Chapter Three

Marianne

M arianne clenched her fists and saw that Edmund had been put to the blush.

Now my aunt imagines wedding bells ringing out for Edmund and myself this summer. And all was precipitated by a line from a novel!

“Marianne,” Selina said, “Lady Barrington has told me how beautifully you play the pianoforte. Would you perchance delight us with a piece?”

God bless Selina for coming to our rescue! She has saved us from an awkward situation– for now, at least.

“I would be happy to play,” Marianne said to Selina. “Shall we perform a pianoforte duet together?”

Selina smiled. “I am afraid you would not find me a fitting duet partner. Now, if my sister-in-law, Kitty, were here, ’twould be a different matter.”

“But you sing so beautifully, Selina,” Lady Barrington said. “Perhaps you might perform one of your airs while Marianne accompanies you?”

“That would be most agreeable.” Marianne walked quickly across the room, causing the fabric of her new dress to rustle luxuriously.

’Twill be good to put as much space as I can between myself and the man my aunt already considers I will become engaged to. Oh, heavens! How are we going to be released from this muddle?

Marianne sensed a slight movement behind her on the sofa and saw to her consternation that Edmund had buried his nose in Pride and Prejudice and was rocking with laughter.

How quickly he is able to switch his mood from acute embarrassment to comedy– just what sort of character is he? I fear he has a shallow nature which I cannot admire.

“I have a few airs here,” Selina said, standing next to the pianoforte. “I brought them in readiness, for Lady Barrington’s teas often lead to informal musicmaking.”

Marianne perused the music. “Ah! ’Tis an impressive selection.”

“Selina, my dear,” Lady Barrington said, “have you brought that entrancing song by Schubert you sang last time– the one about the girl sitting at her spinning wheel?”

“ Gretchen am Spinnrade ? Why, yes, I have,” Selina said. “Do you know this one, Marianne?”

“Yes; my mama sings this, and I have oft accompanied her.”

Edmund seemed to be taking no notice of this exchange and was still snorting with laughter. “I say! I should have spent more time reading. I had no idea novels could be so humorous.”

“How glad we are to hear this afternoon has been an opportunity to improve your education,” Selina said with a mischievous grin.

“Yes, indeed,” Lady Barrington said. “Reading is a much-underrated pastime among young men, Mr. Templeton. And you have Marianne to thank for your enjoyment, for she chose the book. She makes very wise choices– in literature, and generally, in life.”

Lady Barrington fixed Edmund with a gaze that was so ludicrously arch and knowing, that Marianne completely forgot she was displeased and found ’twas all she could do to stop herself from bursting out laughing again.

“Come and sit beside me, Edmund– if I may call you that?” Lady Barrington patted the space on the sofa beside her. “You are about to experience a musical treat beyond compare. ”

Marianne sat down at the pianoforte and launched into the brief introduction of flowing semi-quavers, then Selina’s gentle soprano was added to the texture. Nelson sat up and put his head on one side, as if paying attention to the melodious sounds.

And I would not have put Edmund down as a music lover, but he also seems very taken with our performance– and is staring at me in particular with rapt attention.

As the tragic love story unfolded, the rippling accompaniment portrayed not only Gretchen’s spinning wheel, but also the turbulent nature of the fictional heroine’s inner anguish.

Ah! And I, too, am troubled by swirls of disturbing imaginings from time to time.

“Bravo!” Edmund said at the end, leaping to his feet to applaud.

“Breathtaking, my dears!” Lady Barrington said. “What a heartfelt performance.”

“I have no idea what the song was about,” Edmund said, “because, to my shame, I know little German, but it was mighty prettily played and sung. Well done!”

“I am glad to see that you appreciate a fine musical performance,” Lady Barrington said to Edmund. “We are going to the Pump Room tomorrow to hear the band– there are so many talented players. Would you care to join us?”

My aunt has not mentioned this outing before.

“As long as no one forces me to drink from the fountain in the Pump Room, I would be most happy to accompany you,” Edmund said.

“And Selina, you are very welcome too,” Lady Barrington said.

“I thank you and would be delighted.”

“And afterwards,” Lady Barrington continued, “we might visit the Roman Baths. Marianne, have you been there before? I remember your mama once sent you to Bath for a whole fortnight to stay with your dear school friend Charlotte in Laura Place; you must have done much sightseeing then. ’Twas such a shame that I was away on holiday with my daughters during your visit, or you could have stayed here with me.”

