Page 3 of A Gentleman's Wife

Chapter Two

Marianne Taylor gazed out the parlor window longingly, watching as her father and brother casually rode their horses across the green terrain surrounding her home. It was the first day with fine weather in some time, and more than anything, she wished to be able to ride, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the fresh air of the outdoors. The inside of her family estate all too often felt stiff and dusty and, at times, like a prison. She wished that a stroll through the gardens would be enough, but it never was. Her desires were more than her family was willing to provide.

More than her physical abilities would allow.

Besides, ladies had more pressing matters than gallivanting outdoors. The sound of her mother’s voice would never cease to ring in her head, reminding her of the other disheartening truths she’d come to know throughout her life as an invalid. Not that she was one, but that’s how they thought of her. A lady had to refine her talents to bring honor to her family and do everything in her power to become a gentleman’s wife, furthering her draw in polite society. But Marianne was not as refined or talented as her mother would have wished, nor was she likely to attract a gentleman into matrimony with her infinite flaws. So she remained in the background, ignored and forgotten by her family.

The one thing she could do was wait patiently indoors until the doctor arrived.

With a sigh, Marianne returned to her book. She’d read a myriad of stories in her twenty-five years, and somehow, books were never enough. Though grateful for her sound mind, she longed for more tangible experiences. Things she could see, hear, smell, taste, touch. But the more she dared explore, the more limited her options became. The more the world closed in on her. The more alone she felt in her own family home.

Her only friend, her only connection to the outside world, was her companion and lady’s maid, Eliza. Out of all the young servants who had applied for the difficult position of being Marianne’s literal right hand, Marianne was grateful that her mother had actually listened to her pleas. Eliza was ten years her senior, and taller and sturdier than Marianne’s previous maid. There was a certain understanding about her, an immediate connection she’d felt. Mother had hoped to hire a French maid, but a lithe French girl would not have had the strength to help with Marianne’s lame hand or been able to carry her after she’d fallen in a fit. Besides, a French maid would only be able to help with hair and fashion, while Eliza did all that and much more.

Even now, Eliza sat in the corner of the parlor, dutifully stitching. Mother required it, despite knowing Marianne couldn’t, and did not give any praise to Eliza for her efforts. Not that either of them would ever anticipate such a thing. They’d been together in this house long enough to know what to expect from Mr. and Mrs. Taylor.

A knock at the parlor door sounded, and a servant appeared. “Mr. Sanders here to see you, miss.”

Marianne nodded. “Please show him in.”

The grandfather clock in the corner chimed. If anything, at least he was punctual.

Mr. Sanders entered the parlor and bowed. “Good day, Miss Taylor.”

Giving him a small smile, Marianne returned the greeting. “How do you do, Mr. Sanders?”

He strode across the room in a business-like manner, setting his bag on the table as he always did. “Very well. Always pleased to have a visit with you, Miss Taylor.”

His smile wrinkled the skin around his eyes. Of all the doctors she’d seen over the years, Mr. Sanders was Marianne’s favorite. Even after attempting all the inane medical practices––baths and bloodletting and even the powder of bird corpses––there had been no results, no relief from her ailments. But he was the one who treated her with the most respect and listened to her problems and requests without speaking over her or belittling her. Probably close to the age of her eldest brother, maybe somewhere in his forties, she presumed? He was one of the few men she respected.

Marianne moved from her spot by the window to sit on the settee as he removed his tools from his satchel. She was used to all the poking and prodding now. The sooner it started, the sooner she could get it over with.

“How have you been feeling?” he asked, pulling out his record book.

“Honestly?” Marianne asked.

He looked up at her over his spectacles. “Preferably.”

“Not well. It’s been raining for the most part of the month, so I’ve been having more hand cramps than usual.” The poor weather did tend to tighten her up more than anything else.

“Hmm. I’m sorry to hear that,” he mused, scribbling his notes. “And no fits?”

Marianne shook her head. “No.”

“Have you continued to stretch your hand as we spoke of last time?”

“Yes, with the help of my maid,” Marianne said, glancing back at Eliza.

Mr. Sanders looked up across the room. “Miss Eliza, have you noticed a difference in how the stretching impacts Miss Taylor’s mobility?”

Eliza leaned forward in her seat after being addressed directly. “Not a consistent difference, unfortunately. Some mornings she’s tighter than others, regardless of how much the stretching helped the day before.”

“Hmm,” he went on again, tapping a finger against his chin before he reached back into his satchel. “I’ve brought you something to try, with your father’s approval. It’s a salve that should help to ease the muscles and make the stretching a little easier. Perhaps you’ll see more long term results this way.”

She accepted the container with her left hand. It was a pretty purple jar with a silver stopper covered in engraved vines. When she pulled off the lid, she expected an affronting scent or a discouraging color, but instead, the creamy white liquid had a floral odor.

“This is no Gowland’s Lotion, but an herbal concoction. I will need your report next month on whether this helps a significant amount, but I hope it will bring you some relief.”

Marianne smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Sanders. I look forward to the experiment.”

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