Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

“ Y our father wants to meet me? Now? Already?” Daniel’s scheme abruptly lost its appeal. Pretending to be in love in front of his dying parent was wrong. But Daniel’s eyes were pleading. She had promised. He led her through a hall and into a library that smelled of dust and time. An array of mismatched and threadbare furniture scattered among piles of books.

“Mother said he would be awake only a while longer. I decided to tell him while I could. You should know that the moment I mentioned you, they assumed our engagement. I’m sorry.”

Mary’s chest tightened, but she said, “I am ready.”

He looped her arm through his, leading her through halls too narrow for both of them. He gripped her hand, and they ascended in tandem. Mary stepped in light elation through the dim passageway, enjoying Daniel’s touch even while her insides gnawed in anticipation of meeting his parents. At the top, a single open door sat ajar. Daniel steered her in.

The room glowed in bright light from two large windows. Mary blinked and examined the room. On a bed covered in red velvet lay a grey man, his white hair bristling out of a sleeping cap.

A woman, whom Mary had not noticed, emerged from a shadowed corner. She wrapped wiry arms around Mary’s shoulders and rocked her side to side. Mary stiffened, unable to match the enthusiastic greeting.

“I have yearned for this moment.” She must be Daniel’s mother. Her hold did not slacken until Mary sank into its warmth and found real comfort. She could not remember the last time she’d been held. Not since her own mother passed years before.

The woman pulled back and took Mary’s face in her hands. “Oh, and you are lovely. Daniel, you did not tell me how exquisite she is.”

Mary tried not to cringe. She was no youthful beauty in her first bloom, though the dimness of the room might disguise it.

“Miss…oh, dear, I forgot your name.” The older woman put her hand over her mouth.

“ Mrs . Allen. And you are Mrs. Fletcher?” The other woman’s eyes widened. It seemed Daniel had not told his mother that Mary was a widow.

“Yes, but you must call me Florence as we are soon to be related.” There was a girlish rising of her voice that accompanied the exclamation, and she twisted her hands together under her chin. She leaned forward while Mary stepped back from her examining eyes. “A bit old, Daniel. She is not what I expected, I own, but I suppose she will do.”

This was far worse than Mary imagined. The candles were bright enough to show her wrinkles after all.

“Come over here, my girl.” Daniel’s father spoke from the bed. “I would like to see you, love.”

Terms of endearment already? She glanced at Daniel, who shifted on his feet but mouthed, “Thank you.”

She made her way to the bedside, where Mr. Fletcher, despite his illness, pulled her to sit beside him and kept her hand in his. A very affectionate family. “I had lost hope.” His voice was weak, and Mary did not think anyone else could hear him. For her part, she remained silent. How could she respond?

“Well! And so let us see you together.” Mrs. Fletcher flapped her hands, waving Daniel and Mary to stand beside each other.

The sun shone from behind them, casting shadows of their stiff silhouettes on the floor and up the wall.

“Take her hand, Daniel,” said Mr. Fletcher.

Daniel did. His large hand enveloped Mary’s with tentative care. His ungloved skin warm against hers was a comfort. Mrs. Fletcher bounded over and pushed them together until Mary’s shoulder pressed into Daniel’s arm.

“There, now. They are an ideal pair, Roger.” She sighed, head cocked. “Save for her age.” She said this more to herself and added, “Let us hope she can bear children. We shall invite your sister for a special dinner and announce the engagement,” Mrs. Fletcher said.

“We wish to wait before making the announcement,” Daniel said.

And what a relief that he spoke. Mary had no wish to spread the farce farther than the walls of that room.

“Whatever for?” asked Mrs. Fletcher.

“Father is not well, for one thing.”

“Pooh! I am strong as an ox,” came a brittle voice from the bed.

“But we want you well at the announcement,” Daniel said.

“I am sure to be able to leave the room tomorrow.”

“No, he is right, dearest. Perhaps another week.” Mrs. Fletcher wilted and went to her husband’s side, and after some moments, he began quietly snoring with his wife’s hand on his brow. She turned to Mary and Daniel, who still held hands. “We will tell the family without the dinner party.”

They could not make a formal announcement. That was beyond what she had agreed to, and the more people who knew, the harder it would be to extricate herself. Mary could see this getting away from her but did not wish to appear unladylike in front the strangers. She nudged Daniel.

“We have a particular wish to wait,” he said.

Mrs. Fletcher’s eyes lingered on the elbow Mary had used to prod Daniel. “You’re old enough to know your mind.”

Mary bristled.

“And if Emma comes to visit, how will you explain Mrs. Allen’s presence?”

“I am a friend from Bath come to help whilst Mr. Fletcher is ill,” Mary said.

Mrs. Fletcher laughed, but she was not pleased. “Then you could not have come at a better time. Truth be told, I spend my days here and have little idea what the servants are doing. Half the time, no one responds to the bell. They were an unmanageable bunch before Roger’s injury, and I’ve no idea what they are up to now. Do let me know when you are ready to make the engagement known.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Fletcher.”

“Florence, remember?”

Mary did remember, but she would not be addressing that woman as anything but Mrs. Fletcher. Under the circumstances, it would be indecent.

Daniel took Mary’s arm. “Come, I will give you a tour.”

“Let’s walk outside. The weather is lovely.”

“There is a pond on the west side of the castle. I’ll show you.”

