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Blinking, she nodded, “That… makes sense.”
“For the next few weeks, I’ll be shuffling between here and the capital to make sure of the merge of our estates and transfer of leadership of this family to me,” Uncle John added.
Nodding again, she wondered why she felt that her Uncle was building up to something pivotal. She felt antsy. “I understand.”
“And I will be sending that old nurse of yours to a nunnery because she will be of no use to you anymore,” he added. “You will be married soon.”
Cold lanced down her spine. Before she could speak, Uncle John added, “Magdalene, I don’t know what plans my brother had for you about marriage. He was probably going to allow you to choose who to marry when you were ready, but you are a lady in your prime. Ideally, you should have been married years ago. I won’t force you to marry anytime in the next week or so, but before this year is over, you will have a husband.”
Magdalene looked to her mother for help but the Lady looked away with her lips tight. “Mother, do you agree with this?”
“I…” Lady Larie sighed and folded her hands on her skirts. “Magdalene, your Uncle has a point. You have subverted marriage for too long. I was married to your father when I was eight-and-ten. You are twenty now, I… I do think it’s time.”
There was something strange in her mother’s voice. Something off. She felt, absurdly, that her mother was saying one thing but meaning another. Confused, she looked between them and swallowed. “When will I be married, then?”
“Before Michaelmas,” Uncle John said kindly. “I know it is a lot to take in now but it will be for the best, you’ll see. You know that I only want the best for you.”
It was April now and Michaelmas was in September, so she did have time to choose a suitor. Magdalene nodded, trying to displace the feeling that he too was saying words with another meaning. She did not know what to do or what to say and sat, decidedly uncomfortable as the conversation stuttered another start.
“Do I get to choose my husband?” Magdalene asked hesitantly.
“Yes—” her mother began.
“No.” Her Uncle cut in.
From the corner of her eyes, Magdalene saw her mother’s mouth flatten. Clearly, she disagreed but was not going to argue about it.
“Magdalene,” Uncle John said. “I think it’s best if I do it for you. Don’t worry, I won’t be a tyrant and dismiss your opinions entirely.”
“I know you won’t,” Magdalene smiled, having total trust in her uncle. The man was not nearly as demanding as her father had been and she had all faith that he would follow through on his words. But why was her mother still upset?
“Mother,” she asked. “Is something wrong? You don’t look too happy.”
“No, no,” Lady Larie said. “No, it’s… your father’s death is still affecting me. I’m sorry for worrying you.”
Again, Magdalene felt that her mother was lying. It was logical for the death of her husband of over thirty years to be draining her but still, something was off. Magdalene frowned but did not say a word.
“Is there anything else?” Magdalene asked.
“Not relating to you,” Uncle John clarified. “There are some administrative decisions I have to make with your father’s advisors and tenants but again, those have nothing to do with you.”
Looking around the room, Magdalene felt a new wave of sorrow that this room would never be the same with her father gone. It must have shown on her face because her mother reached over and took her cold hand. “Go to bed, sweetheart. I’ll bring up some warm milk for you soon.”
Sighing softly, Magdalene nodded, stood up to kiss her mother on her cheek and Uncle John’s, too. “Goodnight.”
Leaving the room, she wondered what she was missing. That meeting had gaps in it and she could feel that some important things had been left out. Her mother was hiding something from her, but what? She had never known her mother to be secretive.
In her room, she disrobed and donned a nightgown, then sat to undo her hair to brush it out. She was running the stiff bristles through her thick tresses when her mother came in, holding a pewter cup of warm milk. But then, she stopped and closed the door behind her. Magdalene frowned and rose to take the cup from her mother.
Settling it on her table she took her mother’s hands. “What is it, Mother?”
Lady Larie’s deep blue eyes were even darker. “It’s John… I know he’s doing his best for us but I don’t trust him, Magdalene. He and your father were at odds for many years and…I feel a different air about him. He was once calm and loving but I feel he has changed. I trust the guidance of God’s spirit, my daughter, and I have never felt more affirmative about the warnings His spirit is now telling me. Listen to me, Magdalene. If anything changes, if he demands more than you can handle, I will make you run.”
“But Mother,” Magdalene said. “He said that—”
“I do not care what he says,” Lady Larie overrode her with narrowed eyes. “I do not take the words of men as any assurance. God’s spirit is much more assuring and I trust His voice of guidance over anything else. If he does what I fear he might do, I will send you off to my sister in Scotland. She will take care of you, Magdalene, as if you were hers.”
“But… you have not spoken to her for years,” Magdalene said in clear hesitation. “How can you be assured about her intentions?”