The familiar vice closed round Marianne’s heart.

Nelson ran across the room and jumped into Lady Barrington’s arms. “Ah, my dear little one, my Nelson. Now, what was I saying? Oh, yes. When was your last visit to Bath, Marianne?”

“’Twas in the autumn of 1815,” Marianne managed.

“Yes! I remember, ’twas after... after...” Lady Barrington’s voice trailed away and she looked a little confused, then flushed scarlet, evidently regretting starting the conversation.

“I, I did virtually no sightseeing during that trip for v-various reasons,” Marianne said. “I look forward to visiting the Roman Baths tomorrow, Aunt. I am sure it will be very interesting. Thank you.”

“And does Charlotte still live in Bath?” Lady Barrington said. “She is very welcome here if you wish to offer her hospitality; I would love to meet her.”

“Her parents still live in Laura Place, but Charlotte was married last spring– to one of Richard’s fellow officers– and is now residing in the Lake District very happily with her husband. We are frequent correspondents, and I am pleased to say they are expecting a joyful event very soon.”

“How marvelous,” Lady Barrington said, putting Nelson down on the floor. “What joy children bring to a marriage and to the world. The births of my four girls were the high points of my life. How I miss them all now they are married and moved away– but I cannot wait to become a grandmother. Sometimes I amuse myself by trying to work out whether ’twill be Augusta, Amabella, Aurelia, or Alicia who will be blessed with a child first.”

Marianne bit her lip. She would not cry, for she had shed enough tears for her unborn child to last the rest of her life. But ’twas so hard when others seemed slow to remember.

“I love to visit the Baths,” Selina said, “and imagine how the Romans used to walk around wearing their togas and taking a dip in the steamy waters.”

She linked her arm through Marianne’s, squeezing quite fiercely.

Selina knows something is amiss and is offering her support– what a true friend. And Edmund is regarding me most sympathetically too.

“We will have fun there tomorrow, mark my words,” Selina said, “and perhaps even get Edmund to taste the waters again and see if they are any more agreeable.”

“You know I will not be willing,” Edmund said. “Why people think the spa water is good for you, I have no idea. And by the way, Selina, I will never forget my tenth birthday party, when you filled the water jug with spa water and slices of fruit, telling me it was a special cordial that Cook had prepared as a celebratory drink. It was beyond vile– and quite spoilt the fun.”

“Nonsense!” Selina said. “You thoroughly enjoyed all the attention, with Mama feeding you sweetmeats to take away the horrid taste. Why, you have been dining out on this tale and getting sympathy from ladies ever since.”

“Do you have a sister, Marianne?” Edmund asked. “And if so, is she quite as annoying as mine?”

“I am an only child. I oft wished for brothers and sisters– but ’twas not to be.”

I love to watch the easy banter between Selina and Edmund; they seem the best of friends as well as brother and sister. Perhaps I will achieve my own easy friendship with Edmund now we have cleared up the misunderstanding of each of us thinking the other is seeking marriage.

Edmund picked Nelson up and held him in his arms facing the mirror on the wall. This allowed Marianne to admire both Edmund’s broad back and his handsome visage at the same time.

Ah! Would it not be sublime to be held in Edmund’s arms? Lucky Nelson!

“I feel we must bid you adieu, Nelson,” Edmund said. “Farwell, little friend. We will meet again.”

Now he caresses Nelson with strong, shapely hands. What is this? Have I become envious of a little pug? And am I capable of forgetting Richard so quickly?

“How pleased I am, Edmund, that you and Nelson are friends,” Lady Barrington said. “There has been no unfortunate recurrence of his aggressive behavior towards you. I do hope this means you would like to join us on one of our early morning walks on the Crescent Lawn.”

“I would love to join you, Lady B, although the words ‘early morning’ in your invitation are slightly off-putting to a night owl such as myself.” Edmund tickled the dog behind his ears. “And yet Nelson is so adorable that I may find I can make a special effort to rise earlier in the days to come.”

“I will hold you to that,” Lady Barrington said. “But I am still curious about the reversal in Nelson’s behavior towards you. What has changed?”

“I have Marianne to thank, for when we were in Hunter’s, she showed me how to make the little chap wait for his treat by raising the paw of friendship. Although quite why being firm with a dog should result in better behavior, I do not know.”

