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Chapter Six
“Nathan has suggested we all go for a ride in the park,” Eleanor said as Marion was washing. She strode to Marion’s closet and started rifling through her sparse gowns.
“That sounds lovely,” Marion said, thinking that a long ride in the sharp, fresh air would suit her very well. It might even sweep away the cobwebs from her night of negative thinking.
“Simon will be there.”
“What?” Marion spun around to stare at Eleanor, waves of nerves crashing over her like a waterfall. Despite having just bathed in soothing water, she suddenly felt flushed and piping hot. Eleanor looked around at her, completely unfazed.
“Simon is already here,” Eleanor said. “He came maybe an hour ago for an appointment with Nathan. We shall go for a ride together.”
“But - but,” Marion spluttered, her mind whirring into action after the slowness of her morning recovering from a difficult night. “I - I can’t!”
“What do you mean you can’t?” Eleanor gave her an interrogatory stare.
“How can I possibly see him?” Marion pressed a hand to her heart, trying to calm it. “How can I face him after the humiliation of last night?”
“Well, if you are going to have to marry the man, Mari, you are going to have to get used to seeing and speaking to him.” Eleanor sighed impatiently. She pulled out a few items dismissively. “Where is your mother’s old riding habit, the one from France?”
“Oh, it’s in the box at the back of the closet, but I don’t wear it,” Marion finished tidying her hair and putting on a fresh shift and stays. “It’s too…formal.”
“Formal is exactly what we need for this occasion.”
Eleanor bent down and pulled the box out, brushing dust off the top of it. Marion looked over at it fondly. Her mother had been a fashionable woman, despite only ascending to the role of governess. Since Marion’s mother had been responsible for raising Eleanor into a young lady after her own mother had died, the Frenchwoman had taken her dressing very seriously. There were a few items left to her that Marion had deemed too luxurious for her day-to-day life as the governess and nursemaid to the twins, so she had packed them away.
“Here it is!” Eleanor shook out the riding habit admiringly. “Still as beautiful as I remember it!”
The riding habit was a luscious royal blue with deep teal velvet and black leather piping. Marion touched it reverently, remembering all the times her mother had taken her and Eleanor riding.
“Put it on,” Eleanor encouraged. “I think the matching bonnet is in here somewhere.”
Marion obeyed mechanically, bowing to Eleanor’s superior knowledge of what was suitable for a ride with a man you were supposed to be marrying. As she pulled the habit on, the heavy velvet skirt and jacket were extremely comforting to her, smelling pleasantly of her mother’s old rose perfume.
“What will I say to him?” Marion wondered aloud as she pulled her stockings up and slipped her feet into her riding boots, pulling the laces tight.
“I imagine he will have a few things to say to you. About the wedding.”
Eleanor pulled out a small teal velvet bonnet and helped Marion pin it into her hair.
“And the circumstances of your marriage.”
“Circumstances?”
Marion bent her head down so Eleanor could critically examine the angle of the bonnet.
“Well, this is not a love match—he might want to discuss the terms under which you are happy to move ahead with the marriage.”
Marion swallowed hard, looking at herself in the mirror.
“I suppose he might.” Marion bit her lip and looked at her hands nervously. “I should wear my riding gloves.”
“They are too worn for this outfit,” Eleanor said dismissively. “I have a pair of black ones that will suit perfectly. Let me get them. You wait here.”
Eleanor squeezed her shoulders and then left Marion alone with her own reflection. She assessed herself carefully, looking for flaws, but the blue riding habit fit her perfectly. Since her colouring was nearly identical to her mother’s, it suited her very well. Her skin looked lovely against the velvet, and the blue colour set off her dark hair and eyes nicely. Even though she felt a little overdressed for a simple ride, she had to admit that her mother’s riding habit at least made her look elegant. Almost like a real lady.
“Mon Dieu, Maman,”she whispered, offering a silent prayer to the spirit of her mother who must be watching above. She prayed for guidance and the strength she would need to be the lady suitable to the Earl of Reading. A lady who would be more than capable of discussing with a prospective husband the suitability of his proposal, and not curl up in anxiety at the thought of discussing a match with a man so high above her station. Especially when the man didn’t really want to marry her in the first place.
“Come on,” Eleanor called from the hallway. “Let us go and meet them!”
