Chapter 7: Meeting Ghosts
London, Hyde Park, England; December 23rd, 1806.
"I'm so sorry, sir!" Marianne said, straitening her hat and trying to get up at the same time. The young man turned around from his own spot on the ice and he looked at her as if he had seen an angel, which she couldn't really understand why. Had he hit his head when falling? "Truly," she said, getting back up from her fall with his help holding his hand, "I'm that sorry, sir!"
"It's perfectly fine," the man said, smiling. "No harm done. Right? You're not hurt, are you?"
"Oh, no, sir! I'm so much covered in coats and furs it must have broken my fall!" Marianne giggled, remembering that laughing out loud was not proper at all; Aunt Lizzy's lessons had to be of some use.
"Of course," the man said. "Lady…?" he prompted.
"Barrington," she replied. "Miss Marianne Barrington." She paused, but then added: "I am not a Lady, unfortunately."
"Well, Miss Marianne," the gentleman with the chocolate-color eyes said, "it is nice to meet you."
A lesson that quickly came back to her mind was the curtsy: one can never be wrong in curtsying to a man, especially if he thought she was of the London Gentry. "Nice to meet you, too, sir…?"
"Dawson," he said. "Alexander Dawson."
He quickly looked at another man with a surprised face next to him, one who seemed to be larger than most men despite the coats and fur, and slightly shook his head. "This is my friend Lord Henry, and his sister Lady Valery," he presented them. "Henry, Valery, this is Miss Barrington."
"How do you do?" the redhead lady asked, tilting her head towards Marianne.
"A pleasure!" her brother said, taking her hand and kissing it. "I've not seen a lady skate, Miss Barrington!" he continued. "Where did you learn?"
"Oh, on the pond, on the farm," Marianne replied. "My brother Willie taught me some winters ago."
"He must be a fine chap," the one called Henry said. But the other one, Alexander Dawson, couldn't stop staring at her. "Alex, why don't you and Miss Barrington go on a sliding walk, and we'll keep your chocolate warm, eh?"
The man she had bumped into nodded, not even looking at him, and offered her his arm. The two young people slid on the ice, trying not to bump into anyone, but for some reason, Marianne couldn't comprehend, people seemed to just part away as if they were in the middle of the Red Sea.
"Why is everyone looking at us?" she whispered, trying not to look at the people looking at her.
"They are probably looking at you, my dear," Alexander Dawson replied. "They have never seen a beautiful skating lady."
"Hmm," she said, not really convinced.
They skated a few moments in silence before the man said something. "Did you participate in the Season, Miss Barrington?"
"Yes! It was so exciting." Marianne wanted to tell him everything about how this was her first Season, how the dresses were all so beautiful, and how she had loved meeting all these new people. But that wouldn't have been ladylike. "Did you, sir?"
"Yes," he replied. "Have you, er, found a match, already?" the kind man asked.
"No, not yet," Marianne said, still noticing how people were looking at them. "But I may have one or two suitors interested in me, though I don't know why since I'm practically penniless!"
"I could understand why," he whispered to himself.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Nothing." He offered her a wavering smile.
"Have you found a match, sir?"
"No. But something tells me I might soon?"
"Oh! That's exciting."
"Yes– Have you met the prince?" Mr. Dawson asked. "You must have been presented to him in the Opening Season Ceremony."
"I was presented on the last day of the Ceremony by my Godmother," Marianne replied. "But no, I haven't met the prince. His seat was empty when I was introduced."
"Huh," the man said. "Where was he, then?"
"I haven't the slightest idea!" Marianne said, stifling a giggle. "But some say he was relieving himself…" she added in conspiration. "And then I never saw him again."
"But you said you were participating in the Season," he replied, confused. "I heard the Prince was attending all the balls and dinners and shows he could."
"Good for him," the farmer's girl replied. "I mustn't have had the right invitations or the money to attend the same ones." She paused. "But if what I heard about him is true, I am not sure I do want to meet him."
"Oh? And what have you heard, then?" he asked, seeming to be amused.
"That he's eagerly looking for love but cannot find a young lady suitable enough for him. Oh, and that he's a terrible dancer!"
The man skating next to her burst out laughing. "A terrible dancer? Is that so?"
"Your Royal Highness!" a young man in a brown fur coat and a black top hat said, skating towards them. "How delightful to see you on the ice."