“But everyone knows animals– and humans– are far better behaved when they have strict boundaries,” Selina declared. “You would do well to remember that, brother.”

“I am wounded by your insinuation that I have been brought up with too few boundaries and have been overindulged.” Edmund affected a distraught look and drew one arm across his face in a dramatic fashion, which caused all the women in the room to laugh heartily.

And yet, could there be some truth in the notion?

“Marianne, my dear,” Lady Barrington said, “I fear my knee is causing me a little discomfort today. Would you perhaps accompany the Templetons downstairs to take their leave, as this would spare me excessive exertion? I would be most grateful.”

“Gladly, dear Aunt. ”

I did not know my aunt suffered from a bad knee; how forbearing she has been.

As the three young people walked to the door, Lady Barrington ran to Nelson. “My sweet one! Have you enjoyed the company?”

Ah! The knee has recovered. How bizarre!

Downstairs in the entrance hall, Selina gave a sharp intake of breath. “Silly me! I have left my music upstairs.”

“I can ask one of the maids to collect it,” Marianne said.

“No need.” Selina was already making for the stairs. “I will go myself– for I cannot quite recollect whereabouts I left it, and it may take me some minutes to find.”

I think we are being toyed with.

Edmund raised a sardonic eyebrow. “And now we are all alone, for a few minutes at least. But whether by accident or design, ’tis not possible to say.”

“Whatever the reason, I am pleased we have the chance to converse,” Marianne said, “for we both know we have to put a stop to this mistaken impression that we two are...”

A playful smile on his lips, Edmund moved forward until his handsome form was but an eighth of an inch from Marianne. “That we two are what?”

Can he not hear the beating of my heart? ’Tis almost as loud as the clock behind me marking the seconds– and ’tis going twice as fast.

“I meant what I said to your aunt,” Edmund murmured. “We share a sense of humor and a common purpose.”

“But she does not realize that the common purpose is that we will neither of us submit to matrimony.”

“Nevertheless, we are bound together by these two things. You are not going back on your word, are you, Marianne? You do not want to marry, do you?”

“I never want to marry again!”

Although I find my resolve weakening with Edmund so close beside me. For it has been a long time since I have been alone with a young man, especially a man as devilishly handsome as Edmund, with soft lips begging to be kissed– ah! What sort of woman am I that I can forget my resolution this quickly?

“I do hope I am not interrupting anything,” Selina said as she appeared in the hall.

“I see you found your music,” Edmund said.

“Yes. It took quite some time. Lady Barrington helped me search the room; we had a good chat too.”

“Was the music not on the pianoforte?” Marianne asked.

“Most of it was,” Selina said. “One or two sheets had fallen to the floor and wafted into various corners of the room. No doubt Nelson had scattered them with his scampering.”

This misapprehension that Edmund and I are a match is too ridiculous. Already, Selina and Lady Barrington are behaving differently– and inventing excuses to thrust us together.

Marianne bid her guests farewell and then, alone at last, leaned against the back of the door in the entrance hall.

I must have a private and uninterrupted conversation with Edmund as soon as possible– for we must work out a way to deal with this misunderstanding to the satisfaction of all.

But how was she to achieve time alone with him? The visit to the Pump Room would not provide any privacy. Instead, they would be stared at and gossiped about by the ton ; their very presence together would reinforce the unfortunate assumption that they were a pair of love birds, soon to be married.

And that is the last thing in the world that I should ever want.

Is it not?

*

Edmund

“Sir! Wake up, sir.”

“Voyle! Damn your eyes, man. ’Tis not even light yet. How dare you wake me!”

“Sir! ’Tis urgent.”

Edmund sat upright in bed. “Papa! Is it Papa? Is he not well? I must get up.”

“No, no. I apologize for alarming you unduly. There is an emergency of a different sort– a note from a lady.”

Edmund rubbed his bleary eyes. After leaving Lady Barrington’s tea party yesterday, he had met with friends at his club, and one thing had led to another. Gambling, a late night party, an even later dinner– and then he was not quite sure he could remember what had happened after that.

Think, man, think! What did I do last night that might have caused a lady to send a note?

A vague vision of some frolicsome behavior appeared. Ah, yes! Edmund had been near Pulteney Bridge last night and one of his friends had dared him to jump into the river near the weir fully clothed.

“My God, but that was a dangerous notion,” Edmund muttered.

“I beg your pardon, sir?” Voyle said.

