Rhonda Woodward (19 page)

Chapter Nineteen

“I cannot believe how much better you look, Papa.” Marina smiled, happy that her father’s cheeks had a bit of color and she could swear he had put on a little weight. Even better, Mama was beginning to look like her old self.

“He does indeed look much better today,” Mama said, sitting next to him and sipping her morning chocolate. “And Dr. Gray says that in a week or so we may attempt to take him out to the balcony to enjoy some of this lovely sunshine.”

“A week or so?” Papa said grumpily from the chaise. “Surely something so tame can be attempted in a day or two.”

Mariana smiled again. Papa’s growing complaints were another sign that he was well on his way to fully regaining his health.

She rose from the leather wing chair and went over to kiss her father’s forehead. “At the risk of making you terribly jealous, I am going to take a walk this morning. I am much in need of exercise.”

“Yes, yes,” Papa said, patting her hand. “I shall stay here and catch up on the
Times
.”

“And Dr. Gray says you may meet with the steward and the stable master today,” Mama put in.

With a parting smile, Marina moved to the door.

“And Marina,” Papa’s teasing voice called, “perhaps we should start receiving some of your beaux soon.”

Marina turned back to her parents. This was the last thing she wanted! She had hoped to put off addressing this subject until Papa was much better, but her parents’ smiling and proud expressions made her realize she didn’t have that luxury.

With swift decision, Marina returned to the wing chair and sat down.

“Mama, Papa, may I speak to you about something very important?”

She watched her parents share a swift, speaking look. “Of course my love,” Mama said, a frown creasing her pale forehead.

Now that she had begun, Marina did not quite know how to go on. Clasping her hands, she took a deep breath. “Papa, I know that your memory of events right around the accident is a little sketchy, but, obviously, you do recall receiving Henry Willingham, George Halbury and Mr. Sefton?”

“Vaguely, my love,” Papa replied good-naturedly, “your mother has filled in some of the blanks for me.”

For that, Marina was relieved and sent her mother a look of gratitude. She hesitated again, not wishing to hurt or upset her parents, but knowing she must push through while her courage was high.

“Marina, love, what has you so distressed?” Mama spoke so gently Marina felt like crying.

“Nothing, really, it’s just that . . . well, I know you’ve both always had your hearts set on me having Henry, and it does make perfect sense, but I do not wish to marry him, or any of them, for that matter,” she finished this unplanned speech in a rush.

“Marina!” Mama gasped, looking shocked.

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry. You’ve no idea how much I hate disappointing you.”

“Well, I for one don’t mind a bit,” Papa put in calmly, garnering shocked stares from his wife and daughter. “I know we never made a secret of our preference for the Willingham boy, but that was only because of proximity and a long friendship with the family.”

Marina continued to stare at her father, feeling her anxiety begin to fade. “Truly, Papa?” She couldn’t help noticing that her mother did not look so sure.

“Yes, indeed. Truth be told, I don’t like the way the boy skips around the dance floor. He can’t hold a cue properly and has no idea what he’s about atop a horse.”

“I didn’t know you felt that way, my love.” Mama sounded as bemused as Marina felt.

“Well, never would have said a thing if she’d decided on him,” he said, sending his daughter a generous smile. “Now, if you could manage to gain Cortland’s attention, you won’t hear a complaint from me. Never seen a better horseman.”

Mama looked as if she thought he’d taken leave of his senses. “But, my love, he duels!”

Lord Buckleigh patted his wife’s hand. “Not with anyone who doesn’t deserve it, I’m sure. He’s a gentleman.”

***

Still smiling, Marina left the library some time later to go up and change her clothes for her walk. The mild spring day called to her and after bathing, she donned a lavender-blue gown, fawn pelisse and her favorite chipstraw bonnet, with the vague intention of walking to Fielding Manor.

Upon leaving the house, she told Holmes of her destination. Although she’d had breakfast with Mama and Papa in the library, she had not mentioned her plans. Deirdre had not emerged from her room, even though it was almost eleven o’clock, and for this Marina was thankful, for no doubt she would have insisted on tagging along and Marina was in no mood for her sister’s tendency to chatter.

She stepped out into the mild spring day and tried to make sense of her disordered thoughts.

