Chapter Nine

Marianne

“W ake up! Oh, please, madam; wake up!”

“I am awake. What is it? Is Lady Barrington unwell?”

Jane shook her head. “No. And we must keep our voices down. ’Tis a situation– or will be soon.”

“But ’tis not yet light.”

“That is the point of dueling at dawn,” Jane said. “You have to be ready far before first light.”

Marianne gasped. “A duel? Who is involved?”

“Mr. Templeton.”

“Mr. Edmund Templeton?”

Jane nodded.

Marianne started dressing rapidly in the most practical clothes she could find. “Tell me all you know, Jane. Quickly! There is not a moment to lose.”

Jane explained to Marianne that Edmund had come back home yesterday in a terrible state and gone straight to his room. Cook had asked if he wanted sandwiches sent up, or a drink perhaps, but he had said no, for he could not stomach anything– he just wanted his valet. Voyle had stayed in Edmund’s room for a long time, and then left the house with a grim face. He would not say where he was going, only that Mr. Templeton had sent him out to procure a very important item and that Voyle was to be Edmund’s second in a duel.

“And what did Mr. Templeton ask Voyle to get for him?” Marianne asked.

“A pistol,” Jane said. “There is already a sword at Number 1 he can use, although Voyle thinks it might be rather blunt, for no one can quite remember when ’twas last used.”

“But whom is Mr. Templeton to fight– and where?”

“A certain Captain Hasket– they are to meet beyond the Crescent Fields to the west. His second is his friend, Captain Hardy.”

“Do you know why?” Marianne said.

“I do not. They say some soldiers pick fights deliberately.”

“And is anyone else in Number 1 aware of this?”

“The news has spread, but only below stairs.”

Marianne sighed. “Now, listen carefully, Jane. You are to go to Number 2, find Carter, and ask for his help. And then go to Number 3.” Marianne gave a small sob before she could continue. “There, you should ask Doctor Fitzgerald to attend– as a precaution, in case any person is injured.”

Or worse!

“Then you must go back to the house, Jane, to await my return. And keep your own counsel. I mean it!”

“What will you do, madam?”

Marianne swept her long hair away from her eyes and snatched up a ribbon to tie it back. “I intend on helping Mr. Templeton out of his predicament. Pray God I am not too late!”

Courage roared through her body as she ran from the house.

“No, Nelson,” she whispered as the dog slipped out of the door behind her. “You must stay inside. ’Tis not safe!”

But Nelson scampered merrily ahead across the cobbles.

Oh, I should take you back– yet time is of the essence.

Marianne soon caught up with the pug. “You must be a good dog, then, and make no sound. Come! Follow me.”

How could this situation have happened? Marianne fled past the yew tree where she and Edmund had embraced so recently.

His sweet lips! If anyone harms him, I will challenge them to a duel myself.

She ran and ran across the fields, then veered to the right, to a wild, hilly stretch– ’twas an area she had never been to before.

I will conceal myself behind this tree, for I can see shadowy figures over there, in the mist.

“Nelson! Nelson! Come here, my little one,” she whispered.

The pug ran to her and cowered by her ankles; could he sense something was gravely amiss? Marianne bent down to caress his damp coat, and as she did so, her hair escaped its hastily tied ribbon and her curls cascaded over her shoulders. Flinging them back impatiently, she bit her lip.

What should I do now? Call out to the men, and tell them to desist? Or await help?

’Twould not be long before the arrival of Carter’s reassuring presence, surely? But what if a passerby saw and went to fetch a constable? Oh, then there would be trouble.

As the mist lifted slightly, Marianne could see the two officers in their uniforms.

And there is Edmund! The other figure must be Voyle.

Marianne was too far away to see Edmund’s countenance, but she could imagine the fear and panic that was sweeping through his mind. She lifted Nelson into her arms and decided to risk moving a little closer.

For how will I be able to intervene if I am at this far distance?

Very soon she stood but yards away from the men, concealed behind another tree. The four men were talking to each other, with Voyle holding both a pistol and a sword, which the officers seemed to find very droll.

