Yorkshire, March 1914
"It'd only be a minute more," Dickon declared, grunting as he tried to uproot the last of the wayward weeds. The late afternoon sun pressed down upon their enclosed garden, giving the spring day an illusion of summer. Several yards away, Mary watched him from underneath the shade of her favorite tree, pleasantly engrossed in his every movement.
"What's the hurry? I think I rather enjoy the view from here," she replied coyly, her eyes twinkling with wicked mischief. "Take an hour longer if you wish." Leaning back against the tree trunk, she silently admired the easy grace in which he carried himself, a quality that had never quite ceased to amaze her.
"Too late," he grinned, rising to his feet. His hands were sooty from the dirt and grass, his brow slightly damp with perspiration. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, unaware of the dark streak it left behind. "And all th' better. Now I can occupy myself with something more interesting." He gave her a playful wink.
"Such as?" Mary demanded, arching her brow questioningly. She watched in anticipation as he strode towards her, the sun glinting burnished copper off his auburn hair.
"Such as thee." He reached for her, lowering himself onto the grass and simultaneously pulling her into his arms. Laughing, Mary shifted in his embrace until she was comfortably straddling his lap. Procuring a white kerchief from her sleeve, she touched it to his forehead and began to wipe the dirt off his brow.
"Perhaps you should be more occupied with cleaning up a bit. How do you expect to woo a fair maiden while looking like this?" She pushed back a damp lock from his forehead affectionately.
"Simple," he murmured, encircling her delicate wrist with his fingers. Mary felt his arm tighten around her waist. "By givin' er th' one thing she wants th' most." His azure gaze danced with merriment.
"Oh really, now? And what, pray tell, might that be?"
In answer, he merely leaned forward and captured her lips softly with his. Mary sighed in contentment, looping her arms around his neck. He tasted of sunlight intermixed with the cherries they had previously eaten, warm and sweet. It was always this way. His mouth explored hers languidly, leisurely, as if they had all the time in the world.
She wondered then, oh so briefly, what it would feel like to have Dickon kiss her in the midst of helpless passion, to have him feel a desire so immense it was beyond all control. She tamped down such treacherous thoughts, telling herself that she was the luckiest of women, that she should cherish these moments as they came. Soon enough, they would not have this luxury any longer for he would no longer be here...
Dickon slowly lifted his mouth from hers, regarding her with an inquiring gaze. "There now, what's th' matter?" He stroked her cheek tenderly with the rough pad of his thumb. "Why th' somber look all of a sudden?" But oh, if only he didn't possess this ability to read her like a book!
Mary hesitated. "It is just…" she averted her eyes, not wanting him to see the sudden doubt in them. "It is just that every time we are together these days, I am always reminded that you will be leaving…that you will be leaving me. I try my hardest to live in the present like you tell me to, yet how can I do so with that knowledge?" She stopped then, not trusting her voice to continue. Lately, since the news of Dickon's impending departure to join the Royal Navy, her emotions had become increasingly unstable, switching from optimism to dejection from one moment to the next.
"Oh, love," he began, but was at a loss for words. He pulled her into his arms instead, gently tucking her head under his chin. She inhaled the familiar scent of him, a combination of both nature and masculinity. It was another thing she would miss when he was gone. "Please stay," she begged for the umpteenth time, knowing that he would not.
"Tis for th' best," he tried to sound reassuring, but was in truth thoroughly undone. "Tha' knows I do this for thee…for us. For our future together. Th' moment I get an officer's position, I'll return to thee an' make tha' my wife, this I promise."
Mary cringed inwardly at his words, tormenting herself with the likelihood that he may not make it back. "But you know I do not care about title and wealth! You could remain nameless for the rest of your days, and I would still marry you."
"I know, love. But what about thy uncle, an' th' rest o' society?" He tipped her chin back lightly so that she met his gaze, which was uncharacteristically somber. "Tha' would be utterly ruined, Mary. An' I'd rather die than t' see thy future destroyed in such a manner."
Her hearted plunged then. It was utterly hopeless. His mind was already made up. "Then we merely have a fortnight to be together." She told herself that she would not weep.
"Aye, that we do." His expression was deadly earnest now. "But I want tha' t' promise me one thing, Mary. Promise me that tha' ll be happy these next fourteen days, no matter what. Can tha' do this for me…for us?"
How can you expect such a thing from me, she wanted to scream. She felt like shouting at the unfairness of the world, of their society. Instead, she forced her lips to twist into her most genuine smile. Inside, her stomach twisted with dread. "Alright then…I promise, Dickon."
At her words, his eyes glimmered with both relief and gratitude. And as their lips met for the second time, a small treacherous voice repeated in her head over and over tauntingly:
And now you have lost them both.
--'--,---'---,----
She needed to speak with her uncle, this much was certain. Her rapid footsteps resounded briskly under the hard oak floor, echoing across the long hallway. Mary had never asked him for more than a handful of things her entire life, but she would ask him for this. It was the least he could do for her. Reaching the door to his study, she pushed it open without bothering to knock.
She found Archibald sitting at his desk, head bent over a stack of parchments. He raised it in surprise at the sound of the opening door. A brief flicker of unease passed through his eyes at the sight of his niece. "What, still up at this ungodly hour, Mary?" Removing his spectacles, he gestured to the empty armchair across from him. "Come, sit down."
