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Florence shook her head, not willing to believe it was her only choice. There had to be more to life than that. “It can’t be!”
“Yet, it most certainly can. Make yourself as blind as you wish to the matter, but there is no changing reality.”
“Then I shall never marry!” She blurted, caught on the current of her resentment of the topic of discussion, and for her father’s stubbornness. Fear and apprehension coursed through her at the mere thought of such a sham of a marriage, tainted by lies before it even began. Even if she cared naught for the supposed man, Florence didn’t want to subject him to her inabilities.
Her father's gaze was piercing as he took in Florence's abrupt words. Evidently, his daughter had strayed further than he thought. Truthfully, she had never meant to admit such a thing had ever crossed her mind; she had her father under the impression that she had been searching for a husband all along, yet none had suited her taste.
“And what do you plan to do when I am no longer alive to provide for you? Surely, you aren’t cut out for the life of a spinster!”
Florence guarded herself against her father’s judgment, and she pushed forward, unwilling to relent. “I will find a much more fulfilling life as something other than a wife. It may not be what you or society want of me, but I will make my own way!”
Lord Murray pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing a harsh breath. He focused hard on finding his arguments, while Florence tried her best to anticipate each one and counter it. He waved a hand, seemingly bewildered.
“What is the point of your fine education if you won’t become a proper lady and find a good match?”
Florence found herself with nothing left to say. Her father had, indeed, bested her in that regard. She silently stewed over the question, guilt rising inside her chest.
“The tutors and lessons were not cheap, Florence. It was yet another generous thing I provided for you—which you plan to waste, and remain ungrateful for!” Lord Murray barked at her. Florence bristled.
“I never asked to be educated into a woman meant to be auctioned off to the highest bidder! I didn’t ask to be the second-born daughter in our family, destined for failure. Yet you force me into remembering that each time I look at the face of any man you’d choose for me!”
“That’s enough!” her father yelled. His face suffused with red, and his neck seemed to swell and press against the tight confines of his cravat. His sharp tone shook Florence as he added, “I have already agreed to your union with Lord Blymouth on your behalf!”
Florence suddenly became very aware of the trembling in her body, and of how deafening the silence was. It was as though an icy hand had gripped her neck and sent a chill down her spine. It was as if the room vibrated ever so slightly, just enough for her to know something wasn’t right.
She stared at her father in disbelief, distraught at the thought he had agreed to such a life-altering decision without her consent, without ever stopping to consider her feelings.It can never be!
Florence seized what was left of her dignity and composed herself at last. She pressed her lips in a flat line and spoke in a terse, level tone.
“There will be no wedding.”
Despite her father’s look of utter shock, she padded across the polished floor and left the room, not daring to look behind her even once.
* * *
Darkness surrounded the house and brought along its eerie silence. On one hand, it worked in Florence’s favor, but on the other, while the nighttime concealed her—ensuring Lord Murray was none the wiser as he slept soundly in his room—any unwarranted noise could change that at any second.
Florence opened her large, leather valise and scurried around her chambers, gathering all the clothing and belongings she could take with her. She folded everything as neatly as possible and tucked it inside before securing the valise.
She worked hastily by candlelight, reminded of what she was doing each time she noticed the moonlight splaying across the chamber floor. Nervous butterflies fluttered inside her belly, but Florence pushed them down. She couldn’t hesitate any longer, not while her future rested in her father’s palm.
A quill scratched softly against paper while she wrote, and she had to force herself not to weep with each word she penned. While the anger was still very much alive inside her, sadness accompanied it, and the combination only made her more upset.
Once Florence had said everything she needed to and the ink was dry, she folded the paper in half and placed it on her dresser, where her father would surely find it. She pulled one of the drawers open and retrieved a letter with directions hidden inside. Tucking it in her reticule, she pulled the drawstrings closed with a deep breath.
Something in Florence didn’t want to leave her father, not when she knew he would be left alone without any of his girls left to keep him company. She certainly didn’t want to leave him after their explosive argument, but the subject matter was exactly what gave her cause to flee. She couldn’t marry someone against her will, not while she was still able to change the trajectory of her life—to do what she pleased.
If Florence wanted to find true happiness and fulfillment, she knew she needed to take a leap of faith. Like a precipice before her, an unknown future beckoned. Now all she had to do was jump.
The moment Florence decided to go once and for all, she slipped a cloak over her shoulders and raised the hood to conceal her identity. She stepped into her shoes and reached for her valise. Taking one last look at her chamber, she silently said goodbye to the familiar space.
She opened the door, crept into the hall, and closed it behind her as slowly and quietly as she could. She stood still, holding her breath for a few moments. Hearing no noise, she set off silently through the house.
Florence used her determination to remain in control of her fate as a driving force to propel her forward. Oftentimes, she wondered if she was making a mistake and should turn around. She paused when she came to an old painting of her mother and father, the swarm of nervous butterflies once more raising their clamor in her belly.
Upon gazing into the face of the woman she had lost so long ago, Florence couldn’t ignore the guilt that trickled into her heart. She wondered what her mother would think of her running away from the seemingly inevitable marriage.
But her father’s pronouncement rang in her ears, drowning out her doubt. It is merely sentiment for him trying to prevent me from leaving, she told herself.