I want to run forward and hold the sword to the first officer’s throat, and threaten the other with the pistol! How dare they have involved Edmund in this farce ?

Very soon Edmund and one of the officers– it must have been Hasket– stood back-to-back, each holding a pistol. They were walking away from each other and the sound of counting could be heard, when suddenly, Marianne could bear the tension no longer. Flinging Nelson from her arms, she ran between the men.

“No!” she cried. “You cannot do this! ’Tis against the law, and I will not allow it.”

Marianne heard the sound of shouting, and then Carter appeared, snatched Hasket’s pistol, and tackled him to the ground, while George pulled Hardy’s hands behind his back, forcing him to lie face down in the mud.

“Edmund, my darling!” Marianne screamed, running towards him. “You are safe! Oh, thank the Lord!”

But Edmund did not look pleased. “You put yourself in danger, Marianne. And you should not have stopped the duel. I was defending your honor.”

“My honor? There is no need! Who cares if these vile officers said anything untoward? I only care that you are safe. I cannot believe these villains forced you into a duel.”

“They did not force me. ’Twas my idea.”

“ Your idea?” Marianne flinched and took a step back. “How could you be so half-witted as to endanger your life? Did you not consider all the people who love you? What about your parents, your sister and brother? And what about– everyone else who holds you dear?”

I love him too! But I am not about to tell him now, for I am furious that he has risked everything. How could he be so selfish?

Hasket and Hardy were on their feet now, both liberally smeared with mud, and Carter was giving them a lecture. The gist was that if they breathed a word of this– ever, to anyone– he would report them to their commanding officer and ensure they were dishonorably discharged.

“But ’twas not our idea,” Hasket said.

“Exactly,” Hardy agreed. “The man made an idiotic challenge. ”

“You took advantage of a young man who knew no better,” Carter roared. “You are in His Majesty’s Armed Forces and have a duty to the crown to behave in a responsible way. Now, begone!”

Hasket and Hardy needed no further invitation to slink away.

How magnificent Carter is! I knew he would get this dangerous situation under control. Why, if Edmund possessed but an ounce of Carter’s sound sense, how different his life might be. And mine, too.

“Marianne,” Edmund said. “I am sorry.”

“’Tis too late for apologies,” she said. “You have behaved disgracefully. Why do you never consider the consequences of your actions?”

Why am I saying this? Edmund came close to losing his life this morning. Ah! Think what a dark world ’twould be without his unique spirit.

“Lord Templeton will have to be told of this,” Carter said, “for the news will be spreading amongst the servants as we speak.”

“No!” Edmund said. “Not Papa, I entreat you. He thinks little enough of me as it is. I will perchance now sink so low in his estimation as to be unwelcome in his house.”

Oh, poor, poor Edmund! His face is a picture of abject misery. But he should have thought of what Lord Templeton might say before he made his rash challenge.

“We should disperse,” Carter said. “’Tis fast becoming light, and discovery is unthinkable. George, could you make sure Marianne and Nelson get home safely to Lady Barrington’s? The rest of us will follow on separately to lessen the danger of discovery.”

With Nelson scampering at her feet, Marianne walked back with George across the fields.

“I do hope we do not meet anyone on the way back,” Marianne said. “I will not know what to say.”

“We might have to concoct a story, if challenged,” George said. “Perhaps Nelson was keen to leave the house for reasons of nature? You opened the door for him and waited, but he would not come back to you, and so you had to chase after him through the fields. I might have been out on a walk and come across you, and offered to escort you home.”

“That sounds a little unbelievable.”

George grinned. “I am sorry! I am not much used to lying.”

“We are only put in this position because of Edmund’s misjudgment,” Marianne said.

She stumbled slightly on a tuft of grass and George lent her his arm for support.

“I do not condone Edmund’s behavior,” George said, “and yet he thought he was taking an honorable path– the route many in our present society think is a good solution to a perceived insult.”

Perhaps he acted no worse than any other hot-blooded young man in a privileged position. I have been very hard on him.

Once back at the Crescent, George escorted Marianne to the servants’ entrance at the back of Number 4, where Jane was waiting.

