Page 52 of The Gentlewoman Author

Chapter Twenty-One

“Your 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.”