Page 59 of The Gentlewoman Author

“Pull your chair closer.” He told her, hoping his eyes spoke an apology. She did. And not only that. Her shoulder leaned against his arm, and her rose perfume captivated him. He chose a familiar song. Though he had not played for years, other than at the inn, his fingers remembered where to go.

“I think it is working,” Mary said. “She is smiling.”

“Do you play?”

“Only the basic requirement for a lady. When my mother tried to teach me, I hid. I was rather wild as a girl, without patience for practice. With two older siblings, it took a great deal of effort to keep up with them. I had little time for music or drawing.”

Daniel warmed at the picture she conjured of a little girl, chestnut curls flying into the woods as her mother called for her to practice her lessons.

“I daresay your time was better spent.”

“I have no regrets.” She turned another page of music, her nearness intoxicating. He played with increased passion, praying his song would distract him from the thoughts that urged him closer to her, that yearned to hold her rather than merely sit next to her.

“My dear boy, I have never heard you play with such feeling,” Mrs. Fletcher said.

Later that night, he entered his father’s room. From a chair near the bed, he watched the rise and fall of his father’s breathing. Daniel could not sleep. Thoughts of Mary invaded his mind and kept him from rest. With each passing moment, his dread for her departure increased.

“Daniel.” He had not seen his mother resting in her favorite chaise lounge. “You are thinking of Mary and cannot sleep?”

How are mothers so adept? “Something like that.”

“Do you know she is the one who settled the squabbling below stairs? She is capable and independent, but far too old.”

He far preferred a capable woman to an unequal miss.

“I can already see that without her you would be lost, but there is something uncertain in your behavior—and hers. So,” her voice cracked, “you’d better tell her you love her. You never know when she might be taken from you.” She dabbed at her eyes.

Her apt assessment made him uneasy and led him to think his admiration for Mary might develop into the same sort of blind love his parents had. “Father is improving. The two of you will have many years yet to worship each other.” He’d meant to make his tone light but could taste the bitterness that slipped into the words.

“You think it is folly to love as your father and I do. We are not without our faults, but loving deeply is not one of them. The delight I have in your father is the deepest treasure of my life. I won’t deny we’ve made mistakes.” She adjusted a blanket that wrapped around her. “Perhaps you are right to hold a grudge against us for what you saw as neglect, but we did everything out of affection for our children and for one another. The best gift we gave you and your sister was the love we have for each other.” Her voice became lower, more serious. “That same joy can be yours. She is down the hall. While I’ve mentioned only her gift for practicality, she is a romantic pining for adoration. She sighs when you read aloud. Her hand rests on her heart when you play the piano, and she even wipes a tear when you sing. Don’t allow your silly notions about love get in the way of the one thing that matters. Much as it pains me to have no grandchildren from you.”

She was right. If he wanted Mary to stay, he must be open about his feelings. Flowers in her room were not a confession. He wished his mother good night and stepped into the hall. With a pounding heart, he slipped out of his boots and walked to Mary’s door, though he had no clear idea of his intention.

Soft light came from under her door. He leaned against the wall trying to imagine what she was doing. What feelings had his mother’s words evoked? Dare he become a fool who loved so deeply it suffocated him? A person who sacrificed his own best interest for another’s happiness?

A soft scratching sounded through the door. She was writing. He could see her in his mind’s eye, quill in hand, a thick braid coiled and shining over her shoulder, her lips pressed together in a kissable pucker, the way she did when she was thinking.

He closed his eyes, listened to the scraping of her pen, and thought of her face, soft in candlelight. If she asked him to leave home in search of Louisa, he would do it. If she pined after a particular bonnet she fancied in a Bath millinery, he would fetch it for her. If she spent a night in tears and sorrow, he did not want the person at her side to be anyone other than himself. If she wanted a telescope and the price was an endless winter of potatoes and dried pork, he would get her the telescope.

He loved her.

And it was nothing like what he’d felt for Miss Jensen, a love rooted in the idea that having his own family would offer the comfort and security he sometimes lacked with his parents. His feelings for Mary were not so selfish.

He craved that fool’s errand and wanted her to need something that only he could give. A tiny smile tickled the corners of Daniel’s mouth. His heart thudded out an anthem to his adored, a booming and joyous song that he never imagined himself capable of. He, of all men, had found his match. And what a treasure she was. She was not a burden or an obligation forced upon him by his parents. Dynamic and intelligent, beautiful, and clever, Mary elevated him.

He watched candlelight flicker across the hall, his hands and feet growing cold. A patter of feet sounded from inside her bedroom, followed by the rustling paper. The light from beneath the door was snuffed, leaving Daniel to wonder over his intentions. Though he wanted to open the door and express all he felt, to enter the room of a lady whilst she was abed was not to be thought of. At least one tried not to think of such things. Without a sound, he went to his own room, taking his boots and a heart and mind full of Mary.

A lady is apt to think a man speaks so much reason whilst he is commending her, that she has much ado to believe him in the wrong when he is making love to her.

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