Margaret’s eyes locked on Mary as the rims of her eyes could no longer hold a few fiercely determined tears.
Margaret rushed to hug her friend. “It’s going to be alright, Mary. What did he do? You can tell me.”
Mary pushed her best friend away. “He didn’t do anything. No one did anything.” She shook her head. “This isn't me. I’m not like this. I don’t cry.” Initially she was uttering this nonsense for Margaret’s reassurance, but it evolved to her uttering nonsense for herself. “I don’t have desires. I don’t need passion, except for my play. That’s what matters. I’m more than a woman waiting for a husband. I’m complete, just as I am. Well, I will be. Or, I already am.” She shook her head. “This is why it’s important for women to harness their desires and suppress their passions.”
Margaret being the free spirit that she was, could not tolerate Mary’s self-abasement. “You are wrong.”
Mary stopped her muttering.
“You are wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. I know I sound like a child, but I don’t care. Hear me, Mary. You can tell yourself any lie you want, but I will not believe them. And I’ll be damned if I stand by silently. You are passionate. You have beautiful desires.”
At first it seemed like Margaret’s words had hit their mark. And then Margaret added, “You are the mistress in your play. Can’t you see?”
As quiet as possible while still being voiced, Mary breathed, “How dare you.” She raised her arm to point to the door, “Get. Out.”
Chapter 12
ThenextdayMaryawoke needing to clear her head. She had taken breakfast in her room with a healthy dose of chocolate to drink, after which she had had her lady’s maid dress her in a day dress so she might take a stroll through the gardens.
The image staring back at her looked foreign, not because of her new high-waisted, wide-necked, and long-sleeved dress, but because of the weariness she saw in her eyes.
“I’ll make you a tincture for tonight milady,” her abigail filled in. “We’ll have you looking right as rain tomorrow.” She patted the last few curled tresses in place with pins and left the room. Mary followed soon afterward, making her way into the gardens.
Following the spat with Gregory and Margaret, she did not want to see anyone. In other circumstances she may have been tempted to go home, at least for a few days, but they were all to attend The Bainsbury’s house party the following day which left inadequate time to pack, unpack, and repack everything.
As the breeze washed over Mary’s face, it brought some relief. Maybe she just needed this change of scenery to refocus.
She searched her heart wondering what her focus was, why it had shifted, and how she had found herself in her current bumble-broth. She wanted to be more than just a woman waiting for a husband. She wanted to be more than just a wife. She wanted to write this play, act in it, and have it performed for others to enjoy. But never having been the object of attention, it felt too conspicuous to unleash her desires and allow them to grow into what would make her feel whole.
Who was she to write a play? Who was she to think she could be an actress? Who was she to think others would want to invest time and money in seeing her play? If they knew it was written by a woman, there might be a scandal.
Who was she? Was the resounding question. She had always been the quiet girl lost in her thoughts. Did she want to be known? Or did she simply want her thoughts known and desires fulfilled. It did not seem simple.
With Gregory it felt right to let herself be known by him. They grew up together, and she had always trusted him. Part of her desperately wanted him to know all of her, but with him still languishing over his father’s death and Jonathan’s disappearance, she wasn’t sure he would ever overcome his anger to see that he was hurting and hurting others.
Besides, he had not merely hinted but explicitly outlined his intention not to pursue a future with her, but rather to call on Lady Lansdowne. It felt like a slap in the face. But maybe his rejection was timely. This meant she had no excuses to work on her play.
She sighed.
“Pence for your thoughts?”
Lyle’s voice challenged her melancholy, and she quickly transfixed her face to conceal emotions.
“Come now, Mary. Don’t we know each other more than that?”
“It’s highly irregular for you to be out here.” Alone with me.
“Yes, I apologize for interrupting your moments of solitude.” He offered a small smile as a token of atonement. “In fact, I’m pleasantly surprised to see you today as I had originally intended only to leave my calling card. I happened upon the dowager duchess and she assured me that a visit was acceptable. Especially since we are already acquainted, we have been spending time together recently, and since I have already made my intentions known to the Duke.” He started to make a small bow and Mary began chastising herself. “As you can see,” he motioned behind him on a nearby bench, “she even offered her lady’s maid as a precautionary chaperone knowing you were likely out here alone. Forgive me. I will call on you another day.”
“No, please wait. Forgiveme. I’m being terribly ungracious.”
He was correct. They were acquaintances and had been in each other’s company numerous times of recent days. In addition to all of that, there was a chaperone, so all was well.
But all was not really that well with her and how she wanted to react to the news that Gregory knew of Lyle’s intentions but had not told her.
“Wh-” She almost didn’t ask, “When did you discuss this with Gregory?”
Lyle chuckled, “Just yest in fact.” He ducked his head and pushed his hair back, somewhat embarrassed. “I can see that I do appear a bit eager; however, I wanted to call on you before the house party.”
