Sequel: Everlasting ›
Evermore
x.
January 30th, 1782 ;
Mary sat at her writing desk, staring at the letter she had spent the last hour composing, looking at the scrawl of words with a heavy heart.
Dear Lord Scarbourgh,
I hope this letter reaches you and that you are well. I have thought often about our last conversation and I have put great consideration into the question you asked of me. You are indeed right, I do not like my fiancé. I do not enjoy his company or care much for him as a person but it is too late for me to change my stance on our marriage for I have tried. My family has made it abundantly clear that if I do not marry him—despite my wants—I will be sent off to a nunnery because no others will have me. I will be ruined
I do not know why I am writing to tell you this, maybe because you are the reason I question everything in my life. You are the reason for my sudden disinterest for the fate that has long been written out for me. There are times when I am lying in my bed cursing you for revealing my dissatisfaction but wanting to thank you in the same breath.
I am sorry for my blunt departure from your party and my unkind behavior because I see now what it was you wanted me to see. Once more, I hope you and your children are all well.
Sincerely Yours,
Mary Lynn
Folding the letter, Mary sealed it with a dollop of wax before turning in her chair and looked to Sarah who sat to the left of her desk in a chair, repairing a hem on one of her old dresses. “Sarah, would you be able to do me a favor?”
“Is it about that letter you’ve been pouring into for the whole of the evening?” When Mary nodded in reply Sarah sighed, “What do you need me to do?”
“Just make sure it goes into the post and that my mother does not know about it,” Mary told her quietly, handing off the letter to one of the only people she knew she could trust with such a task.
Sarah took the letter and tucked it into a pocket within her dress, “Can I ask a question?”
“Of course.”
“Is this a love letter or a letter planning a rendezvous?” She asked curiously, her tone serious as she looked on her friend. “I know you are… engrossed by him and I am just concerned.”
Mary shook her head in denial, “It is just a letter. I promise there are no illicit on goings between us and there is no reason for concern.”
Sarah’s frowned deepened as she looked back down at her stitch work and began to fidget with it, “I know the two of you went off alone together when you attended his Christmas ball. I caught a glance of him following after you and I assumed the two of you had started an affair.”
“Nothing as illegitimate as that. We just exchanged words.” With a deep sigh, Mary looked to her friend pleadingly, “What should I do, Sarah. I am so torn.”
“About what?”
“My impending marriage. I thought I could marry him, that I could be happy with whatever life he would give me but I do not think I can any longer. I do not know if I can sit by and pretend I am happy with the choices my family has made for me.”
Sarah looked sympathetically at her friend, setting her dainty hand over Mary’s, “You hold all the power, Mary. You just have to make the decision of what fears you more; the thought of living the rest of your days with Harold as husband and wife or the solidarity of the abbey.” Sarah paused, as if allowing her words to sink deep into Mary’s conscious before adding. “The Earl, you obviously feel deeply for him. Does he feel the same?”
Frowning, Mary looked down at the friendly hand over hers and sighed, turning her hand over to grip Sarah’s, “I do not know and I fear his rejection if I reveal my feelings for him. He’s an Earl. He has more money, lands, and titles than my family has ever seen. He is handsome and while he is a bit rough around the edges at times he is truly kind. Surely, he has many women to choose from that will benefit him in the union of marriage.”
“Mary you cannot wish for a better life and not do anything about it out of fear. He may reject you but at least you can tell yourself you tried to prevent your circumstances instead of sitting about wallowing in self-pity.”
Mary nodded, the truth in her friend’s words sinking deep as he said, “Please just make sure that letter gets to the post.”
Mary sat at her writing desk, staring at the letter she had spent the last hour composing, looking at the scrawl of words with a heavy heart.
Dear Lord Scarbourgh,
I hope this letter reaches you and that you are well. I have thought often about our last conversation and I have put great consideration into the question you asked of me. You are indeed right, I do not like my fiancé. I do not enjoy his company or care much for him as a person but it is too late for me to change my stance on our marriage for I have tried. My family has made it abundantly clear that if I do not marry him—despite my wants—I will be sent off to a nunnery because no others will have me. I will be ruined
I do not know why I am writing to tell you this, maybe because you are the reason I question everything in my life. You are the reason for my sudden disinterest for the fate that has long been written out for me. There are times when I am lying in my bed cursing you for revealing my dissatisfaction but wanting to thank you in the same breath.
I am sorry for my blunt departure from your party and my unkind behavior because I see now what it was you wanted me to see. Once more, I hope you and your children are all well.
Sincerely Yours,
Mary Lynn
Folding the letter, Mary sealed it with a dollop of wax before turning in her chair and looked to Sarah who sat to the left of her desk in a chair, repairing a hem on one of her old dresses. “Sarah, would you be able to do me a favor?”
“Is it about that letter you’ve been pouring into for the whole of the evening?” When Mary nodded in reply Sarah sighed, “What do you need me to do?”
“Just make sure it goes into the post and that my mother does not know about it,” Mary told her quietly, handing off the letter to one of the only people she knew she could trust with such a task.
Sarah took the letter and tucked it into a pocket within her dress, “Can I ask a question?”
“Of course.”
“Is this a love letter or a letter planning a rendezvous?” She asked curiously, her tone serious as she looked on her friend. “I know you are… engrossed by him and I am just concerned.”
Mary shook her head in denial, “It is just a letter. I promise there are no illicit on goings between us and there is no reason for concern.”
Sarah’s frowned deepened as she looked back down at her stitch work and began to fidget with it, “I know the two of you went off alone together when you attended his Christmas ball. I caught a glance of him following after you and I assumed the two of you had started an affair.”
“Nothing as illegitimate as that. We just exchanged words.” With a deep sigh, Mary looked to her friend pleadingly, “What should I do, Sarah. I am so torn.”
“About what?”
“My impending marriage. I thought I could marry him, that I could be happy with whatever life he would give me but I do not think I can any longer. I do not know if I can sit by and pretend I am happy with the choices my family has made for me.”
Sarah looked sympathetically at her friend, setting her dainty hand over Mary’s, “You hold all the power, Mary. You just have to make the decision of what fears you more; the thought of living the rest of your days with Harold as husband and wife or the solidarity of the abbey.” Sarah paused, as if allowing her words to sink deep into Mary’s conscious before adding. “The Earl, you obviously feel deeply for him. Does he feel the same?”
Frowning, Mary looked down at the friendly hand over hers and sighed, turning her hand over to grip Sarah’s, “I do not know and I fear his rejection if I reveal my feelings for him. He’s an Earl. He has more money, lands, and titles than my family has ever seen. He is handsome and while he is a bit rough around the edges at times he is truly kind. Surely, he has many women to choose from that will benefit him in the union of marriage.”
“Mary you cannot wish for a better life and not do anything about it out of fear. He may reject you but at least you can tell yourself you tried to prevent your circumstances instead of sitting about wallowing in self-pity.”
Mary nodded, the truth in her friend’s words sinking deep as he said, “Please just make sure that letter gets to the post.”