Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
M arianne sat at her dressing table, hair down around her waist, robe tied tightly to keep out the night's chill, and stared at the box wrapped in plain brown paper in front of her. She had returned home from a surprisingly pleasant supper at her brother's, thanks mostly to Sebastian and his attempts to raise her spirits, to find that Claudia's brother had been true to his word. Her friend's final gift to her had been sent over while Marianne was out.
And now she just stared at the paper-wrapped parcel, reluctant to open it or even touch it for fear that doing so would only cause a return of the intense grief that had been briefly chased away by good company.
Finally she reached out and picked it up. With trembling fingers, she used a letter opener on her table to cut the string that had bound it for its transport. It fell away to the floor, forgotten before it even hit the wooden surface. She tossed the paper aside just as carelessly and then sucked in her breath.
The jewelry box was as beautiful as she had remembered. Intricately carved from the finest rosewood, it had then been inlaid with brass along the edges. The metal had been cut in exquisite curves and swirls. Finally, an ethereal and rather lonely image of a lady in the midst of her toilette had been painted on the top of the lid. There was a lock at the seam on the front and from it two small keys dangled, one fitted into the lock, the other free.
"Oh, Claudia," Marianne sighed as she set the box back down on the dressing table and stared at it.
As the marquess had done, Claudia had also mentioned before that her maiden aunt had given her the jewelry box. Unlike Claudia and Marianne, the aunt had been an eccentric and adventurous spinster, who traveled the world and had even been whispered to have scandalous affairs. Perhaps that's where Claudia had gotten her occasional whispered dreams of adventure and independence.
Marianne knew how much the gift had meant to Claudia.
"I will cherish this," she promised her friend's spirit. "And think of you always when I look at it or use it."
She smiled past her tears and reached out to turn the little key already in the lock. The top opened and she set the keys aside as she looked inside where velvet lined the spaces for rings or necklaces or bracelets. She had little jewelry, but what she did have would fit.
She opened the drawer of her table and drew out a few precious items to place inside, but as she set the first ring into a snug little pocket designed for it, she noticed something peculiar. There was a slight imperfection in the velvet along the back of the box.
Setting the ring aside temporarily, Marianne drew the container to the edge of her table and leaned closer. There was definitely something wrong with the velvet. She touched it and felt something beneath the fine fabric. It was flat, like a folded sheet of paper.
But that couldn't be correct, for it made no sense whatsoever.
She felt along the seam between the main compartment of the box and the backing, but it seemed firmly attached. There was no way someone could have slipped something behind the backing without damaging the velvet, and yet it remained unmarred.
"How very odd," Marianne murmured to herself as she slid her candle closer to inspect the fabric even more carefully. "How in the world would it get there? And more importantly, what in the world is it?"
She lifted the chest and looked at it, slowly turning it until the back faced her. She had never seen the box anywhere but in its place on her friend's table and had not thought to lift it or paw at it, so she had never known that the beautiful brass filigrees crisscrossed all along the back of the box.
"Lovely," she breathed, briefly forgetting the secret stuffed behind the velvet as she examined the delicate lattice work of the brass in the light of her candle.
And that was when she saw it. Hidden within the intricate decoration along the back, so well incorporated that one would never see it until one was looking for it, was another keyhole.
"The second key," she whispered as she snatched the set from the table where she had placed them after a few moments earlier. She fumbled with the two, first trying the wrong key, but finally the correct one slipped into the second lock and there was a faint click as the mechanism opened and the entire backing of the container went loose.
Heart pounding at the unexpected mystery of it all, Marianne gently set the wooden backing aside and slid her candle to the correct angle to see what was hidden within. There, propped up in a narrow secret chamber, was a folded piece of heavy vellum paper. It had been carefully tied with a crimson ribbon and set into the space.
Her hands shook as she drew it out. As she set the box back onto the table, she stared at the folded paper. Should she open it? The jewelry container had been given to her, to be certain, but the marquess had said nothing about a hidden note. Likely he hadn't even known about it. This item, whatever it was, wasn't something the average person was meant to find.
But perhaps her friend had wanted her to find it. Perhaps the note was the real gift, not the item which contained it. And if she simply burned it to protect Claudia's privacy, it might be against her friend's wishes.
