Page 42 of Scandalous Desires on a Summer Morning
“Mrs. Richardson is hosting a ball in two weeks and has been so kind as to extend an invitation to me,” Mr. Walker said, smiling. “I was bold enough to request one for you as well.” He held out an envelope, his eyes bright with hope.
“A ball?” Maryann blinked, taking the card. “Goodness. I have never attended a ball before.”
“I am glad I shall experience my first with you, should you accept,” he said with gentle earnestness. “And I would also ask that you save the waltz for me.”
She smiled. “As long as you have no fear of trampled toes, Mr. Walker.”
He laughed, the sound easy and warm. After a few more pleasantries, he bowed and took his leave, his expression radiant with quiet anticipation. Maryann closed the door, turned, and leaned back against it, her heart fluttering with a strange mix of emotion. It would mean procuring a new gown, and despite herself, she felt a small thrill of anticipation. Yet, deep down, she already knew there would be no excitement dancing in another man’s arms.
Mr. Walker was kind and thoughtful—everything a woman might wish for in a suitor—but she could not return his affection. She had already made subtle remarks to deter him, but it seemed he was determined to win her regard. She would have to turn him down gently, but firmly.
She crossed to the table, arranging the flowers he had brought. As she worked, her thoughts betrayed her, conjuring Sebastian’s image—the dark gleam of his hair, the rough timbre of his voice when he said her name, the searing heat of his mouth on hers.
Her breath hitched.You must forget him. You must.
A knock startled her from her reverie. She opened the door once more, surprised to find Mr. Walker standing there again.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, a little breathless. “I was hoping you might join me tomorrow afternoon. The squire’s family plans a picnic by the river, and I thought it might be pleasant company. Miss Sarah, of course, would be most welcome.”
Maryann hesitated. Her first instinct was to decline, but then she thought of her quiet evenings, the long hours spent beneath the stars, whispering silent prayers to forget the man who would not love her.
She smiled faintly. “That sounds lovely, Mr. Walker. Thank you.”
His relief was immediate, his grin wide and boyish. “Then it is settled. I shall call for you at two.”
When he left, Maryann stood in the doorway, fingers tightening around the frame. Itshouldhave felt good—being wanted, being seen again. But instead, her heart only felt heavier, as though every step she took away from Sebastian deepened the hollow he had left behind.
CHAPTER 17
The skies were still swollen from the rain that had fallen earlier, the clouds heavy and silver-gray, though faint streaks of sunlight occasionally broke through. Maryann had thought surely Squire Richardson would cancel the picnic, given the dampness of the earth and the chill in the air. But here they were, settled upon several blankets spread across the still-wet grass, surrounded by wicker baskets filled with bread, roasted chicken, and jam tarts.
Despite the moisture seeping faintly through the blanket and the scent of wet earth rising around them, the air was fresh and sweet, and it felt good to be outdoors. A sense of contentment fluttered faintly in her chest, fragile but welcome.
The squire was a genial man, full of laughter and good cheer. His wife, who was about Maryann’s age, sat nearby beneath a large parasol, one hand resting on the high swell of her belly. Every so often, she would stroke her rounded abdomen with an absent, tender smile that softened her already sweet features.
Maryann sat near her, keeping a watchful eye on Sarah and the Richardson twins, who ran shrieking, their laughter bright against the gray afternoon. The girls were flying a kite with Mr.Walker, whose hat had long since blown off. He was laughing heartily, chasing the wind-tugged string as the bright blue kite danced in the sky.
Mrs. Richardson chuckled. “They look quite happy, do they not?”
“They do,” Maryann agreed softly. “It was a stroke of good fortune for Mr. Walker to design a kite and take it along.”
The other woman’s gaze lingered on the lively scene for a moment before sliding back to Maryann with a knowing smile. “Mr. Walker is quite taken with you, you know. I daresay a proposal might come your way soon.”
Maryann felt her cheeks warm. “He is… very kind. But I do not hold tender sentiments for Mr. Walker.”
Mrs. Richardson arched a brow. “Affection often grows, my dear. I did not love my husband when I married him.”
Maryann blinked, startled by the quiet confession. “You did not?”
Mrs. Richardson smiled faintly, her expression soft with memory. “Eight years ago, my family was drowning in debt. They hoped that as their eldest daughter, I might help secure a match that would rescue us. The squire was wealthy, good-natured, and rather persistent. I agreed to marry him, though I scarcely knew him.” She paused, her hand absently caressing her belly again. “And somehow, within a few short months, I was quite undone by him. Love came after comfort. After respect. And now…” She smiled down at her swollen form. “Now, I can scarcely imagine my life without him and our girls.”
Maryann’s throat tightened. “That is a very happy ending.”
“It is,” Mrs. Richardson said softly. “Do not dismiss the possibility of happiness simply because it does not come wrapped in sentiment. A comfortable home, a kind man—these are blessings. The heart can follow, in time.”
Maryann turned her gaze to the meadow again. Mr. Walker had caught the kite string and was helping Sarah steady it, his laughter bright and boyish. Her heart twisted. How simple life could be, she thought, if she could only let herself forget the viscount—if she could learn to love a man like Mr. Walker.
The wind tugged at her bonnet, and the smell of wet grass filled her lungs.