“Nothing! I was just talking to myself. But Voyle, my clothes from last night– are they wet?”

“No sir. They are a little muddy, perhaps, but no, not wet. If you were asking if you went for a swim in the river near the weir– the answer is no.”

“Thank the Lord!” Edmund lay back on his bed again.

“And if you are wondering how you got home, that was Carter’s doing.”

Ah! Now Edmund remembered. Carter had come across the group of young men as they had been discussing jumping into the river and had given them quite a roasting. He said ’twas high time they all grew up, started acting like respectable members of the ton, and stopped taking foolhardy risks and distressing their poor mamas.

“Yes, Carter brought you home, and I helped you to bed.” Voyle’s thin lips quivered– though whether with disapproval or amusement, ’twas impossible to guess.

“Yes, well, never mind all that now. Tell me again why you woke me so early.”

“A note came a short time ago.” Voyle held a folded piece of paper which was addressed to Mr. Edmund Templeton and marked both Private and Urgent .

“Who is it from?”

“I am not entirely sure, for I have not read it, but I believe it must be from a lady, because that is what Martha told me.”

Voyle can pretend all he likes, but I have no doubt that the whole of the downstairs staff are familiar with the contents.

Edmund opened the note and read silently.

My dear Mr. Templeton,

We need to talk– urgently. Lady Barrington is indisposed this morning– apparently her knee is playing up again– therefore I will be walking Nelson on the Crescent Lawn alone, apart from a maid. I see this as a heaven-sent opportunity for us to converse and to resolve the delicate issue of the unfortunate tangle we are embroiled in.

Yours,

Mrs. Marianne Pembroke

’Twas an odd sort of note, when one thought about it. Marianne had addressed Edmund as Mr. Templeton– depressingly formal– and she did not explain what they needed to talk about, but merely made an allusion to a tangle.

“Who delivered this note?” Edmund asked.

“I believe ’twas Jane, one of Lady Barrington’s maids. She delivered it to Martha very early this morning.”

I see– the usual channel of communication between Number 4 and Number 1.

Edmund leapt from his bed and peered through the curtains; two shadowy figures stood on the lawn with a small dog sitting at their feet.

The sun is not even up– and yet she waits.

“Will you be going outside?” Voyle asked.

“I suppose I must.”

“And what is this tangle that Mrs. Pembroke speaks of?”

“I do not believe I have mentioned a tangle.”

The dishonest devil! This proves he has read the note.

“I simply meant, sir, that there must be some sort of situation if an urgent note has been sent. And I have taken the liberty of preparing these clothes.”

“It does not matter what I wear,” Edmund said, flinging on last night’s apparel, which still lay scattered about the floor. “’Tis not a fashion parade.”

“As you wish, but if you would just allow me to help you.”

“Goddammit, Voyle! I am a grown man and can throw on breeches and a shirt without help.”

Five minutes later, Edmund was outside on the lawn, striding towards Marianne, having grabbed the first cloak from the hall he could find on the way out.

She looked divinely pretty, as always, and was wearing a black cloak with the hood up against the chill wind, with the hint of a gray gown peeping out. Nelson was mighty pleased to see him and allowed Edmund to ruffle his coat and tickle him behind his ears.

“Jane,” Marianne said, “would you mind taking Nelson for a little walk over there? Thank you. I have something particular I need to talk to Mr. Templeton about.”

Jane nodded and walked the pug a few yards away.

The maid should stand at a further distance. I know she can still hear us and will enjoy reporting back to the eager pack of servants in both our households. Oh, how I long for privacy and freedom for just one day of my life.

“We do not have long,” Marianne said, “for my aunt serves an early breakfast. ”

“Let us walk a little,” Edmund suggested. As they moved well out of Jane’s earshot, the wind tugged at Marianne’s hood until it was half down, pulling her red curls about her face.

How I long to caress those beautiful ringlets, enfold her within my arms... and more– so much more.

“Edmund! I do not believe you are taking this seriously. We are in a fix– and you know it.”

“Heartfelt apologies. And you are right; we cannot allow public opinion to push us towards the one thing that neither of us are interested in– the holy estate of matrimony.”

“So what should we do?” Marianne said. “For if I tell my aunt she is mistaken about our romance, she will only move on to the next stage of her plan to marry me off.”

“And what does Lady B have up her sleeve?”

