I blinked, looking between the ladies in the room. She could not be referring to Sir Ronald, could she? Did Lady Demsworth know of Clara’s intentions with her son? Or of Georgiana’s? Or was there someone else in the room pursuing a romantic endeavor? Judging from the raised brows and anxious, stolen looks, the women beside me had similar questions.
“What advice could we possibly give a stranger?” Georgiana asked curiously. “Perhaps if we knew the person to whom you refer—”
“I am anything but a gossip, Miss Wood.” Lady Demsworth smiled coyly. “I am simply curious as to your thoughts on the meaning of marriage. Of course, it is different when you consider the perspective of a woman as opposed to a man, so you may answer for both. I shall open it up to your discussion as you wish.”
What a curious topic, and certainly not too broadly debatable. Marriage was something we women thought about every day of our lives. It defined us, our status, and our security. In fact, without it, we were left with little control, if any at all, over our lives. Regardless of what she claimed, Lady Demsworth was not naive of the subject. So why did she care what our opinions were?
“Well,” Beatrice started, “to a man, marriage is binding, but to a woman, it is freedom.”
“Very good,” Lady Demsworth nodded. “Women require marriage to enjoy freedom from the burden of livelihood, while men marry to claim her loyalty.”
She raised her chin, glancing between Georgiana and me, as though judging which one of us would speak first. I knew little on the topic of romantic marriage. I was a product of marriage made out of obligation between my own parents and had witnessed marriage made for status after my father died. What advice could I possibly offer that would be of benefit to some hopeful soul?
“Love.” Georgiana straightened. “Marriage means love to both a man and a woman. It is a commitment of that love for a lifetime, above all else.”
Love? If there was one thing I could not rely upon, it was love.
“I disagree,” I said before I could retract my tongue. Every eye in our circle turned to me.
“Go on, Miss Moore,” Lady Demsworth encouraged, a renewed interest in her eyes.
Images of my parents flooded my memory. Love had clouded my Father’s rational thinking that night at the ball so long ago. It had ruined my mother, changing her into an entirely different person. But worst of all, love had resulted in betrayal, pain, and bitterness for Lord Gray.
Could marriage be enveloped in genuine love? The kind of love that never chipped or faded away with time? My own experience negated the idea, but it was all I had. All I knew. I drew a steady breath, staring at my hands.
“Many marriages find misery when built on the notion that love will be enough to see them through. More often than not, we marry because we have to. Whether for wealth, status, security, or simply adding on to an estate. When the banns are read and the contract is made, we bring our skills and our best efforts to the task. Love is never guaranteed.”
Silence filled the air, and I feared I’d said too much. I should have kept my thoughts to myself, or at least shortened the explanation. I pursed my lips in regret.
“Enlightening.” Lady Demsworth seemed satisfied, as though my words were the answer she’d hoped to hear. But why? Surely my opinion was the most unromantic, unpopular, and unoptimistic of all.
“What do you say, Mr. Wood?” Lady Demsworth said. “I know you are eavesdropping as it has been minutes since you turned a page.”
I jumped when a chair creaked behind me. Turning slowing, I saw Peter had reclaimed his earlier seat, an open book in his hand. When had he returned? I fought the urge to hide my face in my hands for having been so bold and open with my thoughts. And about marriage. How mortifying!
With an amused smile, he slipped a bookmark into the pages and closed the cover. “I would have a hard time not overhearing with your party so perfectly positioned beside me.”
“Well?” Lady Demsworth pressed.
“He will say that marriage is all money and business,” Georgiana said knowingly. But that could not be true. Peter, as I knew him, was deeply romantic. Surely he thought love the most important factor in marriage. Yet another subject we disagreed on.
“It can be, and most often is, Georgiana.” He narrowed his eyes at her in brotherly annoyance. “But in my interpretation, you are each right,” he said. He straightened in his chair, a seriousness in his countenance. “Marriage means companionship. A merging of lives and loyalty. Yes, it is binding, and yes, sometimes it is more beneficial to one party than to the other in terms of monetary or social value. But it is more about what two people can be together than who they are individually.”
“And what of love?” Lady Demsworth asked him, glancing to me. I turned forward in my seat, staring at my hands in my lap.
Peter exhaled. “Love is a topic all its own. But I agree with Miss Moore. It is not guaranteed. Only the luckiest among us will have it. And once it is found, it should be most aggressively fought for.”
I felt his stare upon my back, but I was unwilling to meet his eyes. If Peter meant to imply that he would not easily relent his scheming to secure Sir Ronald for Georgiana, he did not intimidate me in the least. Though I did not believe that love took precedence over practicality, loyalty most certainly did, and Clara’s happiness was my top priority.
“At any rate, I am sure our sex thinks of little else, lest we all become spinsters or governesses,” Beatrice interjected with a giggle.
I took no amusement from the thought. The possibility was too real and too clear on my horizon to jest. Why on earth had we chosen a topic about marriage and love in the middle of a house party?
“Thank you all for your thoughts,” Lady Demsworth said. “I think I know just what to say to him.”
Him? So Lady Demsworth’s friend was a man? I turned, finding Sir Ronald and Clara still at their settee at the front of the room. They had abandoned the book entirely, moved even closer together, and were in deep conversation. Clara smiled, giggling about something, which brought an even bigger smile to Sir Ronald’s lips. Anyone with eyes could see the two of them were already a pair. The only advice Lady Demsworth’s son needed was a push forward. Unless Lady Demsworth disagreed with his choice. Perhaps I would speak to her, try to encourage the union by offering my opinion on that matter.
“. . . worshipped her. They only knew each other a week before he proposed,” Georgiana said. I’d been half-listening enough to know she spoke of her parents. “It was the grandest engagement. He invited everyone he knew to a dinner party the next day.”
“How romantic!” Beatrice beamed. “I love these sorts of stories.”
Georgiana stared at me with unexpected ice in her eyes, and I was taken aback by the cold feeling between us. Had I missed something? “My mother would never remarry. She has only ever loved my father.”