Sequel: Everlasting ›
Evermore
ix.
January 5th, 1782 ;
Mary stood at the entry for the sitting room and watched her mother intently focus on her latest needlework pattern. “Mother,” she asked quietly, waiting for her mother’s eyes to turn upwards at her address. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”
“Yes, of course,” Sophia said, setting down her work on the settee next to her. “Come, sit down, dear.” Mary quietly took the seat next to her mother, anxiously picking at the fabric of her gown but not saying a word, “Come now dear, what is wrong? Are you ill?”
“I do not think I can marry Harold, mother,” Mary stated quickly. Ever since the night of Lord Scarbourgh’s Christmas ball, her impending nuptials were all she could agonize over. Her every waking moment was consumed by indecision; a never ending pull between what Mary wanted for herself and what her family wanted for her. What she really wanted was to be the bride of the Earl; and not just because of the title, lands, and money like most of the young girls swooning in his wake.
Mary fancied herself in love with the older Earl.
She was enthralled with how she felt when Lord Scarbourgh spoke to her; how it felt like she swallowed a jar of butterflies and they fluttered about in her belly. How he engaged her conversation rather than speak about her.
All the things about him that Harold could not even hold a candle to.
Sophia’s face paled visibly before she stuttered out, “Nonsense, Mary. You have some pre-wedding jitters is all. All young brides do. It is nothing to get confused over.”
Mary shook her head in disagreement, “I am not confused. I have always felt this way, Mother. Since the very beginning. I do not love Harold. I… I do not even like him.” Mary tried her hardest to gather her thoughts, trying to find the best way to make her mother understand but all logical explanations were lost as she watched disbelief and anger touch her mother’s features.
“You do not have to like him, Mary Ann. He is good for you and for this family.”
“I… How can I live the rest of my life with someone who I do not enjoy the company of?” Mary asked, tears touching her eyes. “He is a bore; all he does is talk about his work and when we are in public he would rather I decorate his arm than spin me about the room. I do not think he wants to marry me either. I want to marry someone I am attracted to, someone who with engage me in conversation. I want a husband who will notice me.”
“You listen to me closely, little girl. I do not know who put this nonsense in your head but you better quickly forget it. This great romance or grand gesture you are waiting for will never come. Harold is the best man to take as husband; he is going to be successful and will keep you fed, housed, and comfortable." Her mother paused and pegged her with a serious stare, "You cannot break this engagement. You are now too old for a coming out ball, and with the blackness of a broken engagement you will surely end up in spinsterhood.”
Mary shirked back away from her mother, the tone of the lecture scathing, the words like a knife in her gut even as her mother continued her tirade, “There is only six months left until you marry and I want you let go of these fantasy tales you are weaving. Once you are wed, you will be the perfect wife to Harold. You will have his children and a good life and you will forget all this balderdash.”
Mary held back her tears and debated whether she would tell her mother about Lord Scarbourgh, about her attraction to him and his apparent one to her but held her tongue in that regard instead going for a more covert defense, “What if I love another?”
Sophia’s eyes were fierce as she stared into the eyes of her daughter, “Then forget him. Nobody who you associate with can be as worthy as Harold and I swear to you, little girl, if you do anything to jeopardize your engagement to Harold, if you blacken this families name with your supposed love I will have you shipped off to a convent to live the remainder of your life at the nunnery.”
Mary allowed her mother’s threat to sink in and sniffled back her tears, dashing her finger under her eyes to swipe away the tears. “Yes, Mother.”
Sophia gave her a curt nod, smoothing the skirt of her own gown before straightening her back and saying, “Good, I am glad we have reached an understanding.”
Mary stood at the entry for the sitting room and watched her mother intently focus on her latest needlework pattern. “Mother,” she asked quietly, waiting for her mother’s eyes to turn upwards at her address. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”
“Yes, of course,” Sophia said, setting down her work on the settee next to her. “Come, sit down, dear.” Mary quietly took the seat next to her mother, anxiously picking at the fabric of her gown but not saying a word, “Come now dear, what is wrong? Are you ill?”
“I do not think I can marry Harold, mother,” Mary stated quickly. Ever since the night of Lord Scarbourgh’s Christmas ball, her impending nuptials were all she could agonize over. Her every waking moment was consumed by indecision; a never ending pull between what Mary wanted for herself and what her family wanted for her. What she really wanted was to be the bride of the Earl; and not just because of the title, lands, and money like most of the young girls swooning in his wake.
Mary fancied herself in love with the older Earl.
She was enthralled with how she felt when Lord Scarbourgh spoke to her; how it felt like she swallowed a jar of butterflies and they fluttered about in her belly. How he engaged her conversation rather than speak about her.
All the things about him that Harold could not even hold a candle to.
Sophia’s face paled visibly before she stuttered out, “Nonsense, Mary. You have some pre-wedding jitters is all. All young brides do. It is nothing to get confused over.”
Mary shook her head in disagreement, “I am not confused. I have always felt this way, Mother. Since the very beginning. I do not love Harold. I… I do not even like him.” Mary tried her hardest to gather her thoughts, trying to find the best way to make her mother understand but all logical explanations were lost as she watched disbelief and anger touch her mother’s features.
“You do not have to like him, Mary Ann. He is good for you and for this family.”
“I… How can I live the rest of my life with someone who I do not enjoy the company of?” Mary asked, tears touching her eyes. “He is a bore; all he does is talk about his work and when we are in public he would rather I decorate his arm than spin me about the room. I do not think he wants to marry me either. I want to marry someone I am attracted to, someone who with engage me in conversation. I want a husband who will notice me.”
“You listen to me closely, little girl. I do not know who put this nonsense in your head but you better quickly forget it. This great romance or grand gesture you are waiting for will never come. Harold is the best man to take as husband; he is going to be successful and will keep you fed, housed, and comfortable." Her mother paused and pegged her with a serious stare, "You cannot break this engagement. You are now too old for a coming out ball, and with the blackness of a broken engagement you will surely end up in spinsterhood.”
Mary shirked back away from her mother, the tone of the lecture scathing, the words like a knife in her gut even as her mother continued her tirade, “There is only six months left until you marry and I want you let go of these fantasy tales you are weaving. Once you are wed, you will be the perfect wife to Harold. You will have his children and a good life and you will forget all this balderdash.”
Mary held back her tears and debated whether she would tell her mother about Lord Scarbourgh, about her attraction to him and his apparent one to her but held her tongue in that regard instead going for a more covert defense, “What if I love another?”
Sophia’s eyes were fierce as she stared into the eyes of her daughter, “Then forget him. Nobody who you associate with can be as worthy as Harold and I swear to you, little girl, if you do anything to jeopardize your engagement to Harold, if you blacken this families name with your supposed love I will have you shipped off to a convent to live the remainder of your life at the nunnery.”
Mary allowed her mother’s threat to sink in and sniffled back her tears, dashing her finger under her eyes to swipe away the tears. “Yes, Mother.”
Sophia gave her a curt nod, smoothing the skirt of her own gown before straightening her back and saying, “Good, I am glad we have reached an understanding.”