“I leave Mrs. Pembroke in your capable hands, Jane,” George said. “She has had a tiring– and shocking– morning, and I am sure you will do your best to look after her.”

“Of course, sir.”

“I prescribe sweet tea, a breakfast tray in her room, and a morning of rest with little exertion and no excitement.”

“We had best move quickly then, sir, for if Lady Barrington becomes aware of this...” Jane quickly covered her mouth with her hand.

George laughed. “I see what you were about to say, Jane. Once Lady Barrington knows what has been going on, there will be little rest in the house and a considerable amount of excitement. Am I right?”

Jane’s face became quite pink. “I could not possibly say, sir.”

“Quite right,” George said with a broad grin. “And now I must go home.”

“Not without my heartfelt thanks,” Marianne said. “You have been so kind, Doctor Fitzgerald.”

“Please, call me George. There is no need for formality, especially after all we have experienced. Now, ’twill be nigh impossible for me to keep certain events secret from my wife, so what say you– shall I send Selina over to keep you company for a while this morning? Will that suit?”

“I would like that very much,” Marianne said.

As luck would have it, Marianne managed to get upstairs without encountering Lady Barrington, who, unusually for her, was still fast asleep. Shortly after that, Jane brought up a tray.

“There is everything the doctor ordered here, madam; you enjoy a good breakfast, and I will fetch hot water.”

“Thank you, Jane,” Marianne said gratefully. “And I will require your help combing out these tangles too.”

She smiled ruefully as she looked in the mirror. Her hair streamed exuberantly down her back; ’twas entirely wild after the early morning mist had wreaked its own peculiar havoc.

Later, Selina arrived and sat with Marianne in the withdrawing room of Number 4.

“Is Lady Barrington out?” Selina asked.

“Yes– she is making a few calls this morning but will be back soon. I said I felt a little fatigued and would prefer to stay at home.”

“Did she not ask the reason?”

“No. I think she assumed ’twas a womanly complaint.”

“I have been quite fatigued of late,” Selina said. “And ’tis definitely a womanly complaint. I have only had confirmation of what it means very recently– yesterday, in fact.”

“You mean?”

Is Selina expecting a baby? She has looked slightly wan since my return from Clifton. Oh, how I hope I am proved correct!

“I mean,” Selina said, “that there is to be a blessed event!”

Marianne embraced her friend warmly, offering hearty congratulations. “I could not be more pleased!”

And how thrilled I am to realize that I can now rejoice in another’s good fortune without the deep pain of my loss gnawing uncontrollably at my heart .

“George says ’twill be before the end of the year, in the autumn,” Selina said. “We wish this to be kept private from the wider world for now, for ’tis early days, but I wanted to tell you, dearest Marianne.”

“What is to be kept private?” Lady Barrington stood before them with an extremely inquisitive look on her face.

She makes so little noise on entering a room; ’tis quite extraordinary.

“Oh, nothing,” Selina and Marianne both said at precisely the same time.

“Well, no matter, for I have some news– ’tis all over the city– and it concerns Edmund. He is to be sent away to Templeton Park for a while so that he can ‘come to his senses.’ Is that not strange? What could he have done wrong?”

*

Edmund

Edmund sat in his chamber that afternoon, staring at the trunk on the floor which had already been packed by Voyle.

I have been lectured by Carter, and reprimanded by Papa; Mama has given me hurt looks and retired to her bed with a megrim, and Marianne is not pleased with me. Is there anyone I have not disappointed today?

He looked at the blank paper in front of him and picked up his quill pen.

My dear Marianne,

I must see you before I leave. I have much to apologize for.

Then he screwed the letter into a ball and threw it into the fire. Despair swept over him like the dark clouds that presage thunder.

’Tis very hard to put one’s soul on a piece of paper– but I am to be sent away tomorrow at first light for God knows how long and must communicate with my darling.

What was it his papa had said when he had returned in disgrace from the failed duel?

“You will stay working on the estate for as long as it takes you to grow up.”

