Chapter Twelve
The manner in which Marianne left London was far different from how she had arrived. Oh, the carriage was similar, though this one was far and away more comfortable than that beastly rented hack. And she was dressed rather similarly to that day, though her grey travelling gown was really much better suited to her figure than the horrid, dark wool creation she’d worn then. She’d been tempted to burn that one after the inns along the way and those awful days in Leeds and Yorkshire, and she still might.
The distance they travelled was less, but so was the pace of the horses. Her heart was racing, but this time it drew a smile from her rather than a grimace. Also, this time she was not riding alone.
Nothing had shocked her more than when Kit had followed her into the carriage. He’d caught her shocked expression and merely smirked at it. “Don’t think anything of it,” he’d said rather gruffly as he adjusted himself against the seat. “Last time it hurt to walk for a week, I am not about to do that again.”
Her surprise had been all the more compounded by the fact that they’d hardly spoken since their decision to leave had been made. He’d gone about his usual manners and activities, reserved aloofness and all, practically ignoring her and letting her do as she pleased. It hadn’t been unpleasant, but she had wondered why he should be so warm… kissing her bare hand and palm, after all!… and then to go back as if it had never happened. But Kit had always been a mystery, and his resistance to emotions of any kind was typical, and strangely comforting.
But riding in a carriage with her? That was progress, despite his return to normalcy, whatever he might say.
They had been travelling for three days now, and conversation had been limited, but pleasant enough. He asked after her comfort at fairly regular intervals, ensured they had food and rest aplenty, did not plague her with inane conversation, and gave her the best of the rooms at the inns, which were a wonderful change from before. This, she had thought several times, was how a married couple should travel. Whatever had occurred before had been… unfortunate.
They’d seen a great number of people before they had left, each of their family calling to consult and wish them well, no doubt wondering as to what would send them off so suddenly. But by unspoken agreement, they kept their reasons quiet, and only said some time away would be good for them.
Bitty had been quite upset about their going, though Rosie could not have cared less, and Ginny did not understand any of it and was not perturbed in the least. Annalise advised Marianne to enjoy herself, and to try and find peace between herself and Kit. Marianne didn’t know if peace would ever be in her future, but she had nodded and promised to try anyway. Duncan had hugged her tightly and told her not to kill Kit, which she felt quite safe to promise. Tibby… well, Tibby thought they were mad to go anywhere together, and vowed she did not know how she would explain their absence.
Marianne had no doubt she would come up with something.
Armed with several pieces of music from Lily, who secretly swore that some might be scandalous, and some entertaining suggestions of ways to pass the time from Gemma, she thought she could actually quite enjoy the country. It was an astonishing notion, as she had always found herself quite bored when they’d been forced to Duncan’s country house.
She’d always preferred the excitement and pull of London and stayed there whenever she could, no matter the season or popularity. Considering what she knew of London and Society now, however, the country had a great deal more charm for her than it ever had.
After three days of being in this lovely and spacious carriage, however, she was desperate to be rid of it, and longed to stretch her legs. But dozing as she was… as well as any woman in a corset and a bonnet can ever doze in a moving carriage cramped by a long-legged husband… was almost comfortable. Kit had somehow managed to make himself fit into the smallest place possible considering his size and that of the carriage, so she had far more space than she would have otherwise. It was really rather sweet of him, all things considered, though it could hardly have been comfortable for him. If this was his way of trying to make up for being a lackluster husband and not giving her the wedding she liked, then he was sadly…
“Marianne.”
She stirred and squinted over at Kit, suddenly realizing his hand was on her arm. Had she really fallen so completely asleep under these conditions?
He smiled at her, which was impossible under these conditions, and he indicated the window with his head. “We are approaching Glendare Court.” He sat back and raised a brow at her, as if her reluctance to excitement amused him. “I thought you might like to see the place straightaway. And right yourself before meeting the staff.”
Marianne sat up and rubbed at her cheeks, feeling very sluggish all of a sudden. But as she processed the words he’d said, she nodded in agreement. She absolutely wanted to take stock of her house while she could, and not have several servants watch her gape at it. Heavens, she must look a fright. She smoothed her hair under her bonnet, adjusted her bodice and cloak, then patted the skin beneath her eyes so it might not seem so puffy from sleep.
