Page 55 of An Amiable Foe
Or move to Jamaica.
“Please have him come in,” Lady Belford responded calmly, as though there was no threat of the world caving in, bringing complete and utter devastation.
Marianne’s eyes were on her hands when Mr. Osborne walked in, her heart beating as rapidly as a bird’s. She glanced up quickly and found his eyes trained on hers. He was alone. She could not bear his regard and looked down again right away.
He must have come with the intention of making a proper social call. But then she wanted to see if he was surprised to find her here. Would he look uncomfortable after what had transpired between them? She would never, ever kiss another gentleman again. Not ever in her life. Not if it meant this torturous, humiliating pain of disappointment. She looked up just as he was pulling his gaze from her and then bowing before the Belfords.
“Will you join us for tea?” Lady Belford asked him.
“Another time, if you please.” Mr. Osborne shifted from one foot to the other. “Actually, I was hoping Miss Edgewood might join me for a walk—that is, Miss Edgewood, if you are so inclined?”
The fear of having his marriage confirmed almost caused her to refuse. But the desire to know for a certainty, thereby lancing the wound at once, grew overpowering. After only a short hesitation, she stood. “I am.”
Amelia smiled at her then turned to their guest. “Mr. Osborne, the path leading to our gardens is on the left when you exit the house. I think you will find some pretty places to walk there.”
He bowed again to the Belfords, murmuring his thanks, and as Marianne reached his side, he gestured ahead.
“Shall we?”
In the main hall, she took her bonnet from the bench where she had placed it alongside Amelia’s earlier that morning and tied it on as they exited into the outdoors. It was warm enough that she didn’t need a pelisse, and the fabric of her new gown rustling against her legs gave her confidence. They didn’t speak until they had rounded the house and were out of the keen eyesight of the servants.
“How have you been, Marianne?”
Mr. Osborne’s voice was cautious, and he placed his hands behind his back as he stared ahead. She had a hard time grasping that he would still call her Marianne. Was that how gentlemen acted as a general rule? They kissed women they had no intention of marrying and then continued to use their Christian names?
She opened her mouth to speak but was too full of these private struggles to give any clear answer. “I—”
“I was surprised to find you gone from the cottage when I returned,” he said, apparently too impatient to let her finish. “And you didn’t leave word.”
She stopped and turned to him, eyes wide, her anger cutting through the hurt. “I didn’t leave word? You left with barely a word, and I haven’t heard from you since.”
“But I did leave word,” he said, now facing her, confusion evident in his features. “I explained in the letter that I had something I must do, but that I would be back.”
“You didnotsay you were coming back.” Marianne clutched her hands together in front of her. “You merely said that you regretted the kiss and would set all to rights.”
“I did not say that,” he protested, his brows furrowed. He put his hand out but stopped just short of touching her. “And I did not regret the kiss.”
“Not even when you married another woman?”
Tears sprang to Marianne’s eyes, and she could no longer bear the pain and humiliation of meeting him again. She picked up her skirts and ran into the garden, hoping he would not follow her. If he were a gentleman, he would not. She did not want him to see her cry. Such a thing would complete his victory.
“Marianne!”
She heard his swift footsteps behind her until he rounded the leafy arch separating a portion of the garden, and came into view. There was nowhere to hide, and Marianne turned to face the solid yew hedge. He did not care, then, for her dignity.
“Marianne,” he said again, coming up behind her.
“Go away.” Her voice broke on the words. She sniffed, her nose beginning to run.
There was silence behind her but no sound of him leaving. Then, a handkerchief appeared in front of her, and she could feel the warmth of his arm on hers.
“I’m not going away until you explain yourself, so you may as well turn around and look at me. Here. You need this.”
Marianne took the handkerchief because she had no choice, then sighed. “Perry, return to your wife and leave me alone.”
“Wife?” Perry put his hand on her arm and spun her around to face him. “What inheaven’s namegave you the idea that I took a wife in the fortnight since I left Brindale?”
“Mrs. Malford told me,” Marianne replied, lifting her gaze to his and suffering the first stab of doubt. “Your butler arrived to prepare for the arrival of Mrs. Osborne. She’s there at Brindale now, isn’t she?”
