Chapter Twenty-Three
Three days later, the longest of her entire life, Marianne sat silently panicking in Miranda Ascott’s rather simply adorned music room, her palms sweating to an extent she had not thought humanly possible. The room was huge, far too audacious a space for a music room, considering the conservative size of the house itself, but Miranda had often considered herself at the level of Tibby or Lady Cavendish, if not the Rivertons themselves, and was never one to permit convention to stand in the way of her tastes.
The size of the room didn’t make much difference at this moment, except that it permitted an inordinately large number of guests to attend events there. And every seat was filled. And more guests were standing by.
It was truly terrifying.
Worst of all, her husband was not even in attendance. She knew he was aware of the event, he’d consented to attend it. But when the time came for departure, he hadn’t come, and she had been informed he was not at home. Now she had been here for half an hour, painstakingly waiting her turn, and she had not seen him. She had looked around so often she could have testified before a tribunal of every person that was there, and what half of them were wearing.
But her husband was most assuredly not among them.
Gemma was beside her, with Mary singing at this very moment, and Annalise and Duncan were somewhere nearby. She did not want for support, and she knew without a doubt that they would be proud of her even if she mangled the piece. But it was not enough.
It would never be enough.
Mary’s song came to a glorious finish and the applause was effusive. She smile prettily and allowed Mr. Ascott to escort her back to her place, where Geoffrey defied decorum by wrapping an arm around her shoulder and kissed her cheek, whispering something in his wife’s ear that made Mary grin and tighten her hold on his leg. Then Mary looked at her and winked, which Marianne acknowledged with a shaky nod.
Miranda rose with all of her practiced grace and smiled graciously at the gathering, as if their lingering applause was for her. “Dear friends, we now have a very special treat for you all. We feel Miss Arden’s absence most deeply, and trust that her sister will convey our regrets to her.”
Rosalind Arden blushed at being singled out and nodded once. She’d accompanied Mary, and while she did not have Lily’s talent, she was certainly accomplished enough, and now she returned to her seat with a dipped chin and lowered eyes.
“At any rate,” Miranda continued, “we will not want for fine performances. I know it will surprise and delight all of you, as it did me, to know that our next performance will be by none other than Mrs. Gerrard.”
She could have done without the reference to Lily, that would only increase their anticipation as they compared the two, and she hardly needed that. Still, she managed to rise without tripping over her gown and made her way to the pianoforte as the gathering clapped a little and whispered a great deal.
Her legs shook, her head swam, her stomach roiled, and her fingers were beginning to lose feeling. This was going to be a disaster. She knew the song inside out and backwards, she had played it perfectly ten times in a row today, but suddenly she couldn’t even remember how to play the instrument at all.
She sat down at the bench as gracefully as she could manage, exhaled a quick, soft breath, and looked to her friends for the last reassurance.
But something else caught her eye. Standing in the back of the room, in the only opening with a clear view of her, stood Kit, his eyes steady on her, confidence and reassurance evident in his features. He calmly held her gaze, then nodded once.
Her nerves melted in an instant, and she felt her smile becoming less forced. She turned to the instrument and began to play.
She focused intensely, forbidding her mind to stray in any direction as she poured her heart and soul into the piece, emphasizing certain points for emotion, and pretending she was alone in her music room. It was the only way she could think to manage this.
Impossibly, it seemed to work, and her fingers flew with the grace and skill she had always wished for. It wasn’t a difficult piece, and she wouldn’t impress anyone with a true knowledge of music, but considering where she had come from, it was a feat indeed.
She held her breath as she came to the most challenging, yet most emotional part of the song, and felt a burst of joy when she made it through, though it hadn’t been perfect and her tempo had faltered a little, she pressed on as if that was how it ought to have been done, keeping her composure all the while.
Slowly, gently, she moved into the end, and let her fingers remain on the keys longer than normal to draw out the last lingering tones as far as she could.
Applause surrounded and filled her, seeming nearly thunderous in her ears, though she knew it was no such thing. She turned with a beaming smile she could barely restrain and saw her friends in tears, but she only gave them a cursory glance. Her eyes found Kit at once, and the approval and pride in his eyes was potent in its intensity. He applauded with the rest of them, smiling as if he couldn’t help himself. He held her gaze for an eternity, then nodded slowly, once, and then again as his smile grew.
