Not Quite Married Read Free Page A

woman in servant gray rushing to the doorway.
    “What’s happened, my lady?” the maid whispered, hurrying to her side.
    “He means to marry me off. ‘It’s time you took your place in society,’ he said. What does he know of my place? He’s barely spoken to me for five years!
    “I’ve seen to the tenants, the planting and harvests, and the accounts. I’ve sat with Byron Place’s people as they birthed and died and mourned and prayed . . . purchased them plows and looms and tools . . . found them work when necessary . . .
    provided medicines and shoes and schooling for their children.
    This is my home as it has never been his. This is my place. These are my people.”
    In the silence that followed, Brien sank into the cushions of the window seat and then wilted against the window frame, wiping at a stream of tears. She stared through the window, unblinking, unseeing at first. But gradually her vision began to focus. The gardens below were alive with color and vibrant with the warmth of the new summer. And yet, from this distance, it was clear that every shoot and blossom was constrained in a symmetry ordained by unnatural standards . . . staked and culled and pruned to please the human eye. Until that moment, she had never thought of gardens as the victims of human desire.
    “Everything so neatly arranged. Everything in its place. And me in m-mine.” Her voice broke.
    With a familiarity beyond her servant status, the maid sank onto the edge of the window seat and put her arm around her lady’s shoulders.
    “Oh, Ella, I’m just a commodity—daughter—to be dispatched to its proper place,” Brien whispered. As the energy of her anger dissipated, the sobs she had held at bay slipped through the cracks in her self-control. “I shall go from obeying my father to obeying a husband, never having known the world as myself.”

    Ella pulled a dry handkerchief from her apron and shoved it into her mistress’s hands. After a few moments, the maid drew back a bit and studied her mistress.
    “Well, ye didn’t think ye’d get t’ sit ’ere molderin’ away forever, did ye? Th’ surprise is, ’e ain’t thought of marryin’ ye off before now.” The maid’s dark eyes flashed and she ducked her head to engage Brien’s gaze, producing a tart little smile. “An’ as for seein’ th’ world . . . it’s a bit overrated, if ye ask me. I grew up in Cheapside and ever bloke in my family run off t’ sea an’
    adventure as soon as ’e got breeched. I seen folk comin’ off ships from all over th’ world, an’ they didn’t look no ’appier than folk
    ’ere on Byron Place. Yer not missin’ much, my lady, I promise ye.” When Brien sat back with a deep, shuddering breath, Ella gave her a smile that very near coaxed one from Brien.
    “And ’usbands can prove useful, you know. Moreso than fathers.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “They ’ave t’ ’elp ye in and out of carriages . . . keep ye company at dinner . . . deal wi’ disgustin’ old squires that poach yer woods . . . fire stablemasters what need sackin’ . . . buy ye jewels an’ pretty dresses. Oh, yeah.” She grinned. “’Usbands ’ave their uses. So, what’s this one yer gettin’ like?”
    “I have no earthly idea.”
    “Well, then . . . there’s room t’ ’ope. Maybe ’e’ll be a prize bedwarmer.”
    “Ella.”
    “If you got no choice, then ye might as well look for th’ good in what befalls ye. Who knows? ’E may turn out t’ be a regular prince!”
    IF SHE WERE a commodity, Brien realized later that afternoon as she witnessed the arrival of the dressmaker, she was at least being dispatched in style. The renowned French couturier arrived as promised with a huge retinue of drapers, cutters, and seamstresses, and an entire shop’s worth of woven goods and ladies’ accessories.
    The slight, dapper Monsieur Lamont had a rapier-sharp wit and a tongue like a lash, but from the moment Brien presented herself before him