Page 4 of A Gentleman's Wife

“We can apply some now, if your maid would be kind enough to assist.”

He urged Eliza over as Marianne set the jar on the table. It took some patience to remove the glove from Marianne’s crippled right hand, the stubborn fingers that curled inward, and the wrist that remained bent at a slightly abnormal angle. Most days she could hide it in a natural pose, but after all the cramping from previous weeks, her muscles were still weak and tight.

Mr. Sanders instructed Eliza on how much salve to use, where to place her hands when applying, and which muscles needed the most pressure in order to have the best results. Marianne paid close attention, trying not to flinch when the muscles in her wrist would clench or spasm. Beyond that, she was trying to pay attention to what was happening before her. Though Eliza would never admit it, she was flushed, no doubt from having Mr. Sanders so close to her, even using his fingers to instruct her own on Marianne’s skin. She kept her eyes on Marianne’s arm while conversing with the doctor, but it planted all kinds of questions in Marianne’s mind. Did Eliza fancy the doctor? Had she ever had a beau in her life? Did she long for a romance? Marianne knew a romance of her own would likely never happen, but certainly her maid deserved such attentions, whether from the doctor or anyone else. But Marianne was selfish, for how could she ever manage without Eliza? Though she had to remind herself that her own needs were not more important than Eliza’s happiness.

“Very good,” Mr. Sanders said, smiling brightly as he wiped his fingers and provided a rag to Eliza and Marianne as well. “It may take some time growing accustomed to the oily texture of the salve, but I’m optimistic it will help. And I look forward to a full report from both of you.”

He nodded toward Eliza, who bowed before returning to her stitching in her seat by the window.

“I’ll return next month. Unless you have any other questions for me?” Mr. Sanders began putting his things back in his satchel. Marianne pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, wondering if she could try…

“Perhaps one question, Mr. Sanders.” She took a deep breath. “Seeing as how it’s been over a year since my last episode, I was wondering if you’d consider talking to my father about allowing me to go riding.” She immediately saw hesitation take over his face, so she pressed on. “The cramping does nothing to inhibit my ability to hold the reins on a horse, and I believe with all the time that’s passed, it could be worth another experiment.”

Marianne waited, hoping her word choice was enough to persuade him in her favor. But when he closed his satchel, he looked up at her with pity in his eyes. “Your father would not think it wise, Miss Taylor.”

Nodding, Marianne let out a sigh. It was no use. She respected him, but she could not depend on him, for he was under the thumb of her father. The doctor’s hands were tied by his pocketbook.

“Until next time, Miss Taylor. Miss Eliza.” He bowed and saw himself out, but Marianne couldn’t stand to bid him farewell. Even her hopes for the smallest things were denied.

Once they were alone in the parlor, Eliza moved to sit beside her, taking the canister in hand. “Doesn’t this smell lovely? Like chamomile and lavender, and lemongrass and cherries…”

Marianne smiled. Eliza was an intelligent woman and would be a wonderful wife to a doctor, despite their slight difference in station. Though he may be a gentleman, perhaps it would be too much to hope for him to develop a tendre for Eliza.

As Marianne would never have any hope for a gentleman either.

Another knock at the door sounded, and the butler appeared. “Your father requests your presence, Miss Taylor.”

Marianne swallowed hard. Hadn’t her father just been out riding with her brother? Had Mr. Sanders mentioned her request about the horse riding? Was she to receive another tongue lashing for her lack of gratitude or her presumptuous nature of having a defect at all?

“Eliza, please take the salve upstairs to my bedside. We’ll include it in our morning and evening routines.” Then taking a deep breath, Marianne stood and followed the butler to the drawing room.

Upon arriving, Marianne curtsied and greeted her parents. Her brother Reginald was also present, which meant she would suffer twice the insult, so Marianne straightened her shoulders. She folded her hands in front of her, left hand over the right hand, just as she had been trained in her childhood. It was second nature to her now, even if she was in a room full of family.

“Good day, Mother, Father. Reginald, lovely to see you.” Sometimes she would go days without seeing her parents, so she couldn’t imagine why they had summoned her today.

“I cannot say the same for you, my dear,” Reginald said. “You’re looking sickly as ever. I wonder if visits from that Mr. Sanders do you any good.”

Marianne knew she was the runt of the family, not just the youngest, but Reginald was always determined to remind her of that.

“He has prescribed me a new salve that should help with my hand and other difficulties.” She never mentioned her illness of epilepsy to her parents anymore, at least not directly. Having a child stricken with ‘the falling sickness’ was at times a social burden they could not bear, so it was easier to pretend it did not exist.

“Still having fits? Gracious, Marianne. You’re twenty-five years old. One would think you’d have better control of yourself by now.” Her brother scoffed, tossing his hand.

Marianne ground her teeth but remained silent. No matter how many times she tried to explain, they never heard her. They went on thinking of her as an unmanageable child, as if she enjoyed collapsing on the floor, sometimes injuring herself further, or the hand cramps and headaches that followed.

“Yes, he mentioned that on his way out.” Father took a sip of his tea, then put the cup and saucer back on the table. “But that’s not why I asked you here.”

Father may have appeared to be at ease, but his words left her tense, so Marianne remained rigid, standing before them. If not word from Mr. Sanders, then what could it be?

“Sit down, Marianne, for heaven’s sake,” her mother snapped. “It’s not polite to linger. You’ll give me a headache.”

Doing as instructed, Marianne moved to the chair across from her parents and sat, though still not fully comfortable as she waited for what was to come next.

“I’ve received word from the father of an old friend. He’s a gentleman by the name of Mr. Horace Ramsbury. He mentioned that his grandson is in the market for a wife and has no particular requirements. Horace recalled I had an unmarried daughter,” Father said the words with a pointed tone, “And we’ve decided to make a match of it. You’re to marry and become the wife of Mr. Thomas Ramsbury.”

Marianne’s mouth dropped open, as if an attempt to take in a breath or perhaps even speak, but she could do neither. She suddenly did not see her parents or her brother, but instead became lost in her thoughts. Marry? A gentleman? Could it be possible?

“How can you be so ungrateful?” Mother cried, shaking Marianne from her thoughts. “Your father has arranged a marriage for you, and you have nothing to say?”

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