Page 54 of The Gentlewoman Author

“No.” He blurted. “Let’s continue. If you would? My father may improve over the course of the week.”

“Yes, of course.”

Daniel ambled around the pond with Mary at his side, holding her arm beneath his like he might collapse without her support. If she noticed, she said nothing. Since reading the letter, Mary’s step was light and her smile easy. She commented on the clear sky. He mentioned the temperature.

His thoughts would not settle but vacillated between regret and the joy of Mary’s shoulder brushing against his. Guilt grew like a tangle of ivy, strangling his chest. This deceit made him sick. No one deserved being lied to, not even a liar like his father. But if he told the truth, Mary would leave. She would leave anyway, but he had her for another week.

When she ran into his arms, the fullness of her body pressed against his, the world righted. Everything that seemed unfair rectified, his ten years of labor at Smith’s Bank, Miss Jensen’s jilt, the many cracks in the castle walls, even the pain of his parents’ poor treatment of him eased. He could not let her go. Once Louisa arrived, she would have all Mary’s attention, deservedly so.

He regretted not telling Mary that Louisa was his intended, but the arrangements weren’t settled, and when Louisa ran off, it became irrelevant. Now he feared his parents would reveal it. He had asked them not to, saying he did not wish Mary to believe she was anyone’s second choice, but they were not reliable. And now Louisa was on her way. What would his parents think when she arrived? He would not tell them yet but say Mary’s friends were coming.

In less than a week, he had to convince both his parents and Mary that she was his best match. When she agreed to be his wife, after everything was settled and announced, he would tell Mary about Louisa, and his parents that Mary and Louisa were relations.

When he first told his parents he’d brought a lady with him, they’d questioned him about Mary’s dowry, and he told them about her estate in Ireland. It was their first question after making it clear they preferred Louisa Thorpe, and it made him suspicious.

Mary stopped. “Look at the reflection of your castle in the pond. I cannot shake the feeling your Almery is enchanted. Whoever becomes your wife will be a very fortunate lady. Perhaps she will be an artist.”

Was she teasing him? Flirting?

They continued in a long but comfortable silence, making their way around the pond to a crude bench, made by Daniel’s father, crumbled in rot. It had been a present for his mother, who loved the aspect of the castle as mirrored in the pond.

They paused to absorb the view.

“Your parents are sincere and…” She seemed to search for a word. “Effusive.”

“You mean they are very different from me?”

She laughed. “I suppose one could say that. You are slow to express your opinion.”

“Effusive and impulsive are good words for them.”

“You are fortunate to have affectionate parents.”

“They show their love in odd ways.” He did not wish to talk of his parents and began walking again.

Her step faltered, and she pulled at his arm to steady herself. “Pardon me. The roses are so captivating, I did not heed the path.” Her voice was soft as she looked ahead of her at a tangle of red and pink that climbed over an ancient rock wall. “What a wonder that garden is! A surprise at every turn.”

It delighted him to experience the castle through her eyes. What would it be like to keep her here? The thought burned his cheeks. Her high praise of her late husband made it impossible to imagine she wanted a second marriage. She thought him too young to consider, teasing him about their age difference.

Now that he was home, the responsibilities of the castle could consume every waking moment, but he would not allow that to happen. He must take time for Mary, show her how happy they might be together. He must convince her to stay forever.

Virginity, marriage, and widowhood, two of them are states of subjugation. The first to the parent, the second to the husband. The third, if ever a woman arrives at that state, finds the condition most desolate and deplorable. They are left to their own guidance and are most miserable when they are most at liberty.

The Whole Duty of a Woman, An Infallible Guide to the Fairer Sex, 1737