"It's just that I don't hope any more, I've lost my nerve." Iris Murdoch, The Green Knight

---- 

XVII.

Cressie watched the street from her small bedroom window and felt a pang of pain in her chest as she saw Jem stalk away from the house, the bouquet of flowers still in his hands.

It was hard to name the emotions that began to flood through her as she watched him disappear around the corner. His shoulders had been slumped. His head had hung low. It was the walk of a dejected man. Tears flowed down her cheeks freely as whatever hope she had deluded herself into holding quickly fizzled out, like the last remnants of a fire.

She could infer quite easily as to what Jem had asked her mother, and she could thus imagine what Mrs Martin had told Jem in reply. It was 'no'. Would it have ever been 'yes'? Could it have ever been 'yes'? Cressie has been certain of it for a time. She had been certain that given enough time, her mother would understand that Jem was her choice. Mrs Martin's greatest desire for Cressie was for her to be married, and she was accepting a man with no resistance.

Only, Cressie sadly accepted, her mother's true wish was for Cressie to be married well.

A painful hiccough ripped itself from Cressie's throat as she let out an unholy sob. She pressed her forehead against the glass of the windowpane and gripped hold of the sill as her shoulders shook violently. She still could not name the feeling that was tearing through her body, but for what she had heard of it, it could only be considered heartbreak.

Cressie felt soothing hands on her back suddenly, before one gently lifted her face off of the glass to turn her. Cressie met the sympathetic grey-green eyes of her mother as she frowned with pity.

"Cressie dear," she said knowingly, before she brought her into a hug.

Cressie wrapped her arms around her mother for a lack of knowing what to do. She needed to hold onto something, someone, as she wept violently. The front of her mother's bodice became saturated almost instantly. Mrs Martin held Cressie comfortingly, rubbing her hands over her back as she had done when Cressie was small.

"Mama, please!" Cressie begged, her voice thick with emotion, and muffled as she spoke into the fabric of Mrs Martin's dress. "Please, change your mind, I beg you! I won't be happy with anyone but him. I love him!"

"Shh," hushed Mrs Martin calmly, continuing to rub Cressie's back. "Oh, my girl, my sweet, sweet girl," she cooed. "You are so naïve, darling child. You do not yet understand love, especially the fickleness of first love. What you are feeling is not love, and it will pass, I promise you."

Cressie pulled her head away and rubbed her eyes free of her tears so that she could look upon her mother clearly. She sniffed as she said, "I don't agree, Mama!" Cressie challenged. "I think you're wrong. Naïve, I may be, but this is not fickle. Don't you want me to be happy? I know you do! Please, Mama, please change your mind. You need to help me. You are meant to help me."

Mrs Martin sighed, shaking her head. "And this is your very naivety showing, my love! You do not see how I am helping you! You do not understand that every choice and decision I make is for you. Mr Denham is a lovely boy, a charming boy, I am sure. He is a credit to his lovely village mama, but he is nothing more, he will not ever be more than he is now, and that is not enough for you, Cressie!"

"But it is! He is!" Cressie cried.

Mrs Martin fished a handkerchief from her pocket and sat Cressie back down on the stool she had been occupying by the window. She proceeded to dry Cressie's eyes and wipe her nose for her as though she were an infant.

"One day you will understand," she murmured, "and I pray you will thank me for this." She rested her hand on Cressie's cheek briefly, before uttering, "I would never steer you wrong in marriage, Cressie. I would never subject you to the humiliation I suffered at the hands of your father. I would not be able to live with myself if you were forced to bring up a child in poverty as I have had to raise you. Do you not see how much of a failure I feel I am already?" It was Mrs Martin's turn now. Her own eyes became glassy as tears began to well up. "Can you not see, Cressie?" Mrs Martin implored, her voice breaking. "Can you not understand what it is I am doing for you? After everything I have done to bring you up a lady, as best as I could, this is the final test. You ... you would not spit in my face after everything I have done! Would you? You would not! I know that in your precious heart you know and understand what is right."

Cressie could not do a thing but cry. She hated to cry. She hated that she did not know what to do but cry. She felt like she did not have any choice, any say. Her mother was reminding her of her obligation, her responsibility to care for Mrs Martin after everything she had done to bring Cressie up in their situation.