"Lord Campbell," the man – prince? – said. Marianne couldn't wrap her head around that small exchange and she didn't hear what else was said between the two men. Had she just insulted the prince to the prince? Oh no… all the blood in her face drained, and she felt she was about to faint. What had she done?
"–excuse me, sir," Mr. Dawson – or whoever he was – said to his companion. "Miss Barrington, are you quite alright?" he asked, taking a gentle hold of her. Had she swayed and almost fell? "You seem pale, all of a sudden…"
Marianne looked up at him. "Highness?" she asked. "I don't understand."
Mr. Dawson– The prince sighed. "I'm sorry," he said. "I should have told you–"
"But why? And all I say about–"
"It was highly entertaining, I assure you!" the prince said. "As to why I gave you that name…" he trailed off and they sat on a stone on the frozen riverbank, watching as gentlemen skated to and fro on the ice, stealing a glance their way. Now she understood why people were staring! She had been skating with the prince! Of all people to bump into. Marianne felt dizzy again. Would she really faint this time? "I panicked," he explained lamely. "All the ladies I met liked me – or pretended to like me – because I was the prince. For once, I wanted someone to meet me without knowing who I was."
"But who is Alexander Dawson, then?" Marianne asked. She had rather liked that name…
"It is me, I assure you," he replied. "Alexander is my middle name, and Dawson is my mother's maiden name."
Marianne took a deep breath and she was suddenly very hot under her coat and gloves and hat. She took the latter off, revealing blond curls and pink cheeks.
"Will you forgive me, Miss Barrington? I really wanted to get to know you without my title coming between us."
"It depends…" she said with a sly smile. "If you promise not to lie to me again, then I shall forgive you."
"I solemnly swear never to lie to you ever again, Milady," he said, taking her hand.
Marianne heard someone calling her name and she turned her head, seeing Lord and Lady Lockhart motioning her to join them. "I'm sorry, your Highness, but I must go. My godparents are calling me."
Prince James looked at her intently, as if he was memorizing her face. "I would dearly want to see you again, miss."
Marianne's cheeks rose in temperature and she looked away, at the Baron. "I'm afraid you will have to talk to my Godfather about that, Mr. Dawson." She offered him a quick smile, curtsied as best as she could with her stakes, and whish-whooshed on the ice towards Jacob and Elizabeth who were looking at her with mouths agape. Marianne looked one last time over her shoulder at the young prince who was still smiling at her and then lost herself in the crowd, following her relatives back home.
/ / /
Brighton, England. July 5th, 1815.
He could see them, coming down the poplar gravel alley to the Pavilion, a line of several carriages – seven to be exact – escorted by two straight lines of redcoat officers chosen specifically for the Selection and led by Captain Clinton himself. The guards all seemed battered and tired, and James wondered why there were late. Had they been caught in the storm a few days ago? Surely, they would have stopped for the night, right?
"Here they come!" Henry said, bursting into the parlor where the prince was standing near the window to watch the coming procession.
"I can see that."
"Aren't you excited?"
James shot him a deadly stare, his arms crossed over his chest and his thick eyebrows frowning over his dark eyes. "Don't start, Henry."
"Come on with you!" his friend replied, grabbing his shoulder and shaking it a little. "Look on the bright side: you will have all these ladies only for you. And they all knew what they were signing for, they know exactly who you are and what you are."
"And that is supposed to make me feel better?" he asked, looking at the first group of ladies as they climbed down from the first carriage, all dressed in travel dresses. Blondes, brunettes, redheads, there were enough ladies for a regiment! He also recognized Valery coming out of the first group and inviting the ladies inside. As the young women came out of the horse-drawn vehicles, James was trying to figure out how he could possibly escape the–
"Who are these two men riding with them?" he suddenly asked.
Henry squinted his eyes to see better. "Those are not men, Jamie," he said. "They seem to be ladies from your Selection!"
"Wearing trousers? How outrageous!" James exclaimed. "And they want to become Princess of England?" He scoffed and shook his head. "Send them home."
"Jamie!" Henry said. "You cannot do that! They have come a long way for this; you must give them a chance!"
James shook his head. "This is ridiculous. I thought this was supposed to be a contest, and that I should eliminate them one after the other until only one was left. Isn't that what this is?"
"Y-yes, but–" Henry was stumbling for words. "You simply cannot send them home this early. At least meet them and then make up your mind about it."
