “Is Mrs Smith coming?” Penny asked.

  “To find us? No, Penny. We know about her. She won’t want to be anywhere near us.”

  “So the lawyer lied?” Thomas asked.

  “No. Mrs Dashwood thought Mrs Smith was being unjustly tried.”

  “How could she not know about her own daughter all those years?” James asked, his small brow lowered.

  “I don’t know, James. I’m only glad we found out so soon.”

  Penny suddenly found all eyes on her. She looked at Jennings.

  “I didn’t like her.”

  Jennings reached over and touched her small hand.

  “It’s all over now. There’s no need to worry.”

  Jennings urged the children back to their breakfasts, but before he could return to his, he caught Marianne’s eyes on him. Before she dropped her gaze he thought he saw approval there. He wondered on it until they were in the carriage and on their way.

  Morehouse was beautiful, set on a hill amid trees of great variety. The small band of travelers were quiet as they approached. The handful of staff began to gather when they were still a long way off, and James was the first to spot them.

  “Look, it’s Murch.”

  “And Mrs Murch!” Penny added.

  The children tumbled from the carriage almost before it could stop and ran to these faithful servants.

  “How are you, Master Thomas?”

  “We’re fine, Murch. Please meet our guardian, William Jennings, and a friend of ours, Miss Walker.”

  “Welcome to Morehouse.”

  Penny was hugging Mrs Murch in a way that reminded Jennings of her relationship with Cook, and he now understood why the children had shown such kindness to his staff. And all of this was before stepping through the doors of Morehouse.

  One of the grander homes Jennings had ever seen, the foyer alone was spectacular. The woods were all a bit dark for Jennings’ taste, but the staircase that rose from the foyer area to the second floor was unparalleled. He was on the verge of telling the children how impressed he was when he realized they had moved as a group away from him.

  Jennings and Marianne watched as the children silently but resolutely approached the double-wide open doors of a study, presumably their father’s. His large desk sa
t directly in the middle of the room facing the door, and the children were drawn to it as though under a spell.

  Jennings kept his place, but Marianne went as far as the doorway to watch.

  They all seemed to be attracted to their father’s desk chair. Remaining silent and watchful, Marianne slipped in and sat on one of the sofas.

  James ran his hand along the smooth leather back of the chair and then buried his face against it to cry. His tears prompted Penny’s. She stood with her arms wrapped around the nearest armrest, her sobs coming unchecked. Thomas was in no better condition. He didn’t touch the chair or his siblings but looked down at the desk, tears flowing freely down his face.

  Marianne cried as well but didn’t move to the children. She knew that Jennings had come to the doorway, but she couldn’t turn to him. She could only cry and watch the heartbreak of these children she loved.

  Thomas was the first to contain himself. He used his handkerchief and then glanced around the room. Only then did he notice Marianne.

  “Why are you crying, Marianne?”

  “Because I’m so sorry for your pain.”

  It was too much for the oldest child. He again succumbed to tears. Hearing Marianne’s voice, Penny went to her, and it wasn’t long before the others joined her on the sofa.

  Large windows allowed a stunning view of a valley to the north, and a smattering of sunlight cast a glow on shelves of books and keepsakes.

  “It’s a wonderful room,” Marianne said after some minutes. The tears had slowed, and all was quiet. Jennings had taken a chair nearby as the sofa was full.

  “He read to us here,” Thomas said. “Almost every night.”

  “What did he read to you?” Jennings asked.

  “Many poems and plays, and always a verse from the Bible.”

  “He let Penny have a corner of his desk,” James filled in.

  “Right there.” Penny pointed to the nearest one.

  “What did you do there?”

  “I had paper like Papa. I wrote numbers.”

  It wasn’t hard to imagine for Jennings or Marianne. Jennings did the paperwork for his own estate, and Marianne had watched her father for years.

  A servant stepped into the doorway just then—it was Murch—and all five of them looked up.

  “Excuse me, sir. Mrs Murch has refreshments if anyone is thirsty,” he offered.

  Jennings turned to Thomas.

  “What do you think, Thomas?”

  “I’ll show you the way,” he said with his usual show of maturity. When he came to his feet, the rest of the group followed.

  They ate, visited some, and had a tour of Morehouse. Then Jennings and Marianne were shown their rooms. Supper was served several hours later, a fairly light meal, before Jennings suggested they make an early night of it. It was over breakfast the next morning that the real conversation began.

  “I think the three of you should go through the house and choose things you want to have with you at Thornton Hall,” Jennings said at the first meal on their second day. “You arrived in London with little more than the clothing on your backs, and you might wish to have certain things— even your beds if you like these better.”

  It was obvious that Thomas and his siblings had not thought of this, but the idea appeared to please all of them.

  “There are some items I would wish to have,” Thomas said. “I don’t think I could stand to see the house bare, but an item or two would be rather nice.”

  “Is my dollhouse too big?” Penny asked.

  “I’m sure not, Penny. We can arrange for that if you like.”

  The table fairly buzzed with talk after that. While the children discussed items of interest, Jennings turned to Marianne.

  “Do you think you could go along with Penny this morning and make a list of what she wants? I’ll have the boys start their own lists—I might even go with James—and we’ll look them over after lunch.”