“She will scour the entire city and present me to as many young gentlemen as she can, pushing me towards them mercilessly. I cannot express how much this fills me with horror– and I absolutely refuse to contemplate being sold off in this hideous manner.”

Her resolution not to marry again is very strong– and there is some mystery about her earlier stay in Bath, too. She seemed quite overcome with emotion yesterday when her aunt referred to her visit to her old school friend. There is much I do not know about Marianne. And much I would like to discover.

“I have deep sympathy for your plight,” Edmund said. “I know that one day I must marry, but I am fully determined not to be shackled too soon by those who think they know better. I am but five and twenty and have years of the single life ahead of me to enjoy.”

“’Tis different for me,” Marianne said. “I have been married– and will never marry again.”

How her eyes flash when she is roused! And now I think I know why she is determined not to marry again. She must have been encouraged into matrimony the first time around and found it not to her liking.

Edmund felt a sudden pang .

I pray to God no one was unkind to her. I could not bear that.

He wanted to sweep Marianne up in his cloak– and never let her go.

She is right not to marry again if she has been hurt in the past. Unless she were to marry someone who could love and protect her. Someone like me.

Edmund shook his head. What in God’s name was he thinking?

I will not give up my single life for any woman. Not for many years, at any rate. I will hold out against the evils of marriage for as long as possible– perhaps well into my forties?

Edmund did a quick calculation– if he and Marianne married when he was in his forties, there would be but a slim chance of children– little, sweet red-headed children with blue Templeton eyes. Would that not be a shame?

No sooner did the thought arrive, than it was crushed. Edmund would stick to his plan and marry for duty in later life– much, much later life.

Besides, what is the point of setting my heart on perhaps the only single woman in Bath who would never accept me? Why make life difficult?

“Edmund! You must concentrate! What are we to do?” Marianne demanded.

Edmund walked her further away from Jane again, for the maid seemed intent on diminishing the distance between them.

“I know not,” he said, “but we need to think of something, for in a few hours, you and I are to be paraded in the Pump Room, with everyone there assuming we are courting.”

They walked on in silence for a few moments, then Edmund said, “What if we do nothing?”

“Do nothing? How is that a solution? You might be used to doing nothing, Mr. Templeton; however, I am a person of resolve.”

Ah! Her use of ‘Mr. Templeton’ cuts me to the quick; she is angry with me.

“We should have a plan,” Marianne continued. “We must fight.”

“Hear me out. What if doing nothing is the plan? You have said you do not want to be endlessly paraded to potential suitors. I feel the same. I no more want to be scrutinized at every social event I go to than I want to fly to the moon. I have had years of this– of fortune hunters trying to ingratiate themselves with me.”

“I have never thought of it from your perspective. It must be hard, not knowing whom to trust.”

“It is,” Edmund said, “and so I trust no one– apart from my band of friends. And yes, we end up doing some rather juvenile things, and I busy myself with cards and gambling and going to private gatherings– because if I parade round the fashionable streets of Bath in daylight, mince around the Pump Room, and attend concerts and balls, then I am prey to all sorts of ambitious people. I am never valued for what I am– only for what I can do for people, most often in monetary terms.”

“Edmund!” Marianne said in the softest voice imaginable. Ye gods! She even had moist eyes. “I am so sorry for this.”

Edmund scuffed his heels. “I do not want you to feel sorry for me. But I will tell you something to make you laugh. I was referring to my juvenile behavior with my friends– well, last night, instead of going to bed at a sensible time like normal people, we got it into our minds that the most hilarious thing we could do would be to go down to the river near the weir. We were in our cups, which I believe is some excuse for the poor judgement, but I was dared to jump into the water there.”

Marianne took a sharp intake of breath. “But I have seen the weir when I have been near Pulteney Bridge. ’Tis a very dangerous spot. My aunt told me that an escaped convict fell into the river there last summer and was drowned.”

“Ah yes, Lord Steyne– though his body was never found.”

“Nevertheless, you should not have been anywhere near such a perilous place in the dead of night– and after drinking.”

“That is more or less what Carter said when he came across us– although he expressed the sentiment in somewhat more colorful language. He was particularly angry with me and said I was the most irresponsible brat he had ever had the misfortune to come across and that I should think of the effect my death would have on my devoted mama.”

“The loss of a child is one of the greatest pains a woman can suffer,” Marianne whispered. “Or so I have heard.”

