An Arrangement of Sorts (34 page)

He had told his family about their attachment, which was received with great excitement and enthusiasm, and he had even confessed that his brother had offered to assist them in procuring a house of their own, if they needed it, so thrilled was he by their engagement. Moira had nearly told him about her fortune then, but still she hesitated. It was not something she wanted to toss about like some ribbon-strewn baton at a fair. It would change the whole course of things for them.

“You are positively drowning in thoughts,” Gwen’s voice said from somewhere next to her, sounding wry, but concerned.

She shook herself out of her reverie and forced a smile. “I’m a bit prone to pondering of late, I fear.”

“On what?”

Moira shrugged and picked up little William, who had been tugging at her dress. “Oh, this and that. A bit of everything, really.”

“A bit of everything does not cause frowns like that on anyone’s face, Moira,” Gwen said in a scolding tone that she suspected was used on William quite often.

She met her eyes and bit her lip, shrugging again, embarrassed that tears began to prickle at the corners of her eyes.

“Oh, Moira, what is it?” Gwen asked in a softer voice.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, holding the baby close as he sat contentedly in her lap. “I cannot even put a name to the feeling, but I just…”

“Is it Charles?” Gwen interrupted gently. “I can tell he has been distracted of late, but I know that he loves you very much.”

“I know he does. I know.” And she did. He may not have said it, but she knew that he loved her. She could see it in his eyes, and could feel it when he held her hand in his. “But he is not… that is to say, we’re not who we used to be.”

“Do you still love him?”

“Yes, I do. He is the dearest friend in the world, and I’m dreadfully fond of him, but…” She trailed off and fumbled in her mind for the best way to say this without giving Gwen the wrong impression.

“But there is a ‘but’,” Gwen said finally, her voice still as gentle as ever, not the faintest hint of scorn in it.

Moira nodded, relieved that someone, at least, could see the problem. “I don’t even know what, really, and…”

“I do.”

Moira stopped instantly and looked up at Gwen in shock, her heart freezing in her chest. She could not possibly…

“That man you came with. Nathan, was it?”

Moira’s throat went dry and she could not even manage to swallow properly.

Gwen smiled, her eyes kind and soft. “You were not merely friends, were you?”

“I-I… I love Charles,” Moira stammered.

The smile deepened and became a touch more amused. “That was never in question.”

Moira looked away, embarrassed and flustered beyond reckoning.

“Moira, do you have feelings for Nathan?”

She hesitated only a moment, then nodded.

“Love?”

Again, she nodded.

“How does he feel?”

“I don’t know. I know he cares for me, but I don’t know about the rest.” She looked back to Gwen. “But I do love Charles.”

“Yes, so you’ve said,” Gwen said, reaching a hand out and placing it on Moira’s knee, “but I wonder what kind of love it is.”

Moira could not have answered if she wanted to. To hear aloud what she had been wondering in her heart for days was more confusing than anything she had ever known. She loved the man Charles had been, and she loved the man he was now. But the feelings were so different that she hardly knew what they were.

“I don’t know what to do,” Moira whispered. “I love Charles, but how can I possibly consider marrying him when I haven’t told him I have feelings for Nathan? And Nathan is… he…”

“He has gone, hasn’t he?”

She nodded, swallowing with some difficulty. “He left the day after we arrived. I have no way of knowing where he went, or of anything else. He… he did not seem keen to continue our acquaintance.”

“No, I can imagine not,” Gwen murmured, sounding oddly amused. “Well, I think the first thing that you need to do is to talk with Charles.”

“I know, but I am so afraid,” she confessed, looking down at the little boy in her lap and letting him examine her fingers. “How can I tell him that I have developed feelings for someone else? He has been working for us for all this time, and I have…”

“Oh, just talk with him, Moira,” Gwen insisted, patting her knee. “Charles has not been the most dedicated fiancé, having not written you in all this time. He deserves at least half of the blame. And he is the most reasonable of men, I am sure he will understand.”

“I wish I had your confidence.”

Gwen laughed and shooed her out the door. She took her bonnet, scowling at it as she did so, but any way that she could make herself look more proper would certainly help her cause.

She walked down the road towards the town with her hands behind her back, head bowed. How was she going to approach the subject? How could she possibly tell Charles all that she needed to without hurting him? They could still marry, she supposed, but would he still wish to?

She was so distracted that she failed notice the man walking in front of her, and they collided, apologizing profusely as they tried to avoid falling. Then they looked at each other.

“Charles!”

“Moira!”

They stared at each other for only a moment, and then, at the same time, said, “We need to talk.”

They must have looked comically identical, for she saw his eyebrows shoot up as hers did so. Then they laughed, albeit awkwardly.

“Perhaps we should talk,” Moira said with a smile.

Charles nodded and took her hand. “Perhaps we should.”

They walked to a small park and sat down on a bench, but had yet to speak again. Charles looked anxious, rubbing his hands together and sitting on the very edge of the bench. Moira’s anxiety was entirely internal, and she wondered faintly if there was any way that the butterflies currently residing in her stomach would be migrating throughout the rest of her.

“I think I ought to speak first,” Charles said finally, his words rushed.

