The Meridian Gamble (25 page)

And Mother seems just as dazed. She
stares at me, in confusion.

“Caroline, do you recall meeting
this gentleman?”

I can see how she would be
perplexed. I am still a young girl, and am hardly in the habit of meeting men
who are older than me. It would be inappropriate. Yet, I cannot possibly tell
her the truth of how we know each other. Of my half-naked flirtations. So, I
make the only choice left to me, which is to feign ignorance. And it feels like
a lie, because it is.

“I am sorry Mother, the name means
nothing to me,” I say, full of false innocence.

“Perhaps you became acquainted at
one of the dances?”

“But I only dance with boys my own
age.”

And Father shakes his head in
frustration.

“It matters not, because he has
chosen you,” he says. “And though it is difficult for me to ask you to do this,
I’m afraid I must. This marriage is of the utmost importance to this family and
our company. The union with Bennett Railroads will not only provide us with a
means of meeting certain … financial commitments, but it will also ensure the
success of our business for years to come.”

“He is a noble man, and quite
talented,” Mother says. “Apparently, he runs their family’s ventures here in
England, as his father manages their companies abroad. It is quite an
impressive feat, for a man of his young age.”

“But what of Marjorie?” I ask. “It
is not … odd for her younger sister to marry first? How will this reflect on
her?”

“Marjorie has no choice in the
matter. What must be done will be done. She will be fine,” Mother says.

But she looks down and to the side,
sounding less than convinced.

“You are doing your older sister a
great favor by marrying Mr. Bennett,” Father says. “You are ensuring that she
will have a certain level of financial comfort for the rest of her life. For
her and all of your sisters.”

But Marjorie will never marry
Gregory Lawlor now, nor even one of his younger brothers. I fear she will be
forced to pick from a lower rung, from someone of the Price-Pearce’s ilk, if
that. My union will not sit well in the eyes of London society, whose approval
we seem to covet so desperately, at least not for my sister’s purposes. She
will appear less desirable, because she has failed to gain a spouse before her younger
sister.

And I realize now why she hates me,
because I am a creature of pure evil. As much as I care for Marjorie, another
part of me gets a certain thrill from sticking this knife in her side. A
certain part of me enjoys the idea of knocking her off the pedestal she stands
atop so dearly, even though I should pity her further descent.

I look back to my parents, meeting
their gaze, fearlessly.

“I understand what must be done,
Father. And I am grateful for this chance to honor my family. I look forward to
meeting Mr. Bennett.”

My parents look to each other in
shock. They know me to be willful at times, in my own quiet way, especially
when asked to voice my opinion. I am sure that they are surprised I have
nothing more to say on the matter, no argument filled with keen logic to
contradict their decision. They cannot possibly know that I am secretly
thrilled with the idea of becoming Roland Bennett’s wife, even though I barely
know him. That I am fascinated by his desire for me, and am desperate to see him
again.

“Well, it is good that you are
pleased to meet him, because that will be happening shortly. Come, we must make
sure you are ready.”

“He is coming here? Now?”

“Of course. You must be introduced
properly, to make sure this is an appropriate union. You will be having tea
together, in the garden.”

And my stomach becomes a knot
filled with nervous energy. This is real, he is real, and I will be seeing him
again within minutes.

“I … understand,” I say, quietly.

Mother looks at me expectantly, and
I rise to leave the room with her.

I look back at poor Father, and can
tell he is uneasy with what is happening. The idea of seeing his child, his
young daughter being married off must be causing him pain. But there is nothing
I can do, because he is the one who has set me to this fate.

Mother leads me up the stairs, to
my room. My sisters can sense the excitement in the air, and are desperate to
know more. From the corner of my eye, I can see the Twins peeking from behind
the barely cracked door of their room, covering their mouths as they giggle.
Likewise, Marjorie and Madeline stand on the second floor landing, like two
sentries in pretty frocks.

