Chapter 18
At dinner that afternoon Lady Caroline mentioned the ball that would be held at the Assembly Room that evening. “Speaking of which,” she said, “we still have a lot to do to prepare for our own ball. It is only a week away, you know.”
“Thank heavens I won’t have to be a part of the planning,” William said. “I can’t stand hearing talk of colors and flowers.” He looked at Philip. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”
I glanced at Philip. I hadn’t spoken to him since the night before, and I found myself missing him much more than I had anticipated. Just now, letting my gaze rest on his familiar face, I felt a unique sense of relief.
“No, of course not,” Philip said.
“Good. I’ve been looking forward to this trip these past six months.”
Trip? What trip? I looked in confusion from one to the other, but before I could ask anything, Lady Caroline said, “We won’t need your help with the planning, but I do expect you both to be back in time for the ball.”
William threw Rachel a pleading look, but she only smiled and said, “Don’t look at me like that. You know I want you at the ball.”
He groaned, and I had to smile a little at his pained expression.
“We can’t help with the ball plans today,” Louisa said. “I’m going to introduce Cecily to the Fairhursts. You won’t mind if we take the gig, will you?” She looked at her mother, who turned worried eyes to me. The gig would not hold three passengers, which meant I was excluded from their plans.
“You can take the carriage,” Lady Caroline said, “so that both of our guests will be able to join you.”
She seemed to put extra weight on the word “guests.” Surely everyone at the table knew what Lady Caroline was doing—she was trying to force Louisa into taking me along. But I refused to be the object of charity, and I would not go along if I wasn’t wanted.
“Thank you for considering me,” I said, “but I would love to stay and help you plan the ball instead. I have already met the Fairhursts.”
I felt Philip’s gaze and knew my face was red with embarrassment, but I didn’t glance his way. I pulled my pride tight around me like a cloak in winter and kept my pretense in place. Louisa might not want my company, but that didn’t mean it had to hurt. Cecily caught up with me in the hall as I left the dining room.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
I stopped and looked at her. My smile felt forced.
“I didn’t feel like I could ask Louisa twice in one day to let you accompany us. But I would have invited you if I could have. I hope you understand.”
Another forced smile. “Of course.”
She hugged me, and the scent of lilacs enveloped me. “I knew you would.” She pulled away and threw me a smile before going upstairs to get her bonnet. I stood in the foyer, feeling lost and alone. Lady Caroline had to speak with the housekeeper, so she wasn’t ready to talk with me about ball plans. Before today, I would have been making my way to the library to meet Philip for that chess game he kept promising me. But there was to be no more of that, now that Cecily was here.
Still, I wandered toward the library because I had nothing better to do. I was sure Philip was doing something with William. Just as I expected, the room was empty. I sat on a chair in front of the window and looked out at the orchard. This was the same place where I had sat the day Philip told me all about his Tour. Smoothing my hand over the leather armrest, I tried not to think of the days gone by that would never return. But it was no use. I missed Philip. I missed our afternoons together. I missed the days we had before Cecily had arrived and changed everything. And I missed Cecily too—the sister I had known and loved all my life, who had always had time for me.
I lay my head against the back of the chair, closed my eyes, and tried very hard to tuck my sadness away. It was threatening to escape its proper bounds and spill out of my heart. Even using all of my concentration, I was unable to find any real security of my emotions. They wavered close to the surface, and I kept feeling the urge to cry.
I felt a stir in the air around me. Opening my eyes, I found Philip sitting on the windowsill directly in front of me, with his arms crossed, as if determined to wait there a long time if he had to. For some reason, I wasn’t surprised to see him. We looked at each other in silence for a moment before the emotions I saw in his eyes became unbearable. There was sadness and gentleness and more pity than I wanted to see.
“Did you need something?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, reaching out and taking my hand. My heart thumped hard at his touch. I told myself I should pull my hand away, but I couldn’t make myself do it.
“What did you need?” My voice was little more than a whisper.
“Your smile. I haven’t seen it all day.”
