July 1865
The manor-house of Ferndean was a building of considerable antiquity, moderate size, and no architectural pretensions, deep buried in a wood. I had heard of it before. Mr. Rochester often spoke of it, and sometimes went there. His father had purchased the estate for the sake of the game covers. He would have let the house, but could find no tenant, in consequence of its ineligible and insalubrious site. Ferndean then remained uninhabited and unfurnished, with the exception of some two or three rooms fitted up for the accommodation of the squire when he went there in the season to shoot.
To this house I came just ere dark on an evening marked by the characteristics of sad sky, cold gale, and continued small penetrating rain. The last mile I performed on foot, having dismissed the chaise and driver with the double remuneration I had promised. Even when within a very short distance of the manor-house, you could see nothing of it, so thick and dark grew the timber of the gloomy wood about it. Iron gates between granite pillars showed me where to enter, and passing through them, I found myself at once in the twilight of close-ranked trees. There was a grass-grown track descending the forest aisle between hoar and knotty shafts and under branched arches. I followed it, expecting soon to reach the dwelling; but it stretched on and on, it would far and farther: no sign of habitation or grounds was visible.
I thought I had taken a wrong direction and lost my way. The darkness of natural as well as of sylvan dusk gathered over me. I looked round in search of another road. There was none: all was interwoven stem, columnar trunk, dense summer foliage--no opening anywhere. I proceeded: at last my way opened, the trees thinned a little; presently I beheld a railing, then the house--scarce, by this dim light, distinguishable from the trees; so dank and green were its decaying walls. Entering a portal, fastened only by a latch, I stood amidst a space of enclosed ground, from which the wood swept away in a semicircle. There were no flowers, no garden-beds; only a broad gravel-walk girdling a grass-plat, and this set in the heavy-
"Lady Mary?"
I looked up from my book and smiled, "Lord Bedford! What a surprise, I did not know you were coming!"
"A pleasant surprise I hope?" Lord Bedford questioned, his smile wavering slightly.
"Yes, very pleasant!"
His confident smile returned once more, "Good. I was not planning on coming by today but I was passing by and just had to ask you something."
"Yes?"
He got down on one knee and I faintly heard my mother gasp from the corner, "Lady Mary Collins will you marry me?"
I panicked for a moment, my heart beat so fast I feared that it might pop of of my chest. Of course I knew that this would come up one day, I just did not think this morning that today was the day I would be proposed to. This past year has been amazing and Lord Bedford and I got along really well. He did live a five hours away so we did not see each other often but Lord Bedford always visited when he traveled by our estate. We mainly just enjoyed each others company when he visited and took walks around the property when the weather was nice. Maybe it was just me being naive and childish when I thought marriage would be a terrible thing.
"Yes," I grinned, my eyes started to water with happy tears.
Lord Bedford's eyes lit up, "You have just made me the luckiest man in the world! I have to go now put promise that you will come up to Bedford with me and meet my family in two weeks time; I wish to show them my beautiful bride!"
"Of course." Lord Bedford bowed kissing my hand and then exited, the butler showing him out. Married, I smiled, how strange it is to imagine.
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Lords and Bandits (#Wattys2017)
Random"We are merely stealing from a society in which has given nothing to us." ********* Mary has never had any desire to get married, in fact she despises almost everything about marriage. In 1864 marriages among the upper class were still more of a bus...