“Anyhow, now you know what sort of a scatter-witted nincompoop I really am, no doubt you will not want to be friends with me. And to think– you would never have known about my poor behavior if I had not confessed it to you.”

“I might have guessed that you had been on some sort of adventure from your clothes.”

“My clothes? How?”

“Take a look at yourself!”

Edmund cast his eyes down; his breeches were covered in mud and had strands of river weed on the shins.

“In my defense, I had to throw on last night’s clothes, such was my hurry to obey your summons to the lawn.”

“And I do believe you are wearing a lady’s cloak,” Marianne said. “Does it belong to someone you met last night?”

“What? Merciful heavens!”

Edmund gazed at the heavy– and familiar– velvet cloak in wonder. “I must have picked up Mama’s favorite cloak from the hall in my haste. She wears this when she visits the theatre. She will kill me if she finds out I have borrowed it!”

I love to see Marianne laughing. Has she had enough joy in her life of late, I wonder?

“So,” Marianne said, “you think we should do nothing and let everyone think we are interested in each other– for then they will stop pushing us towards others.”

“Yes! Obviously this will only work in the short term, for after a while they will be nagging us to start planning our wedding celebrations. ”

“And at that point, we can think of another plan. Perhaps we will find we have irreconcilable differences– or maybe I shall discover that you have a mistress with five children? Or several mistresses?”

Edmund gave a great bellow of laughter. “I do assure you there is nothing like that in my life. Nor am I a libertine– in case you were wondering.”

“I, I was not wondering anything of the sort.”

How enchanting she looks when she blushes.

“Oh, Edmund, pray do not look at me like that. You are completely impossible!” Marianne gave Edmund a little push on his shoulder.

“And now I see you are intent on attacking me. And so the irreconcilable differences begin.”

“We are agreed, then. We will do nothing to quash the rumors, but on the contrary, we will take pleasure in playing up to them.”

“Yes!” Edmund said. “But without actually saying that we are intended for one another.”

“We may even have to indulge in slightly flirtatious behavior when we are in public– strictly for the sake of appearances.”

“Should I take you in my arms right now and kiss you, for the benefit of anyone watching?”

“You will do nothing of the sort,” Marianne said. “That would go far beyond a mere flirtation. Besides, neither of us would want that– added to which, there is no one around at this hour. Apart from Jane. We have been very careful to keep out of her earshot, but I think she would notice if we embraced, do you not?”

“Perchance she could add it to her report?”

And you may not want to kiss me, dearest Marianne, but how I long to press my lips against yours.

“’Tis time I went back to the house,” Marianne said.

“Yes, and I must go home and change into whatever Voyle has decided I should wear to the Pump Room today.”

“Hopefully ’tis something more presentable than those breeches.”

“Indeed!” Edmund said. “And look; the sun is nearly up at last. These winter days are so short.”

They both looked towards the horizon to see a solitary sunbeam trying to make its presence felt. Edmund turned back to face the Crescent. What was that glinting at an upstairs window of Number 4? Something was catching the light.

“Would you believe it?” Marianne said. “My aunt has opened her chamber window and is looking at us through a telescope.”

“I admire Lady B’s spirit,” Edmund said. “Let us wave to her!”

They did– and she waved back.

“You do know,” Edmund said, “that if we send each other messages, they will probably be read by all the servants– and the contents passed on to my mama and Lady B?”

“I had suspected that might be the case, which was why my note to you this morning was both formal, and lacking in specific information.”

“How very clever,” Edmund said. “And it gives me an idea– a way we can use the situation to our advantage.”

“How so?”

“Think how useful a note might be if we wished people to know something– without actually telling them. We could merely write a note with the information, and the servants would pass on the information for us.”

“Why yes, I see what you mean,” Marianne said. “But I fear all would rapidly become too complicated. And it does seem a trifle deceitful.”

“I suppose you are right,” Edmund said. “But we need a private and secure method of communication between us– perhaps even a place we can meet up without detection.”

“How would that be possible?”

“Leave it with me. I will talk to my sister and ask for her help. By the way– do you have a head for heights?”

*

Marianne

“Good morning, Marianne!” Lady Barrington swept into the entrance hall as Marianne was unfastening her cloak and handing it to Jane.

Nelson ran to his mistress to be petted.

“I need not ask if you had a good walk on the lawn,” Lady Barrington continued, “for I can see from your pink cheeks and general demeanor that you have had a pleasant time. Ah, if Nelson could but talk and tell me all.”

