Page 20 of A Gentleman's Wife

Chapter Ten

Sitting in the church did not bring Marianne as much stress or anxiety as it used to. The place where she’d married her husband and had attended Sunday services many times since was now becoming comfortable to her. The sound of the vicar’s voice giving the sermon, the colorful stained-glass windows filtering in a rainbow of light, the summer heat fading into autumn’s chill, making her tug the shawl tighter around her shoulders, even though her husband sat directly beside her. Thomas’s presence alone provided her plenty of warmth, whether their shoulders were touching or not. It was her awareness of having him so close that made these weekly events so enjoyable, highly sought after, even.

After the hymns were sung and the prayers were given, the congregation was dismissed, which prompted Thomas to stand and offer his right arm. As they made their way out to the churchyard, many faces began to feel familiar. Other families in the village whom she couldn’t identify by name but who greeted her with friendly smiles. She appreciated their efforts on her behalf, still the newest addition to their country life. She wondered how many of them should be on the list of guests for the ball but tried to swallow the surge of worry that flooded her. Not right now. Not when she could enjoy walking home from church with Thomas by her side.

The days of rain had passed, but gray clouds still spread across the sky, settling a cool breeze around them. Primrose House was not far from the church, and Marianne enjoyed the time outdoors as they crunched over darkened leaves and avoided deep puddles.

“Did you enjoy the sermon?” Thomas asked. His voice was smooth and content, which pleased her. No heavy conversations today.

“Very much. The lesson to love one’s neighbor is always an apropos reminder.”

“Is it a constant battle for you then?” She looked up at him and found a teasing smile set upon his lips.

But before she could respond, a gaggle of rambunctious boys ran past them, laughing and shouting at each other. Marianne found herself smiling after them, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. She adored children and longed for her own, though of course she had her concerns. Would they be stricken with her same affliction of the hand, or worse, with her epilepsy? So little was known about either of them, with few easements and no known cures. It would be a dream to have a family of her own, especially knowing Thomas would be the other parent. He’d make an excellent father, and the thought made her heart skip a beat.

A few of the young boys paused before them. “Mr. Ramsbury, is it true that your wife is a witch?”

He looked to her confused, but Marianne only shook her head and sighed. She knew what was coming.

“Why? Has she bewitched you with her beauty?” Thomas said with a wink.

“No, one of the children said she has a witch hand, and she uses it to cast spells on children.”

It was nothing she hadn’t heard before, but Thomas’s face turned dark and angry. “How dare you speak so rudely about my wife. A real gentleman never speaks disrespectfully of a lady. I demand you apologize immediately, young man.”

The two boys bowed their heads and mumbled their apologies, one of them shoving the other. “I told you she was too pretty to be a witch,” he whispered.

“I suppose you are forgiven,” Marianne said slowly. Then she lifted her right hand, gloved fingers curling into a gnarled stance, and gave them a withering stare. “Unless you’d like to see if it’s true?”

The boys’ eyes grew wide and they screamed before running off with their other friends.

Thomas let out a surprised laugh, but Marianne did not miss the concern in his eyes. “I think I’ll have a talk with their mother to be sure nothing like that happens again.”

Marianne shook her head. “Please don’t bother. I’ve heard plenty worse before, and from within my own home.”

He turned to her in shock. “Truly?”

“Indeed. My brother and sister were merciless in their teasing when I was young. They loved to call me ham-fisted or Friday-faced. Or their favorite turn of phrase was that I was as ugly as a pig and more useless than their bones.”

His eyes narrowed. “And your parents did nothing to stop this?”

Bitterness swam through Marianne’s chest, but she gave a nonchalant shrug. “My father mostly remained silent, but my mother continuously advised me if I wanted the teasing to stop, then I needed to give up the act of the falling sickness. She often threatened to have me submitted to Bedlam if I didn’t.”

Thomas lowered his chin, the muscles in his jaw clenching in place.

“I’d almost prefer to be called a witch. Then maybe I could actually hex those little rascals.” She motioned toward the young boys with a laugh, trying to ease the tension, though Thomas’s tension appeared to be anything but.

“How dare they.” Thomas’s voice had turned hard and cold, with a dark, gravely tone she didn’t know he possessed. “A child’s home should be a place to grow in love and kindness, not a source of heartless cruelty at every turn. Regardless of… anything.” He rubbed a hand over his face in frustration before gently settling both his hands on her shoulders. Marianne stiffened under his touch, though not out of fear, but from his closeness. Her breath froze in her chest as his brown eyes bore down on her.

“You will never have anything to fear in my house. I want you to understand that implicitly. I cannot control what happens out here, but you will never receive such ill treatment from me or any of my staff. And I will do my damndest to ensure that Primrose House is a place of peace and happiness for you.”

Marianne was speechless. No one had ever championed her so, let alone said such heartfelt words to her directly. Her heart pounded beneath her chest, and her lips parted, struggling to take in a satisfactory breath. “I appreciate your earnestness. Truly, I do. And all the changes you’ve facilitated in the house for me. But I will always be required to have a thick skin for situations like this that are outside our control.”

“I only wish I could protect you from…” He seemed to struggle with what to say.

“The world?” Marianne offered.

He met her gaze and firmly said, “Yes.”

She gave him a sad smile, and his eyes dropped to her lips. Any lightheartedness she’d attempted on his behalf completely dissipated with the heat in his stare. It was the only way to describe the change in his expression. It had shifted from anger to… something she was unfamiliar with, but it made her mouth go dry. It startled her more than any teasing or mistreatment she could face, so again she tried to deflect. Marianne tried patting his hand to reassure him. “You can’t always do that, I’m afraid.”

He lifted his eyes to hers again and took a deep breath before nodding. “But I can try, my dear.” Then he took hold of her left hand, tucked it back in the crook of his arm, and continued leading her down the path.

It was a good thing too, for Marianne had no sense of time or direction anymore. He’d called hermy dear. It would seem a passing endearment for any wife, except for the attentive look he’d dropped to her lips. Just the thought of it made her stomach twist in delight and fill with butterflies. Had the thought crossed his mind to kiss her?

Good heavens.

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