Saturday's Lady

Fourteen

She drew a deep breath. "I've thought about you often in the past while as well, and I have come to a conclusion that rather pains me." She forced herself to look up at him while she talked, feeling herself blanch. "I think you're a wonderful man, Duncan, but I cannot, in good conscience, carry on our courtship. I fear I have little inclination to marry you-- or anyone, at this point in my life-- and I have no wish to lead you on. It would be unfair to such a good man as you are. I'm very sorry, truly I am."

There! She had done it! There was a moment of triumph, and then she saw his face-- crestfallen, confused, searching for answers.

After a moment of silence, he leaned back into the arm of the couch. "Well!" he laughed. "I feel like a fool now." He straightened. "I was going to ask if you would marry me, Emma, and I don't know if I'm glad you said something first."

"I really am sorry," she repeated. She meant it, too, but it felt futile.

"I understand," he rushed, leaning forward again. "I know I'm much older than you are and we haven't been courting very long, but I thought you liked to hear about my travels. I had the idea that you'd go with me."

"I did love to hear about them," she pleaded. "But I wouldn't want to marry you for a trip to Florence, Duncan. I'm not interested in marrying for money or convenience. I wanted to marry a man, not his money."

"Is there someone else?" he demanded, rising quickly.

She jumped up too. "No, of course not!" More tenderly she added, "I think neither of us would be truly happy with the other. I bear you no ill will-- in fact I wish you all the best, truly-- but we could never be happy with each other."

"Why not?" he whispered fiercely, taking her by the hand. "Why not try?"

She didn't pull her hand away. "I feel that you want a wife who will follow you and support you unconditionally. I would quickly tire of such a lifestyle. I would adore travelling, of course I would, but I want to have reasons to marry beyond trips. I've never been a follower, Duncan. I've always had to forge my own path. I came West alone, I began a new life with an aunt I hardly knew and people I had hardly any connection to alone, and I've found myself to be quite independent. It's no fault to want a quiet wife, but I do not feel I could be her. We would make each other miserable." She tried to control her voice, but wobbliness snuck in. She didn't know if it were sorrow or anger.

Duncan let her go. "I don't want to argue with you," he said softly, taking his hat from the parlour table. "Give my aunt your regards, Miss Remigrant, and I can see myself out."

He strode quickly to the door, but Emma followed him and opened it to the rainy day outside.

"I'm sorry I couldn't have made you happy," she said as he crossed the threshold.

He gave her a sad smile and finished pulling on his gloves. His carriage waited outside the gate. "Perhaps this is for the best." He extended his hand. "May I bid you farewell one last time?"

She took it silently, and he kissed her glove, never looking away from her face. Then he was gone, and the carriage was pulling away into the grey drizzle.

Emma was seized with the desire to chase it, to tell him that she would gladly marry him and that she'd made a terrible mistake, but she stopped herself. She knew everything she'd said was true, and she'd done it as gently as she could.

"I know you heard everything," she said as she closed the door. Mrs. Remigrant was standing just outside the parlour door with a disappointed look on her face. "And I know I handled it terribly, but I panicked and I didn't know what to do at all!" She walked back to the parlour. "Oh, please don't be disappointed. I tried."

"I'm disappointed that you knew I was listening, not in how you handled that." Mrs. Remigrant sat on the couch. "It really was very graceful, and you controlled yourself very well. We can only hope he didn't take offense."

Emma stood on the rug before the fire, playing the events over and over in her mind. "I was too bold. I feel as though I did something wrong."

"Everyone feels that way after ending a relationship, I promise."

Emma looked up at her. "I'll still see him at parties. Oh, no, what if I've ruined him?" she moaned, leaning against the mantel. "What if this damages him so badly he decides to never marry? Mrs. Remigrant, what have I done?"

"If he's not man enough to bounce back, that's not your fault," came the crisp reply. "For heaven's sake, Emma, he's thirty-two years old. It's not your fault he's been too shy thus far to find a suitable wife. Now go on and change, there's still lots of work to be done."

Emma nodded. "Of course, ma'am," she said, going back fully into the mind of a young servant girl who knew her place and beginning to go up the stairs.

"Oh, and Emma?"

She turned back. Mrs. Remigrant had picked up her sewing again, but turned to smile at Emma. "I think what you said was completely true. And you did say it beautifully."

*****

Emma finished recounting the whole tale late at night to Anne, in front of the farmhouse's little stove as it crackled.

"... The problem is, that I didn't feel like the words were mine," she murmured. "They were true, but they felt like they came from a book character, not from me. I forgot my place."

"But what is your place?"

Emma silently pulled her shawl closer to her chest. "Here, I think. It's fun to play dress- up once or twice a week, and to be someone else for a while, but it's gotten old. I just want to be myself." She felt tears well up in her eyes, and she didn't bother to brush them away. "I want to marry a man who at least knows my real name and loves me despite that."

"Your name is nothing to be ashamed of," Anne said gently. 

"It is if everyone thinks you're some sort of socialite, the daughter of a New York banker, and it turns out you're nothing but an Irish orphan that an old lady took pity on."

Anne stood, silently. "There will be someone who will know you," she said. "And he will love you whatever your name is, and whoever your father is. I suggest you try to find him." She went towards the ladder of the loft. "Will you come up to bed now, or are you going to stay up a while?"

Emma shook her head. "I'll be up in a few minutes." She looked at her sister and smiled. "Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me. I'm your sister."

"It was watching you and Charles that changed my mind," said Emma suddenly. Anne stopped on the ladder. "I was watching you, and how you know each other so well, even after you were apart for so many years. You could have married right away-- we really expected you to-- but you decided to wait and make sure things weren't rushed, that you got to know each other because you knew you had both changed. I didn't expect love at first sight, like you two seemed to have," she finished, "but I want someone who could love me eventually."

Anne opened her mouth as if she wanted to speak, but then she just smiled. "I've been lucky. Too lucky, I think, it almost makes me nervous, like something's wrong. I know you'll find someone eventually. We're young, Emma, one rejected proposal is not the end of the world." She yawned. "I'll see you in the morning."

Emma stared at the fire while it slowly died, and when she could no longer make sense of her own thoughts she went up the ladder. She climbed in close to Anne and hugged her as if they were children again. "I love you," she whispered, and then she lay there, listening to the wind howl.

Did Emma handle the situation well? How do you think Duncan will respond? Let me know in the comments!