Poor Marjorie. I can see the look
of confusion on her face. She is the one who everyone usually fusses and frets
over. She is the one who captures everyone’s attention, the one who new suitors
visit. But on this day, the balance of the universe has shifted.

My sister can no longer take the
suspense, and she finally speaks up, as I am led to my room.

“Mother, what is happening?”

Mother stops, as I stand beside
her.

“A gentleman will be calling on
Caroline today.”

Marjorie laughs, full of contempt.

“You are joking. Why would he
bother?”

“He would bother for the reason a
gentleman calls on a lady. To court her. And I suggest in the future you have
enough common sense to treat your sister with the respect she deserves.”

I can tell my sister does not
expect this response. She bites her lip, looking as stunned as she would if
someone had just slapped her.

“Yes, Mother,” Marjorie says,
becoming quiet.

 It takes every ounce of power
I have to suppress the smile that struggles to creep across my face. I look
away, to stop myself somehow, and poor Marjorie looks hurt. But her expression
changes in a way that is startling, into a visage I have never seen before on
her face.

She stares at me with a look of
pure hatred.

I follow Mother into my room, and
our maid Cecily waits for me, holding a dress in the most delicate shade of
baby blue. And it takes me a moment to realize that it is meant for me. I
realize that something has truly shifted, in that I am being allowed to wear a
color other than white. Suddenly, I am no longer a little girl, I am a woman.
And the responsibilities of adulthood are being foisted upon me.

I have never seen this dress
before, and I wonder where Mother got it. I wonder how long they have been
planning my tea party with Mr. Roland Bennett.

They help me dress. Mother and
Cecily work together to pull the creation of silks over my shoulders, to fasten
me within it. And when they are done, they sit me in front of the dresser to
work their magic on me. I watch with fascination, as I am transformed. My hair
is worked into an upswept style, and they affix a hat to my head that matches
the color of the dress. They spray me with expensive perfumes, and dust my face
with powder, apply faint color to my lips and cheeks. The effect is subtle,
they can hardly make me look like one of the painted actresses from the
theatre, I am far too young for that. But I am stunned to see the results
before me. I can hardly recognize myself in the mirror. I feel like a different
person.

For a moment, I thought it was
Marjorie looking back at me.

The others must realize it too.
Cecily gasps, stunned.

“Mon dieu, Mademoiselle. You are a
vision. The young gentleman will be unable to resist you.”

Usually the girl would not speak
out of turn, but for some reason, Mother allows it. Perhaps because she is
equally impressed with the results.

“It hardly matters, Cecily. Because
the choice has already been made.”

A different person. I had always
felt like a different person, someone other than the proper girl being raised
amongst the upper crust of English society. And now suddenly, I am someone
different, and the irony is not lost on me. But as I stare at my reflection, I
begin to feel dizzy, and I realize the world is shifting in another way. For a
moment, the person in the mirror transforms. I am no longer the proper lady
with make-up on my face and a fancy new dress, someone else I do not recognize stares
back at me. Another woman, with dark hair and a darker complexion, who looks
like a savage. And though I have never seen her before with my eyes, I slowly
realize that there is something familiar about her. Though I have not met her
in real life, I have pictured her in my mind.

It is my friend Saga, the
raven-haired beauty, from the stories I have written. The princess from a
hidden cult of warriors hellbent on overthrowing the Egyptian throne.

She begins to shift, becoming yet
another person, and I shake my head to stop it, gently, so as not to muss my
hair. And if they notice something in my expression, Mother and Cecily must
attribute it to my nerves over the day’s events, thinking I am overwhelmed by
my new course. They help me up and usher me from the confines of my room once
more.

Marjorie must have been listening
for us, because as we come out of the room, she steps from her door. And there
is a look of confusion on her face. And for a moment, I think that she does not
recognize me. And again, she stares daggers at me, bearing a look of anger.

I am startled. Though we have
squabbled, I have never garnered such animosity from my sister before.