She nodded again, ignoring Kit’s look, and sat forward to catch a glimpse, grateful that the day was clear and bright. Surely the house would prove at its greatest advantage under these circumstances.
The sight before her caught her breath in her throat. Never had she seen a place look so magnificent as this. Kit’s description, though quite accurate, had fallen far short of the glory and splendor of its reality. The sun seemed to glint off of the majestic arches and peaks, sparkling off of the windows like on water, and even the faded stone façade seemed brightened by the light. It was an older house, as she had anticipated, but with none of the cold formality she had come to expect from such a place. Even her brother’s house was more marble than anything, and though she loved it, and always would, it had never quite felt like home.
This sprawling estate, expanding before her eyes as they approached, was all warmth and welcome, with just enough grandeur for her more worldly tastes. Hardly the ruin she had expected, from Kit’s assertions, and it seemed to come alive before her very eyes. It was as much a part of the glories of the countryside as the rich treasures Somerset afforded, and seemed just as natural. As Kit had told her, it was as if the garden had created the house for its own use. But instead of seeming overgrown and wild, it was as if someone had taken a charming country cottage and made it grow into this fine testament of architecture, taste, and refinement. She had seen grander homes, more majestic homes, and some homes that would be better served to be called castles, and she had envied each and every one of them, thinking she could make such a place a very fine mistress, and make it her own.
But this… This bit of magic before her was something else. Something entirely different.
“You’re quiet,” Kit murmured as they reached the circle drive and the servants filed from the house. “Well?”
Marianne sniffed back the barest hint of tears that had begun to form, and the sudden congestion in her throat. “Well,” she said simply, trying for her usual tone. “It is better than Surrey, at any rate.” She waited a moment for his steely irritation to rise, then gave him a soft look. “It’s wonderful.”
She did not expect the rush of relief that escaped him and he tried to hide a smile as he exited the carriage, then held a hand out for her.
She took it and forced a fine smile on her face, and allowed herself to be presented to the very long line of ordinary looking servants. But they all seemed very capable and pleasant, and their uniforms were quite smart. Not one sour face amongst the whole of them, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Dinstable, was the most matronly sort of woman she had ever laid eyes on. Though she could not have yet been fifty, and her hair still held all the richness of its amber color, the faint lines on her face and warmth in her eyes spoke of a life well lived, and Marianne suddenly wanted to get to know the woman over a pot of tea.
The butler, Reynolds, was a tall and stately man with almost no hair, save for his eyebrows and the back of his head, and his voice was rather like the growl of a rather large dog, but his smile was sure, despite the almost drooping sag of his skin the smile produced. He seemed very pleased and proud to receive them, and made all of the proper introductions. And it was evident he was well respected by the other servants, and took great pride in Glendare, which was all they could want.
As they entered the house, Kit let her hand fall from his hold. He stepped back and bowed to her, expression implacable. “I’ll let you get settled, then.” He turned and started away almost stiffly.
“What, you’re leaving already?” she called.
He turned back to face her, his expression giving no sign of his emotions. “I told you before, I know little of this place, and I’m not in any sort of favor to give a tour at the moment. There is work to be done, and I am keen to get started on it.”
Marianne frowned and moved closer, wanting to keep her voice down so as not to alert the servants to their issues already. “We have only just arrived, Kit. We should both get settled in, take a meal, perhaps, and then let things progress as they will. Such a distinct separation so quickly will be cause for comment. They will think you cannot stand me.”
He slowly raised a brow at her. “Are you really that concerned about what the servants think?”
“Yes,” she said simply. “Particularly when I don’t know them, nor they me.”
He exhaled a quick breath. “So get to know them.”
“Kit…”
“They will talk no matter what we do, because servants talk,” he overrode as if she had said nothing. “We will meet for meals, as we always have, and I will converse as I see fit, or not. I have spent three days in a carriage, my head is splitting, and yet I still have work to do. I mean to start on it now.”