She could have burst into tears at the sight, but managed just to exhale a delighted sigh of relief as she let Mr. Ascott take her back to her seat, her eyes never leaving Kit’s until she was forced to.
He had come. He had heard her. And he had smiled.
Now, perhaps, they could get somewhere.
“And I wanted to take some of my dresses, too, but Marianne said that wouldn’t be sensible,” Bitty said with a scowl. “Why is that not sensible?”
“She told us, Bitty,” Rosie said as she rolled her eyes. “We don’t have enough dresses for all of the girls, so not everyone would get one. That’s why we went and got fabric the other day, so the seamstress there could make all of the girls a new dress.”
“And new trousers for the boys!” Freddie broke in with a grin.
Bitty frowned and sat back against her chair. “Mine would be prettier.”
Kit bit back a laugh and gave his sister a consoling look. “Of course, Bitty, but for little girls with no dresses, I am sure they will be very grateful for their new ones. And I am sure you made sure it was a fabric of a lovely color.”
She grinned and nodded quickly. “I did! It’s a pretty blue and the seamstress promised me the skirts will twirl. That way when they dance it’s more fun!”
Kit shook his head and saw Rosie and Freddie do the same.
There had been a change in the children since Marianne started her work with orphans at St. Ann’s. They had offered suggestions and gifts and now clothing without a second thought, even asking if they could go and play with the children.
Ginny had talked endlessly about giving a doll to them and a few other toys, without the barest hint of regret. Rosie and Freddie had given some books and primers they thought could be of use, and Bitty, naturally, could only think of dresses. They loved hearing Marianne’s stories from her visits, and from what he could tell, had only been told good things.
Who knew what else Marianne would see and experience there.
He frowned as he looked at the clock and down the table at her empty seat. Dinner was always prompt and she was never late, often being seated before he ever came into the room. It was now ten minutes past, and that was more than unusual.
“Has anyone seen Marianne recently?” he asked of the children.
Four sets of shrugs met his query and he sighed.
“She went to see the orphans today,” Freddie said with a frown as he thought.
“But she’s always back by the late afternoon,” Rosie broke in.
Kit looked towards the doorway and saw Mrs. Wilton subtly gesturing him to come to her. He nodded and rose, smiling at the children. “You all may eat without us. The footmen will help serve you, and they will report to me on any mischief. Understand?”
Four heads bobbed quickly and the footmen smirked a little in amusement. They knew the children well enough by then to be well equipped to deal with them.
Kit moved out into the hall and indicated for Mrs. Wilton to tell him whatever she wished.
“Your wife is upstairs, sir,” she said in a subdued tone. “She went directly to her rooms after returning from St. Ann’s. She said she was not hungry, and repeated the same when I offered to have a tray brought up.”
Kit did not like the sound of that. Marianne was always hungry, and never let anything get in the way of her appetite. It was one of the things that amused him most about her.
“What was her manner and temperament?” he asked the housekeeper. “Was she distressed? Was she ill? Was she raging?”
Mrs. Wilton shook her head, her lips forming a tight line. “No, sir. She seemed… weary. And distracted. She barely heeded me at all. But, sir, I think… I think she was going to cry.”
He nearly groaned, but bit it back. He wanted to go back into the dining room and let her be, but he knew he couldn’t. He could not leave her like that.
“Thank you, Mrs. Wilton,” he murmured. “I will see to it.”
She bobbed a curtsey and left him, and he turned to the stairs and headed up, reminding himself of the distance and control that he needed to maintain. It was growing harder and harder to do so, for Marianne was becoming more and more vital to his life. She had shocked him by performing at Miranda Ascott’s musical evening, and had done so with perfection. He could have burst with pride, and not for the skill, but for braving the attempt. He had heard her endlessly practicing newer and harder pieces, and seen Gemma Templeton coming to advise her, and knew how she had struggled and toiled.
Had she ever worked so endlessly for anything?
But that wasn’t all. Marianne was always with the children now, whether it was playing on the piano or dressing in frilly gowns with Bitty, reading or debating with Rosie, or acting out all sorts of imaginary things with Ginny. She had even been coaxed into hiding games that Freddie had concocted, and Marianne had laughed louder than any of them. And lately he had seen her sacrifice calls and shopping and visits in favor of giving her time and service to St. Ann’s, always with the sort of passion she had once reserved only for the ballroom.