It felt strange to be in his study again, especially after the incident that had transpired there five months ago. Since then, a palpable tension had risen between the two of them. It still upset her to think about it, but she could not yet forgive her uncle for rejecting Dickon's proposal to marry her. She sat down stiffly.
"I wish to go to London in a fortnight," Mary said bluntly, evenly, her voice betraying none of her anxiety at the possibility of his refusal. She held his gaze steadily, as if daring him to say no.
There was a brief silence before he finally responded. "Why child, you know you may visit wherever you wish," he replied in a mild tone. "But why the sudden eagerness for London? I quite remember it was you who once said that it forever smelled of old fish."
If their relationship had been what it was before, she would have laughed at this last remark. Instead, she continued as if she had not heard him. "I wish to escort Dickon when he joins his unit in London. I believe it is the least I can do for him." It is the least you can do for me, she wanted to blurt out.
He was silent for a moment, rubbing his forehead tiredly with his hand. "You are still angry with me," he finally stated, his voice tinged with regret. "But I truly had no choice, Mary. I simply could not allow you to wed him without knowing that he had the means to provide for you." He smiled at her sorrowfully, his eyes pleading with silent apology. "Perhaps you will understand someday, when you have children of your own."
Those last words along with the sight of his weary countenance caused a sudden wave of guilt to assault her. However, she could not back down, not now. "Does this mean that I may go then?" She winced inwardly at the callousness of her own words.
"Of course you may," he answered with a sigh, "but I trust you and Dickon will be traveling separately?" Mary gave a perfunctory nod. "Very well then. I shall send word to my London townhouse and have the servants prepare a room for you." He paused for a moment, as if hesitating to speak his next words. "Colin will not be present, as he is currently in Vienna."
Colin. Mary's heart lurched at the sudden mention of his name. In her haste, she had nearly forgotten that he resided in London as well. A surge of unidentifiable emotions threatened to overwhelm her. She didn't know if she should have felt dismay or relief at the news. Perhaps both. Across the table, Archibald regarded her with a curious stare.
"I should go now," she finally answered, choosing to ignore that last comment. Rising hastily to her feet, she turned to the door, her heart continuing to beat in an erratic rhythm. In her agitated state, she did not see the expression of sadness that passed over her uncle's face. Then, as she made to open the door, Mary suddenly stopped, hesitating for a bit. She could not be hostile to him forever. After a brief pause, she turned around to face him again.
"Thank you, Uncle Archibald." It was the least she could do to bridge this ever-widening gap. Although he had done something that was nearly unforgivable in her eyes, Mary could never hate him. Without him, she would never have met the two most important men in her life. For that alone she was grateful. With a slight curve of her lips that resembled a hint of a smile, she finally opened the door and left, leaving behind a bewildered yet somewhat hopeful Archibald Craven.
--'--,---'---,----
As she hurried back to her room, Mary attempted to allay her own agitation. She told herself that she did not care if Colin was not in London. She told herself that it was better this way. After all, it was something she had come to expect from him since his hasty departure two long years ago.
With a brief flash of hurt, she remembered how she had written to him every week after the incident in the garden, imploring him to respond to her with the same warmth and affection they had previously shared. His responses had always been courteous and cool – indifferent even. She was not willing to admit it even now, but his actions had cut more deeply than anything ever could. And after four months of suffering the same treatment, Mary had considered giving up altogether. If only she had listened to her instincts.
Thinking back now, she acknowledged with a pang of guilt that her current trip to London would not be the first time she would venture there for the sake of a man. In fact, it would be the second time. Her face flushed with shame at the memory.
The incident had occurred half a year after Colin's initial departure from home. At the time, both Dickon and Mary had been concerned over the welfare of their childhood friend. His infrequent correspondences and silent refusal to return to Misselthwaite gave cause for alarm. Yet unbeknownst to Dickon, Mary had been plagued by much more than mere worry. In some unacknowledged recess of her soul, she wanted to know, needed to know if the mutual passion they had shared in the garden was something more than just coincidence. In the end, she had rashly decided to pay Colin a visit in London.
The decision turned out to be a grave mistake. Somehow, Colin had caught wind of Mary's impending arrival even before her departure from Misselthwaite. When she had finally arrived at the London townhouse, she was coldly informed by the servants that Master Colin had already departed for France. Even now, she could still feel the hurt and embarrassment. She still recalled the frantic whisperings of the servants behind her back, of how the young master had left so swiftly after hearing news of Miss Mary's imminent arrival.
Mary had never fully gotten over that particular incident. The knowledge that he had actively avoided her was more than she could bear. It proved that he no longer cared about their friendship. What's more, it also proved that the kiss had meant less to him than it had to her. Otherwise he would have stayed, this much she was certain.
It doesn't matter in any case, does it? It's Dickon whom you love, not Colin.
Yes, it was always good, dependable Dickon who was always there for her, who never failed to make her feel warm and loved. It was also for the sake of Dickon that she was going to London this time. She needed to be brave for what was to come. For the sake of their future together.
And as she wrung open the door to her own bedroom, Mary reminded herself that she was not disappointed that Colin would not be in town. This much she was certain.
--'--,---'---,----
Author's Note: Sorry for the long hiatus, real life catches up fast after one graduates from college. Anyhow, hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and sorry if I messed up on the Yorkshire accent – I was struggling a lot with it. As always, comments and suggestions are greatly welcomed. Till next time!