She hadn't come to see him for four days after.
It was fine, of course, he'd expected as much.
But she hadn't seem too disturbed by his past. In fact, she seemed wholly unmoved. It was disconcerting in a way.
"You're a deserter," she stated plainly before he could even explain himself.
He'd been surprise, "Yes. I am."
She didn't speak.
"But I can explain," he went on and Mary did not interrupt him through the whole story.
Even the horrible parts… He still shuddered to think of them.
He could understand why Mary no longer wished to see him. He could understand completely.
It wasn't as though he'd been sitting around brooding on Mary or some other nonsense. No, he'd been out behaving quite normally: Writing, walking, marketing himself. Same routine.
He'd have to leave London the moment the season was over though. Oliver had informed him that some of Navarlen's footmen had been snooping about the place.
He knows who I am.
Of course he knows, Dickon hadn't made too much of a disguise. Yes, he'd put on fancy airs and grown facial hair, but his change had not been too drastic. Besides, after what Dickon had done during the war, he doubted Navarlen could forget his face.
And Mary would wed him. He wasn't a bad chap, truly. Just trying to do his job. Trying to be honorable.
Dickon hadn't been honorable for many, many years. He wished he had. Things would've been so much simpler.
The next time he saw Mary was at the Able's Family Mid Summer's Ball. A lavish parade of dresses and women was a more appropriate title, he thought. The women all wore very classical gowns, veering away from the new modern look that had been catching on.
He was standing about talking to some chaps when he saw her. All the light in the world seemed to dull in comparison to her. Her blush colored gown simply glowed against the buzz of the busy room.
I am in love with her, he thought very suddenly. He wasn't sure where the epiphany had come from, but he could feel it to be true.
But she was on the arm of Navarlen and he didn't doubt she'd agreed to marry him. Of course she agreed. He was a much better suited match and-
You know she can't marry you.
"Dowers?" One white mustached man stared at him expectantly.
"Do forgive me, friends," Dickon smiled politely. "I seem to have gotten caught in a bit of a day dream."
"You artists," Another one of the older man laughed and the other joined in, happy to be a part of something.
Dickon grabbed a glass of champagne from a nearby waiter. He felt the need to be filled with its liquid warmth. Something in him felt so empty, seeing Mary with that other man.
He excused himself from the older men and tried to find a place to be alone.
Mary had gotten lost in that crowd but he hadn't wanted to spend his night gazing at her anyway.
He thought of the brazen man he'd been not five nights ago. Grabbing her and kissing her and daring her to leave. Where was that man now?
Dickon found an empty hallway and retired to an automan there, sipping the bubbly wine.
Not long after, the curtain to the hallway pulled back and a beautiful woman in pink appeared.
"Oh, Dickon-er-Mr. Dowers," she curtsied smally. Her face had flushed from dancing.
He smiled, "Come to hide as well?"
"Yes," she said with a grin and walked nearer to him. He gestured to the spot next to him where she sat with a sigh. "Oh, it's dreadful hot in here."
"Here," he offered his drink, of which she took a liberal swig. He couldn't help but smile at her. It had only been a few days, but he had missed her. He missed her spirit and her nature.
He wanted to kiss her again. It would be totally inappropriate because she probably didn't want to and she was engaged but he wanted to kiss her so badly it was maddening.
Mary gazed at him, "I'm happy to see you again. Why haven't you called?"
"I didn't think you'd want me to," Dickon said honestly.
"I never said that," she answered quietly. Bashfully, she blushed and looked down.
He drank from the champagne, "How are things with Navarlen?"
Mary shook her head, "So much has changed, Dickon. It was too much to write to you." She breathed, "Uncle is on death's door, and he's leaving behind just...unbelievable debt, Dickon."
"What?" Dickon couldn't believe it. The Craven's without wealth is unfathomable. Without Misslethwaite? Without money?
"We've nothing but a good name now," Mary said. She hung her head, holding it up by her hands. "They'll take the house they'll take...everything."
"But what about your money," Dickon placed a hand on her back. "Your family's money?"
Mary sobbed quietly, "All gone. Uncle used that too."
Dickon suddenly realized what she was trying to tell him.
"And Navarlen has enough money to save you."
Mary waited, then nodded slowly.
"But what if he doesn't die?"