Growing up sounded rather a lengthy process, perhaps months or years– and Edmund could not bear to be parted from Marianne for hours or even minutes.

He tried again.

My dear Marianne,

I love you and respect you. Perhaps in the years to come, if I decide to marry, I might want to marry you. What do you think?

That was truly appalling and went the way of the first attempt. Ah, well! They said the third is sometimes the best, did they not?

My dear Marianne,

I long to see you before I leave for Templeton Park.

With all my love forever,

Edmund.

PS Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?

“Is it all right if I come in, sir?” Voyle was at the door. “I have a few extra items to place in your trunk.”

“Do whatever you want, Voyle. I have no say in my life anymore.”

“Very good, sir. I will tidy your room a little as well.”

Edmund flung himself onto the bed and pretended to read a book while Voyle busied himself for quite a while.

“I have finished now, sir.”

“Thank you, Voyle. I hope you will be ready early tomorrow, for we must make off at first light.”

Voyle twitched his nose. “I am sorry to say that Lord Templeton’s instructions to me are that I am to stay here.”

“What!” Edmund was aghast. “But how will I manage without you?”

“I believe Lord Templeton expressed an opinion on that– but ’tis not one that I am at liberty to repeat.”

“I bet he did,” Edmund said bitterly. “I will wager he said that I would have to manage on my own for once and stop expecting to be mollycoddled.”

Voyle looked at the ceiling and Edmund knew he had guessed correctly.

“Will that be all for now, sir?”

“Yes, thank you. You may go.”

Now, where was I?

Edmund sat down and read through his third attempt at a love letter again.

This is completely unsatisfactory. ’Tis too direct– for there are bridges to build between the two of us before I can get anywhere near declaring myself. It also reads like the ravings of a lovesick milksop.

Edmund crumpled up his third letter to Marianne and tossed it into the flames, to join the others.

He knew there was precious little point in writing to her anyway, whether or not it read like the ramblings of a jingle brained young whippersnapper– for he had no means of having the note delivered that would save it from being scrutinized by servants, with the contents then being relayed to other interested parties such as his mama and Lady Barrington.

Edmund ran down to the front door. He would ask his sister if she could help him have a private meeting with Marianne before he left for the country.

“And where do you think you are going, Edmund?” Lord Templeton was sitting in the parlor with the door open.

“I am going to see Selina,” Edmund said, “to bid her farewell.”

“I think that is acceptable,” his papa said, “but pray proceed straight to Number 3– do not linger in the street– for there is plentiful gossip abroad concerning you. We do not wish the Templeton name to be besmirched by the gabsters of Bath any more than necessary.”

“’Tis not my fault that the ton are such chinwaggers,” Edmund said hotly.

“Ah, but it is, for you have given them something extra juicy to wag their chins over, have you not?”

Edmund fully hoped that while he was away there would be so many scandals of such mighty proportions that everyone would instantly lose interest in him and he would be ordered to return forthwith.

Or perchance there will be exciting news. There is a rumor abroad that the Prince Regent himself is to attend a ball in Bath soon; what if this turns out to be true?

When Edmund arrived at Selina’s house, he did not at first find her as accommodating as he would have hoped, for he had quite thought she would offer to go round to Number 4 and fetch Marianne directly.

“I will not do that,” Selina said, “because I am not convinced she wishes to converse with you.”

“Why would she not?”

“She is annoyed with you. Angry, even. Surely you realize that? You have not covered yourself in glory today, Edmund. Naturally, we are all mighty pleased that you have not been shot dead with a bullet through your heart, but you have caused Marianne– and everyone else– great worry. Besides, there is no point in my going to fetch her, for I know she is not at home.”

“Where has she gone? Is she visiting Captain Windbag?”

“Edmund! I do believe you are jealous. And you have no reason to be, for Captain Wyndham is recently engaged to a lovely young woman. You must know his friendship with Marianne is as that of a sister for a brother.”

“I do know that,” Edmund said. “But when I think of other men being interested in Marianne, it fair makes my blood boil. And as for the way those officers were talking about her, why, ’tis no wonder I felt compelled to act so rashly. ”

“Do not fret; ’tis over.”

