Chapter 22

Marianne walked on quivering legs towards the front of the house, worry, and fear encompassing her.

Why she had chosen to come here was beyond her, for the house held no happy memories, no sense of comfort.

Slowly she took a tentative step towards the large glass and wood door, her heartbeat rising inexplicably. Stopping she tightly squeezed her eye closed, a rush of emotions engulfing her.

It seemed the house with its unhappy memories did not want her to be here anymore than she herself had as a child.

After several minutes of quiet tears, Marianne had managed to swallow her discontent and made her way into the dust-filled house, a house that had sat unused for far too long.

Sneezing she walked further into the parlor and sat upon the used yet comfortable chaise, another sneeze escaping her as a cloud of dust swirled into the air about her.

It did not take long for her weary and worn body to relax, bring about a bout of drowsiness. A strange feeling for the normally active young woman, as she set there a realization slowly dawned upon her.

For the first time she actually felt a sense of peace within these walls, a feeling she attributed to her recent dispatch of naivety, no longer was she an innocent child, now she was in all aspect a woman.

The thought alone brought tears to her eyes as she thought back to the young stable hand she had loved, the young man whose attentions had been found by her mother and ended in her marriage to the nefarious Henry; laying upon the arm of the lounge she allowed her misery to come forth.

Allowed her thoughts to ramble, from Michael to Henry and settle upon the darkly handsome yet dangerous man from the ball.

“Milady,” Jonathon, the driver quietly stated as he entered, disrupting her thoughts.

Startled she hurriedly righted herself and focused her gaze upon him. For the first time noticing how handsome the young man was, as she quietly observed that he did a fine job of disguising any discomfort he may have felt at the meager surroundings.

“You will catch a chill; I shall set a fire for you.” He pointedly stated, unaffected by her intense and scrutinizing gaze.

Relaxing once again, she again settled against the arm of the chaise, a sense of comfort over coming her. “Thank you,” she whispered with a grimace as her back clenched. Her muscles and bones seemed forever bruised from the uncomfortable ride, jostling she could have avoided had she not insisted he travel at break neck speed. Through heavy lidded eyes, she watched as he made quick work of starting a blazing fire, the heat of it quickly chasing away the chill in the air.

“Milady, I shall go to town and gather some supplies,” he stated in concern, words she barely heard as the warmth caressed her body, lulling her to slumber.

The gentle crackle and snap of the blazing logs filling her thoughts, incapable of suppressing it, Marianne yawned broadly before succumbing to slumber, a deep dreamless sleep where she could escape from the reality of all that had happened.

Francis alerted immediately to the thick scent of wood smoke, in a fit of rage she purposefully made her way towards the front door, of the old manor.

The house that had once belonged to her and Charles, less than enthusiastically she threw the door open wide and stormed into the sitting room.

Her sharp-eyed gaze falling immediately upon the slumbering shadowed form of a woman, “Have you no sense of respect,” she snapped.

“Arise and face your future you trespassing wretch!” she screeched furiously, anger and a brief hint of fright in her tone.

Blinking rapidly Marianne’s eyes fluttered open at the distinct shrill tone of her mother’s voice, “Is that any way to refer to your daughter,” she quietly murmured. Glancing about in confusion at the darkened room the only light that of the dwindling fire; immediately it occurring to her that she had slept for several hours.

Francis took an unsteady step back, surprise, and shock coursing through her at the sound of Marianne’s voice. “Why are you here?” her question was unsteady, shaky just as she herself felt this moment. “You should be with your husband,” she added.

Five minutes later the two women stood warily facing the other the soft golden light illuminating the striking resemblance between the two. It occurring to Marianne that her mother had seemingly aged, thick dark circles that were prominent under her eyes and she noticed a few lines that seemed deeply etched at the creases of her mother’s mouth and eyes.

“Is the viscount here with you?” Francis finally stated her tone thick with tension.

Turning her gaze towards the fire, Marianne stared uncomfortably at the flickering blue and gold flames. The heat of it doing little to chase away the chill that had settled within her the moment her mother had arrived.

“No,” she finally managed the mere thought of him aching her. “It is in my opinion that he is most likely enjoying a tryst with his mistress.” She snapped, swallowing at the sting of the acidic bile in her throat.

Francis stared in disbelief upon her daughter, a very small part of her feeling for the heartache Marianne was experiencing. The wistful broken look that masked her face, pulled at Francis’s heart. “I am sorry that you must know of your husband’s indiscretions, yet your place is with him no matter what his choices are. Your duty is to provide an heir and maintain pretense of a happy union.” Her tone cool, uncaring and matter of fact.

Marianne turned her shocked and disgusted gaze upon her mother fury quickly encompassing her.

“You truly think so lowly of me!” she cried out in disbelief and heartache, cringing as her mother turned abruptly towards her, yet incapable of stopping herself.

“You would have me stay in this miserable situation while my husband beds that wretched Lady Ava and take his side?” The words flew from her mouth and she did not care they were improper, each infuriating comment pushing the tears from her eyes, shattering what little sense of composure she had left.

“What would you know of losing your husband to another, for you were spared the humiliation of scandal. For at least my father died, merely subjecting you to the pity of others!” She spat out in disgust, hatred evident in her tone.

“I will say this, Henry, his family and you had best pray that the child I carry is indeed the heir, for I shall not allow his filthy hands upon me again!” She screeched turning and fleeing from the room, her sobs trailing after her.

Francis crumpled into the chair, her mind spinning never before had her daughter spoken so harshly to her, and yet she could not deny it.

She understood her daughter had fallen in love with the man she had married and for the first time she actually felt remorse, “Marianne, I know far more than you realize.” She whispered sadly, remembering all too well the sorrow and despair she felt when Annette had stolen from her the love and devotion of Charles.

“What is with the Carmichael women?” she snarled under her breath, her eyes narrowing dangerously as she began to formulate a plan to rid herself and her daughter of the ill begotten child of her husband.

Marianne stumbled and fell to the ground before the old dilapidated well, a wry smile crossing her face as she glared angrily upon it.

“Oh how fitting I should fall here,” she cackled in despair, “Possibly I should wish for my husband to fall madly in love with I,” she sarcastically bit out, “then again it isn’t as if it should ever matter.” She breathed out a fresh wave of heartache surging through her as she thought back to her youth.

Memories flooding her thoughts of how for as long as she could remember she had wished, hoped and prayed at this very spot for happiness, for her mother’s love. For all that, she had been so denied in childhood. The breaking of a twig startling her as she hurriedly rose from the ground and turned fearfully around.

Gabriel had been surprised to say the least when he had come upon the young woman from the ball, her anger, and heartache pouring from her as she lashed out at her mother. “Good eve Marianne,” he murmured stepping from the shelter of the tree and setting the small candle he carried upon the ground…

To Be Continued