I looked at my hand in his and wondered how to respond. I didn’t think I could conjure up one more false smile to save my life, so I just sighed and didn’t say anything.
“Why don’t you join William and me? I’m going to show him the work I’ve had done on the estate since his last visit.”
I met his gaze. “I don’t want your pity.”
His grip on my hand tightened, and his voice sounded exasperated. “I am not offering you pity, Marianne. I want you to come with us.”
He looked sincere, and I wanted to believe that he wanted my company. But I didn’t want to know for sure, because I didn’t think I could bear it if I found out that he didn’t mean it—that he was only being polite. Besides that, I had still chosen Cecily. I had committed my loyalty to her. I knew it was still the right decision, even if it made me unhappy.
“Thank you for the invitation,” I said, slipping my hand out of his. “But I can’t accept it.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Can’t or won’t?” His question reminded me of my question to him the first night I was here.
Smiling a little, I answered, “Both.”
He looked away.
I stood and walked to the door, but turned back when I remembered something. “Thank you for the poetry.”
He looked at me again, but said nothing in return.
Lady Caroline was ready to plan the ball when I met her in the drawing room. Mrs. Clumpett and Rachel were engaged in the sorts of activities that elegant ladies do—sewing and music and reading. They were clearly resigned to their roles as elegant ladies; I should resign myself to mine as well. But after sitting with Lady Caroline for an hour and a half discussing every aspect of the ball, I ached with restlessness.
She looked up from her lists and saw me shifting in my seat. “I think this is enough for now. Thank you for your help.”
I stood and looked around the room. What to do now? Mrs. Clumpett sat practicing the pianoforte, reminding me that I should try to be accomplished. I sat next to Rachel on the settee and picked up the embroidery I found there. But my mind was not on my work. Something was bothering me, but it was just beyond the edge of my awareness, and I couldn’t pull it to the surface. After several minutes, it came to me. It was the trip that William and Philip had mentioned, and which I had heard nothing about. Had it been my imagination, or were they all keeping it a secret from me?
Rachel glanced at me. “Good heavens! What are you doing to my embroidery?”
I looked down and realized that it was not mine, and that I had just embroidered random stitches all over the cloth. I dropped it abruptly.
“Pardon me.”
Rachel picked up the embroidery and began to pick out threads. The pianoforte was loud, assuring me that the others would not overhear.
“William seems to be looking forward to this trip,” I said nonchalantly. Rachel frowned at the tangle of a French knot that I had made, trying to pick it apart with a needle.
“Yes,” she sighed. “I have resigned myself to it, because they enjoy it so. But my father would never have approved of it.” She gave me a look of long-suffering. “He was a rector. Thank goodness he is in his grave.”
I stared at her as she pulled out the stitches I had so clumsily made. What were Philip and William going to do that a rector would disapprove of?
Rachel went on. “But such are the ways of men. I know I couldn’t stop William if I tried. So I don’t. I have decided that the less I know about what they do, the better I feel about it. Sometimes ignorance is the best defense, you know.”
I was stunned. I tried to think of some other explanation, but all I could think was that the only reason a woman would not want to know what her husband was doing was if he was doing something improper.
Although I had never been to Town, I knew enough that I could fit the pieces of the puzzle together for myself. After all, I had heard rumors about Mr. Kellet’s scandals enough times that I understood the gist of what he was doing. Betsy had told me plenty, too, about what people in London did. But I could hardly believe they could all talk about such things so casually! Why, they had spoken about their trip in front of Lady Caroline!
I suddenly saw the Wyndham family in a new light, and I was horribly disappointed in the whole lot of them. But I couldn’t say anything, or react in the way I wanted to. It would only bring further embarrassment upon me, just as it had with Cecily and Louisa.
Of course, I didn’t know William well at all. But Philip! I had thought he was such a gentleman. He seemed so noble. I had thought he would somehow be above such things. How could I have been so mistaken in my understanding of his character?