“You have not answered my question, Selina. Where is Marianne? And how come you are so up to date with everything?”

“’Tis for me to know– and for you to find out.”

“Is she here? You are tormenting me, Selina! Marianne must be upstairs in your withdrawing room. I know it!”

Edmund raced out of the parlor and began leaping up the stairs, first two at a time, then three.

“Edmund!” Selina called. “Do not upset her again. And watch out for Nelson’s claws, for he is there too.”

Edmund knocked urgently. “Marianne! Might I come in?”

“Yes – please do.”

Edmund opened the door– and felt as if all the breath had been knocked from him. Earlier today, on the fields, he had thought Marianne had never appeared more beautiful, with her long hair shimmering in the dawn light. But now, she looked positively divine, a glowing goddess reclining by the fire, with Nelson on her lap.

Nelson ran to him and licked his boots.

“This is a change, I must say,” Edmund said. “What? No growling, little one? What have I done to merit this friendly approach? I have no tidbits about my person, so what is it?”

“Nelson thinks as I do,” Marianne said. “Although you went about everything in the wrong way, now we have had a chance to think, we appreciate that you were only trying to do your best. You were defending me– and for that, we thank you.”

How glad I am she thinks a little better of me now .

Edmund sat down by the fire next to her. “We have not long together, and there is one thing I must talk to you about. I know you intend to take a position as a governess.”

“How do you know that?”

“Something I, er, overheard. Is it true?”

“Yes. ”

Marianne looks uncomfortable. Perchance she is on the point of changing her mind?

“Will you promise me one thing?” Edmund said.

“That depends on what it is.”

“Promise me that you will not rush into a decision. Take your time.”

“Ah! This is the same advice Frederick gave me. I do not know why people think I cannot make my own decisions.”

“They do not think that,” Edmund said. “If people beg caution, ’tis because they care for you and do not want you to be condemned to a life of lonely drudgery.”

Should I declare myself here and now? Oh, but ’tis not the right time yet. I want to woo my Marianne properly, with letters and flowers, and let all unfold naturally. But I have to go away first– and make myself worthy of her affection.

“Well, yes, then,” Marianne said, “since you mention a life of lonely drudgery, I will take my time before I make any irrevocable decision. That is all I can promise for now. But tell me more of what is happening with you.”

“With me? Papa is furious, and Mama is more disappointed than she can express. I am sure you already know what is to happen– I am to be banished.”

Marianne sighed. “I am sorry. How long is the punishment for?”

“That is an interesting question– and the answer will depend on my father. He says I am to take responsibility for my life while I am away. And would you believe it, he insists I must live in a worker’s cottage that is currently unoccupied.”

“Where I have no doubt you will be waited on hand and foot.”

“Absolutely not! Voyle is commanded to stay here, and I will have to go up to the main house for my food. Who knows, I might even have to cook for myself.”

Marianne’s eyes widened. “Cook for yourself?”

Edmund laughed. “Well, maybe not, but that would not be such a hardship for me as you might imagine, for I enjoy the culinary arts.”

“The more I know you, Edmund, the more you surprise me.”

“The more I know you, the more I want to kiss you again.”

Ah! Her lovely eyes! And her luscious lips are drawing me closer and closer.

Selina’s head appeared at the door. “You will have to go, Edmund. Lady Barrington has arrived unexpectedly and is in the parlor. I have managed to stall her, but she is fully intent on coming upstairs– she says she has a feeling that Nelson needs her. I think she is looking for information, and if she finds you here, she will interrogate you quite mercilessly.”

Edmund grasped Marianne’s hands. “Farewell! May I write to you?”

“That would never work,” Marianne said. “The maids will find out.”

“If ’tis any help, Edmund,” Selina said, “you may send letters to Marianne here, addressed to me. I promise I will not read them but will pass them straight on.”

Edmund nodded eagerly and Selina then turned to her friend. “And Marianne, if you so wish, it would be possible to send letters back through me, for none of my servants are related to Jane or Martha.”