James raised his eyebrow. "Fine. But this whole Selection is ridiculous all the same."
Henry was quiet for a moment, standing next to his friend as they watched the footmen unload the two last carriages of trunks and personal items. How much did ladies need? Wasn't the crown paying for their wardrobe during the Selection?
"I have known Marianne nearly for as long as you have, James," Henry said softly. "And I am fairly sure I know what she would say to you in this moment."
James snorted. "I doubt that," he said. "But what do you think she would say, then, if you are so clever?"
"James, my love," Henry said, mimicking Mari's voice and accent really too well – if was one of his many gifts, imitating voices and accents almost to the perfection, entertaining people in soirées. "You cannot live on like this. You need to let me go, Jamie, and look at the future." He paused. "But above all, my dear husband, Eleanor needs you."
"How dare you!" James snapped at his friend. "You have no right to do this to me like that!" And without another word, he fled to his bed-chamber, slamming the door behind him and double-locking the door. Henry must have said something when he left, but in his furry, he didn't hear a thing. His vision was blurry and his hands were shaking as he grabbed the wooden foot of the bed. His knuckles turned white as he held on for dear life. That, or he would crumble in a million pieces on the carpet.
"I can't!" he hissed through clenched teeth. "I can't let go!"
"You cannot, or you do not want to?" he heard as clearly as if she was in the room. James whirled around, looking frantically around him. He was sure he had heard her!
"Both?" he said, still looking around. To his left, the curtains moved as if someone had walked past, though the windows were closed. A small chill ran down his spine.
"You need to let me go, Jamie," the voice continued, although he couldn't quite tell if it was really a voice, or just a whisper on the wind. He made sure all the windows were closed, so where was the wind coming from? "If you do not let your past die, then it will not let you live."
"I cannot live without you, Mari!" he said, using her name for the first time since she was buried. He looked at the pink upholstered chair in the corner, and he could picture her there, curled up in her nightgown, the feet tucked under her and her hair tumbling down her shoulders, a book in her lap.
"My heart is, and will always be, yours, my love," she replied softly, coming closer. James knew that by the soft breeze that brushed his hand. "But it is time to say goodbye, now."
A single tear ran down his cheek and the prince didn't even bother to wipe it away. "But how do you say goodbye when your heart still wants to hold on?" he whispered, clenching his fist.
James felt her soft hand on his cheek. "I will always be here with you," she said, touching his heart, "but you need to let me go. If not for yourself, do it for our daughter. She needs you, and she needs a mother."
James shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to acknowledge any of what was happening at the moment.
"Please…" the voice whispered. "We both need peace."
James didn't move or say anything for a long while, his heart and his mind warring inside of him. She was right– hell, everyone was right about this. But his heart was not letting go. Then he realized something: with Mari gone, his heart was also gone. So how could something that wasn't there win an argument?
Slowly, James nodded. "Fine," he finally said. "I'll let you go, Mari."
And just like that, she was gone.
James felt the emptiness in the room and in his heart, but he was at peace. His heart may have been gone, but his self-control was still there.
When he came out of the room, it was already dark outside, and there was a tray with food on the table waiting for him. There was also an envelope with his name on it and he immediately recognized Henry's handwriting. He sat down and opened the note:
James,
I hope you will forgive me for doing what I did. I never thought it would distraught you like this and I never meant to hurt you. You asked me to coordinate this Selection, and I will. Valery and I will help you find the one for you.
I have met them quickly this evening, and all seem to be very nice young women. They have been through a rough journey to come here, and they need a couple of days to get ready to meet you. For one, we only have five bathtubs for the ladies to use, and there are nineteen of them – yes, one already went home – so you will meet them in a couple of days.
I will help you in everything I can to make the first meetings go as smoothly as possible and I will make you a list of questions to choose from if you are short on ideas of conversational subjects.
Your friend,
Henry
PS: Oh, and don't try to escape the Selection: I know you too well for that, and I know your plotting face. I will have a whole battalion of guards after you, so do not try me.
Hi! thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! thank you for all the reviews already, it makes me so happy ;)
I wanted to add the first few meetings to this chapter to have the parallel between James meeting Marianne, and James meeting the Selected in the same chapter, but it would have been too long. so you'll get the first meetings next 2 or 3 chapters (depending on how long it takes to meet each girl).
still waiting on some forms, so I'll probably introduce the girls in the order in which I received the forms ;)
see you next time!