"Then the doctor is a miracle worker."
Mary sat back up, straightening into her usual self.
Dickon gaped at her, "Mary you can't marry him just for his money!"
"Why not!" Mary exclaimed. "It's what everyone does."
"And Mary, I'm not exactly a pauper." Dickon reasoned. "A life with me would be comfortable-"
"You couldn't settle the debts though," Mary said. He wanted to be angry but she looked so pitiful he couldn't bring himself to be. "They'll take the house."
Dickon sighed, "But you wouldn't live there...is this about Colin?"
Mary broke down again, "I can't condemn him! Dickon, how could I let him fall when I could save him so easily?"
"It's not your responsibility to save him." Dickon said as kindly as he could. He brushed back a curl that had fallen.
She shut her eyes, "I don't know what to do."
"Don't marry him," Dickon said immediately. Mary gazed up at him with those doe eyes of hers. "We can figure this out together. I'll...I'll write more. I'll get more money for us-"
Mary brought her hand to his face and kissed him lightly on the lips. His hand found its place on the small of her back, pulling her up against him.
This is right, Mary, this is right. This is how things are meant to be. Marry me. Marry me.
But she pulled away and he did not pull her back.
"I don't know, Dickon. I just don't know."
OOO
It was nearly two in the morning and Mary was sitting awake in Dickon's library reading The Castle's Key.
Of course how she'd gotten to be there was quite a story, and she found her mind drifting to it as she read the book.
Colin had come to get her near the end of the party. She took one look at his face and knew the worse had come to pass.
Uncle Craven was dead.
They'd gone to the hospital to settle affairs and set up a funeral mass for the upcoming Sunday morning.
Mary felt like she wasn't even a part of her own body. She was just agreeing with Colin and the undertakers, nodding along and signing papers. It didn't feel real. She felt like a puppet.
She did not want to marry Navarlen. It was selfish that she didn't and she did not care. Colin would spite her. He'd never speak to her again.
I can't marry Navarlen. I cannot.
But there weren't just repercussions with money. Navarlen would come after Dickon. She was almost certain.
Navarlen suspected 'Mr. Dowers' she was nearly certain. He always asked such cryptic questions to which Mary played a fool. Navarlen knew he Dickon was… What he did…
We'll go away. We'll go far, far away where no one can find us. Dickon will write a new world for us and we'll live there...
Colin grasped Mary's hand as they left from the hospital.
"Do you have a carriage to get you back to the house?" Colin asked in a plain, monotone way.
Mary looked around and saw a familiar coach waiting.
Dickon... She could've collapsed in relief. In fact, that's what she wanted to. To go and lie in his arms all night... It sounded wonderful.
"Yes, I'll see you tomorrow then," Mary said. Colin did something wholly unexpected and pulled her into an embrace. He was never one for hugs and suddenly she felt overwhelmingly guilty once more.
He's lost his father and I'm planning to turn my back on him.
I am a wicked, stupid, selfish girl.
Colin pulled back, gave a sad smile and walked away.
Mary felt the tears running hot and fast down her face.
She started for Dickon's carriage, where his footman opened the door for her. Mary saw Dickon and immediately fell into his embrace.
Of course it had all been the same: Don't marry him. We'll find a way out of this together. Everything will be fine.
And Mary kept thinking of the sad boy whose father had died who wouldn't have a home soon.
Yes, he could get a job. Mary knew that. Colin had gone to school. He had a good name.
But he'd have to pay the debts.
They would have to sell Misslethwaite to do that.
They were going to take her garden.
Dickon had given her a room to stay in. A maid had come and given her her bed clothes.
Mary spent an hour staring at the ceiling before realizing that she wasn't going to sleep anytime soon.
She grabbed a candle and went down to the library, shutting the door and turning on the light.
Reading will clear my mind...
I marry Navarlen and we don't have to sell Misslethwaite to pay the debts. Colin is safe and so am I. I won't be married to Dickon, but I don't have to stop seeing him...
No. She couldn't never do that. That would be untruthful.
Besides, if Navarlen found out he'd kill Dickon just for that. He wouldn't bother arresting him first.
I marry Dickon. I am still safe but Misslethwaite is gone. Colin would have to live a new lifestyle. He'd despise me.
Navarlen would find out and arrest Dickon.
