Page 61 of The Gentlewoman Author

He shifted his weight. “I would much rather tell them now.”

Why? What was so urgent?

“I fear I am not ready.” Her body cooled and thoughts sharpened. Writing. If she married, she would either have to stop writing or hide it from her husband, an option she loathed. Also, the idea that all that was hers would transfer to him did not sit well. This in itself did not preclude her from accepting, but she wanted to know what he would do with her property.

But marriage to Daniel! To awake in his arms each morning, stroll with him through the gardens, help with tenants, run the household together. She would read to him in the evenings, and he would play and sing for her. She wanted to be the center of his thoughtful care, as she had been during their travels, and to show him the same consideration. Marriage to Daniel would mean the companionship she had missed for twenty years.

But at what cost? From his perspective, their marriage would allot him this castle and surrounding lands as well as her estate in Ireland. And she would gain the company of a younger man who may never love her the way she wished. Was she merely an available woman to him? The most convenient path to his castle?

An aching swell pinched her throat. She swallowed and said, “In fact…I cannot accept your offer.”

What failed?

Daniel asked himself this question all afternoon and through dinner. Afterward, in the drawing room, as Mary disappeared through the door, quick to excuse herself, he questioned himself again. He was on the edge of victory. For those few moments, when he had her promise, all was within his grasp. She was his. The castle was his. Selfish though it may be, he was on the cusp of obtaining all he wished for.

His body still thrilled at her touch, though she was gone. His heart, liquid in his chest, pooled into disappointment. When he kissed her, his passion and adoration emerged with more clarity than he anticipated. And her response. His hands clenched the arms of the chair in which he sat, and everything in him screamed to follow her. She answered his affection. The proposal that stuttered off his tongue did not reflect his love, but the kiss told the truth that burned so hot and genuine, he could not articulate it. He was running out of time and had to try again.

But first, he must speak with his parents. The mass of bitterness he cultivated against them must be expelled before he would be free to explain his feelings to Mary. While their treatment of him was not fair, and he would never trust them, he believed they had done their best. Holding a grudge did no good to anyone. His resentment of Miss Jensen kept him from finding happiness in marriage, a joy the woman herself had presumably found while Daniel punished himself by insisting on loneliness. It was time to put his hurt aside.

At eleven o’clock in the night, Daniel’s father would wake to take medicine before going to sleep. At quarter to eleven, he slipped into his father’s room.

“Good evening,” he said to his mother, who sprawled at the edge of her husband’s bed, clasping his hand. “I wish to speak with you.” The words were stuck. He cleared his throat. “I… You are good parents. I want you to know that. And I am…sorry that I stayed away so long.” The words washed through him, cleansing him, lifting him.

His mother held her hand out, and he stepped forward to take hold of it. Her face softened as she squeezed his fingers.

His father was drawn and grey, though his eyes still held the same vivacity Daniel remembered from his childhood. If he could find as much joy as his father did, he would be a happy man. He wanted to tell this to his father, to thank him for taking the time to teach him. Most of all, for showing him how to love. In time, the words would come, and Daniel hoped to use them to build a new relationship.

He cleared his throat. “Some things are difficult to express.” He rubbed his jaw. “I’ve not been fair. While I do not regret my time at the bank, I apologize for my attitude. I nursed my resentment too long.” He pushed past the ache in his throat. “I remember everything. The fishing and hunting. Digging in the mud. You showed me the world, the sky. You loved me, my sister, and Mother. Thank you.” The expression was insufficient for Daniel’s depth of gratitude, and he wished to say more but couldn’t find the words. His father’s eyes closed, and a tear slipped down his cheek. His mother squeezed Daniel’s hand, and his father nodded.

He waited for his parents to take some of the blame, but they merely smiled at him, as if proud their son finally recognized his error. His heart twisted. A panicked rush of anger grasped him, trying to reclaim his resentment, reminding him of the many wrongs they’d done him. But he would not allow it to take hold. They loved him, in their way. They did their best. He would do his best.

“I will leave you. Sleep well.” He left the room content. Now, he had only to maintain his courage and speak to Mary.

