Carving for Miss Coventry by Deborah M. Hathaway
Chapter Seventeen
Marianne stood outside the drawing room, biting her thumbnail. Beatrice had arrived only a few moments ago and now sat alone in the room. It was the perfect opportunity to speak with her, really. Yet, fear bound Marianne’s feet to the floor with invisible chains.
Would Beatrice reject Marianne’s feelings? Set her aside like days-old pudding?
With a firm shake of her head, she rid herself of the thoughts. She needed to do this now, or she never would.
Taking a deep breath, she stretched a cheery smile on her lips and entered the room. “Good evening, sister.”
Beatrice looked up from where she sat near the fire, her eyes watery, the tip of her nose red.
Marianne’s forced smile fell into a frown, all thoughts flying from her mind. “What is the matter?” she asked, moving to her side at once. Whatever she’d planned to say could wait.
Beatrice blinked, tilting her head to the side. “Whatever do you mean?”
“You appear as if you have been crying.”
“Oh, heavens, no. I merely walked today, and I fear it is the typical reaction I receive in doing so.”
Never had Marianne seen her sister cry due to a walk. What was Beatrice hiding?
“Did you visit Miss Clark again?”
She looked back to the fire, her voice flat. “No. Nor shall I any longer. She’s far too busy with wedding preparations.”
Was that why she was upset? Because she was losing a friend? Marianne sat down in the chair facing her. “She will be living in Ashwick still, even after she is married. You will get to visit her often, once she is not so occupied.”
Beatrice didn’t respond.
Their parents would be arriving any moment for the four of them to go into dinner together. If she was going to speak to her sister, now would be the time. But how could she, knowing Beatrice was already upset about something?
Mr. Steele’s words slipped into her thoughts. The brightest sunsets shine only after the longest rains.
She would do this. Now.
“Beatrice,” Marianne began carefully, “may we speak for a moment?”
Beatrice eyed her sidelong. “Are we not already?”
“Yes, but about something specific.”
“I suppose.” She lazily tipped her head to the side and averted her gaze.
Her lack of enthusiasm was certainly disconcerting. How in heaven’s name could Marianne word this in a way that would show her subject to be beneficial to them both?
She wrung her hands together. “I do not know where to begin, so I suppose I ought to simply say it. I am—”
“This again?”
Marianne paused at Beatrice’s hardened gaze. “What do you mean?”
Beatrice’s jaw was set, her lips pressed so tightly together, they nearly disappeared. “I know what you are going to say. ‘When will you marry, Beatrice? When will you settle down so I may enter Society?’” Her eyebrows raised. “Is that not accurate?”
Marianne held her tongue. After all, she didn’t need to answer. The truth was apparent.
Beatrice shook her head. “Just as I suspected. That’s all you and Mother and Father can speak to me about.”
Marianne frowned. She’d tried to help Beatrice these last few years. She’d tried to bring back the frivolity to their lives and relationship. But Beatrice had been the one to leave Marianne at home and make other friends. Beatrice had been the one to flirt and dance and attend parties.
“How can you say such a thing, Beatrice? I have always expressed interest in every part of your life.”
She scoffed. “You are taking an interest only because it pertains to your own benefit.”
Her brash words pushed Marianne’s vulnerable heart over the edge of the cliff on which it teetered. How could her sister be so cruel? “I suppose you of all people would know what it is to think only of oneself.”
She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth. What was the matter with her? She never spoke so spitefully.
Beatrice’s nostrils flared. “I am thinking of myself because I am not allowed to think of anyone else. All anyone asks me is whom I shall marry. When I shall marry. If I shall marry.”
If? Since when was marriage an option for Beatrice? Did she not know what her staying single was doing to Marianne? “I did not know there was an if.”
Beatrice shook her head, moving to stand beside the window. Rain tapped against the glass in soft patters. “You see? That is all you care about, too. I am exhausted from being questioned over and over again, having no value apart from my ability to wed an amiable gentleman.” Her frown deepened. “Yes, it is an if. For I do not know if I ever shall marry. You ought to be thanking me, Marianne. You ought to be grateful you are not out in Society. You’ve no idea how tiresome my life is.”
An ache greater than Marianne had ever known crushed against her chest. “I have no idea how tiresome life is?”
Beatrice turned away, but Marianne moved, ensuring her sister looked directly in her eyes. Marianne did not enjoy arguments. She despised feeling despair. But something had shifted within her at her sister’s words. The need for justice, for understanding. The need for Beatrice to know just how her resistance to marry injured Marianne.
“You have no idea the life I lead, Beatrice. I am alone. Always. I am at home always. For years, I have patiently awaited my turn. I have listened to you speak of your prospects, and I comforted you when there were none. I have supported you through it all these last ten years, and now you say all I care about is myself?”
Her voice broke, angry tears welling in her eyes. “You’ve no idea how humiliating it is to sit in my chamber and hear music and laughter drifting through the windows as you, Mother, and Father delight in our neighbors’ company. You’ve no idea how abandoned I feel when the three of you ride away to a ball. I have been patient, Beatrice. I wish for your happiness more than anything. But surely you must see that I am in need of happiness, too.”
She ended her speech, her chest rising and falling as she awaited her sister’s response.
Tears filled Beatrice’s blue eyes, but her frown remained. “You are right, Marianne. You do lead a difficult life, and I am sorry for not realizing it sooner.” She brushed past her then paused in the doorway. “But you will soon see that life in Society—whether you find love or not—is no better than the life you lead now.”
With a final shake of her head, Beatrice turned and left the room.
Marianne stared at the empty doorway, fighting any urge to go after her, to force her to continue their conversation. But the words had already been spoken, and the damage to their relationship had been done.
Rather than feeling freed from finally speaking her piece, Marianne felt nothing but regret.