The door to the library opened.
OOO
Dickon had heard the term "weak in the knees" to describe love many a time. In fact, he'd written the term before in his books.
He'd only felt it just then. Mary sat there looking so incredibly breathtaking. The nightdress had come up over her bent knees so that her knee high stocking were showing. Her hair was loose and down, a way he rarely saw it. She looked like some Victorian nymph burst from his dreams.
He must've been gazing at her rather intensely, for she blushed ferociously and put her legs back on the ground, setting the book on the nightstand.
"Did I wake you?" She asked quietly.
"No," he said, walking towards her.
He wanted her. He had for a long time, but now it was nearly unbearable.
Dickon sauntered near her and couldn't help but smirk smugly and her bright red flush. He wondered if she even knew how beautiful she was.
Mary turned to the book, "It's wonderful, Dickon."
He shrugged, "Just a bunch of fluff, really." He sat on the ottoman and she turned even redder.
"I wish I could write," she said nervously. "I'm quite dreadful at it."
"Well then what did they teach you in that finishing school?" He smirked, leaning forward and placing his hand on her knees. Perhaps it was too familiar a gesture, for she instantly stood.
Mary walked toward the piano he kept in the study. He didn't play, but it felt like a proper thing to have. She sat on the bench, laying her fingers out nicely on the keys.
"I learned how to muddle my way through a piano forte," she began playing a choppy but charming little piece and this look of concentration squished her face up in an adorable way.
It hit him for the second time that night: he was in love with her. All so suddenly and all so completely she was everything.
He didn't want to be away from her. He wanted to see her everyday and listen to her play the piano. He wanted to host parties with her and attend balls. He wanted to have children and a warm hearth and presents to open at Christmas. He wanted to cheer her when she was side and hold her when she was low.
All at once, he was in love with her and he realized he couldn't have her marry Lord Navarlen.
But more than that, he couldn't have her unhappy. And she would always be unhappy if she were with himself. She would never get over the fact that she couldn't help Colin.
So he had to let her go.
Mary's piece ended, and she looked up at him, surprised by his sad smile.
"Dickon, are you all right?"
He blinked, "Oh, yes. I'm fine."
Mary's stood, walking towards him, he hand dragging along the edge of the piano. She put a hand to his face, giving him a small smile.
"What's happened?"
"Nothing," he lied feeling his chest welling inside of him. "I just, er, I've been meaning to tell you that I have to leave London soon."
That was his new plan. Get away from her. She obvious wasn't as certain about her feelings as he and he didn't need to be around confusing her.
Mary looked ready to cry right then and he realized he'd made a mistake.
"No, you can't," she said with a worrisome face. "Please, no. I just lost uncle I cannot lose you too."
Then what do you want me for, Mary? To torment me?
"It was foolish to come here in the first place. Navarlen's bound to recognize me at some point," he sighed, not bearing to meet her eyes.
She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close to her, "Don't go."
"Why not, Mary?"
She didn't answer.
"Why don't you want me to go?"
Quiet.
"It would be easier if I left."
"Shut up," she hissed suddenly. "Just shut up, all right." Mary pulled away from him, her face turned to stone. "I'm sick of being pushed around like some piece in a game. Like a character in a book," she glowered at him. In an instant, her tears had turned to anger. "I don't need people toying with me, you least of all-"
"Toying with you?" Dickon laughed harshly. Mary pressed her lips together. "Toying with you? Mary, all you've ever done is toy with me!"
Mary frowned, brushing back a stray piece of her. She crossed her arms across her chest, closing her heart to him.
"That's not true."
Dickon gaped, "Oh, yes it is! Ever since we were children you just use me when I'm convenient and cast me aside."
"I do not-"
Dickon ran a hand though his hair. Perhaps I should be terrible to her. Cast her away. Make her not want me at all.
I do have to leave London anyway. She doesn't need me.
If she won't decide, I'll decide for her.
Suddenly she gasped, "You're casting me away, aren't you?"
She always was rottenly clever.
Mary shook her head slowly, "Dickon, do you think I am some silly society girl? You can't just cast me away."
Dickon breathed deeply, feeling the air fill him then release.
Gingerly, she extended her hand to him, "Dickon, please."