Though it was past midnight when Daniel stood behind Mary’s closed door, a glow on the floor outside her room told him she was yet awake. He hesitated, unsure which version of Mary he would find when he walked in. If it were Proper Mary, he’d be dismissed before speaking. His stomach twisted. If he didn’t speak now, he may never have the pluck. He turned the knob and walked in.

Other than her scribbling hand, she did not stir. Covered in a pale blue dressing gown and a shawl, she sat hunched over her desk. Her hair must have been braided, but it had unraveled, framing her head in a fuzzy halo. She looked exquisite, though he could only see a bit of her profile.

Her quill paused. She dropped it, turned to look at him and gasped as she yanked the shawl from around her shoulders and covered her desk with it. What was she doing? He didn’t care. His chest ached, caging a slow and heavy heartbeat, and his hands grew hot. I love you. Please, don’t leave. I want you. Be my wife, and I will adore you forever.

He remained mute while Mary sat, wide-eyed and still, her arms around herself.

Move.

Before he could second-guess himself, he walked across the room and knelt beside her.

“Mary, look at me.”

She did, her eyes wide and her mouth straight, lovelier than ever, even in her disheveled state with ink smeared across her tired cheek.

“I had to speak with you.”

She sighed and wilted. What if, even after he told her how he felt, she would not have him? Could he bear the rejection?

His speechless pause drew on for too long. Mary raised her brows. “Well? What do you have to say?” She scrubbed at the ink stain on her finger, her hand trembling. Without encouragement, the task felt insurmountable. When he spoke to his parents, at least he knew he was saying something they wanted to hear. He had little indication of her feelings, but she had returned his kiss with as much passion as he felt. Combined with his desperation for her to know his heart, that memory became enough.

“I don’t express myself well, but I want to tell you that I do not, I mean, I did not, believe that after Miss Jensen, I could trust another woman with my heart. I wondered if marriage would be better without love, a rational relationship where feelings could not be hurt.”

Her eyes flitted to his face. “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”

“My parents love one another so deeply that they sometimes make choices that seem imprudent to me. They indulge each other in impractical fancies.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought love was senseless…because I had never felt it.” His stomach grew heavy, but his heart urged him to finish. “I didn’t know what it was like to be willing to do anything for another person with little care for what I might get in return.” He paused, gathering courage. “I know it now.”

She looked at him then, and he held her eyes with his own insistent look. He cupped her cheek with aching restraint, testing her reaction. She didn’t move away. He leaned closer. “I am your servant,” he whispered.

Her lips parted, and her eyes became caressing, but he did not know if she accepted him, if she wanted his kiss as he craved hers. He would try. He moved a fraction closer, his eyes straying to her lips. She tilted her chin, and with a sigh, he closed the distance, capturing her mouth in exquisite release of his yearning.

“Yes,” she said over his lips.

He pulled her face closer, deepening the kiss as she opened to him, seeming to accept all the love he might give her. All he had was hers—all his past and future belonged to her. He would love and cherish and protect and keep her. He would meet her every whim. She sank to the floor beside him, wrapped her arms around his neck. He nearly expired from the sweetness of her embrace, from the passion he did not expect, but that came in every movement of her lips and every caress of her hands, at once gentle, then insistent.

Daniel pulled away and kissed the softness beneath her ear. He whispered, “Mary, whom I adore with my whole foolish heart, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

Mary pulled her arms from around him, her face pale. Her eyes shifted, the tenderness of a moment before erased, and she transformed into Proper Mary. “What am I doing?” She scurried to the other side of the room. “Here you are, in my bedroom. And I…dressed in…most improper.” Her hands shook in front of her like she was flinging water from her fingers. She stopped in front of him. Then she snorted and began to laugh, covering her mouth, and dropping to floor next to him.

It was not proper, but he pulled her to him and cupped her face. “I am telling you that I love you.”

Good sense ought to be the first ingredient in the choice of friends. A woman’s reputation is never so clear that it cannot be clouded by the impertinence of her confidant.

The Whole Duty of a Woman, An Infallible Guide to the Fairer Sex, 1737