“You are a darling sister,” Edmund said as he rushed towards the door.

“Use the back stairs,” Selina said, “and be careful.”

“I will!” Edmund fled.

I can write to Marianne and she might even write back to me! How this will make the long days fly till we meet again.

The next morning, as Edmund stood shivering in front of the Crescent waiting for the carriage, he felt a shaft of optimism peeping through, just as the sun shows her rays again after a downpour.

I will do my best to make the most of the challenge Papa has set me. I will do it for Marianne.

As he was driven slowly along the front of the Crescent, Edmund spied a single candle shining at a high window– and a small figure with red curls waving at him.

*

Marianne

Marianne picked up the candle and took it back to the desk in her bedchamber.

Is it too soon to write to Edmund?

But what could she possibly write, when her feelings were in such turmoil?

Her mind danced hither and thither, flitting from one thought to the next. She loved Edmund. But did she have the courage to marry again? Perhaps the easiest path, the one she knew she could follow, would be to take a post as a governess, even if Edmund had described such a life as “lonely drudgery.”

And was Edmund the right man– would he be a reliable and faithful husband? Challenging Captain Hasket to a duel had been both misjudged and reckless; did this suggest that a union with Edmund was unwise?

And I must not forget that he has not declared himself to me. But how sweet his kisses were! ’Tis a memory I shall treasure forever.

“Are you out of bed already, madam?” Jane was in the chamber doorway.

“Indeed, I am. I wanted to wave to the carriage as it left.”

“Is there anything you require?”

“No, thank you.” Marianne stifled a yawn. “I think I will snatch another half hour of sleep.”

“Very good, madam.”

Marianne got into bed, and Jane tidied a few items of clothing before saying, “Although, I have heard some news.”

Marianne turned her face away. “I do not want to listen to gossip.”

“As you wish.” Jane started to make for the door. “But ’tis about Mr. Templeton.”

“It is?”

“Yes. My sister told me something that Voyle had told her, and then...”

“Jane! I do not wish to hear the full provenance of the information you are about to impart. Pray come here and tell me what you know as quickly and efficiently as possible.”

And so Jane explained how yesterday afternoon, when Voyle had been tidying Edmund’s room, he had noticed a letter to Marianne on the desk.

“A letter?” Marianne sat up. “But I have not received anything.”

“Exactly! ’Tis mysterious! Mr. Templeton did not ask Voyle to deliver it for him, which one might think he should have. Perchance Mr. Templeton has given it to someone else who has yet to deliver it?”

Marianne lay down again. “Well, if that is the case, I will find out what the letter says when it arrives. Thank you, Jane.”

“Do you wish to know what the letter said? It had not been folded and sealed, but was open on the desk.”

Marianne leapt out of bed, blazing with anger. “Do you mean to say that Voyle actually read my letter? Is nothing sacred?”

Jane flushed deeply. “He only read the last line. Voyle said he knew ’twas wrong– but in his defense, said his eyes could not help but fall upon the page. And ’twas indiscreet of him to tell everyone else about it, too.”

“Everyone else? I thought ’twas just your sister, Martha?”

“Yes, at first Martha, and then everyone below stairs at Number 1.”

“This gets worse by the minute. I will know what was written! ’Tis only right, when the contents have been revealed to so many others. Tell me at once!”

Tears began to snake their way down Jane’s cheeks.

I have frightened her now. Oh, how I struggle to control my passions when Edmund is concerned.

“I am sorry to have overreacted, Jane, and to have caused you distress. Pray tell me– what did Voyle see when his eyes accidentally fell upon the page?”

Jane wiped her face on her apron and sniffed. “The last line was, Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? ”

Ah! ’Twas as if the Pump Room band had entered the bedchamber. The violins played the sweetest, most heartfelt melody of love whilst other instruments provided a soft cushion of harmony.

“That will be all, Jane, thank you,” Marianne said dreamily.

Alone in her room, she gently waltzed around the floor, imagining being entwined in Edmund’s arms.

He thinks enough of me to have asked for my hand!