There is not the slightest hint of embarrassment from my aunt that she was caught out watching us. Instead, I must endure this absurd charade, complete with knowing glances. How Edmund will laugh when I relay this to him.

“Pray join me for breakfast,” Lady Barrington said. “The postman has been, and we have letters. You have two– one from your mama and another from a mysterious sender whose handwriting I do not recognize. I will be interested to hear about the contents of both.”

Lady Barrington and Marianne walked into the parlor.

“I see you also have letters,” Marianne said.

“Oh, yes. One from Augusta and one from Amabella. Letters from Aurelia and Alicia arrived yesterday. ’Tis my girls’ habit to write to me frequently and tell me everything in their lives. Truth be told, I insist on it. No detail is too small to interest me.”

The two ladies read in silence while they sipped their coffee. Suddenly, Lady Barrington trembled and clutched at her throat. “I cannot believe it! Can you believe it, Marianne?”

“Believe what? You have not yet told me what has happened. My dear aunt– are you unwell?”

“Here! Look at the second sheet. You must read for yourself the joyful news, for I find I cannot control my emotions.” Lady Barrington produced a large, snowy white lace handkerchief from about her person and applied it vigorously to her eyes while Marianne read Augusta’s words:

I know you will be enraptured to hear my news– I am to be a mother before the year is out! The doctor says I am in astounding health.

“I am so pleased that my dear cousin Augusta and her husband are to be so blessed,” Marianne said. “What wonderful news!”

“’Tis too, too thrilling!” Lady Barrington blew her nose noisily. “Such is my ecstasy that I cannot read any more from Augusta at present, but will see what Amabella has to say in her letter.”

“And I will read my letter from Mama,” Marianne said, pressing her fingers to her temples with a sigh. She genuinely felt joy at her cousin’s good fortune– and yet hearing of burgeoning new life, especially within the family, was re-kindling the grief for her own lost child once more.

My dear Marianne,

We miss you so very much, and Papa and I send you, and my dear sister, all our love and affection. How are you enjoying your stay in Bath? Have you been out and about in the city yet?

Do not forget that this is the year you can discard your widow’s weeds and begin looking in earnest for a new life. I know you said you would be happy to be a governess, but are you sure this would be the best way for you to achieve lasting happiness?

“Are they well?” Lady Barrington said.

“They send you their warmest wishes– but have not mentioned their own health yet. They ask how I like Bath.”

But Lady Barrington was not listening– she was clutching at her throat again. Nelson gave a short, sharp series of yaps and clawed at his mistress’s skirt.

“Shall I ring for help? You are not yourself, Aunt. Pray tell me what is distressing you. ”

“I am not distressed! I am overjoyed– again! Listen– this is from Amabella.”

My dear mama, I am to be blessed before the year is out.

“Good heavens!” Marianne said. “Both of them?”

Her dearest wish to become a grandmother will be coming true– twice in the same year.

“I must go to them at once,” Lady Barrington said. “They must be desperate for my help. Luckily, they live very near each other, and so I could easily stay with them alternately until the babies are safely delivered– and maybe for some years afterwards. I must write back directly.”

“Are you sure? Would it not be better to see how everything progresses and maybe visit later?”

“Oh, I do not know! I feel in such a tizzy– my world has been turned upside down, and I cannot think what is for the best. But perhaps you are right, Marianne, and it would be prudent to stay here a while and wait. When I think back to before my own dear children were born, why, ’twas a special time for your uncle and I– the lull before the storm. And besides, I have you to think of. ’Tis my duty to help you make a fine match without delay– for then I will be able to visit my daughters with a clear conscience, knowing I have enriched your life.”

Nelson pawed at Lady Barrington’s skirt.

“What is it, my dearest? A little piece of toastie for my special one? Look, Marianne! See how excited Nelson is to learn I am to be a grandmother.” A fleeting shadow passed across her face. “Oh, but how my dear husband would have loved this.”

“’Tis a shame he was taken from you before this joyous news.”

“Indeed, it is; but I have no right to complain, for I had many, many years with your dear uncle, whereas you have suffered under such sad circumstances.”

If only my Richard had lived. If only our sweet babe had been born.

Marianne then tortured herself with a vision of her lost child learning to walk as she held one tiny hand with Richard holding the other. For by now, the infant would have been one year old.