"Oh, my dear," sighed Mrs Martin again as she returned to cuddling Cressie comfortingly. "I know you are upset, but this is why you are so good. Because you will do the right thing. And I promise that you will be happy."

Cressie whimpered, powerless.

"Do you know what? I think you are ill," decided Mrs Martin. "I think we shall remain at home for a few days to recover. A little time away from the pressures of society will do you good, I think. And when your absence is noticed, it will prove to you just how much you are cared for by some in particular."

***

Cressie spent the next several days in the same position, sitting in the stool by the window, watching the street. She did not expect Jem to return, but that did not mean that she did not hope to see him once more.

She couldn't imagine what her mother had said to him. Was she cruel? She had never known her mother to be cruel, but what could she have said to Jem Denham to make him leave and not come back?

Cressie still felt a keen pain in her chest, as though there was a chain fixed around her heart connected to another, and the further away he pulled, or was pushed, the more her heart hurt.

Three days after Mrs Martin had sent Jem away, another gentleman arrived at the house on horseback. This was the first time that Cressie had seen Mr Delaney arrive at their home as she was not usually looking over the street as she was.

She had heard him speak of his horse before in passing, when he had mentioned some of the animals he kept on his estate. Cressie believed the horse's name was Dabney, or something along those lines. He was certainly a striking, chestnut coloured animal.

But as the horse slowed, he seemed to spook at something. He must have spotted something frightening as even from where she sat, Cressie could hear the horse cry out as it reared, and Mr Delaney fell from its back onto the street.

She watched as Mr Delaney, with an irate expression on his face, got to his feet and brushed off his breeches, before he seized hold of the horse's reins and yanked them down roughly.

He suddenly had a riding crop in his hand, and that only made the horse more panicked. Mr Delaney did not use the crop, but he kept a very tight hold on his horse's reins as he controlled him.

A gentleman passer-by soon came to assist, and together the men managed to calm the horse and tie his reins to the lamppost outside of the Martins' home. Mr Delaney then approached the front door and Cressie finally looked away as she heard a knock from downstairs.

Cressie touched her cheeks but felt that they were dry. She was not crying. She tried to smile, but she physically could not do it. She was incapable of even pretending to be happy and charmed.

She heard Mrs Martin's delighted welcome travel up the stairs, and she knew it would be only moments before she would need to appear delighted as well.

And then Cressie realised something. She realised something that was plainly obvious now that it had occurred to her. Her life was not her own. It never had been.

Cressie's life would belong to Mrs Martin until it could belong to her husband.

And then the tears fell.

Mrs Martin's footsteps quickly travelled up the stairs, and she said an admonishment under her breath when she saw the state of her daughter. "Cressie!" she huffed. "Control yourself. Mr Delaney has come, and he wishes to speak with you alone." Mrs Martin dried Cressie's eyes with a handkerchief and pulled her to her feet, before she fluffed the hem of Cressie's dress.

"Mama," Cressie whispered, "please do not make me go to him."

"Be a good girl now," Mrs Martin insisted. "Listen to your conscience." She quickly surveyed Cressie's appearance, tucking a stray tendril of hair back into her braided bun, before she turned Cressie's shoulders and nudged her towards the stairs.

Before she could even think, Cressie was shut inside the parlour room, where Mr Delaney was waiting for her, facing the lower window out onto the street. The moment the door was shut, Mr Delaney turned, smiled, and bowed his head.

"Miss Martin," he greeted. "My dear, Cressida, how good it is to see you looking well." His cool, grey eyes appraised her appearance, and the widening smile on his lips told her that she pleased him.

Mr Delaney was always dressed immaculately, but today he wore a fine navy coat with delicate silver embroidery, the handiwork alone showing it to be an expensive garment.

"I have worried after you," Mr Delaney said when Cressie did not respond. "You have had dreadful luck with illnesses."

"Y-yes," Cressie confirmed her mother's lie. "Yes, I have."

"Well, you would be pleased to know that it does not show," replied Mr Delaney. "Your youthful beauty is to be envied wherever you go."

Cressie was meant to be thankful for the compliment. She felt anything but. She wanted to run. She wanted to run to Jem and be saved. But nobody could save her. Nobody was coming to save her. Not even Mama.

"Miss Martin, won't you sit down?" Mr Delaney invited. "There is something that I wish to discuss with you."