When the music came to an end, Marianne curtsied to her vision of Edmund and reached up to kiss him softly upon his chiseled lips. She then went to her writing desk, intending to answer the letter.

Although I do not know what to say. Oh, how I long to accept, but would that not be rash without knowing whether he is truly a reformed character? And what of my plan to move to the Lake District? For a life of lonely drudgery?

It was only when Marianne put pen to paper that she realized quite how forward she was being.

For I have not received the letter from Edmund– yet.

Marianne wondered how long she would have to wait before ’twas delivered. Would the missive be thrust under her bedroom door by the anonymous hand of a servant? Or would it be passed to Jane to give her?

There was another possibility, and one that Marianne would do well to consider. Perchance the letter had never been sent because Edmund had reconsidered his words .

I know that in reality I would have been even more angry at the total lack of privacy, but how I wish Voyle had read the entire page instead of merely the last line, for then I might understand more what prompted Edmund to ask me to marry him.

Marianne sighed, realizing she had no option but to wait.

And even if a letter does arrive, all my previous reservations about Edmund still stand strong, for I do not believe he is yet mature enough to have outgrown his misspent youth.

The best path for Marianne was to make her own way in the world. There was no sense in harboring a romantic dream that might never become reality.

And so Marianne started assisting Selina with her task of educating the local children. Many times, Marianne accompanied them on nature rambles across the fields, helping them to sketch the tiny spring flowers that were beginning to stud the grass– although she found it hard to concentrate when they wandered near the mighty yew tree where Edmund had kissed her. She played the pianoforte when Selina led the children in their singing, taught the children their letters, and read them stories.

The days dragged past, and still no letter appeared. Was it possible Edmund had penned a proposal in haste, then come to his senses and cast it into the fire to be incinerated? Perhaps it had been an ill-judged jest? Or perchance he had merely been practicing his handwriting.

I can believe that– for his hand resembles nothing more than a demented spider that has inadvertently fallen into an ink pot. I wonder how carefully Edmund listened to his governess as a boy? Could he not have worked harder at his calligraphy?

Then one day, at the beginning of March, Marianne was seated at the pianoforte in Selina’s withdrawing room making music with her friend, when George came into the room.

He regards his wife with such devotion. How pleased I am to know they are to be blessed in the autumn .

“The post has arrived, Selina, my dear,” George said, “and I believe this letter is in your brother’s writing.”

“Ah! Because the address is hard to read?” Selina joked. “Yes! That will be from Edmund.”

Marianne flushed beetroot. Could this be it, the letter containing the proposal? For Edmund had said he would write to her under cover of writing to his sister. But why would the letter have taken so long to arrive? And why would he have taken it all the way to Templeton Park, only to send it back? Unless perhaps it had not yet been fully completed when Voyle’s eyes fell upon it.

“Thank you,” Selina said, tucking the letter under some music. “I will look at it later. Will you hear my song, George? Marianne plays so prettily on the pianoforte that she is able to cover up my indifferent performance.”

George laughed. “I know full well that both you ladies are superb performers, but sadly the pleasure of an impromptu concert will have to wait for another day, for Lady Barrington has asked for my help regarding a medical matter; she usually consults my father, but he is not available today.”

“Oh?” Marianne said. “She seemed very well this morning.”

“’Tis not her, I believe, but Nelson who is ailing,” George replied.

“George!” Selina said. “Your skills are better employed with humankind, are they not?”

“I am very fond of Nelson,” George said, “and am happy to attend. However, if ’tis like the visits my papa has made for the pug in the past, there will be nothing very much wrong. The most likely scenario is that Lady Barrington is merely seeking reassurance.”

“I believe she over-indulges that dog by feeding him too many rich things,” Selina said.

“I agree,” George said, “but fear it might be hard to convey that particular message effectively when conversing with Lady Barrington.”

I can believe it, for my aunt has many good qualities, but listening to sound advice is not always one of them .

“I suppose ’tis natural she spoils Nelson a little,” Marianne said, “for he has been her constant companion since Lord Barrington died. She regards him as a family member.”

“Just as George thinks of his horse, Trigger, as a close friend and a member of our family,” Selina said with a smile.