They left the sickroom and made their way into the entrance hall, where Daniel paused and said, “I feel a fool for not predicting my mother’s response. I will tell them the truth.” He raked his hand through his hair.

“Your father is not well.”

“True, but I cannot see that the deceit is worth the prize. He would be furious.”

She liked his parents. They were both so full of joy, so different from their quiet son. This charade would hurt them if they knew, so they must not find out.

“I leave in the morning. You can make up an excuse for my departure and prolong the pretense until you find someone to wed, though you must act quickly. Then, tell them how awful I am, and they can loath me from a distance. You will keep your castle and not upset your parents.” She swallowed, aware that finding a wife was not the work of a few days.

A maid approached, “A letter for you, ma’am.” She extended a folded page and left Mary and Daniel alone in the entrance hall.

“I will leave you to your letter,” Daniel said.

Mary scarcely heeded his departure. The letter was from Agnes. She snapped the seal.

Dear Mary,

I have Louisa. She is safe and whole, though rattled. I will bring her to you.

It was postmarked three days earlier, meaning they would arrive in a week.

“Daniel!” She stood and began running down the hall. He turned and rushed toward her. “She is found.” In a few paces, she embraced him, faint and needing to be held. She closed her eyes and exhaled the gust of the worry that festered over the past weeks. No matter that his arms remained at his sides, his touch allowed her to sink into the news. All may be well. His arms lifted, forcing hers around his neck. His hand pressed between her shoulder blades, the other on the small of her back. Against his chest, the steady thump of his heart reassured her more profoundly than anything else. His breath threaded through her hair as he rested his chin on her head. His embrace was a warm fire on a cold night, the first bite of food after skipping a meal, a soft pillow to a tired head.

She could remain there forever, but she pushed away enough to look at him, ready to discuss Louisa. The words were lost under the force of his gaze. He pulled her to him once more with a gentle but urgent force. Something shifted. This was not the chaste hold of a friend.

“Mary, I am so relieved.” His voice emerged in a coarse whisper, but it snagged, reminding her that this meant the pretense of their engagement must continue until Louisa arrived.

“I presume we have a little longer to play this little game?”

He stepped away from her, turning away. “I suppose.”

Was he displeased? “I can stay at an inn, if that is better.”

“No.” He blurted. “Let’s continue. If you would? My father may improve over the course of the week.”

“Yes, of course.”

D aniel ambled around the pond with Mary at his side, holding her arm beneath his like he might collapse without her support. If she noticed, she said nothing. Since reading the letter, Mary’s step was light and her smile easy. She commented on the clear sky. He mentioned the temperature.

His thoughts would not settle but vacillated between regret and the joy of Mary’s shoulder brushing against his. Guilt grew like a tangle of ivy, strangling his chest. This deceit made him sick. No one deserved being lied to, not even a liar like his father. But if he told the truth, Mary would leave. She would leave anyway, but he had her for another week.

When she ran into his arms, the fullness of her body pressed against his, the world righted. Everything that seemed unfair rectified, his ten years of labor at Smith’s Bank, Miss Jensen’s jilt, the many cracks in the castle walls, even the pain of his parents’ poor treatment of him eased. He could not let her go. Once Louisa arrived, she would have all Mary’s attention, deservedly so.

He regretted not telling Mary that Louisa was his intended, but the arrangements weren’t settled, and when Louisa ran off, it became irrelevant. Now he feared his parents would reveal it. He had asked them not to, saying he did not wish Mary to believe she was anyone’s second choice, but they were not reliable. And now Louisa was on her way. What would his parents think when she arrived? He would not tell them yet but say Mary’s friends were coming.

In less than a week, he had to convince both his parents and Mary that she was his best match. When she agreed to be his wife, after everything was settled and announced, he would tell Mary about Louisa, and his parents that Mary and Louisa were relations.

When he first told his parents he’d brought a lady with him, they’d questioned him about Mary’s dowry, and he told them about her estate in Ireland. It was their first question after making it clear they preferred Louisa Thorpe, and it made him suspicious.

Mary stopped. “Look at the reflection of your castle in the pond. I cannot shake the feeling your Almery is enchanted. Whoever becomes your wife will be a very fortunate lady. Perhaps she will be an artist.”

Was she teasing him? Flirting?

They continued in a long but comfortable silence, making their way around the pond to a crude bench, made by Daniel’s father, crumbled in rot. It had been a present for his mother, who loved the aspect of the castle as mirrored in the pond.

They paused to absorb the view.

“Your parents are sincere and…” She seemed to search for a word. “Effusive.”

“You mean they are very different from me?”

She laughed. “I suppose one could say that. You are slow to express your opinion.”

“Effusive and impulsive are good words for them.”

“You are fortunate to have affectionate parents.”

“They show their love in odd ways.” He did not wish to talk of his parents and began walking again.

Her step faltered, and she pulled at his arm to steady herself. “Pardon me. The roses are so captivating, I did not heed the path.” Her voice was soft as she looked ahead of her at a tangle of red and pink that climbed over an ancient rock wall. “What a wonder that garden is! A surprise at every turn.”

It delighted him to experience the castle through her eyes. What would it be like to keep her here? The thought burned his cheeks. Her high praise of her late husband made it impossible to imagine she wanted a second marriage. She thought him too young to consider, teasing him about their age difference.

Now that he was home, the responsibilities of the castle could consume every waking moment, but he would not allow that to happen. He must take time for Mary, show her how happy they might be together. He must convince her to stay forever.