We go downstairs to the sitting
room, and somewhere along the way, Cecily steps aside. The sitting room is a
large space toward the back of the house, filled with windows that overlook the
gardens. There are many sofas throughout the room, and this is the place where
Mother holds her tea parties, because it is large enough to seat all of the
women she considers worth inviting, along with their daughters.

Father sits here, waiting for us,
and a tall blonde man sits with him; the handsome stranger, Roland Bennett. And
my heart begins to race upon seeing him again, and knowing that he is, in fact,
the man they have spoken of, my intended husband. I feared another suitor might
be waiting here, who I would be disappointed by. Both he and Father stand at my
presence, the way one would when a lady enters the room.

Roland is tall, taller than I
remember, and he towers over me. When he takes off his hat, I get another view
of the glorious blonde hair that is swept to the side. And he smiles sweetly,
seeming thrilled to see me. The grin on his face makes him seem almost boyish,
though Roland Bennett is clearly a man.

A wave of nervousness comes over
me, because this isn’t just a new stranger I am meeting, which is unsettling
enough. This is my husband, the man my parents have chosen for me to marry. And
it is not just the strange visions of him in my bed that frighten me. I am
worried I will make a mistake, and destroy it all somehow. That I will shame my
family, or do something wrong to end this financial agreement they are
attempting to create. But a sensation of buzzing comes to my mind, one that I
have felt before. I remember it from the night we met. And it creates a kind of
warmth that seems to sweep over my body, one that relaxes me. I am grateful for
it, and say thanks to whatever angels are trying to assist me.

Father turns to me.

“Caroline, I’d like for you to meet
Mr. Roland Bennett.”

“It is a pleasure to make your
acquaintance, sir.”

“The honor is all mine,” Roland
says, offering a low bow.

An awkward silence follows. Seeming
to notice the discomfort in the air, Mother speaks up.

“We’ve arranged for you to have tea
in the gazebo. Would you like to escort Mr. Bennett there, Caroline?”

“Of course.”

He bows, and opens the door with
the glass panes that leads outside.

It is a warm day, and there is not
so much as a cloud in the sky. A blanket of blue hangs over us, and covers
everything for as far as the eye can see. It feels like the perfect day for me
to formally meet my new fiancée.

Roland walks next to me, and he
wears a grey suit, lighter in color than the one he had worn when we first met.
And he is even more handsome in the light of the day. I find it hard to believe
that someone so dashing would be here for me, and can barely look at him. It
embarrasses me. So instead, I concentrate on walking carefully, so I don’t fall
over in the grass.

A cobblestone path has been set as
a walkway through the garden, made of reddish bricks. It is difficult for me to
navigate it in my high heels, but the beauty of our setting makes it worth the
effort. Our garden is a lovely place. Rose bushes surround us, blooming in a
variety of colors, shades of pink, white and yellow. There are even some exotic
purple ones that are Mother’s pride and joy. She insists that our oasis be
meticulously cared for, and will even go so far as to trim the rose bushes
herself, lovingly. It is the closest thing to unladylike behavior that she
exhibits.

Our garden is almost the size of a
small park, and it is a sign of prestige to have such a significant patch of
greenery within the middle of the city. The natural setting is one of my
favorite places in our home, other than the sitting room and the desk by my
window. I love to come here, as it is a place where I can reflect, and enjoy a
bit of peace and quiet on my own, unless the Twins are nearby, antagonizing me.

It feels strange to share something
so dear to me so quickly with Roland, yet my parents have made a wise decision
in choosing this as the backdrop for our first meeting. I think that I will be
a bundle of nerves, yet the nature of the garden setting helps me to remain
calm … that, along with the subtle buzzing in my head. Yet the thought of this
odd foreign presence is almost too much for me to handle at the moment, and I
struggle to push it away.

Even Roland seems impressed by our
surroundings, and he looks around with interest.

“It is very lovely here,” he says.