“I admit it!” George said. “Now, farewell ladies. I will let you know how Nelson is later, for I realize how fond you both are of the little scamp.”

Once George had left the room, Selina handed the letter to Marianne. “You must open this, for I believe that although addressed to me, ’tis for your eyes only.”

Marianne sat down on the sofa next to the fire and broke the seal with trembling fingers.

My dear Marianne, the letter began.

“Yes,” she whispered. “’Tis intended for me.”

Ah, the use of the word “intended!” How I wish I were Edmund’s intended bride.

“In that case I will leave you alone for a few minutes,” Selina said. “My brother has certainly taken his time to write, but no doubt Papa has given him plenty of tasks to undertake at Templeton Park. And Edmund never was a very regular correspondent.”

Once Selina had left, Marianne began to read.

I hope this letter finds you well and that you have remembered your promise not to become a governess before you have had sufficient time for reflection.

I am staying alone in a worker’s cottage and go up to the main house for my meals. After a few uncomfortable instances of being served stone cold food in the dining hall with myself as the only person at the table, I have come to an agreement with Cook that I shall eat in the kitchen with her and the other servants and estate workers. ’Tis far more sociable and jolly, and I have been able to practice my cooking skills a little too. Yesterday I helped make a stew, and the day before, a fruit crumble.

I am sorry it has taken me such a while to write, but I have been kept busy from morn till night. The steward Mr. Grant has been ill for some time and much has been neglected, so I have been helping out with administrative work as well as physical.

Added to which, Papa has set me a task; he wants me to suggest how the workers’ cottages might be renovated and improved. This is why he insisted I stay in one of the dwellings, so that I might experience the living conditions first-hand. I have been spending my evenings drafting design plans, which I am more than happy to do– in truth, I have found the whole process immensely rewarding.

Marianne skimmed through the rest of the letter. How strange! Edmund wrote mostly about his plans for new accommodation, with details of weatherproofing and avoiding areas prone to flooding. ’Twas so very technical.

I can see that ’tis an admirable idea to provide better accommodation for the workers at Templeton Park– but is this all that Edmund is going to say to me? Is his mind totally consumed with thoughts of ditches and drains, water tables, and wells?

Marianne’s heart contracted with pain as she forced herself to consider the strong possibility that their turbulent– and possibly imagined– romance had finally given up the ghost.

And yet my whole being longs for him most ardently.

After some while, Selina came back into the room. “How was it? What does my brother have to say?”

Marianne passed Selina the letter. “You may read it for yourself. He says at the end he would like me to share his news with you as it saves him from having to write another missive.”

Selina began reading. “Ah! I see he is enjoying helping in the kitchen. How useful it is to know that I could ask Edmund to stand in for my cook if she were taken ill when I have planned a dinner party.”

“Indeed,” Marianne said with a forced smile .

“And I note he misses certain aspects of his former luxurious lifestyle– like Voyle providing a bath full of hot water at the end of a long day.”

“I can see that must be a hardship.”

Selina frowned. “But wait. This is not right. There should be something more personal, for you alone. When Edmund asked if he could write to you here, I had thought that signified a particular preference.”

“I do not know why you would have thought that,” Marianne said stiffly. “I myself was not expecting anything beyond simple friendship from your brother. No, nothing!”

“I hate to see you so upset.” Selina put her arm on Marianne’s shoulder. “If I tell you that Edmund is possibly the worst letter writer in the world, one who has always found it difficult to express his feelings on paper, does that make the situation any easier to bear? And look here, at the beginning– see how he urges you not to leave in a hurry to be a governess? That surely means something.”

“As I said before, ’tis of no consequence to me. In reality, this letter helps me greatly by allowing me to finalize the plans for my own future. I have much enjoyed helping you with the children; it has been a useful experience for the next phase of my life.”

Before Selina could reply, George rushed into the room.

“I am sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings,” he said, “but for once it looks as if poor Nelson is in quite a bad way. Lady Barrington is asking for you, Marianne, for there is every possibility her dear pug will not last till the morrow.”