Page 46 of An Amiable Foe
“I did indeed. I am sorry to have woken you up.” Marianne feared she looked differently, and she soon had her answer.
“Yer flushed, miss. Are ye feeling ill?” Sarah had gone over to retrieve the pieces and paused with the broken porcelain in her hand, studying Marianne’s face with concern.
Marianne had a sudden desire to tell Sarah everything—that Mr. Osborne had kissed her and that she loved him, and that she might be getting married after all. She stared at the maid for an instant, unable to respond. But a split second’s reflection caused her to reject the idea. They were not friends, as much as she almost felt they were. They were servant and mistress, and Sarah had no obligation to remain loyal to her should life take her on a different path.
Marianne shook her head. “I think it was merely from the night air when I closed the windows. Please do not worry about me. I am ready for bed now, and I hope you will return to bed as well.” She stood and looked at the fire, which had died down to embers.
Sarah nodded, seemingly ready to accept her words. “I ’ull jest bring this to the kitchen then. G’night, miss.”
Marianne climbed the stairs to her room and undressed for bed, where she spent a long time turning in the dark, reliving Perry’s hands on her cheek, his strong arms pulling her close as though she were the most treasured thing in his existence. She relived the feeling of his lips on hers—oh heavens. Just the memory brought heat to her cheeks. She could not believe that he liked her well enough to want to kiss her. Since her parents had died, she had never once known what it was to be the focus of someone’s attention—the apple of someone’s eye. And now she was his.
The next morning, Marianne woke early and breakfasted, ready for the day. She wanted to be prepared for when Perry would return to see her. He had said he would not make the same mistake again. Did that mean he was preparing to ask for her hand in marriage? In recent days, she had increasingly hoped he might indeed have feelings for her, but could not be sure, even with the assurance of his words and gestures. After last night, Marianne was now certain of his regard for her. Surely he would come to see her, now that they had shared an embrace. She wondered if he would look at her in that special way again and perhaps this time, talk of love.
When he did not come by noon, her heart beat with impatience. He must have been occupied with estate business. Perhaps Mr. Mercy had come by. Perhaps he was even now at the apiary with the man who would harvest the honey. She had to go and see.
“Sarah, I am going for a walk,” she called out when she reached the kitchen.
“Yes, miss. My cousin ’ull be by this afternoon to clean the chimneys. Jack and I ’ull see that everything be done proper.”
“Thank you.” Marianne tied her bonnet, anxious to leave before Miss Fife made a reappearance. It had taken all her patience to sit and have breakfast with her and make stilted small talk, when all she wanted was to be left alone with her thoughts.
At the apiary, she saw the evidence of healthy beehives, and the humming sound reminded her of happy days with her father. Perry’s investment in the castle and estate only made her heart grow more tender toward him.
Perry was not to be found there, nor was Mr. Mercy. She put her hands on her hips, chewing her lip, before deciding to visit the stables. Perhaps she would meet him there—at least, she hoped. She did not dare to go directly to the castle. The transition had been a subtle one, but it no longer felt like hers. Marianne had not quite reached the stables when she heard someone calling her.
“Miss!”
The blacksmith, Joe Dobson, set down a crate and walked over to greet her. His face was lit with a hopeful expression that transformed his features. He had also entered farther into the estate than he ever had before, beyond even the stables.
“Joe,” she said in surprise. “I am very glad to see you, but… What are you doing here?”
“Mr. Osborne didn’t tell ye?” Joe folded his arms with a broad smile. “He’s leased out his smithy for me to work on me own terms. And he loaned me the money to pay off Art. We’re to live in the house attached to the smithy.”
“Why, that is wonderful!” Tears sprang to Marianne’s eyes at such unexpected, yet good news—such proof of Perry’s goodness. “How clever of Mr. Osborne to come up with a solution. Why did I never look upon the forge here as something that could be opened up again and put to good use? Are the children here?”
“They ’ull be along later today. Mrs. Wilmington is watching ’em whilst I move our things.” He rubbed his hands and looked around. “Is Sarah staying with ye, miss? I wished to thank her for the soup she made. I haven’t tasted ’aink quite so good in a long time.”
“She’s at the cottage right now. That is where we live, and if you follow the path there eastward, you can’t miss it. I’m sure Sarah will be happy to know you’ve found such a good situation for yourself.” She glanced at the small house where he’d be staying and saw signs of change. “I’ll come by when Beth and Anthony are here to welcome them to the estate.”
“They ’ud be mighty glad of it, miss.” Joe bowed and went over to retrieve the crate he had been carrying. There was a spring in his step she had not seen since before he had lost his wife, and it had been enough years that she almost did not remember it at all.
Heart light, Marianne decided to put off all excuses and go to the castle to see Perry there. He was such a good man. Surely he would not be shocked by her visiting? She had to trust he would not.
At the door to the castle, Marianne hesitated, wondering whether she should knock or go directly in. With a nervous intake of breath, she decided to knock. After a minute the door opened, and Charlie stared at her in surprise before grinning.
“Come in, miss. Never did I think to see the day when ye’d be knocking at yer own castle.”
She smiled at him. “Good day, Charlie. I’ve come to see if Mr. Osborne is receiving.” She untied her bonnet and turned to go into the drawing room.
“Mr. Osborne left Brindale this morning, miss.” He took her bonnet from her. “Shall I inform Lord Steere that ye’ve come? He’s not gone yet.”
Marianne drew her brows together and turned slowly to face Charlie. “Mr. Osborne has left? Do you mean he has ridden to the village? Perhaps I should come back later.”
“No, miss.” Charlie punctuated his words with the shake of his head. “He’s left Brindale. Said not to expect him for a week or more.”
Marianne swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “Did he…did he leave word for me?”
“Ah, yes, miss. How stupid of me to forget.” Charlie handed her a sealed letter. “I was to bring this to ye today.”
