Secrets of a Spinster (27 page)

“I was merely being solemn and reverent,” Mary replied with a sniff.

Her sister snorted at this and shook her head.

“I went to see Marianne on Wednesday,” she reminded her.

Cassie sighed and uncrossed her arms. “Mary, you know what I mean.”

“I have not turned down any invitations.”

“That is not the point. You have not been seen. Not really. Was your fight with Geoffrey really so terrible?”

Mary stilled and her eyes widened. “Who said I fought with Geoffrey?” she asked in a shaky, would-be obstinate voice that would convince no one.

Cassandra gave her a hard look. “Aside from the fact that we have not seen him since your party and the pair of you have been bickering like spoiled children for weeks?” She snorted and shrugged. “I drew my own conclusions, but I am fairly confident in them, particularly with you looking so ill.”

Confident indeed, Mary thought. And very astute.

“It was very bad,” Mary confessed, not wanting to relive a single moment, but knowing she had to give some answer. “I… behaved very badly. As did he.” It did not seem right to blame him, not when she had fanned the flames herself. She ducked her head a touch with her residual shame. “Then I ordered him from the house.”

She heard her sister gasp in horror. “Mary…”

“I know,” she moaned with a wince, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I was a complete shrew, and I deserve his neglect.” She sighed and looked up at her sister, whose expression had softened greatly. “It is done now, and I cannot take it back. I wouldn’t even know how to begin an apology. I suppose I shall have to wait until I see him again. A note would not be good enough.”

For a moment, she thought her sister would argue, but then, Cassie smiled with determination. “Well, you need not receive this morning if you wish it, but we are going out.”

Mary laughed. “Are we, indeed?”

There was a fervent nod. “We are. I’ll send Josephine up. Get dressed in something fetching. We are going to walk about so that people can see you are indeed alive and well, and all you will have to do is smile, make polite conversation, and bat those lovely long eyelashes of yours at the attractive men.”

A hoard of giggles escaped Mary’s mouth, and she covered it. Then she tilted her head. “You never told me I had long eyelashes.”

Her sister grinned mischievously. “Well, I could not very well compliment you myself. Not when you’ve already been so puffed up by everyone else.” She quirked her brows impishly and turned from the room.

“Wretch,” Mary muttered with a fond smile. She looked towards the fire once more, allowing a small sigh to escape her. Cassandra was right; she would not do herself any good staying cooped up in her house in misery. Not that it had been her intention to do so, she simply had no desire to do anything. Colors ceased to be vibrant, sleep had ceased to be restful, and going out seemed wrong.

But a walk with her sister, with no expectations or plans, with fresh air and abundant sunshine, might do her good, and sufficiently distract her mind from other topics.

For while, at least.

The corridor was the same with its crumbling walls and echoing floor stones, with the same people in their finery blocking his path needlessly. The same sconces with flames alight guided his frantic steps around corners and straightaways. His friends, their faces shining with the same worry, all said the same words of warning.

“You’re going to be late.”

“Geoff, are you coming?”

“It’s almost time.”

He ignored them all, as he always had, and kept running. His clothes had the same rumples, his necktie flew in exactly the same directions, and his shoes skidded around the same corner. His chest ached in the same places from the run, and his heart raced with the same horrific anxiety. He couldn’t breathe for the panic he felt.

At long last, the door was in sight. A brief flare of hope flashed within him and he ran harder.

His fingers grasped the wrought iron handle and shoved with all of his might, hardly hearing the horrible screeching such a heavy door was bound to make. It moved with him, and then he was in.

His breath caught in his chest at the sight before him.

She was loveliness itself. Her back was to him, but it made no difference. Her figure was divine from every aspect. Her gown was the color of clouds on a summer day, and her veil shimmered like the stars.

“You look beautiful…” he breathed, his chest heaving with his emotion.

He could not see her face, but he sensed a smile as she said, “Thank you.” She adjusted her lace gloves and her bonnet. “What are you doing here?”

He swallowed with difficulty, his lungs remembering their exhaustion and panting with his previous exercise. “I had to see you. I couldn’t… I cannot let you go through with this without telling you…”

“Tell me what?” she asked with a light laugh.

She never so much as turned in his direction. “Will you look at me?” he softly pleaded.

“Tell me,” she said as she shook her head slightly, still adjusting.

He took a deep breath. “I love you.”

She froze, her hand still in the process of adjusting her glove. But he noticed, ever so faintly, that her breathing became heavier.

He wasn’t sure if that was favorable or not, but he continued. “I have always loved you, and I am fairly sure I always will. I’ve been an idiot, and I must ask… is there a chance for me?”

“It’s my wedding day…” she said, her voice wavering.