"Bother," Marianne muttered, and then carefully loosened the ribbon around the paper. She unfolded it and sucked in a breath. It was written in Claudia's hand. Even, fine swirls of words that were far more elegant than Marianne's messier scratch. She had always envied Claudia's fine script.
She shook her head and read the words before her. It was not a note, a final farewell, as she had expected and even hoped for. Instead it was…a list.
Daring to Live Before I Die, Things to Do was written across the top, and Marianne choked on a sob as she read the date. Claudia had written this list the day after she had suddenly fallen ill.
Marianne turned her attention to the list itself and her mouth fell open. Dear Lord, her friend hadn't been exaggerating when she called her list daring. The items before her were that and more:
Learn What Naughty Words Mean and Use Them in a Proper Sentence.
Marianne stared at the first item, reading it over and over. Claudia couldn't have been serious to want to know this. Even less so to actually want to use those words out loud. Of course...Marianne had always wondered about those words, too. Sometimes when she overheard her brother and his friends saying certain things, she'd been very curious.
Go to a Party Uninvited.
Why, the very idea was terrifying! A person would be swiftly found out and judged and talked about. No one wanted that.
Get Drunk.
Again, she couldn't picture a scenario where that would be a good idea. She rarely drank at all, just a little madeira from time to time, or a sherry after supper if there was nothing else to find. But to get fully drunk? That would imply a loss of control she wasn't certain she desired.
Sneak Into a Gentleman's Home.
"Claudia!" she gasped, as if to admonish a dead woman.
Say Something Shocking.
As if her friend hadn't already said…or at least written, all these shocking things. She'd known Claudia sometimes longed for more adventure, but never that she'd gone so far as to imagine these kinds of scenarios.
Wear Something Daring.
Marianne's hand came up to touch the modest neckline of her own nightgown, almost out of habit.
Learn to Play Billiards.
At their annual country retreat just outside of London, she'd often seen or heard her brother and his friends playing billiards. It seemed a very loud game. Bending over the table couldn't be comfortable.
Be Unchaperoned with a Man.
Marianne pursed her lips. Aside from her brother, the only man Marianne was alone with on rare occasion was Sebastian and she doubted that a pleasant conversation with the door open was what Claudia had meant.
Fill My Dance Card.
"We were wallflowers," Marianne muttered. "How did you intend to pull that off?"
Find Out What Boxing is All About.
Boxing! Great Lord. It wasn't that she hadn't heard of the rare female fighter. They were somewhat of a rage right now, with shocking announcements about their fights put in the paper from time to time. But she knew their exhibitions weren't seen to be fit for a lady's eyes. The idea of coming into a…a ring? Wasn't it called a ring? Well, whatever it was, then swinging around trying to hit people? It was nearly enough to make a lady faint dead away.
Experience a Perfect Kiss.
There Marianne paused and her heart began to throb. As much as she wanted to dismiss these things as wild and unbelievable to desire, this one hit her in a much deeper place. A perfect kiss. Oh, hadn't she dreamed of those. Fantasized about being the kind of woman who would experience such a thing.
Play Faro in a Hell.
She and Claudia had loved to play cards together, so she supposed she understood the draw with that one. A hell had to be different than playing a friendly game with low stakes with other ladies, though.
Have a Love Affair.
She shivered at the idea. A love affair implied something outside the bounds of a marriage. Had Claudia truly dreamed of something so scandalous? And why did it make Marianne tingle all over when she imagined the same?
That was all the list, thank goodness.
"What in the world were you thinking, Claudia?" she whispered to herself as she stood with the paper in hand and paced to the fire.
She stood there, staring at the list and then the flames. Part of her said that Claudia had written this inventory of shocking things to do in a moment that was probably the height of her desperation. She had been ill, close to dying, though she had hidden that fact from Marianne for almost a week before admitting how serious her condition was. This list was nothing more than a fantasy of a troubled mind and burning it was a kindness so that no one else would find it somehow and judge Claudia as frivolous or foolish for her wild thoughts.
But there was another part that kept the list in her hand instead of in the flames. A part of Marianne that kept remembering the scant few uncaring souls who had bothered to come to her friend's funeral. People who would likely not even remember her in a few months' time. And why? Because Claudia had never done any of the things on her list. Claudia had followed the rules, always and forever.
Just like Marianne did.
