Page 51 of An Amiable Foe
“You have not reached your majority. It is my responsibility as your companion to judge what is best for you to read and what is not.”
Marianne’s heart burned in anger. Anger for all the years of loneliness, for the deceit, for the betrayal—of Robert, of her uncle she had once thought but now she understood was really Miss Fife’s. “You may pack your things and leave.”
“You cannot live alone here. It would be scandalous!” Miss Fife screeched. “And you cannot do anything without me, for you are not yet of your majority.” She moved forward, but Marianne held her ground.
“I will not live here alone. I will leave, and I will take the servants with me. You will have to cook your own food and light your own fires until I am of my majority and can call upon the magistrate to forcibly remove you for trespassing.”
Marianne shook from fury and the shock of the past days’ revelations. “But there is one thing of which I am sure. I will not spend another day under the same roof as you.” She spun around and quit Miss Fife’s room at too rapid a pace for her to follow.
After her unfortunate encounter with Lord Steere, Marianne had held off from going to the castle out of a delicacy she could not explain to herself. It was almost as though returning when Perry was not there would in some way make it as though he had never come to Brindale in the first place. As though she had never met him or lived through the experience of being loved—of being kissed. Brindale had lost some of its allure as a secure fortress for her heart. She was coming to see that when it came to love, her heart was vulnerable wherever she went.
Now that she had to be anywhere but in Miss Fife’s presence and could not go to Robert, the stones of the castle called to her. Its cavernous drawing room, filled with her father’s presence, called to her. The yellow sitting room of her mother, filled with her sensible peace and organized stack of books, called to her. Mrs. Malford’s motherly affection beckoned. Marianne strode out of the cottage and onto the leafy path to the castle.
Instead of knocking on the front door like a stranger, she went to the kitchen and opened the door there. She expected to see Mrs. Malford busy, preparing the day’s meals, but found her instead sitting at the kitchen table, her hands folded on the rough wood in front of her.
“What is it, Mrs. Malford?” Marianne turned to see Annabel pulling dried herbs from their stalks, but the maid looked away as though she couldn’t bear to meet Marianne’s gaze.
“Oh, my dear.” Mrs. Malford’s eyes filled with tears, and she patted the place beside her. Marianne sat, her heart filled with foreboding.
Mrs. Malford had not called her “my dear” since her parents died. After that time, she had always been careful to elevate Marianne to her proper place as a gentleman’s daughter. Despite the cook’s deep affection, she never allowed herself to be too familiar.
“You are frightening me.” Marianne tried to laugh, but it did not come out. She swallowed the lump in her throat.
Mrs. Malford turned to Annabel and gestured for her to leave them, which the maid did at once. She then turned to Marianne.
“Forgive me for my familiarity, Miss Marianne, but I’d long suspected Mr. Osborne to have some intentions towards ye—and that ye returned his affection.”
Marianne felt the heat creep up her neck onto her face. She had not realized she had been so transparent, even to the servants. Thankfully, she was not forced to confirm the cook’s suspicion because Mrs. Malford spoke again, meeting Marianne’s gaze with a significant one of her own.
“Mr. Osborne has not yet come back to Brindale, but he’s gone and sent a butler to run things here.”
Marianne could not contain her sharp intake of breath, her heart leaping at the words. If Perry had sent a butler ahead, it meant he would soon be returning for her.
“But is that not good news?” She tried to smile through her confusion. “If he has sent his butler, then it means he’s planning to return to Brindale for good.”
“Oh, miss. I had thought so, but the butler told me as he ’ud come to prepare for the arrival of the new Mrs. Osborne.” The cook grabbed her hands and squeezed them tight. “Mr. Osborne has gone and taken a wife.”
What?Marianne gaped at Mrs. Malford, unable to reply. A piercing bolt of pain shot through her chest as the implications dawned on her. After everything Perry had said to her, he married another woman?
His uncle must have prevailed upon him to give up his suit. Or Perry had himself had a change of heart. He had left the castle’s bewitchment and realized that to bind himself to such a poor specimen of a wife was folly. Even now his friends must be congratulating him on his lucky escape after witnessing her performance at the ball.
She had been imprudent to let down her guard and allow him to enter into her affections, but she would not be so naïve again.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
Marianne stumbled out of Brindale, swallowing hard to keep the tears from falling as she hurried along the path to the cottage. It was only now that she admitted to herself she had been holding on to the memory of Perry’s kiss as her one last hope.
Betrayed by first Robert and then by Miss Fife—both of them, selfish—she had held out hope that Perry could be relied upon. That his love was solid and true. She had thought him good, and…that his courtship was honest and coming from a place of love. Now she was coming to realize just how naïve she truly was. Only a stupid, foolish girl would believe the false kisses of a rake.
She stopped on the path to catch her breath, leaning against the trunk of a tree and staring at the beige stones of the castle across the pond. No, she was neither stupid nor foolish to have trusted that there was good in people. If some chose only to look out for their own interests, they would have to live with themselves. It did not mean she needed to harden her own heart.
After a few minutes, a slight breeze dried the tears on her cheeks while she pondered what to do next. She could not live under the same roof as Miss Fife, who was not likely to leave unless there were no more servants to wait upon her. And she could not live in the castle while Mr. Osborne—as he must be to her now—prepared for his wife’s arrival.
She blew out in a sharp exhale, then began walking again. She might not have the ready solution she could hope for, but perhaps if she stayed with Mrs. Malford in the servants’ quarters while Miss Fife left the cottage, she might be able to return to her house before Mr. Osborne returned to his.
That was what she would do. Marianne continued to follow the path until she came to the clearing in the trees where the cottage came into view. She stopped, the sight of a fashionable horse and curricle parked there catching her by surprise. Its markings looked like Amelia Belford’s conveyance.
As she came to this conclusion, Miss Belford herself exited the house with Miss Fife following her, the spinster moving now in the easiest way and waving her hands in excitement as her petulant voice reached Marianne. Amelia turned and smiled when she saw her.
