Sequel: Everlasting ›
Evermore
ii.
September 28th, 1781 ;
Under the supervision of her maid, Mary Lynn strolled the cobble streets with her betrothed, a parasol open and braced over her shoulder to cast a shadow over her features and protect her from the harshness of the summer sun. The man with whom she was to join with in just under a year was only slightly older than her seventeen years —a blessing when many of her own friends and acquaintances had husbands thrice their age. Everyone told her to count herself one of the lucky ones.
Harold Peter Arnold was not an ugly man, but he was not as easy on the eyes as Mary imagined her prince charming would be. He was boyish in appearance, the hardness of manhood not yet touching his face. The blue of his eyes lacked the luster of the sea or sky; they were more the color of a murky river. The dusty blond curls of his hair hung shoulder length on the rare occasion he wore it loose, otherwise it was tied at the nape of his neck with a leather string. He dressed befitting of his station, a lawyer by trade he wore more black than a widow in mourning, though the color complimented his pale complexion and stoic demeanor.
Whenever she lingered on his features she always reminded herself of his strengths. Harold did not rise his voice to her or order her about at her older brothers or father did. He was kind and polite even to the maid who always accompanied them on their little jaunts, he also put aside a large portion of his time to become acquainted with his future bride.
When she listed his strengths, though, she always felt as if she was convincing herself of their union. “Lovely weather,” Harold told her, his hands clasped behind his back as his long legs ate up the distance in front of them.
“It is hot,” Mary announced as she paused to look into the window of one of the shops, admiring the delicious looking sweets.
Herold paused next to her, and she could feel his eyes watching her. The examination felt more clinical than caring, another reason on her list of why her marriage to him would be a catastrophe. Their feelings for each other went nothing beyond their acquaintance; two partners in business— their marriage mutually beneficial for both families. “Would you like a tart,” he asked her, his voice soft like a breeze.
“No thank you, Mr. Arnold,” Mary replied, turning to him and forcing a friendly smile. “I enjoy looking.”
“You can call me Harry,” her betrothed insisted for the hundredth time as the two fell into a slow walk once more.
Mary could not help but frown. He always insisted on her using his given name, even the shortened one she knew his associates and friends called him but she could not bear to bring herself to do it. It was too familiar of a gesture. “How are your parents,” Mary asked, avoiding his insistence and not acknowledging his request.
Mrs. Arnold was a friend of her mother’s since the two older women were teenage girls; it was one of the reasons that Mary had been betrothed to Harold. As the only child of only children, Mr. and Mrs. Arnold had wanted to ensure their son met with a respectable and socially acceptable match. Her own parents had the same aspirations; no amount of pleading with her mother had spared her the match.
Mary had long since comprehended it was her duty to her family. The marriage would be good for their families; middle class both were far from destitute and Harold was a solicitor like his father before him. A noble job that would provide well for Mary and any of their future children.
“They are well,” Harold replied, his hands once against clasped behind his back as he looked straight ahead to the pathway in front of them. “Mother is eager for the wedding to come. It is all she ever speaks of.”
“My mother as well,” Mary stated softly and it was true. Her mother had taken the reins of planning the wedding. Nothing was left for Mary to worry about between the two elder women. It was a relief; Mary did not think she could plan something as elaborate as a wedding, most definitely when she was not enthused about it.
“What a pair they make, hm?” Harold mused as they rounded the corner. The trio were only several blocks from her home now, shops slowly disappearing and homes sprouting up. They were modest homes; not nearly as awe inspiring as the sprawling manses in the country she dreamed of but it was the community she had known all her life. “I hope; one day we can be as dear as they dream we will be.”
Mary frowned deeper, her uneasiness magnified tenfold by his oblivious statement. “Mr. Arnold,” Mary trailed off, trying to find the words.
“Harry,” he corrected.
“Harry,” Mary amended softly, it was one of the only times she had said his given name, “Our marriage. How do you feel about it?”
“I am hopeful that one day we will be close.” Harold answered, his voice steady and sure. “Maybe even love one another, but for now I am content as we are.”
Mary nodded, knots settling into her belly as uneasiness continued to swirl around inside her. “Yes… maybe one day.”