He had watched her unobserved enough to know that none of this was an act.
How could he resist a woman so blasted irresistible?
He knocked on her bedroom door, and heard a soft, unintelligible response, which he took to be an invitation to enter. Marianne sat on the divan on the far side of her sitting room, rather simply dressed, still wearing her pelisse, and her face turned away from the door.
“Mrs. Wilton says you will not eat,” Kit said quietly as he came towards her, noticing how she stiffened slightly at his voice. “What is that all about?
She shook her head and turned her head further away as he came around to the front of the divan. He heard a faint sniffle and sighed as he sat down beside her. “You are upset,” he murmured. “What is it?”
She turned towards him and he could see where tears had been, but no longer remained. She was a little pale and drawn, and as Mrs. Wilton had said, weary. “I am fine, Kit. Please don’t distress yourself.”
“I’m not,” he replied simply, “but you can hardly expect me to leave you when you are in distress.”
She blinked rapidly and looked down at her hands, curled up in her lap. “I will be well enough,” she ground out, as if to herself.
He hesitated, then laid a hand over hers. “Marianne.”
She clamped down hard on her bottom lip. “I don’t know if I can tell you without becoming emotional.”
Against his better will and judgment, he stayed put. “I’m not afraid of tears. Shall I hold you?”
She nodded and leaned into him, and gingerly he wrapped an arm about her. “There,” he soothed a bit awkwardly. “Tell me.”
He felt her nod against him and then exhale. “There was a new little girl at St. Ann’s today. Jane. She was four years old, and no one knows her story. She hardly speaks at all, but she looks around the room every so often, her eyes filled with tears. I asked her what was wrong for perhaps the tenth time, hoping she would open up.”
Her voice sounded hollow and vacant, and he found himself holding her closer. “And did she?” he prodded as gently as he could while still maintaining politeness.
Marianne did not seem to hear him. “She looked up at me and asked, ‘Where’s my brother? Where’s Caleb?’ And she sounded so scared, Kit. She cried for her brother. And she was the very image of me as a child.” Her voice became choked with tears and she paused for control. “It scared me how perfect a likeness she was. And I couldn’t help thinking that would have been me if anything had happened to Duncan. She is exactly what I would have been.”
“You had Tibby,” he reminded her.
Marianne’s fingers clenched together more tightly. “What if Jane has an aunt as well? Any relative? What if she had anyone to look after her? Could her fate be less dismal than what she will get in her present situation?” She shook her head against him and sniffled. “I wanted to bring her home so badly, to make sure she knew what a real home was, to give her a future. But I couldn’t. I know for every Jane there are twenty more just like her.”
The harsh bitterness in her voice struck something with him, and he looked down at the top of her head. “Is this too difficult for you?” he asked softly. “Seeing those children and those conditions?”
Again, she shook her head, this time with vigor. “No, it gives me purpose and perspective. I want to do more for them, but I have so little to give. I want to see Jane become something great, something better than I have been with all of my opportunity. But circumstances dictate our future, and unless she is adopted, or we find the truth about her family, all she can achieve is the height of a lady’s maid, and that breaks my heart.”
Kit held her a few moments more, his heart somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. He, too, could have been cast off by his family if it were not for Aunt Agatha and whatever shred of paternal duty remained in Loughton. He and Colin could have been left for some foundling organization, they would have been apprenticed off, separated, and who knew what would have become of them? He had never really considered himself as fortunate in his circumstances before, but now he could hardly believe the luck.
Marianne pulled away, suddenly stiff, and rubbed at her eyes. “Thank you,” she said tightly, averting her eyes. “You may go now.”
Kit hesitated, looking her over. “Are you sure?”
She nodded, still not meeting his gaze. “Yes, of course. Go down to the children before the potatoes find their way to the ceiling.”
He almost smiled at her attempt at humor. “Will you eat something?”
“Not tonight,” she murmured, the words somehow seeming more than a simple denial.
He waited for her to say more, and when she didn’t, he bowed slightly. “As you wish. Good night, Marianne.”
He saw her throat work on a swallow, and then she nodded in acknowledgment.
Utterly helpless and feeling rather dismissed, Kit did as she bid and left, returning to the dining room a little more subdued and infinitely more grateful.
Perhaps he, too, could benefit from her time spent with the orphans. And benefit them in return.