They had both been labeled spinsters, though for different reasons. Claudia had come out during a Season with several of the most beautiful women in Society. Everyone had flocked to them and Claudia's painful shyness and lack of confidence with people she didn't know well hadn't helped. No one got to know her as well as Marianne had, so a few years had gone by without offers and suddenly Claudia had found herself a wallflower.
For Marianne, her fall had been far more painful and immediate. Her mother's spiral into emotional overwhelm and eventual death the year before her coming out had darkened her first Season. And then there was her father, who had blamed and shouted and forced her into an even worse second one before he, too, succumbed to his final end.
Marianne had never had any chance on the marriage mart.
Thankfully, though, she had met Claudia and together they had stood on the edge of dancefloors, smiling politely as everyone else had a glorious time. They had ignored any catty remarks of the Diamonds of the First Water and accepted that this was the life they would lead until they were elderly like her maiden aunt Beulah.
Or at least, Marianne had.
It seemed Claudia had dared to think of something different. Marianne knew that, of course, they'd spoken of it. But she'd taken it so far as to write these things down, to make them more than a mere conversation that disappeared on the wind.
She'd truly thought about taking the expectations of everyone around them and setting them aside to live before she died, just as the title of her list said. Only her friend hadn't been able to do any of it. Her disease had progressed too swiftly and her list had remained hidden in a jewelry box, yet another unfulfilled dream in a long string of unfulfilled dreams.
If Marianne destroyed it, she would be erasing those dreams forever. Locking them away until they became regrets. And Lord knew she would likely have enough of those before her own time came.
She stared once more at the account of things to do. She never would have thought of any of them, but now that she saw them and the initial shock began to wear off…she found something else was left in its wake. She read the list again and was tempted. Seduced.
"What would the harm be?" she whispered as she drew away from the fire almost without realizing she was doing it. "To do a few things on this list. For Claudia?"
The moment the words escaped her lips, heat flooded Marianne's cheeks. What in the world was she thinking? Obviously her grief and exhaustion had gotten the better of her. She had a place in life. And it wasn't to fill her dance card or attend a party uninvited , as her friend had written on her "Things To Do" inventory.
She would do better to remember that and simply bring flowers to Claudia's grave each week.
With that she shoved the list rather violently back into its hiding place, fumbled to replace the backing on the jewelry box and locked it. Then she went to her bed, blew out the candle and threw herself under the covers.
But sleep did not come easy. And when it did, it was filled with thoughts of confronting enemies and entering into scandalous affairs. Of being bold and daring and changing her life…for better or for worse.
T he next morning, as Marianne sat at the breakfast table on the veranda in the morning sunshine, her thoughts continued to turn, against her will, toward her friend's damnable list. When she had readied herself for the day, it seemed the jewelry box mocked her from her dressing table, reminding her both of its secret and her own cowardice.
Before she could work herself into too much of a tizzy, her aunt Beulah stepped out onto the veranda and settled her frail frame onto the seat across from her.
"Good morning, my dear," she said with a warm and genuine smile.
"Good morning, Auntie," Marianne said, doing her best not to sound as absent as she felt.
It was an unusual arrangement that she shared with her aunt, but one she truly enjoyed. As an unmarried woman, Marianne would normally be expected to remain in her brother's home under the never-ending protection of his watchful eye. But as it became more and more clear that she would likely never marry, she had been able to convince Finn, with much effort, that she could live very pleasantly in a townhouse with their great-aunt as chaperone.
Her dutiful brother had argued against it for a while, but in the end…well, though he tried to act properly when she was around, Marianne had no illusions that he lived as a choir boy or monk. Without a spinster sister in the house he had afforded himself as much increased freedom as he had given her. Finn gave her a generous living and she didn't have to answer to anyone about where she went or who she saw.
Except for Aunt Beulah, who often did not pay attention. After all, it wasn't as if Marianne was getting into any trouble.
And her mind turned treacherously to that blasted list once more.
"You look tired, my dear," her aunt said as she sipped her tea. "Did you not sleep well?"
Marianne blinked in surprise at her aunt's observation. "N-No, I'm afraid I didn't. Thoughts of Claudia kept me awake."
Which was true, though not only in the way her aunt would assume.
Beulah's mouth drew down in sadness. "Ah yes. It is hard to lose a friend, especially at so young an age. I have lost a great many in the past few years, but then I am nearly eighty and at a point where I expect such things."
