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Chapter Sixteen
After Marcella returned to the manor, her father and stepmother were thankfully willing to allow her to retire without further comment, so after thanking Lord Reginald for his visit and for finding her, Marcella had retreated to her room. At present, she remained sitting in her bed. The nearby window showed the gray sky and the now black clumps of trees which she’d ridden through.
The room was quiet, broken only by the faint pops of the crackling flames and by her lady’s maid’s soft snores drifting through the antechamber. Marcella knew that she ought to sleep, but her mind wouldn’t stop working.
This would be much easier to endure if Lord Reginald was utterly detestable.
The problem was that he didn’t seem to be, and worse, the more she spoke to him, the more she began to develop a liking for him. Her face burned when she thought of that forbidden kiss they’d shared. Marcella even raised her trembling fingertips to her lips, which tingled with the memory of that most intimate expression.
I should not have done that.
She could not find it within herself to loathe what she’d done, though. On the contrary, kissing Lord Reginald had filled her with the most remarkable feeling of lightness. For a few seconds, she’d felt as though she’d done something truly rebellious. She’d defied all the world’s expectations and kissed him.
Slowly, Marcella left her bed. Her feet padded over the cold floor, which seemed to make her feel more grounded, more in control of a situation which was growing increasingly out of reach.
“I just need to walk and reason it all out,” Marcella murmured.
The cause of Marcella’s vexation was fairly obvious to her. She’d read enough novels of ladies to quickly identify the fluttering in her chest and the tingling sensation which spread through her whole being when she thought of the kiss once again, letting the image of Lord Reginald with his damp hair and rain-touched face enter into her mind’s eye. None of the heroines she’d read of had ever mentioned that kissing was so utterly pleasant, though. They’d been content with longing glances and sweet words.
But he didn’t kiss me until I kissed him.
Marcella couldn’t remember any heroine ever doing that. It was always some handsome, wealthy suitor who expressed interest first. A lady was not meant to be bold and certainly not with her affections, as Marcella had. She let out a soft sigh and gazed around her room, trying to focus on anything except Lord Reginald. Her efforts were for naught.
“Firstly, I must remember that Lord Reginald is not my ally. Even if he believes that my father and stepmother are unjust in their treatment of me, he’s still determined to see me married to him against my will. That’s anicerdemand, but a demand nonetheless.”
She paused and gave a fleeting, embarrassed glance towards where Jane was sleeping, just in case the lady’s maid had chosen to wake at that precise moment and listen to her mistress’s ramblings, but Jane remained silent in the antechamber. Marcella gave a satisfactory nod and straightened her spine.
“Secondly, I must remember that marriage means I cannot devote myself wholly to my writing, and that is what I need if I am to become a great author. And I will. I just need time.”
She tried not to linger on how, when they’d stood in the rain, her eyes had traced the shining paths of raindrops as they disappeared beneath Lord Reginald’s cravat and collar.
“I must also remember that my stepmother chose her husband, and there is no reason that I should not be able to choose mine. Claudia married into theton,which is far more scandalous than what I wish to do.”
Marcella returned to her bed and closed her eyes, but when she did, she imagined that Lord Reginald’s face stared back at her. He was a handsome man and one who could certainly find another suitor, despite his protests.
I ought to find him another suitor. Would that be a feasible plan?
Somehow, she doubted it. This wasn’t just about him, after all. It was about their families, too. Besides, it would be much harder to persuade him to pursue another lady while the two of them were still meant to be involved with and courting one another. No, it was best to sabotage the courtship and leave it at that.
“Unfortunately,” Marcella said, staring at her ceiling, “you are proving to be quite impossible to dissuade, Lord Reginald. Most young lords would’ve already bolted when I fled an arranged meeting with them. He could’ve found another Marchioness.”
He might think it’s meant to be a challenge of some kind. He thinks I’m Queen Guinevere, making him suffer in order to earn my affection, and he’s Lancelot.
That was not the best metaphor to think about when contemplating one’s own love life. Marcella sighed and rolled onto her stomach. Why was life so utterly confusing?
“Adeline, I feel like you’d have some good advice at this precise moment.”
Marcella would have to visit her friend immediately. If anyone would have the answer to all the feelings rushing through Marcella’s brain, it would be dear Adeline, and yet Marcella, for the first time ever, dreaded the thought of visiting her dearest friend. Marcella suspected that she might not like the answers she received.
What if Lord Reginald truly meant we could be equal in our marriage? What if he truly meant that I could have a library all of my own?
Marcella tried to imagine how the pieces would fit together. She tried to envision how she might be a successful novelist and what it might be like to have a husband who understood her desires. After a lifetime of having her dreams treated generously asunconventionaland ungenerously asunladylike and inappropriate, Marcella wasn’t sure that she could trust a promise like that.
Besides, if she married Lord Reginald, there would be no turning back. If she discovered that she could not be a wedded lady and a novelist, she would be unable to change her fate. No, she had to keep her freedom and her certainty for as long as she could. That was the only clear, certain solution to her dilemma. Somehow, she had to make Lord Reginald relent.
“I shall simply persevere,” she whispered to the empty room. “There is nothing else I can do save that.”
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