Evermore

xi.

February 16th, 1782 ;


Mary sat in the parlor, her hands making quick work of her tent stitching as she tried to occupy her time, which seemed to drag on forever in the previous weeks. Mary had turned down invitations for luncheons and brunches from friends, she had ignored invitations to balls and coming out parties overall quickly gaining the title of recluse much to her mother's dismay. At first she had waited anxiously for a reply from the Earl; her girlish heart pining for words of adoration but not a single letter arrived for her.

Mary tried to look on the brighter side of the situation. The Earl would never confess undying love for her; it was not as if the two had spent copious amounts of time together. They hardly knew one another and as she always tried to remind herself; there were many girls—even other widows, such as himself—who would bring him more.

"Mary, you must get out of the house," Sophia droned from across the parlor when Mary failed to hold back a longing sigh. Mary looked up towards her mother to see her setting aside a letter from a cousin, "Margaret is hosting a dinner party tomorrow and I think it best you and Harold attend. Together."

"I am not feeling very sociable," Mary replied softly, her disinterest bleeding into every syllable. In her solitude she had also denied visits from Harold, who had tried several times to take her about the town. While her mother could meddle and allow her fiancé into their home and force Mary to sit in the same room as him, she could not force her to entertain him in public.

"That much has been apparent, Mary Lynn. It is unhealthy for a girl your age to sit about all day and do nothing," The nagging was irritating but Mary had no choice but to listen, even if she retreated from the room her mother would just follow her through the home. "And Harold is growing exasperated by your behavior as well. The dinner would be the perfect opportunity to make it up to him."

Mary let out a loud sigh, setting down the pattern she had diligently been working on before looking up at her mother. She looked upon the delicate features of the woman who had coddled and nurtured her from birth and could only feel resentment, "Mother, you told me I had to marry Harold. Not that I had to parade about town with him, attend events or dinners with him, or even entertain his whims. I've resigned myself to my fate of marriage to him so please, just let it lay."

Sophia's young face contorted into a mask of anger but Mary knew her mother held her temper at bay, "You are so infuriating, Mary. Why can you not act like other young girls your age? There are many girls vying for Harold's attention but he has only been attentive to you. You should be grateful."

Standing suddenly, Mary could hold her tongue no longer, "No, Mother. I do not have to be grateful that a man treats me as less. I do not have to be grateful for giving up my happiness. I want to dwell no longer on this! I am marrying him; despite what I want most. I am doing what is right for this family, just as you wished me to do. Be grateful about that."

Then without a second word, Mary walked out of the parlor and towards the stairs that would take her to the sanctuary of her bedroom. Thankfully her mother did not follow as Mary gathered the skirts of her day dress in her hand and took the steps quickly, wanting to be shielded behind the door of her private quarters before she lost her composure. Even as she ascended the stairs, she felt to hot burn of tears behind her brown eyes.

Just as she reached for the brass knob, the door swung open and she almost collided with the retreating form of Sarah, "Dear Lord!" The maid gasped, a hand flying to her chest in shock as the other steadied her friend, "You gave me a fright, Mary!"

"I am sorry," Mary apologized quickly as she quickly used the sleeve of her gown to dash away any excess tears in her eyes before asking, "And what is your hurry, you act as if the house is on fire!"

"It may be if your mother finds out about the letter that I left on your writing desk," Sarah whispered, her lithe body leaning closer to her mistress so the words could be heard better. "You owe me, Mary, I had to promise the toad footman a kiss in order to keep it out of your father's hands."

Mary's eyes grew wide at the tale, the toad footman the young maid referred to was Thomas, a twenty-something year old man from York who had been with the family since Mary only ten years old. He was hardly toad like, but Mary always had a sneaking suspicion that he yearned for her prideful maid's favor, "Oh Sarah," she breathed softly, gratitude washing over Mary at the kindness her maid showed to her, "Thank you, truly. I promise I will make it up to you!"

Sarah smiled widely before sidestepping her mistress, "Just take me with you once the Earl and you are wed. I have always wanted to work at an estate."

Mary could only scoff at the fanciful dreams of her maid as she entered her bedchamber and closed the door behind her, and turned the key to secure the lock. Quickly scurrying to her desk, she could hardly contain herself as she sat down and picked up the piece of parchment. Mary could hardly breath as she looked down at the folded paper, the bright red wax seal beholding his family crest revealing exactly who had written her.

Sliding her finger under the seal, until it gave way and cracked she unfolded the letter and felt her heart soar at the sight of his masculine handwriting.