"I'm going to leave London, Mary," he said with a chill. He wasn't going to spite her, but she needed to know. "Soon. Before the week is out and the season is over." He backed away further, trying not to look at the disappointment in her beautiful eyes. "I need to go to sleep. Stay awake as long as you like. I do hope you enjoy the book."
OOO
Albert stared up at the princess and she seemed ever so much older than him. Her red hair was even more dazzling than what had been described and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch it.
She had to be older than him; no girl he'd seen before looked quite like her. She was the new standard all women would be measured by.
Albert's father nudged him, "You bow now, son."
Albert lowered himself as far as it was dignified and listened as the princess approached him ever so slowly. The click click of her shoes stopped and his father nudged him to raise himself back up.
She was taller than him, so he rolled back his shoulders and tried to gain a few inches to little avail.
A small smirk played the corner of her mouth.
"So, you are the new kitchen boy?"
Mary shut the book for she could read no more for the night.
The nerve of him to say those things to her. She wasn't toying with him. He was being absolutely unreasonable. Why couldn't he understand her situation? He's being heartless. He's being…
Absolutely honest. Mary was toying with him. She was acting like a spoiled child, just doing things without regards to anyone's feelings.
Mary curled into herself, lying her head on her knees.
Suddenly, she was crying. The tears she should've shed hours ago for her uncle begin to flow and would not stop. Tears for Colin and Dickon and herself. She cried and cried and cried.
The romantic in her hoped Dickon would appear in the door and hold her tightly and tell her everything would be fine. Of course he did not appear. She knew he would not.
Eventually, he tears subsided and Mary cleaned the wetness off her face. She stood, hoping to muster the strength to go back up to her room thought she was not the least bit tired.
As quietly as she could, Mary began her assent to the first floor. Her candle had burnt out so the only light came from the moon outside.
You are a wicked selfish girl. You always have been. You always will be.
She thought of how often she'd been scolded as a child. She thought of her mother, codling her for one moment and casting her aside the next. Her father, yelling at her for crying in front of their guests.
Mary suddenly realize how lonely her life had been.
It wasn't as though she'd been unloved. Her parents loved her in their own way. Her Uncle had loved her. Colin loved her.
But her whole life she had felt so separate: so different. She'd never done much for herself.
What am I doing? Mary griped the railway of the stairs so tightly her hand hurt. Here is a man who loves me and will give me the world and I wish to cast him away.
Mary blinked: I am a wicked, selfish girl.
She let go of the banister and darted for Dickon's door. As easily as she could, she pushed open the door as it squeaked a little. She'd never seen his room before and it wasn't much different from her guest room. A large bed with dark drapery dominated the space and a small desk and mirror sat across from it. A wardrobe whose doors were open was at the far end and a large window mirrored it across the way.
Dickon was sleeping.
Mary untied her robe, letting the light fabric fall from her arms. She had nothing on now but a nightgown, lighter and thinner than gossamer.
Feeling full of tickling air, Mary stepped softly to his bed. His chest fell up and down with his slow breathing. His coppery curls were messy from tossing and turning.
She lifted the bed covers and laid herself next to him.
He stirred, "Mary?"
Mary placed her arms around him, "Please don't leave me." She placed her face into his back. "I'm sorry I am so terrible but please don't go. You're the only one that's ever been there for me unconditionally. You liked me even when I was terrible I-"
Dickon turned over, cutting her off in her sentence. She couldn't have continued anyway, for the threat of tears was choking her throat.
His eyes were so clear she could see his heart.
He smiled and she wanted to cry.
Mary stared at him, "I love you." She realized. "I love you, Dickon. I love you and-"
He quieted her with a kiss. Not just a light touch of the lips but a kiss filled with passion she had never known. Mary was unsure what to do but her body seemed to answer without her command. She pushed herself into him as his hand ran down her back. He then ran his hand down her thigh and pulled her knee across him and she let out a strange little sound.
"Can…can I touch you?" Dickon asked and Mary answered a quick yes.
It was the most amazing experience of her life. She didn't want it to end. She wanted to be with him this way forever. Why did people treat this like a bad thing? It was a wonderful thing.
When it was done, they both lied together and didn't speak. She listened to his breathing and felt him stroking her hair until she eventually drifted off to sleep.
I am a wicked, selfish girl, she thought.
It made her smile.
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