Well, if he really thought so, then she was more than content to let him do so. The more time she had to consider her own words the better. “If you would like, you may.”

“You know I love you, Moira,” he began, taking her hand in his, and rubbing it softly. “You were the brightest part of my youth, the only thing I had to keep me going. I will always love you for that.”

She smiled, but said nothing, feeling as though her heart was quivering in her chest.

He inhaled softly, then let it out in one rough exhalation. “I told you that the reason I headed for Preston was because I received word that Peter might still be alive. I found him and started working with him, determined to make a living for us. I didn’t write you about that because I thought, at the time, it was something to keep to myself until I knew how it would end. It was a ridiculous excuse for not writing, but there it is.”

Moira knew all of this, but sensed there was something else that Charles was working up to, and she was in no state of mind to rush him.

“But there is another reason why I didn’t write to you. Why I haven’t spoken of marriage since you’ve been here.” He took a deep breath, and it sounded very much like he was bracing for some sort of impact. “I met someone. About a year and a half ago. Her name is Maggie, and she works down by the merchant office for her parents, who run an inn. She also does some of the mending and occasional stitch work for one of the seamstresses in town. We met when she nearly dropped a bit of laundry as I was walking by. I just happened to walk by every day I could around the same time, and…”

“Charles,” Moira interrupted with a gentle hand on his arm. “Have you… have you fallen in love with Maggie?”

He met her eyes, and she was stunned to see fear and apprehension in his normally so steady gaze. “Yes,” he said in a low voice, his hold on her hand clenching. “Yes, I have. She may be just a scullery maid at the inn, and a seamstress’s helper, but she is the most wonderful, patient, kind, delightful woman in the entire world, and unequal match or not, I want to marry her.” The light in his eyes died a little and he sighed. “I wish I could, but I cannot. I have enough to live comfortably, but taking her away from her family and their business would put them in a terrible lurch, and no wife of mine will work in an inn. So… tell me what you think.”

Moira couldn’t even remember how to breathe, let alone how to form a concise thought. But she licked her lips and tried. “So… you don’t want to marry me anymore?”

“Did I forget to say that?” he asked, looking surprised. “Good heavens, I sounded like a miserable cad if that is the case.” He shifted on the bench and took both of her hands in his now. “I love you, Moira. At one point, that love was romantic, but since then, it has become… well, don’t hate me for this, but now I think of you as a sister. So no, I do not want to marry you anymore.”

All of the breath vanished from Moira’s lungs as she digested his words. She probably ought to feel a little upset about this, but all she felt at the moment was relief. She wanted to laugh out loud, but that hardly seemed appropriate.

“I’m so sorry, Moira,” Charles said, sounding anguished. “I couldn’t write to you, knowing that I was falling in love with Maggie. I didn’t know what to say, or how to tell you, and you were all alone, and I could never take away the promise that I had made, knowing what alternatives awaited you if I abandoned you like that, and I cannot…”

Moira stopped him with a hand to his mouth, allowing herself to smile. “Charles, do let me speak, please.”

He nodded once, still looking worried.

“I’m not upset with you,” she assured him, smiling for effect. “I’m relieved, actually. You see, I love you, I do, but you are quite right, it has become more of a brother and sisterly affection now.” She shrugged, feeling lighter than she had in ages. “I did not want to break my promise to you, knowing you were working so hard for our future. But as much as I care for you, and always will, I don’t want to marry you either.”

“Are you serious, Moira?” Charles asked, his eyes still as anxious as before, but with a light of hope in them.

She nodded, determined to be serious. “I would not lie or joke about something like this, Charles. I mean it.”

“It would have been a wonderful marriage, you know, you and me,” Charles said, still looking at her closely.

“Yes, it would have. We would have been very happy.” She shrugged and allowed herself to grin. “But as it is, I think it would be best if we remain only close friends.”

Charles’ grin matched her own and suddenly he was laughing, and Moira gave in to her own, and it was quite some time before they were calm again.

“Oh, you have no idea how long I’ve been in agony over this,” Charles said on a sigh, still holding one of her hands in his.

“I think I have some idea,” she assured him, smiling. “I want to meet Maggie, very much.”

“You do?” he asked with obvious surprise. “I would have thought…”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed with a roll of her eyes. “We are friends, Charles, one time the very best of friends. I want to meet the woman you love.”

“You don’t care that she’s a…” He trailed off, looking uncertain.

“Not a bit, and you shouldn’t think it is such a major obstacle if you don’t want others to think so,” she quipped, rapping him on the knee. “So, when can I meet her?”

He jumped up and offered her his arm. “How about right now?”

Moira laughed at his eagerness. “Well, all right then, if you insist,” she drawled, standing and taking his arm.

In rather short order, Moira met the girl that had captured Charles’ heart, and she approved of her at once. Maggie was sweet, shy, and adored Charles with the innocent sort of abandon good girls always seemed to achieve. And Moira thought up a rather ingenious plan to remove all obstacles to their future. More than that, she interfered and insisted they become engaged despite circumstances, and Charles, being a rather intelligent fellow, took care of the matter at once.

After seeing to a new wedding gown for Maggie, Moira left the new couple to their own devices, and slowly wandered Preston alone, heart and mind rather far away indeed.