And in time, we might have been blessed again...

“Ah, dear Marianne, how I feel for your plight.” Lady Barrington briefly patted Marianne’s hand, before saying briskly, “Now, chin up! My word! We will soon have to get ready to go to the Pump Room– and I am sorry to say that you will have to wear your blue dress.”

Marianne buried her grief once more and gabbled a somewhat brittle reply. “Why are you sorry? I love the dress and am inordinately grateful to you for purchasing it. I felt like a princess yesterday swishing about the withdrawing room. ’Tis a long time since I have worn such a beautiful blue, and I have rarely possessed a garment of such quality and style.”

“I meant that ’tis your only new dress at the moment, as we are still waiting for Madame Dubonnet and her seamstresses to send all the others,” Lady Barrington said. “She assures me that they are working as fast as they can, but they cannot achieve miracles; therefore you will have to make do with wearing the very same dress that Edmund saw you in yesterday.”

“Heavens, Aunt, I am not so shallow that I must wear a new dress every day.”

“Nevertheless, ’twould be far better if you had something new for this most important occasion at the Pump Room. But you will be able to give your new ermine tippet its first outing, as the weather is chilly.”

I have to admit I am looking forward to wearing the wondrously soft tippet.

“Now, Marianne, who is your second letter from?”

“’Tis from my old school friend, Charlotte. She writes to me regularly.”

How comforting her presence was when I stayed in her parents’ house in Laura Place after Richard died– and her brother, too, showed me much kindness .

When Marianne opened the letter and began perusing the contents, Lady Barrington held her quizzing glass to her eye and tried to read over her niece’s shoulder.

“Do you not wish to finish Amabella and Augusta’s letters?” Marianne said.

“Ah, yes! I will enjoy hearing where they have been, with whom they have socialized, and what they have eaten– the minutiae of their lives. I positively thrive on knowledge.”

The two ladies read in silence again.

My dear Marianne, the letter from Charlotte said, I trust this finds you well. I have been thinking of you lately, and of dear Richard too.

...and I have a very special question to ask, which I long for you to accept with all my heart. When our baby is born in the spring, would you do us the very great honor of being their godmother? I can think of no sweeter or kinder person to play this role in our child’s life than you, dearest friend. If this is in any way the wrong thing to ask– too soon, or not what you desire– then I will of course understand, but we both sincerely hope you will accept and also that ere long you will be able to come and visit with us. The Lake District is a most beautiful place, and I know you would enjoy walking here, especially when the weather is better. Please know that you are welcome in our house at any time.

Marianne’s heart fluttered with joy. She was to be a godmother! She would be a part of Charlotte’s family forever. And perhaps she would find a way to go to the Lake District– for her stay in Bath would come to a natural end once Lady Barrington realized she had no serious intention of marrying anyone.

I can return to my parents for a while, but then I am determined to strike out and earn my own living. Would it not be convenient if Charlotte knew a family near her in the Lakes who were looking for a governess? Would that not make for a pleasant life ?

“Augusta has had plenty of trips to the theatre recently,” Lady Barrington remarked.

“How lovely,” Marianne answered automatically, her head far away.

“And Amabella has ordered a new red silk evening gown; ’tis apparently such a clever design, it will fit her for many months to come, possibly till the very last weeks.”

“Fascinating,” Marianne murmured.

Lady Barrington folded both her letters and put them flat on the table. “That is all my dear ones’ news for now. I will write to them this evening; they will be thrilled to hear from me.” Then she stood behind Marianne. “I see your friend is inviting you to the Lake District. What a shame, for that would have been an interesting trip, but you will be far too busy here with Edmund, planning and so forth.”

“Planning what?” Marianne said innocently.

“Marianne! I know exactly what is blossoming between the pair of you. I know the truth.”

You certainly do not! At least I hope that is the case.

“I will finish reading my letter on another occasion,” Marianne said, “for I need to get ready for our trip to the Pump Room.”

“Of course, my dear. Tis important to look your absolute best for Edmund– and for the ton , who will be out in force once the word gets round.”

A few minutes later, in the privacy of her chamber, Marianne found an opportunity to finish Charlotte’s letter.

...now you are in Bath again, I do hope that you will find time to visit my parents in Laura Place. As it happens, my brother Frederick is on leave from his regiment and is staying with them for a time– he is very fond of you and often asks after your health.

Yours affectionately,

Charlotte