Life could be so very strange and unexpected. She had avoided, dreaded even, sharing her true feelings about her so-called suitors with her parents all this time, and here they didn’t mind at all. She shook her head in wonder, marveling at how they had sat laughing together over it. Although, when Papa joked about gaining Cortland’s attention, she feared her expression must give her away.

With a sudden longing, she wished she could share this with Cortland. She knew, with his keen sense of humor, that he would find it as amusing as she did.

Oh, how she missed him! She toyed with the outlandish fantasy of walking to Ridgeton Abbey. The outrageous notion made her laugh aloud. If Vicar Ralston thought her completely innocent behavior with Henry and George was beyond what was proper, then he’d brand her a wanton if he knew the direction of her thoughts.

But the lessons she had learned from Papa’s accident made her decide that when she saw Cortland again, she would not allow convention, or shyness, or even fear to cause her to hide her emotions anymore.

When
she saw him again, or
if
? She wasn’t even sure he was still in residence at Ridgeton Abbey.

The threat of untold heartache kept her from even considering that she might not see him again. They had talked, laughed and challenged each other—and shared one passionate, life-changing kiss. She would hold on to that and trust the truth in her heart.

She walked on with purposeful strides, past beech-trees and elms bursting with new green life, grateful that she did not encounter anyone else.

If the butler who opened the black lacquered door at Fielding Manor was surprised that she arrived without even a maid or groom in tow, he did not show it. A moment later, Mrs. Birtwistle came into the entry hall, looking lovely in a soft yellow gown of sprigged muslin, holding out her hands.

“Miss Marina! Oh, I am so glad you are here. My brother and I were going to call at Buck Hill later today, but I confess, I have had a great desire to speak to you privately.”

“You have? Well, then I am so glad I came.”

Smiling, Mrs. Birtwistle linked arms with her and drew her across the hall. “Let us sit in my little parlor and I will tell you the most amazing thing.”

Feeling a bit nonplussed at Mrs. Birtwistle’s enthusiastic manner, Marina said nothing until they were seated in the small sitting room off the entryway.

“Miss Buckleigh, I have some news that I wanted to share with you before it reached you by . . . er . . . other means.”

“What is it?”

“It is the most unexpected, most wonderful thing in the world. Mr. Penhurst has asked me to marry him and I have said yes.”

Marina stared at the radiant young woman in stunned silence, hardly comprehending what she had heard. “Mr. Penhurst?” she uttered faintly.

Mrs. Birtwistle laughed in delight. “I cannot blame you for looking so shocked, but it’s true, I assure you. And you cannot be more shocked than I was when he asked.”

“But I had no idea that the two of you were more than barely acquainted. When? How?”

Mrs. Birtwistle laughed and leaned forward, eager to share. “Yesterday. He arrived and we had the most unexpected conversation. I believe he surprised himself by asking me and seemed more surprised when I said yes.”

Marina tried to absorb the information, but it still seemed nearly incredible. “Mrs. Birtwistle, forgive me for being so bold, but do you care for Mr. Penhurst?”

Her smile became a little shy, but no less radiant. “Indeed I do. He is so very kind. Ever since we danced together at your ball, after Lord Cortland introduced us, we seem to be able to talk on any subject. He believes I am much too pretty for him—isn’t that terribly charming?—and does not care a fig that I am so far beneath him socially. I can hardly believe he wishes to marry me. He is not classically handsome, I know. But he has such lovely eyes, and he is so very fit.” She stopped and a blush came to her cheeks causing Marina to smile.

Marina felt much better after this speech, for she would hate to think her friend was marrying anyone for anything less than love. “Oh, Mrs. Birtwistle, I am so happy for you. Mr. Penhurst is the luckiest man in the world to have gained your regard. This is such exciting news. When shall you be married?”

“In two months, after all the bands have been read. Just a simple ceremony at the church, of course, but the wedding breakfast will be at Ridgeton Abbey.”

Marina hesitated to bring up anything that might cast a shadow on Mrs. Birtwistle’s happiness, but she could not resist. “And Lady Darley?”