Cressie thought that this was a good idea as she was afraid her legs might buckle beneath her. She nodded and elected to sit in the available armchair so that Mr Delaney could not sit beside her. He chose to stand before her rather proudly.

"I understand your shyness, Miss Martin. Cressida," he uttered. "Women, lovely, young girls like you, are always shy when it comes to matters of the heart. Believe me, my dear one, you only endear yourself to me more with your ... reluctance." Cressie's eyes were focussed down on the rug on the floor, but she could hear the smile in Mr Delaney's voice. "In coming to know you this Season, I have found you to be exactly the type of young lady I would want to select for my wife. You are beautiful and endearing, and so amenable. You are a clever girl who does what she is told. I find myself in a fortunate position where I am able to choose a wife without care for her financial circumstances. I am well aware you would come to me with nothing, and I am gentleman enough to be willing to take care of you, as you will take care of everything I desire."

Was the chair shaking? Or was Cressie trembling? She could hardly make sense of anything that Mr Delaney was saying as her mind and heart raced. She was beautiful and he was a gentleman and someone was amenable and ... desires ... what ... what desires?

"Look at me, Cressida," Mr Delaney commanded in a calm tone.

Cressie's eyes found his steel grey irises quickly, and he smiled pleasingly. "Good," he uttered. "Now, I have a rather important question to ask you. Cressida Martin, will you please do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

Cressie was frozen still as she stared up at the waiting gentleman. As she exhaled her last breath, she did not take another. She felt as though her autonomy had left her just as the air had escaped her lungs. Though she was not looking at them, she felt him reach down and secure her hands in his, using them to pull her to her feet. She was unsteady as she had not been expecting the movement, and Mr Delaney's hand was suddenly on her hip, steading her. He was close. Too close.

Her mind seemed to take her to Jem to calm her. To imagine that he was the one holding her, he was the one standing so close to her. Cressie basked in the comfort of those memories, in the safety and freedom that she had felt in those blissful moments of possibility. But as quickly as they had come, her memories were overshadowed by the hulking presence that was her duty to her mama. Cressie knew that Mrs Martin was listening at the door, praying for this very moment. This is what she had sacrificed all for. This is what would finally make her happy.

As the last little piece of her heart died, Cressie nodded her head, accepting this man as her betrothed. 

----

I just keep making things worse, don't I? What is wrong with me? Whoa, let's not open that door ;)

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE LOVE!! Honestly I cannot thank everyone enough for their kindness over the past couple of weeks. I had my surgery last week and have been recovering since. 

It was a bit of an eventful day. I was having a panic attack, as I usually do, and the nurses could see I was in a state. One even literally walked in when I was changing into my gown and asked if I needed help and I'm like, pants around my ankles, saying "NO!" Please knock, omg. Then I'm sitting in the waiting room clutching my bag for dear life and the nurse tells me I need to get it together lol. Majority of them were so lovely, this one just did not help haha. 

Oh, then, get this. They have to weigh you before surgery to know how much anaesthesia to give you. I'm very proportionate for my height, I'm very tall, so I'm not a 50kg/110lb girl otherwise I would be wildly anorexic. I'm healthy and normal for my height is what I'm saying ahahah. Anyway, so the nurse looks at my weight on the chart, then at me and frowns, and she goes, "Is this right?" and I'm like, "Uh, yup," and she smiles and assures me that I don't look it. 

CAN WE PLEASE STOP COMMENTING ON PEOPLE'S BODIES IN 2022 OMG! Big, little, tall, small, we're all beautiful, and commenting one people's bodies is just not okay, even if you think you're giving a compliment. 

Anyway, I woke up and basically wanted to go home from the get go. But I was so hungry as I'd been fasting. I'd missed lunch, so it was another two hours before they brought me any food, by this time I was about to start munching on my blanket. And they brought me sandwiches that were covered in butter and egg and everything I hate. I literally started crying. I cried over sandwiches. I called my mum because I couldn't control it. I think it was the drugs hahahah. So I ate the crusts around the butter and filling, and then when I finally got to go home, I got take out, and it was delicious. 

So I've been recovering the last week and a bit, and I'm doing better. Still a bit of pain, and I'm still moving slowly. But I'll get there. 

I hope you've all had wonderful weeks, and thank you all again for your kind words. You don't know how much I appreciate it. 

Vote and comment xxx