Marianne ground her teeth together and lifted her chin just enough to make a point. “Forgive me. I thought we were past our differences in this marriage.” She gave a hard laugh. “I shall stay out of your way to avoid making your head worse than it already is, since that is apparently all that I do.”
She gave him a mocking attempt at a curtsey and swept away, towards the great marble stairs that made up a fair portion of the great hall. Her boots echoed ominously on the floors, and gave a great distinction to her steps, much to her satisfaction. But after this, she would most certainly see the room redone. So much marble was quite intimidating.
“That is not what I meant, Marianne,” Kit hissed, his voice echoing about the hall.
She tossed a glare at him over her shoulder. “Go do your work, Kit. As you said, you have much to do.” Her voice sounded sad and fatigued, even to her ears, and she hated herself for sounding so pitiful. But she had no fight left in her.
Not anymore.
A small, bitter smile played at her lips, and she fought down the twisting sensation in her stomach. They were just out of sorts from travelling, she considered. After a day or two here, once they had recovered and settled, a normal routine would commence, just as it had in London, and they would not be quite so at odds.
Surely that would be so. They could not possibly manage any length of time anywhere if they always behaved like this, let alone expect a marriage that would be worth anything.
But how many marriages did she know of that barely existed in name only? Countless members of society lived apart from their spouses, and quite willingly. Would that be her fate?
It could be quite a good thing, if their behavior was any sort of indication.
So why should the idea make her a little sad?
He should have sent Marianne away by herself. This was by far and away a worse torture than London had ever been. Oh, she was vastly better protected here, and no one would injure her, which meant his more gentlemanly impulses would grow dormant, and he was contented that they should do so. But he would have absolutely no sense left when they left here, if his wife continued on like this.
Two days at Glendare and he was already finding ways to leave the house. Meals were completely silent, Marianne still insisting on being indecent at breakfast, and he had stopped attending luncheon, as he had been seeing to business with the tenants or his manager or taking stock of the repairs needed to the estate. Dinners were perhaps the worst, as neither of them were sleepy and had passed a full day, but with no desire to share anything. He’d noticed the beginning of some changes to the interior, but hardly anything worth commenting on. The statues in the great hall were still present, much to his disgust, and he would swear he saw a footman dusting one of them.
If Marianne meant to keep them, he may just have to cause an accident involving all twelve.
How had they fallen back here so fast? They had been doing fairly well in London, not altogether easy, but the fighting had lessened. Not that they were fighting now, they were not speaking at all, but this tension between them was maddening. His pride would not let him speak first, and nor would hers, and so they were locked in this stalemate that only disaster would break.
He was fully aware that he could not blame Marianne for their situation. Why was it that he could not settle on his behavior around her? Why did she bring out the absolute worst in him? He had spent two years away to find his control, and had only improved it in the years since, and yet she found ways to break through and set him at odds. He was driven to rage so quickly by her hand that he would seem a man with a temper, when in reality, he was quite calm and unruffled by nature.
The only other person in the world who could provoke him with such skill was Colin, and even he did not press Kit to these extremes.
“Begging your pardon, sir,” intoned Reynolds from the door.
Kit looked up from his desk in surprise, wondering how he had not heard the door knock, nor open. He set down the papers he had obviously not been reading and raised a brow. “Yes, Reynolds?”
The older man frowned, his sagging skin moving with the fluidity of honey. “It is Mrs. Gerrard, sir.”
Kit sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What has she done now?”
“Well, she’s gone for a walk, sir, and I am growing concerned.”
Kit looked up again and his brow furrowed in confusion. “Why should that make you concerned? I should think it a good thing that she’s got out of the house.”
Reynolds nodded, the sheen of his head nearly glowing from the light through the window. “Indeed, sir. Only she has been gone several hours now, sir, and I do not believe she knows her way around the grounds.”
“Perhaps she has gone to the village or to call on our neighbors.”
“No, sir, she said very clearly that she wanted to see the grounds. And she would not take anyone with her.”
Kit sat back in his chair heavily and chewed his lip a little. “How many hours?”
