“But even if my maneuver against Joseph and Rebecca is successful, the circumstances remain most dire, for they will not give up so easily.”
He paused for a moment, and I steeled myself for what I knew he would say next.
“I think it would be best for both of us if we were to marry,” he said at last. “You, Martha, Elizabeth, and even Hannah would benefit from my protection. And I would…” He trailed off as he tried to think what benefit — beyond my wealth of course — that he would reap from such an arrangement.
“George,” I repeated, but once again he ignored me.
“I will not have an answer tonight,” he said. “Whether it is yea or nay, I will wait until you have had the chance to think about my offer at length. Please tell me you will consider it.”
I could only nod in response.
“And in the event you decline,” he said, “I trust you will keep the matter between us.” He nodded curtly and hurried from the room as if he were a guest who had pocketed the silver plate from supper.
Martha poked her head into the parlor, a puzzled look on her face.
“Later,” I said before she could even ask the question. “Outside.”
Once we were outside, however, we found conversation to be nearly impossible, for the evening had brought a gale-wind that threatened to tear the clothes from our bodies. We would have had to shout in order to be heard. We bent before the snow and wind, and trudged toward our home.
Just before we reached St. Michael le Belfrey, I thought I heard a cry from behind us, and stopped to look back. I could tell from Will’s and Martha’s reactions that they had heard it as well, and the three of us peered into the dark.
“What was that?” Will shouted over the wind. I shook my head.
“It must have been the wind,” Martha replied. “When it passes through the belfries it moans something strange. And what bloody-minded fool would be out in this if he could help it?”
I cast my eyes behind us one more time, but nothing moved save the blowing snow. “Let’s go,” I said at last, and we hurried home.
The three of us tumbled through the door, eager to put the cold wind and the terrible, distant cry—if that is what it was—behind us. Hannah took our cloaks and hurried us into the parlor where a fire burned bright and warm. “I’ll be back with some chocolate,” she said, and bustled off to the kitchen.
“So what did he need to speak to you about?” Will asked. I studied his face before I spoke, wondering if he’d known about George’s proposal before I did. It did not take him long to confess.
“I warned him not to ask you,” Will said desperately. “Not in that way.”
Martha looked between us in utter confusion. “What are you talking about, Will? What happened?”
“Mr. Breary had a second proposal for me, didn’t he, Will?” I said. “And when you came to me this afternoon, you knew what he would ask me but you said nothing.”
“Aunt Bridget, please,” he cried. “I told him he should not ask you, but he would not be deterred. There was nothing I could do!”
In truth I was not angry with Will, for I knew he was right: He could not have dissuaded George from his offer. Like so many men who found success in business, once George settled on a course, there would be no changing his mind regardless of what contras presented themselves; challenges were to be overcome, not yielded to. Finally I released Will from my gaze and turned to Martha.
“Mr. Breary asked me to marry him,” I said.
“What?” Martha cried, her face the very picture of alarm and astonishment. “You didn’t … What did you say?”
“He wouldn’t have an answer,” I replied. “He wanted me to reflect on it until tomorrow.”
A look of uncertainty crossed Martha’s face. She had an opinion on the matter—and I had a good sense of what it was—but did not want to overstep her bounds. Though it undoubtedly took a heroic effort for her to hold her tongue, she
He paused for a moment, and I steeled myself for what I knew he would say next.
“I think it would be best for both of us if we were to marry,” he said at last. “You, Martha, Elizabeth, and even Hannah would benefit from my protection. And I would…” He trailed off as he tried to think what benefit — beyond my wealth of course — that he would reap from such an arrangement.
“George,” I repeated, but once again he ignored me.
“I will not have an answer tonight,” he said. “Whether it is yea or nay, I will wait until you have had the chance to think about my offer at length. Please tell me you will consider it.”
I could only nod in response.
“And in the event you decline,” he said, “I trust you will keep the matter between us.” He nodded curtly and hurried from the room as if he were a guest who had pocketed the silver plate from supper.
Martha poked her head into the parlor, a puzzled look on her face.
“Later,” I said before she could even ask the question. “Outside.”
Once we were outside, however, we found conversation to be nearly impossible, for the evening had brought a gale-wind that threatened to tear the clothes from our bodies. We would have had to shout in order to be heard. We bent before the snow and wind, and trudged toward our home.
Just before we reached St. Michael le Belfrey, I thought I heard a cry from behind us, and stopped to look back. I could tell from Will’s and Martha’s reactions that they had heard it as well, and the three of us peered into the dark.
“What was that?” Will shouted over the wind. I shook my head.
“It must have been the wind,” Martha replied. “When it passes through the belfries it moans something strange. And what bloody-minded fool would be out in this if he could help it?”
I cast my eyes behind us one more time, but nothing moved save the blowing snow. “Let’s go,” I said at last, and we hurried home.
The three of us tumbled through the door, eager to put the cold wind and the terrible, distant cry—if that is what it was—behind us. Hannah took our cloaks and hurried us into the parlor where a fire burned bright and warm. “I’ll be back with some chocolate,” she said, and bustled off to the kitchen.
“So what did he need to speak to you about?” Will asked. I studied his face before I spoke, wondering if he’d known about George’s proposal before I did. It did not take him long to confess.
“I warned him not to ask you,” Will said desperately. “Not in that way.”
Martha looked between us in utter confusion. “What are you talking about, Will? What happened?”
“Mr. Breary had a second proposal for me, didn’t he, Will?” I said. “And when you came to me this afternoon, you knew what he would ask me but you said nothing.”
“Aunt Bridget, please,” he cried. “I told him he should not ask you, but he would not be deterred. There was nothing I could do!”
In truth I was not angry with Will, for I knew he was right: He could not have dissuaded George from his offer. Like so many men who found success in business, once George settled on a course, there would be no changing his mind regardless of what contras presented themselves; challenges were to be overcome, not yielded to. Finally I released Will from my gaze and turned to Martha.
“Mr. Breary asked me to marry him,” I said.
“What?” Martha cried, her face the very picture of alarm and astonishment. “You didn’t … What did you say?”
“He wouldn’t have an answer,” I replied. “He wanted me to reflect on it until tomorrow.”
A look of uncertainty crossed Martha’s face. She had an opinion on the matter—and I had a good sense of what it was—but did not want to overstep her bounds. Though it undoubtedly took a heroic effort for her to hold her tongue, she
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