“There’s time,” he insisted. “If you love me, if you could ever love me, then we have all the time in the world.”

At long last, she turned to face him.

Mary’s lovely eyes were filled with sadness, the sheen of tears beginning to form.

He held out a hand to her, feeling his heart lurch to his throat. “Mary, please,” he pleaded, his voice hoarse. “I love you. Come away with me. Run away with me now. Leave all of this. Leave him… Come home with me.”

Her eyes were unreadable amidst the tears. She stared at him for the longest moment, so long he lost count of the number of heartbeats that thudded against his ribs. A solitary tear silently rolled down her pale cheek.

She drew in a quivering breath. “It’s too late, Geoff.”

His heart stopped in his chest and his knees faltered.

Mary wiped her cheek and glided past him. As he turned to watch, she halted, turned, and laid a perfect hand along his face. “It’s too late,” she said again, her voice soft and delicate.

She turned then and exited the room, the triumphant sounds of the church organ suddenly blaring into the joyous notes of processional.

The door closed behind her, before he realized it had even moved. He turned, only to hear it lock. “No!” he cried as his heart surged again. He ran to the door, banged on it with all of his might. It was not too late. He could not be too late. Not for her, not for this.

“Mary!” he bellowed, beating the door with his fists. “Mary, no! I love you! Mary!”

Geoff surged up from his bed with a strangled cry, completely disoriented in the dark of the room. Where was she? Where was she? His chest heaved with his breaths, still exhausted from running those corridors. And his heart…

It took him several moments of frantically turning his head to realize that it had only been a dream. He hadn’t run the corridor any more than he had any other night he had dreamed it. There was no reason to panic, not single solitary one. Mary wasn’t here, she wasn’t getting married, and he was most certainly not too late.

“Too late?” he muttered to himself. “Too late for what?” He shook his head and swung his feet off of the bed, put a hand to his now-throbbing head, and heaved up to his feet.

The fire in the grate was nothing but coals now, which meant it was still the middle of the night. He grunted and sat in the chair before the fire, stoking the coals until a few flames flickered.

He stared at them for a long while, then sat back and put his hands over his now clean-shaven face. He had no idea his frantic corridor run would lead him to Mary, let alone in such a situation. How could he have? Weeks of the same dream over and over with no resolution, all to culminate in this?

“Ridiculous,” he grunted with a snort and shake of his head. He dropped his hands and sighed. “Get a hold of yourself, man. You cannot be dreaming this, cannot keep panicking like this. There is no reason. Just because she’s furious with you and you are in love her doesn’t mean…”

He stopped suddenly, his eyes widening, his throat constricting. What had he just said?

He was in love with her? How was that even possible?

Yet instantly he knew it was true. Had always known it.

He loved her. Of course he loved her, how could he not?

He laughed once, breathless with the momentous realization, feeling his chest expand with delight. Then he covered his face again and groaned. He was, without a doubt, the biggest idiot that had ever walked God’s earth.

He couldn’t condone her consorting with other men because he had always considered her his. It wasn’t vanity, it was nothing more or less than the fact that he loved her, and there could not be any other man for her but him.

Except he had just ruined that.

It really was too late.

He groaned and bent forward, his hands gripping his hair. Why had he been so stupid? She had every reason to hate him now and forevermore.

But he would do what his friends had suggested. He would do everything in his power to somehow apologize, on bended knee if she asked him, and then spend every day proving that he valued their friendship above all else, that she meant more to him than his pride.

That he loved her, if he could.

He leaned his head back against the chair and shut his eyes.

He was the world’s most pathetic fool.

C
hapter
S
eventeen

H
e was running again, but this time it was no dream. He was properly dressed, his shoes did not skid, and there was no corridor about him. He could have waited for the carriage, but it would have taken too long. His heart thudded in his chest and his fingers clenched more tightly around the note in his hand.

It was a short missive, nothing out of the ordinary. He could recall the exact words as he had read it hundreds of times in half of the seconds;

If you could be so good as to come to call upon us at your earliest convenience, it would be most appreciated.

Mary

It was perfectly polite, and gave no indication of emotion of any kind.

To anyone else, perhaps.

But Geoffrey Harris had received thousands of notes from Mary Hamilton over their lengthy friendship and he knew the exact form of her writing and penmanship. These words had the slightest tremble to them and the alignment was poor. Mary had the steadiest hand of anyone he had ever known. Something was terribly wrong.

That had sent him flying about his house like a madman, calling for his brother to inform him what he was about, his valet to finish dressing him, and his butler to inquire after the carriage, only to be told it was not prepared and would take time. So, with no more ado than that which he had already created, he had fled the house on foot and run for it.