Page 10 of An Engagement with the Enemy

Again, she shook her head. “I am confused, Papa. What does James Aldwick’s matrimonial prospects have to do with me? With my future?”

Her father shifted and appeared somewhat reluctant to say his next words. “I think it time that you find a husband. This summer, perhaps, will be your best opportunity without having to travel all the way to London.”

Jessica struggled to find her voice. This was not a conversation she had expected to have with her father. He always doted on her and her younger brother, never pressuring them into anything they weren’t ready for. The idea of marriage had never been a topic of concern between them, and she had taken it for granted that he wouldn’t rush her into such a decision.

Yet now, with her heart beating faster and her palms growing damp, she realized how naive she had been. She swallowed, trying to speak around the sudden dryness of her tongue.

“I appreciate your concern, Father,” she said, her voice tinged with a touch of disbelief. “However, I assure you, I have no present intention to marry. I am content with my life as it is.”

Heat built in her chest, moving slowly outward and upward. The steady thrum of her pulse filled her ears and made itself felt in her fingertips. It took a swallow, a few calming breaths, to soothe away the trepidation her father’s words had caused. And he watched her, all the while. Aware of her reaction to his words. Of what it could lead to.

“Jessica?” She knew what he would ask. She was so tired of answering. Yes, she was well. So long as things remained steady and certain, she would always be well.

The more familiar her routine, her neighbors, her surroundings, the easier it was for her to pretend everything was well. Leaving what she knew behind had always been out of the question.

The words of the physicians her father had hired echoed in her mind, drowning out her father’s gentle tone.

Her episodes are a result of weak character. A stricter hand is needed.

She is overly sensitive. Hot and cold baths will fix her addled mind.

Nervous fatigue. A regular sedative will fix everything. A tincture of opium is all that’s needed.

These are only the first signs of madness. A hospital isn’t out of the question.

Her father’s grip tightened on her hand, and she pulled in a gasp of air like one drowning. Her eyes filled with tears as she looked into his worried eyes. “Papa. I can’t.”

Mr. Westcote’s expression remained earnest, his grip on her hand tightening ever so slightly. “My dear, I understand your desire for things to stay the same. For the comfort of the familiar. Yet you have only a modest inheritance coming to you, and I want to see you taken care of. You should make the most of the guests coming to visit the baron this summer. Among them, you might find a gentleman who captures your heart. As your mother captured mine.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. He didn’t understand. Though he tried. Too many doctors had assured him that she would one day overcome her difficulty. Perhaps when she had a child, several had suggested. A motherly instinct might well cure her of an unsound mind.

She had expected her father to dismiss the idea of marriage, to join her in the knowledge that she was better off without a husband, but his earnestness was undeniable.

Her father was right that she had only a modest inheritance—but the idea of giving herself to a man less compassionate than her father filled her with dread. It always had. And she wouldn’t—couldn’t—marry.

“Who will want me?” she whispered, daring to ask of her father the thing that might make him see reason. “Who would want such a burdensome wife?”

“My darling little girl,” he said, touching her hand. “You are so much more than the trials of your mind.”

The weight of his words settled heavily on her chest and suffocated the lightness of the breakfast room. Her stomach turned unpleasantly, and the food on her plate was no more appealing than bricks of mud.

“Besides,” her father continued, tone gentle, “you will not be alone in your endeavors. I’ve written to my brother, and he agrees he will help find you a husband if there isn’t one to be had among the baron’s guests.”

Jessica’s eyes widened. “You asked Uncle to find a husband for me?”

“Not precisely,” he admitted. “I wrote to him of some general concerns regarding your future, and in his answering letter he said he could find someone for you. There are men enough who would be content to let you stay at their country house, surrounded by green hills and gardens as you are here. I’d rather you not worry of such a thing, though. It would be better if you found someone on your own. Someone you can devote yourself to, wholly and without reserve.”

“What if I cannot find a man to inspire the same devotion in me that you had toward Mama?” she whispered, appealing to the love he’d held for her mother. Marrying someone who would put her in a country house and leave her there, all alone, wasn’t her idea of happiness.

“I cannot tell you what will inspire devotion in your heart, my girl. But I do know that kindness, patience, honesty, and compassion are likely ingredients. Look for a gentleman who treats you with those virtues, and the rest may follow in due time.”

What if she couldn’t find such a man? A man who wouldn’t mind the frailties of her spirit, a man who would treat her gently.

“You must try, my girl. Please. If you find someone on your own, someone you love, everything else will fall into place.”

Jessica squeezed her father’s hand, offering him a small nod. It was a silent acknowledgment that she understood his intentions, even if she wasn’t ready to embrace them fully.

Nothing short of the deepest love would tempt her into matrimony. Even then, could she trust anyone with her future? Trust that they wouldn’t see her as broken?