I felt ill, and knew that I must escape, at once. I said something about needing to get something from my room and fled as quickly as possible. But I did not go to my room, for I knew there was no peace to be found there. Instead I roamed the house in a distracted state, trying not to imagine Philip doing things a rector wouldn’t approve of, until my face was hot and my heart was sick.
In my distracted wanderings, I ended up on the third floor and stopped in front of the paintings there. Perhaps if I had something beautiful to occupy my mind, I would be able to push aside the sick feeling that roiled within me.
I had examined only a few of the landscapes, however, when I realized I was hearing an odd noise. It sounded like the clang of metal on metal, and it gradually pulled me from my concentration until curiosity drove me to explore the source. I followed the sound until I came to the room I had seen once before, on my tour of the house.
The fencing room. The door was slightly ajar, and I could look in without being seen. The sight that greeted me caused my heart to leap into my throat. It was Philip in his breeches and shirt, fencing with William. Philip looked lithe and strong and graceful and powerful. My throat went dry, and I stood still, afraid to make a noise, unable to tear my eyes away. He drove William hard against the wall, but William held him off, foil against foil.
“Rein it in, Philip. I’d rather not be injured.”
Philip stepped back and muttered, “Sorry.” As he turned, I saw his face clearly for the first time and caught my breath. I had never imagined he could look so impassioned. He looked as if he had a fire burning within him, and that if he ever unleashed it, it would consume everyone around him.
“I assume this mood has something to do with your . . . assignment,” William said, seeming to put stress on the last word. He looked amused.
“You know it does,” Philip said curtly.
“Is it really that bad?” William was definitely amused.
Philip raked a hand through his hair. “Worse than ever. I don’t know how much longer I can tolerate it.” William chuckled and Philip scowled at him. “You find this humorous, I see.”
“After all the women you’ve run away from, yes, I do find this humorous.”
Philip did not smile in return, though. I suddenly wondered if it was appropriate for me to listen to their conversation. How embarrassing if they were to catch me listening outside the door! I was about to back up and try to escape undetected when William spoke.
“Her grandmother arranged the visit, didn’t she? Why can’t you just send her back to Bath?”
I froze at his words. They were talking about me!
“I would if it were possible,” Philip said. “Anything would be better than having her here. But it’s out of the question. Her grandmother was very clear on that point—she doesn’t want her in Bath.” He sighed. “I want nothing more than to be rid of my responsibility toward her, and yet she has nowhere else to go.”
My heart pounded so hard it hurt.
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” William said. “Perhaps her father will come back while we’re gone and take her home. Then all of this will be resolved easily.”
“I wish you were right, but I doubt it.” Philip tapped his boot with his sword. “He has stayed away for more than a year now, and is unlikely to return any time soon.”
“Then it looks like you will have to suffer it out.” William grinned and lifted his foil. “Just try not to take out your frustration on me.”
Philip muttered something that I couldn’t hear, giving William a dark look. William just laughed.
As they began to fence again, I stepped back and turned numbly from the door. I walked slowly, very slowly, down the hall, around the corner, down the stairs, and to my bedchamber.
I closed the door and crossed the room to look out the window, fighting to keep from my heart the truth that had been thrust upon me. I may as well have been trying to blot out the sun. There was no escape from being unwanted. And that was the truth that struck at me the most deeply. Nobody wanted me—not my father or my grandmother or the Wyndhams. Not Louisa. Maybe not even Cecily. And certainly not Philip.
I had grown accustomed to my father’s abandonment. And I had suspected that my grandmother had not welcomed being responsible for me. But I had never doubted Philip’s friendship—not since that day we had spent together in the library. I had felt so sure of it, convinced that not even his horrid flirting could diminish the strength of the bond I felt between us.
Now, to discover that I had been wrong about everything—about Philip’s character as well as his regard for me—was a blow so great that I reeled from it. Philip was not a gentleman, and he was not my friend. It was all an elaborate pretense. There was nothing real and nothing true for me to stand on.
I felt like I did the first time I had been thrown from a horse, with the reins yanked from my hands and the ground rushing up at me. Then, as now, there was nothing I could do to prevent the pain that was coming.