All that Mary could do was persevere and hope that one day a proposal would come in one way or another. She did not know how it would work; as far as she was concerned, it was rather uncommon for parents to make such requests from beyond the grave, but it had to occur somehow. She felt certain that it would now.
If Edmund felt anything like she did right now, he would be keen for things to progress just as much as she was. He would be looking forward to their wedding day and everything that came afterwards.
Mary wrapped her arms tightly around herself and held onto that warmth deep in her chest. She had never felt so much love swimming around in her before, and it left her with what felt like a lot of pent-up energy that she did not know what to do with. She wanted to skip and jump and run ... she wanted to fill her day with something incredible while she waited for Edmund to come back for her, just as he promised that he would.
But first, before she did anything, she needed to get dressed. She could not stand around in her nightwear all day long; it simply would not do.
Chapter 13
Edmund could barely contain himself. Ever since he shared that intense moment with Mary at the bookshelf, he had been absolutely certain. He knew now that this was the woman that he could love, that he would share a long and happy life with, just like his mother and father had when he was alive.
“What are you doing, Son?” Iris asked him as she found him pacing the floor of the drawing room with his hands behind his back as if he were plotting some large business deal. “You look very fraught. Is there something going on?”
She hunched up her shoulders, preparing for what she assumed would be a long and slightly dull conversation about something to do with a ship or a trade deal, but what she got instead relaxed her and filled her with glee.
“I wish to marry Lady Mary Roberts,” he told her as if it was obvious. Iris had suspected that things would go this way, but it was wonderful to get the confirmation. She knew that her son needed to be happy, and she hoped that this would be the first step towards that. “But I do not know how I should go about it. It is not a typical matter, is it?”
“No, I suppose not.” Iris paused thoughtfully. “Without her father around, I do not know what the next step should be. Plus, I do not think that you can ask her directly because of the clause in the will.”
“Yes.” Edmund waved his hands towards his mother. “You are right. That makes it all the more confusing. I do not know how to address this situation. I want to do things right because I know she would like to organise her inheritance properly.”
“So, maybe you should send a letter to the gentleman in charge of the will?” Iris offered. “Maybe he is the point of contact.”
Edmund screwed up his nose; he did not like that plan at all. Anything that allowed Walter more power than he should have over their relationship, he did not like. Then again, it was the right thing to do if he wanted to be respectful. William Roberts had left Walter in charge of his will for a reason. If he trusted him, then maybe Edmund needed to as well.
“Yes, I think you might be right,” he finally said agreeably. “That is what I shall do.”
It did not feel very romantic. Edmund was sure that Mary deserved romance, but this was the way it had to go. Maybe afterwards, once all the practical arrangements were sorted out, he would go to her with a ring and ask her properly. That was not the way that things were necessarily done, but he wanted to give Mary some adventure.
“You should go and write it now,” Iris encouraged him. “You have time this morning, do you not?”
“I suppose so.” Edmund wanted to get started with the marriage arrangements. Now that he had made up his mind about Mary, he could not wait for her to be his wife. This was just a practical hump to overcome. “Yes, you are right. I shall do it now.”
Iris did not say it aloud, but internally she cheered. Her husband died before she got a chance to have any more children which was a shame because she loved being a mother. Now, maybe she could have her second chance at being a grandmother. It would not be exactly the same, but it would be close enough. Maybe it would even be better. As she imagined it, she could almost feel the bundle of joy forming in her arms.
“That is a great plan, Edmund. I am terribly proud of you.”
With a smile, he left the room and walked towards his office where he kept all of his writing equipment. As he moved, he considered how amazing it was that he had found someone that he could truly have feelings for. In the back of his mind, he always felt that he was asking for too much wanting what his mother and father shared. Now, he had found it. Or at least the beginnings of it. He was the luckiest man alive.
Edmund whistled to himself as he pushed the door to his office open. Inside, he stared at the same four walls where he always locked himself away to get his paperwork done. The white of the walls was the same, and the mahogany desk with the matching coloured chair had never changed, nor had the desk lamp ... but now everything felt that much more pleasant to look at. The bookshelf behind his desk contained just some of the literature that both he and Mary shared a love for.
Edmund moved over to the books before he took his seat at the desk, and he tugged out his own copy of Frankenstein. The pages were battered and well worn from the countless times that he had read the book, and now he felt the incredible urge to read through it again. It did not matter that he could pretty much remember every single word; he wanted it fresh in his mind for when he discussed it with Mary again.
He thumbed the pages, inhaling that smell that could only come from a book, and he grinned. This was just one more piece of confirmation that he was making the right decision.
Edmund gently placed the book on his desk so that he could look at it as he wrote what promised to be the most complex letter of his life. Or maybe it would be easy. Maybe once he started writing, the words would flow. He would not know until he got started.
He pulled out a blank piece of paper and delicately spread it in front of him. Then he grabbed his quill and dipped it into the blackest ink that he had. He needed Walter to know that he was serious when he finally opened it.
‘Dearest Mr Walter Thompson,’ he started carefully. He took the time to craft each letter perfectly on the page in the best handwriting that he could manage. ‘I am writing to you again today with some news. Good news, I believe.’
He sat back in his chair and scrutinised the words. They were not right; maybe he should have taken the time to plan what he was going to say, but he had written down those words now. It was too late unless he wanted to start again. That would not be a good idea. If he started again once, then he knew that he would do it a million times.