  “I’d be happy to. Do you want me to steer her in any particular direction?”

  “I think not. I want to know what she wants. If we need to trim the lists before the end of the day, that’s fine.”

  “Very well. We’ll do our best.”

  They did not linger over breakfast. All three children were eager to get started.

  “Well, Miss Penny,” Marianne said when they were alone in the dining room, “where would you like to start?”

  “Upstairs.”

  “Lead the way.”

  Marianne had said this in a lighthearted manner, unaware of how serious Penelope Jennings felt about this first item. The two entered a bedroom, a masculine room with almost no frills. The room’s furnishings could only be termed practical. Over the dresser, directly across from the bed, hung a portrait. Penny stopped before it.

  “I want this.”

  Marianne could only stare.

  “Who is it, Penny?”

  “It’s my mother.”

  For the first time Marianne understood why Penny often stared at her. The resemblance was not perfect, but very distinct. For a moment Marianne couldn’t say anything, and during this silence, they heard James and Jennings come down the hall.

  “This way,” James said as he walked in. “Oh, hello, Penny. I thought you might put Mother’s portrait on your list. I was coming to add it to mine.”

  Now it was Jennings’ turn to stare. He looked at the woman who had given birth to Thomas, James, and Penny and then to Marianne. There was no missing the similarity.

  “Did you know?” Jennings asked her.

  “Not until a few seconds ago.”

  “Have we never told you?” James asked Marianne.

  “I’m sure I would have remembered, James. Penny stared at me rather intently when we first met, and while I wondered why, I never figured on this.”

  “Well, I’m glad you both want it,” Jennings said. “We’ll hang it in Thornton Hall wherever you choose.”

  This statement was greeted with smiles before the partners went on, James with Jennings and Penny with Marianne. Both pairs took notes and debated about various items. Penny cried when she saw her father’s shoes, but her eyes were dry when the children were once again in their father’s study. Nevertheless, they all crowded close and looked at the desk chair.

  “The room would be awful without it,” James proclaimed. “I want to remember it here.”

  “As do I,” Thomas added, putting his oar in.

  Penny looked uncertain but said nothing.

  Marianne felt a rescue was needed.

  “Is there another item, Penny, here on the desk or in the room, that would give you a special memory?”

  Almost immediately Penny’s eyes landed on her father’s pens and inkstand. Just moments later they were added to the list. The boys also chose items from their father’s study— a map for James, and a picture, one that had always hung over the fireplace, for Thomas. By the time they had settled on these items, it was nearly time for lunch.

  Lists in hand, they gathered around the table for that meal—excitement evident on every face—with questions as to how the items would get to Thornton Hall.

  “I’ll make the arrangements tomorrow, and then we’ll leave the next day,” Jennings told them. “If you think of something else, just inform me, but don’t feel panicked that you might be leaving something special behind. We can visit again, and if that won’t work, we can always write Murch and describe the item you want. Once arrangements are made, it might take a few weeks until things arrive, but it will feel like Christmas when they do.

  “And don’t forget,” Jennings tagged onto the end, “we’ll be accompanying the Palmers to London for school clothes not long after we arrive back. Maybe by the time we return from London, your Morehouse possessions will have arrived.”

  The children were very excited about all of this, and a bit of coaxing was needed to get James and Penny to eat.

  “I have to make sure all the doll furniture is inside” was one of Penny’s reason
s for not wanting very much of her food, but Jennings stepped in.

  “You have to be able to think clearly so nothing is forgotten, Penny, and you can’t do that if you don’t eat properly. I’ll ask Murch to get you a box so all the furniture can be packed securely, but I won’t do that until I see that you’ve eaten.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good girl. James, you’re looking a bit distracted as well. Work on your meal.”

  That child nodded, pulling his eyes from the list next to his plate and reaching for his fork.

  Jennings reached for his fork as well, but before he could eat he caught it again. When he looked up, Marianne’s eyes were just leaving him. Before she dropped her gaze, however, he saw her eyes filled with approval.

  “Will you read me a story?” Penny asked of Marianne that night at bedtime.

  “I would love to read you a story, Penny. What shall we read and where shall we read it?”

  Penny went for a fat volume on her bedroom shelf and then surprised Marianne by taking her hand and leading her downstairs. She went to her father’s study.

  “Penny, are you certain that you wish to read in here?”

  The little girl nodded, and Marianne went to the sofa they had snuggled on just the day before. She opened the book and began to read, her soft voice very soothing to the little girl tucked under her arm.

  In less than five minutes James joined them. He sat on Marianne’s other side and listened, his eyes gazing across the room with an occasional glance at the page. Penny looked at the drawings whenever the page included one, but in less than twenty minutes her small head was limp against Marianne.

  “Shall I finish this chapter, James? Would you like to hear it?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Not until Marianne smiled at him did she realize they were being watched. She looked up to find Jennings in the doorway. He stood still and watched her. As their eyes locked, Marianne couldn’t help but wonder how long he’d been standing there. For several long moments she couldn’t look away. Thankfully James’ shifting was enough to put her back on task. She read the page she was on before glancing up again to find the doorway empty. With her mind only half on the story, she finished the chapter as James wished her to do.