Despite her heavy sigh, Marina could see that nothing was going to dampen Mrs. Birtwistle’s joy. “Lady Darley is to leave after the wedding breakfast and return to London. She is being gracious enough. We are to go to Brighton for our wedding trip, then to Wiltshire to meet the rest of his family.”

It was truly amazing. Sweet, quiet Mrs. Birtwistle was to marry the grandson of an earl—she would never have to lift a needle again. However, Marina wondered if Lady Darley would ever truly accept that her new sister-in-law had been, when it came down to brass tacks, the village seamstress.

“Wonderful! You will have to write to me often, for I will want to hear of all your new adventures.”

“I certainly will. Oh, I can hardly believe this is happening.” She put her hands to her cheeks and her smile was sheer delight.

“I shall ring for tea, for there is another matter I wish to speak to you about,” Mrs. Birtwistle said after a moment.

“Of course.”

Mrs. Birtwistle rose, and went to the bellpull. Upon taking her seat again, she looked at Marina with a much more serious expression.

“Do you remember when I first started making your clothes?”

Marina could not recall a time when they had ever discussed dressmaking outside of her little shop on High Street. “Of course,” she repeated.

“You have no idea how nervous I was or how grateful I was for your family’s patronage. I will thank you forever.”

“Oh, Mrs. Birtwistle, it is not necessary to thank us—”

“No, please, I must. And I shall write your mother as well. After the war, produce prices plummeted and my brother’s few tenants could not make the rents that have provided our family income for generations. My brother’s injuries were so grievous I did not know if he would live. And my widow’s pension was inadequate to even pay my own bills.”

“Oh, Mrs. Birtwistle,” Marina said softly, for the remembered pain was still so evident.

“I was fairly good with a needle and I decided to take in mending, discreetly of course. After some time, it went very well and I decided to take the very large step of opening my own dressmaking establishment.”

“I always thought it was brave of you.”

“Thank you. My brother was completely against it, of course, but as he was still convalescing, there was little he could do to oppose me.”

At that moment, the housekeeper entered with the tea tray and it took a few moments before Mrs. Birtwistle could resume.

“Unlike my discreet mending, my little venture was turning out to be an utter failure and I will tell you, I was beginning to feel a little desperate. It was as if I was suddenly invisible. Until the day your mother walked in with you and your sister and placed a large order. Everything changed.”

“I am so glad we were able to help. But truly, we never thought of it that way. After that first time, we all fell in love with your clothes. I have always believed that you are truly an artist—the clothes you create are lovely and unique.”

“Thank you. You see, the part I like the most is the designing. How many times would we discuss the details of a gown, then I would go home to my sketchbook and mull things over and make changes, forgetting about everything else and make a completely different gown. I could not do this with any of my other clients. Only the beautiful Buckleigh ladies allowed me such artistic license. You have no idea of the great pleasure I felt seeing all of you in my most special designs.”

“Oh, we shall miss your good taste, for I’d wager not even the finest modiste in London can compare to you.”

Mrs. Birtwistle blushed at the compliment. “You bring me to my point, Miss Marina. I have given my business to Mrs. Cromby, you know, the apothecary’s daughter? She has been my best and most loyal seamstress these years. But, frankly, although she can follow instructions perfectly well, I fear you will find nothing original from her.”

“Well, we will just have to make do,” Marina said with a smile.

“Perhaps you won’t. I have already explained to Mr. Penhurst that I wish to continue, very discreetly of course, designing clothes for you, your mother and sister.”

“What? Oh, Mrs. Birtwistle, how can you? You shall be a wife again, and the mistress of a very grand house.”

The radiant smile returned to Mrs. Birtwistle’s pretty face. “Yes, I shall. But I cannot tolerate the idea of you wearing anyone else’s designs. My dear Penhurst already looks on the idea of my sketching dresses as a way to satisfy my artistic bent—like embroidery or tatting. In truth, you will be doing me a great favor by accepting the designs. As you are my friends, it only seems natural to me.”

This new, happily confident Mrs. Birtwistle, soon-to-be Mrs. Penhurst, could not be denied. “Thank you. I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

***

Marina did not take her leave for more than an hour, and when she finally left, Mrs. Birtwistle walked her out to the garden gate. Still smiling, Marina adjusted her bonnet and entered the lane to head home.