Under the supervision of her maid, Mary Lynn strolled the cobble streets with her betrothed, a parasol open and braced over her shoulder to cast a shadow over her features and protect her from the harshness of the summer sun. The man with whom she was to join with in just under a year was only slightly older than her seventeen years —a blessing when many of her own friends and acquaintances had husbands thrice their age. Everyone told her to count herself one of the lucky ones.
Harold Peter Arnold was not an ugly man, but he was not as easy on the eyes as Mary imagined her prince charming would be. He was boyish in appearance, the hardness of manhood not yet touching his face. The blue of his eyes lacked the luster of the sea or sky; they were more the color of a murky river. The dusty blond curls of his hair hung shoulder length on the rare occasion he wore it loose, otherwise it was tied at the nape of his neck with a leather string. He dressed befitting of his station, a lawyer by trade he wore more black than a widow in mourning, though the color complimented his pale complexion and stoic demeanor.
Whenever she lingered on his features she always reminded herself of his strengths. Harold did not rise his voice to her or order her about at her older brothers or father did. He was kind and polite even to the maid who always accompanied them on their little jaunts, he also put aside a large portion of his time to become acquainted with his future bride.
When she listed his strengths, though, she always felt as if she was convincing herself of their union. “Lovely weather,” Harold told her, his hands clasped behind his back as his long legs ate up the distance in front of them.
“It is hot,” Mary announced as she paused to look into the window of one of the shops, admiring the delicious looking sweets.
Herold paused next to her, and she could feel his eyes watching her. The examination felt more clinical than caring, another reason on her list of why her marriage to him would be a catastrophe. Their feelings for each other went nothing beyond their acquaintance; two partners in business— their marriage mutually beneficial for both families. “Would you like a tart,” he asked her, his voice soft like a breeze.
“No thank you, Mr. Arnold,” Mary replied, turning to him and forcing a friendly smile. “I enjoy looking.”
“You can call me Harry,” her betrothed insisted for the hundredth time as the two fell into a slow walk once more.
Mary could not help but frown. He always insisted on her using his given name, even the shortened one she knew his associates and friends called him but she could not bear to bring herself to do it. It was too familiar of a gesture. “How are your parents,” Mary asked, avoiding his insistence and not acknowledging his request.
Mrs. Arnold was a friend of her mother’s since the two older women were teenage girls; it was one of the reasons that Mary had been betrothed to Harold. As the only child of only children, Mr. and Mrs. Arnold had wanted to ensure their son met with a respectable and socially acceptable match. Her own parents had the same aspirations; no amount of pleading with her mother had spared her the match.
Mary had long since comprehended it was her duty to her family. The marriage would be good for their families; middle class both were far from destitute and Harold was a solicitor like his father before him. A noble job that would provide well for Mary and any of their future children.
“They are well,” Harold replied, his hands once against clasped behind his back as he looked straight ahead to the pathway in front of them. “Mother is eager for the wedding to come. It is all she ever speaks of.”
“My mother as well,” Mary stated softly and it was true. Her mother had taken the reins of planning the wedding. Nothing was left for Mary to worry about between the two elder women. It was a relief; Mary did not think she could plan something as elaborate as a wedding, most definitely when she was not enthused about it.
“What a pair they make, hm?” Harold mused as they rounded the corner. The trio were only several blocks from her home now, shops slowly disappearing and homes sprouting up. They were modest homes; not nearly as awe inspiring as the sprawling manses in the country she dreamed of but it was the community she had known all her life. “I hope; one day we can be as dear as they dream we will be.”
Mary frowned deeper, her uneasiness magnified tenfold by his oblivious statement. “Mr. Arnold,” Mary trailed off, trying to find the words.
“Harry,” he corrected.
“Harry,” Mary amended softly, it was one of the only times she had said his given name, “Our marriage. How do you feel about it?”
“I am hopeful that one day we will be close.” Harold answered, his voice steady and sure. “Maybe even love one another, but for now I am content as we are.”
Mary nodded, knots settling into her belly as uneasiness continued to swirl around inside her. “Yes… maybe one day.”