Marianne nodded slowly. Yes, her aunt had lost a few companions from her group as her age advanced. She had escorted Beulah to many of the funerals…and as with Claudia, there were few mourners for spinsters. Those who came did not seem to grieve overly much. Occasionally a favorite niece would cry or a sibling would seem touched by their loss, but for the most part there was often a sense of…relief. Like the deceased was a troubling obligation better left undone.
Marianne set her tea aside and shook her head. "Have you ever wished…" She trailed off.
Her aunt's eyes came up and she looked at Marianne sharply. "Wished?"
"Nothing," Marianne said with blush. It was too humiliating to say out loud.
"No," her aunt pressed as she leaned closer. "You wanted to ask me something. I'd like to hear it."
Marianne shifted uncomfortably. Though she liked her aunt and didn't mind sharing a home with her, they had not ever had deep discussions. Certainly, they'd never aired their thoughts on their shared lot in life.
"Haven't you ever wished for…more?" Marianne whispered. "More than just being?—"
"An old maid?" her aunt asked, and then broke into a surprising burst of laughter. "Of course, my dear. Do you think any girl dreams of being alone, living on the charity of family until her death where hardly a soul will mourn?"
Marianne flinched, but her aunt seemed oblivious to the fact that she had touched upon her niece's very heartache. "No, I suppose not," Marianne said with a sigh.
"At one time, I wished for children and marriage, even something so foolish as love." Her aunt shrugged. "But after a time, I came to realize that these things were never meant for me. Now you…" She smiled and it was warm. " You could still have a chance."
"Oh, I don't think so." Marianne shook her head.
Her aunt took a sip from her cup. "Your debut and the years following it were disastrous, I know. Your mother's passing and the things that preceded it?—"
Her aunt stopped and Marianne looked at the table with as much focus as she could manage. Her mother had always been an emotional person. Her father would often hiss about her hysteria, though Marianne had never felt it went that far until the horrible series of events that led to her untimely death. She flinched just thinking of it and pushed those thoughts aside so that they didn't overwhelm her.
Still, by the end of her debut year, the damage was done, both personally and in Marianne's fruitless search for a groom. It was only her late father's good name and her brother's calm handling of the entire situation that allowed her continued invitation to any events even now.
"Well, let's just say the deaths of your parents," her aunt finished softly. "Those things were out of your control. But a nice widower looking for a mother for his children might very well be the perfect fit for you. It's been long enough that he could very well overlook the past. And there is nothing wrong in settling."
Marianne stiffened as she took up her cup. "So it is to settle for someone who cares nothing for me, but is willing to overlook my… spinsterhood …or to accept that for the next perhaps fifty years my life will play out just as it is at this moment?"
Her aunt blinked in confusion at the question. "There are no other choices, are there?"
Once again Marianne's thoughts returned to that list. She could almost see each item in her mind. Taunting her with another choice. A choice to live !
After all, if her ultimate existence was to be one of loneliness, why shouldn't she experience something first? What was the worst that could happen? Societal shunning? She was hardly accepted in society as it was. The loss would not be a great one…
"Oh dear." Her aunt reached out and covered her hand. "I do not say this to hurt you. Only that you asked me my thoughts. And I believe that the sooner we simply accept what we are and what our place is, the more content we will eventually be with that place. Over time, the sting eases, I assure you."
Marianne smiled at her aunt, for she knew Beulah truly didn't mean to hurt her. But as they each returned to their breakfast, Marianne couldn't help but steal a glance at her. What she described as quiet acceptance of a circumstance she could not change, Marianne presently saw as surrender to despair.
And worse, when she looked at her aunt, she saw her own future ten, twenty, thirty years down the road. There was no reason to think her life would end any differently than Beulah's would…or Claudia's had.
And that left her once again with thoughts of her friend's unfinished list. Her unfinished dreams of something more interesting than surrender. Of experiencing life.
Marianne's expression did not change. She made certain of it, for she didn't want to face questions in case her aunt noticed. But deep within her, she felt that she had changed. Because Great-Aunt Beulah might not have meant to do so, but she had driven Marianne to a choice.
She was going to complete as many of the items on Claudia's abandoned list as she could, no matter how utterly terrifying she found them. For her friend.
And for herself.