When evening came, with the maids having worn her a different dress, all new and brimming with wealth, with gold stud earrings and hair arranged in curls over her shoulder like the Princess of England, Marybeth now sat very far from her husband in the dining room, where candles flickered in their iron holdings.
The long table stretched between them like a bridge that neither of them wanted to cross. McKenna sat at the head of the chair, wearing a black coat, hair dried and slicked back, while his dark eyes stayed fixed on her. Mary, on her end, sat with both hands gripping her dress, feeling more like a guest than a wife.
Her cheeks grew red with every passing second—she could still see him sitting naked in the tub, telling her to sponge him.
The tapping of servants' feet on the floor soon dissipated the silence. They walked in rows, placing roasted pheasant, brown peanut bread, and a red sauce she didn't recognize. Her brow knotted—she wanted to ask what type of sauce it was, but no one looked at her. In fact, it almost seemed as if they were holding their breath when they moved closer to place the food, then hurried away.
She frowned, trying to catch their eyes, to have proper communication. As the lady of the house, she had to be friendly with all who lived in the manor—to see how things worked. That was how it had always been in her home. So why did they act like she carried the plague?
She glanced up at McKenna just as the servants began to leave, and found that he was watching her.
"Is the food not to your liking?" he asked.
"It's fine," she said in a hoarse breath.
Then she looked at his spot, there was nothing there, only a bottle of whiskey and a goblet.
"Aren't you eating?"
"I'm full," he said, leaning forward and resting both hands on his jaw.
His eyes didn't leave her, no matter how often she darted her gaze. She wanted to ask if he'd had dinner before she arrived, but instead, she bit her tongue. Why does he keep staring at me?
"So... are you here to stare at me?" she asked, looking down at her plate. Her voice came out muffled, not entirely confident.
"Yes. I want to look at you."
"How odd," she murmured, surprised that he found any pleasure in simply staring at her. "Well... I'm not so pretty to be stared at."
"You are to me."
She looked up, blinked at him. Surely he didn't just say she was.. she was... p...pr...
"Eat," he said, leaning back as he cocked the bottle of whiskey and poured it into his cup. She could smell the strong rum even from where she sat.
She nodded and picked up the bread first. Then she stared at the sauce for a moment before dipping the bread and pushing it into her mouth. Mmm. Surprisingly, it tasted so good that she forgot her manners, forgot that she was sitting in front of her husband and was supposed to act respectfully, like a proper lady.
Instead, she ate the bread casually, the sauce rubbing the corner of her mouth. It was exactly how Eloise had taught her to eat. Eloise always said there was no fun in following the rules, which was... true.
"So," McKenna began, causing her to look up, blinking.
Her mouth was now smeared with sauce, and in one hand, she held a large portion of pheasant leg. He stared at her like he hadn't noticed—which was odd. Her mother would have scolded her on the spot.
"Did you know the activities of a man and woman in the bedroom?"
Silence swept across the room like a hawk had just flown past. Mary gulped. Activity?Yes, she had heard of it, but she didn't truly like the idea.
He waited. When she gave a small nod, he leaned forward, lips curving, "and what is it you were told? Please, tell me."
"Well…" She placed the pheasant and bread back down and turned fully to face him. "I do know that a married man and woman will be in close proximity."
"And…?"
"And that th-they… will both be n-naked." She looked away, her face flushed.
"Go on," he said lazily.
"Well, the woman will lay on the bed, and the man will be on top of her. And she must do whatever he tells her to do. That she does not have a say, and only he does," she said the words hurriedly, as if chasing a deer through the woods.
She quickly picked up the cup of water and drank it in one gulp. She tried not to look at him, but when he said nothing, she glanced up—only to find him frowning at her.
"Who told you that, Mary?"
"My mother."
"Hmm..." His hand traced the rim of the glass, and Mary found herself staring at his long fingers instead of his face.
"It doesn't have to be the man alone. It should be enjoyed by both."
"Oh..." she managed, but that was all she could say. She didn't really understand what exactly they were supposed to do there. When she had stayed in a separate room from him, she never imagined there would be any... activity.
Now, she clasped her hands together on her lap—but he must have noticed, because he said,
"I won't come to your bed unless you come to mine."
"But... but what if I never come?"
He shrugged and took a sip of his drink.
"You will. It's the only way for this marriage to be consummated...unless, of course, you'd rather go on living unmarried."
She nodded, stayed at the table, and said nothing. It had to be done—this activity between man and woman was unavoidable.
"Although, if I were you..." he added. She looked up, and the way he looked at her send chills down to her knees. "...I wouldn't keep my husband waiting."
Mary gulped and gripped the hem of her dress.
"At the wedding, you said I would never see my family again."
The thought alone scared her—knowing she still had people she loved.
He crossed his arms, raising a brow. "Do you consider them family? People who would rather sell you for gold?"
She shook her head, "I have a few people I love, who would never trade me for gold."
Then softly, as if picking her words from a pile of broken glass, Mary added, "May I... send a letter?"
Mckenna didn't reply at first. He merely kept his eyes locked on hers, then slowly set the goblet down, "to whom?"
"My old nursemaid, Mrs. Jenny."
He looked at her skeptically, "why?"
"She raised me better than anyone else in that house," she said honestly. "I would like to let her know that I am safe and nothing more."
There was a pause, except for the pulse of her frantic heart. The silence was so bone-chilling she feared he would never agree to her request. Then he nodded once and said,
"Fine. Give it to the maid. I shall have it sent."
Her heart fluttered with relief. He might be as cold as rain, but he had saved her. He had never turned down any of her requests. Maybe he wasn't so cold after all.
"Thank you."
Yet Mckenna did not smile at her. No trace of humor reached his eyes, "do not think this is a favour," his voice echoed darkly. "I am only doing the job of a husband."
Then he stood up to leave, but she called out quietly, "would it be possible to also include... a second letter?"
He stopped in his tracks, and then she quickly added, "for her daughter. My friend, Eloise."
He gave her a suspicious look, as though he didn't trust her yet, but he said nothing to object, only gave her a curt nod and left the room.
Mary forgot the food altogether. She rose to her feet after washing her hands in the bowl, picked up the hem of her dress, and scurried out of the room. But she didn't notice that each candle she passed flickered out.
In her room, the candle burned low beside her.
Mary dipped the nib into the ink, and with trembling hands—not from fear, but because she was too excited to finally have a means of communication, and so she began to write.
To Mrs. Jenny, she wrote that she was well and that her new husband was treating her like a princess, so she had nothing to worry about. She also told her how grateful she was for taking care of her all these years and, even though she didn't mean to, she asked how her parents were doing.
In another letter, the one that bore Eloise's name, she wrote:
"El, I know you have questions, and I can't explain everything now. But I'm not where I should be. The man I married is strange… it's like a feeling I can feel in my bones. And this house...this place, is colder than it should be. I'm fine, I promise I am, but I don't think he'll want me to be found."
She exhaled sharply. Behind her, the wind howled across the curtains. She turned around, as if fearing someone was watching her. Seeing no one, she began to write the directions as best as she could remember:
"You'll pass through Netheridge Town, past the fork near Marlow's Cemetery. There's only one manor down the road. It has a black gate and a single tower. That's how you'll know. Just… come carefully."
Mary folded the letters tightly and tied them with a red twine, then kissed them once for good luck. In the morning, both letters would be gone with the servants.
However, Mary knew, deep in her gut that Eloise would come. She always did.