“Nearly three, sir.”
He swore under his breath. Marianne wouldn’t know her way around the estate, and she was no walker. He’d taken care to be so busy that he would not be available should she have sought him out for any sort of tour. He’d always presumed that if she had really wanted to know, she could have asked one of the servants. But he’d neglected to take into consideration Marianne’s pride and independence. She would have gone out on her own to explore without consideration to anyone, and his estimation of the estate’s grounds had not been entirely accurate.
Truth be told, it was one of the largest estates in Somerset, and involved quite a bit of foliage, rises, and moors, not to mention a precarious stretch of shoreline if one was unfamiliar with it.
If she had stuck to the gardens by the house, it would not have been an issue. But Reynolds would not have brought this to his attention had Marianne been so wise as to remain in the gardens. And three hours was worrisome.
“Have some of the stable hands ride out,” Kit said after a moment of consideration. “It’s likely she has become turned around and…”
“But sir…”
A low rumble of thunder stopped them both and Kit rose slowly, his gaze fixed on the window. He walked towards it, a feeling of dread rapidly unfurling in his stomach. Rain pattered against the glass, and larger streams fell from the roof above, large and impressive puddles catching it beneath.
“How long has it been raining?” Kit murmured, his breathing the slightest bit unhinged.
“Almost two hours, sir.”
A violent burst of cursing flew from his lips as he nearly flew from the room. “My horse, Reynolds! And get those damn stable hands out!”
Marianne’s teeth began to chatter more viciously and her head throbbed, to say nothing for her feet and legs. She ought to have been in Devonshire by now with how far she’d gone. She had long accepted that she had been a fool to wander so far from the house for her own curiosity and without someone to accompany her. She’d never been to Somerset herself, but she knew from others that the terrain could not be trusted and could, in fact, prove quite treacherous. But she’d never considered that their property would be so, nor that it would have been so vast.
And when it had occurred to her, she’d turned back to return the way she had come, only to have no idea how she had gotten to this point.
All she had wanted was to see the coastline, and she had done so, miraculously not breaking any bones or even turning an ankle, though it was not for want of trying. She had forged on through the rain, and when the first ten minutes of rain had soaked every article of clothing and inch of skin, she’d decided that was not a wise course and tried to find her way back.
She did not know how long ago that had been, but she knew that the moment she stopped, she would give up and dissolve into tears. Not that she hadn’t cried a little already, for there was no stopping the helplessness and embarrassment that transcended whatever mistaken independence she’d come out with. But to give in to the fatigue in her legs and the aching in her chest would rob her of any strength left, and she could not afford that.
Would anyone know to come for her? She’d told Reynolds where she was going, but she hardly knew him well enough to know what his memory was like, or if he would act in her interest. And Kit… Oh, Kit would be furious when he found out.
She hiccupped a small sob and swiped at the tears in her eyes, though it made no difference, as the tears and the rain all mixed on her chilled skin. Kit might not even know she was gone. He was avoiding her at all costs, saving meals, and she could hardly blame him.
Yet another crash of thunder erupted, seemingly from all around her, and she whimpered, clutching her sodden cloak more tightly around her. It did nothing for the wind nor the chill, but wrapping it around her made her feel smaller, and that was a comfort.
The rain poured down more steadily upon her, falling from her bonnet like waterfalls over rocks and stones, and that tattered thing provided no shelter anymore. Nothing did. She was wet, cold, filthy, and had no way of getting home. She did not know which direction she had come from, nor in which direction she was headed, and her boots were growing so caked with mud that soon she would not be able to do more than slide through the inches of thick muck on the ground.
Another, much louder, roll of thunder caused her to jerk and she lost her footing, tumbling to the grass and barely catching herself before her face hit a standing puddle. She bit back a cry and pushed up on her trembling limbs, tenderly setting herself back on her feet.
That was enough, she finally admitted, clutching her bonnet with both hands. She could not do more. She would have to find a place and wait for the weather to pass. Her lungs heaved with panicked breaths as she stumbled towards a large tree nearby, its thick trunk a welcome support for her. She tried to ignore her tears as she scraped what she could from her boots against the rough bark of the roots, and when they were as clean as she could manage, she leaned back against the tree, looking out at the vast expanse before her.
