Victoria’s gaze was beseeching. “But I was in love with Jedidiah.”
Mary threw up her hands in exasperation. “Well, that has cleared up any confusion I might have over what you are trying to say to me.”
Victoria laughed, though there was a sad quality to it. “That is the most like yourself you have sounded in weeks. You have been through so much I fear you have not been yourself. I wish you would think about that. You could at least consider waiting for a time before you marry. You are in mourning.”
“As far as mourning is concerned, I know my father would not wish for me to wait because of any societal dictum. He felt that death is only a passing over into another, better place.”
Victoria nodded. “After having been taught by your father I know that what you say is true. He would have been appalled at your doing that. It is your own state of loss that I am speaking of. You should wait until you are more yourself, Mary.”
“But I do not want to wait.” How could Mary explain that a part of her knew that what she was doing was completely out of character, that if she allowed herself to stop—to think—she might not go through with the marriage? All her life Mary had done what she must, cared for her father, pushed her dreams to the back of her consciousness with unwavering determination.
Then Ian had come and offered her a shoulder to cry on. He had offered the prospect of security, not just monetarily—which was of little import to Mary—but in an emotional sense. In the few days she had known him, Ian had been irritating and male and quite maddening, but he had also held her when she needed someone. No one else had really ever done that, had ever seen past the wall of strength she presented to know how much she wanted that.
How could they, when she herself had not even realized it?
But Victoria did not know any of this and she continued with her train of thought. “Mary, I do not wish to badger you, but I hope you will reconsider. I’m sure Ian would understand if you decided to postpone the wedding. It is true that I considered marrying Ian, but there was a major difference in our situations. I was in love with Jedidiah at the time. You are not in love with someone else. What if you fall in love with Ian? He is charming and handsome, and although I am married, I would be blind not to see that there is a strange compelling sensuality about him. Can you tell me you do not see that?”
Mary could not stop the blush that rose to her hairline. She chose not to reply to the question, though she had indeed noticed that quality. Instead she shrugged and said, “I am still unsure as to what all this means. Would it be so very dreadful if I came to care for the man I am about to make my husband?”
Coming quickly across the floor, Victoria took Mary’s hands in hers again, forcing her to meet her troubled gaze. “Ian will make you love him, Mary, without even trying. But I do not know if he can truly love you or anyone else in return. There is pain inside him that can only be healed if he wishes it to be.”
Mary closed her eyes for a moment. She had sensed that there was something hurting in Ian, had been moved by his pain, even drawn to him. Surely it was not so deep it would prevent him from someday caring for her. Mary was not so foolish that she believed Ian was in love with her. He had never said any such thing, though he had been ready enough to admit his desire. Could that not become something more?
Remembering the heat of her responses to him, Mary could not help thinking that such passion might very well develop into a deeper bond, given time. How little Victoria understood that this might well be Mary’s one opportunity to experience all of the things that she, as a happily married woman, took for granted.
When she opened her eyes once more her expression was determined. “Victoria, I know you love me. I also know you are concerned for my happiness. But let me be frank. We are both aware that I have no prospects. Before Ian offered for me I had come to the conclusion that I must seek a position as a governess. Had in fact written the letters of application.”
As Victoria opened her mouth in shock, Mary halted her by going on, “I know you want me to live here with you. But I cannot do that. I need to find my own life. I want a child, a home. Ian has given me that chance. I know he does not love me, nor do I love him, but I believe he has some degree of respect for me. I wish above all else that you might find it in your heart to allow me to take this chance, to make this decision for myself.”
For a long moment Victoria said nothing, then she smiled tremulously and there were tears in her eyes as she squeezed Mary’s fingers gently. “Very well. I love you and must only pray that this marriage brings you nothing but happiness.”
Mary reached out and put her arms around the taller woman. “Thank you, dear friend.”
Victoria returned the embrace. “You have been with me through so much—the trials of girlhood, the loss of my family, the lonely years until I found Jedidiah. I shall miss you, Mary.”
“And I you.”
They embraced once more, then Victoria drew back, her expression serious. “Just remember that you have a home here with us any time you want it.”
As she answered, Mary realized that she was unlikely to ever take up the offer, but she understood that it was given in the spirit of love. “I shall remember. And I want you to know it means more to me than I could ever say.”
A soft knocking sounded at the door, before it was opened by a beaming Betty. “The carriage is ready to take you to the church, my lady, Miss Mary.”
The ceremony was to take place at the little country church where her father had taken the pulpit every Sunday for most of her twenty-three years. Mary knew it was what he would want.
The previous night was the last she would spend at Carlisle for what would surely be a very long time. Ian had. asked that they begin the journey to his home and she had agreed. Sinclair Hall—Mary felt the smooth, hard feel of the name in her mind. It was Ian’s home, and soon to be her own.
With one last check of the ivory silk gown Victoria had insisted on giving her as a wedding present, Mary straightened her slender shoulders. “Shall we go?” Again she was shocked that the woman staring back at her was herself. The ivory silk skirt was decorated with hundreds of tiny rosebuds, as were the scooped neckline and the lace edging on the elbow-length sleeves. Mary felt like some princess in a fairy tale, and that only served to make what was happening even more unreal.
Ian’s gaze moved over Mary’s face as he leaned back against the dark blue velvet of the carriage seat. They had been traveling for some time, with only the most civil of exchanges, and he could see Mary’s nervous agitation growing with each mile that passed.
She glanced toward him, then back out the window, and as she spoke he was infinitely aware of her fingers pleating the lush amber velvet fabric of her traveling gown, which had also been a gift from Victoria. “How many days until we arrive at Sinclair Hall?”
He answered evenly, “We should get there some time on the third day.”
She nodded, her fingers now fidgeting with her laceedged collar. His gaze was then drawn slightly lower to the provocative curve of her breast. Ian had to force himself to attend her words as she said, “I am most eager to meet your family. Tell me about them.”
Ian stiffened. He did not want to talk about his family—not his father, nor Barbara. Yet he felt somewhat uncomfortable with taking Mary without some warning into what might very well be an unpleasant situation. “There is very little to tell. My cousin Barbara and my father are the only family living at Sinclair Hall. I…things are…difficult between myself and my father. He