The Midwife and the Marquess

Chapter 12: Crossroads Part 2

Maria leaned back on her haunches and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She swallowed again before she smiled at the debauched marquess sprawled out in front of her. 

"You swallowed," he said, gasping for air. When her smile widened in response he made a noise that was almost a whimper, and rolled his head down. His hair was damp with sweat and it fell in clumps around his face, reminding her once more of a bedraggled raven. She watched him as he put his trousers to rights, his hands shaking as they fumbled with the buttons.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"Nothing. You—I—  I've never experienced something as intense and," he swallowed loudly and ran his clean hand through his hair, "damned wonderful..."

"What, truly?"

He sighed out a partial guffaw, "Yes."

"Oh..." Maria wasn't sure what to make of this news. She knew she was good at pleasing a man; over the past several years she'd learnt well enough how to do so, but she highly doubted she was as good as whatever professional courtesans or experienced widows he'd hitherto had intercourse with. Good Lord, did he perhaps have a mistress? 

Maria looked down at her hands in her lap and realized she was still sitting on his leg. With a jolt she pushed herself up on aching, stiff legs. "I'm sorry, I must be heavy," she said as she smoothed the skirt of her chemise down her legs.

He remained on the floor, the top of his head nearly reached her navel. She had the irrational urge to cradle his head to her belly and stand like that for however long he would let her. Shaking off the impulse, she made to take a step away, when he grabbed her hand and gently pulled her back towards him. 

"Maria..." he began slowly.

She swallowed, bracing herself. He would let her down gently, she knew. For however careless he may have been in the past, he'd grown into a not entirely unfeeling man. He'd sought her out and confronted her, but he'd also listened to her and had shown her sympathy. He'd comforted her and opened up to her about his past. Perhaps, they shared a kind of bond now.

However, the bonds of their past were not enough to make a future together. He was a marquess and she a kitchen maid turned midwife. They came from two different worlds, and even though their paths had twice now miraculously crossed, they would inevitably and necessarily go their separate ways. It was the natural way of things.

It was then that she realized he had said something, but she'd missed it in her internal musings."I beg your pardon?" she asked.

His lips brushed lightly over her fingertips as he spoke softly, "Will you marry me?"

Maria balked. She must have misheard him. "I am quite merry, thank you very much." 

A slight smile dawned at the corner of his lips, "That is certainly good to hear, but I asked you if you would marry me, darling."

She blinked once. Twice. Thrice. "What?!" she burst out.

He cocked his head to the side and waited with an amused patience she found quite aggravating.

"I mean— I mean! That's the most—," she stammered. "That's not even possible!"

"Why not?" he asked.

She pulled back her hand and cradled it in her other as if it was injured. "You're a marquess, for starters."

"I remember." He nodded.

"Secondly, I am a nobody! You must know, surely; I didn't just materialize one day in the kitchens and I'm not originally from around here. I was raised in an orphanage in the slums of London. The only reason I can read and write and talk somewhat properly is because our headmaster was a learned gentleman. I have no family. I am not virtuous. And I am not a lady!"