The clouds were so low they mingled with the mist of the ground, and the whole panorama looked like something from a fairytale. The rain’s melodic pounding against leaves and grass and rocks would have soothed her had she not grown weary of the noise. A pair of large raindrops fell from the branches overhead and landed heavily on her shoulders, and she felt the weight of them sink against her.
What a dismal prospect she was and had.
Impossibly, over the noise of the storm, she heard a different thundering. Something more like hoof beats. With a wild gasp of hope she did not know she still possessed, she stepped away from the tree and looked behind her.
A great black horse approached, and its rider was at once the most wonderful and most horrid sight of all. Kit rode recklessly, his greatcoat billowing behind him, his head looking all around. Then he caught sight of her and turned the horse in her direction. When he was close enough, he reined the animal in, and stared at her for a long moment, his expression maddeningly impossible to read.
Then, to her utter relief, she saw his chest move with a massive exhale and his shoulders slumped just a little.
Her tears would not be restrained and she covered her mouth to keep from embarrassing herself with hiccups and gasps, though her body shook with the sudden force of her emotions.
Kit swung down off of his horse and came over to her, and only when he was near her could she see the concern and relief in his face.
“I’m so sorry,” she gasped, her voice breaking and clogged.
Kit only shook his head, his throat working on several swallows. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly, reaching out to take her arm.
She swiped a filthy hand across her cheeks and then nodded. “A little wet, a little cold, and very lost, but yes.”
He nodded, squeezing her arm gently. “I should have shown you the estate before letting you go out, my apologies.”
“I wouldn’t have listened,” she admitted with an attempt at a smile.
He tilted his head, sending a torrent of water falling to one side. “And you are more apt to listen now?” he asked, reaching up to wipe mud off of her cheek.
Her face crumpled as she nodded, and she gasped on unrestrained sobs, her cleaner hand finding its way to encircle his wrist, as if he could anchor her, steady her, as if to remind herself that he was really here.
He was still for a long moment, his fingers curling against her cheek, then scooped her up into his arms easily. “I can walk, Kit,” she managed, shaking her head at him.
“Don’t rob me of my opportunity to be husbandly,” he scolded at once as his arms hefted her into a more comfortable position. “This seems the least I can do.”
Marianne swallowed back more tears and tucked her chin in embarrassment. “I’ve not been a wife that deserves such a husband,” she whispered.
They reached his horse, and Kit set her down on the ground, removed his greatcoat, and wrapped it around her tightly. She stared at him as he adjusted it, his eyes avoiding hers, but taking in everything else about her state, muddy mess and clinging clothes and all. He sighed and nodded reluctantly, as if it was the best he could do. He turned and mounted the horse, then reached down for her and pulled her up to join him, settling her in his lap.
He picked up the reins and hesitated, meeting her eyes for a long moment, as if the rain weren’t pounding all around them.
“What?” she asked him, her cheeks heating under the intensity of his gaze.
He exhaled briefly. “I am doing something I should have done a long time ago,” he told her, his voice low and a bit rough.
She gave a soft snort despite her tears. “What, going to punish me for being a spoiled child and say ‘I told you so‘?”
He shook his head slowly. “No. Forgiving you.”
The severity in his tone left no doubt as to what he was referring, and it had nothing to do with today’s excursion. She gasped a little and swayed, forcing him to hold her more securely. “You cannot possibly…”
His hold tightened, silencing her at once. “I told you before we left London that everybody deserves a second chance. It’s time I gave you one.” He cleared his throat and turned the horse. “Now, hold tight,” he murmured. “We will be home soon.”
Fighting more tears, Marianne looped her arms around his waist and clung to him, wondering if it were possible that her husband was a far better man than she had ever believed or imagined. Gratitude unlike anything she’d ever known rose within her, and she buried her face against him. Impossibly, his arms tightened further, and he quickly and capably carried them home, the rain no longer seeming to bother either of them.