us. Every meal, every day. Thank you for that, Mrs. Redfern.”
Marianne’s eyes watered. She squeezed them closed. “It’s not enough.”
“Not enough for what? Not enough for a cook to feed everyone at an academy?”
Not enough for me to be proud of myself. Not enough to go home.
Because she couldn’t go home until she did so in triumph. And that was the one thing she could never feel until she did return. Until she felt forgiven herself. You’re not the only one who had losses, Jack had told her, and she’d been the cause of them.
Mrs. Brodie stepped away. Marianne heard the rattle of the older woman’s lamp. She opened her eyes to see the headmistress, aglow with light from the lamp she held. “You are an exceptional young lady.”
Marianne dashed at her eyes. “It’s in the name of the academy. They all are.”
“Yes, they all are. There is no such thing as an ordinary young lady, because each is a human entirely unique.” The older woman tipped her head, as lovely as a Madonna painting. “And that includes you. Don’t you think your kitchenmaid always knew that? Not the newest ones, but the erstwhile Mr. Grahame?”
Each is a human entirely unique. The simple sentence, spoken with calm, struck Marianne like a thunderbolt.
She’d faulted Jack for placing his family’s needs above her, hadn’t she? Even though she knew they didn’t balance. She was just one person, and they were many. But it wasn’t a matter of mathematics or weight. It was a matter of people, and each was worthy.
To Jack, Marianne was. That was why he’d come to London—when he’d thought maybe, just maybe, she’d think him worthy of her.
And she’d sent him away. Just as she had cut herself off from her own family, all because of her own anger and humiliation.
“I’m not proud of what I’ve become,” Marianne said in a choked voice.
Mrs. Brodie shrugged. “Maybe not all of it, no. I could tell you what I’ve done to survive, and you’d think—well. That’s a story for another time.” She looked thoughtfully at the lamp’s globe, rubbing at a smut on the glittering glass. “But whatever comes, you’re equal to the task. Isn’t that something to be proud of?”
I deserve the best and am prepared for the worst. Whatever comes my way, I am equal to the task.
She’d heard this daily from the young ladies, believing it idly. But she hadn’t known it until Jack appeared at the tradesmen’s entrance of the servants’ quarters with a little basket of strawberries in hand. Until he was part of her life again, and then wasn’t.
He’d hidden a truth she couldn’t possibly argue with, that he wanted to visit his sick mother, and he cared about helping Marianne make a success of the Donor Dinner. Those things were...sweet. Thoughtful. If he hadn’t hidden his betrothal to Helena Wilcox eight years before, she wouldn’t have thought anything of it. She’d have chided him for the surprise of four new maids, then come around to thanking him.
But they had a history, and his swift and sudden betrothal had been part of it. The now was never just now; it was the result of everything that had come before. Their present was too new to overlay the past, and so the past had cracked through. And though she’d forgiven him for it, what was the point in forgiving him again if he hadn’t changed?
Or had he?
By hiding his betrothal until the humiliating truth came out in public, he’d spared himself alone. But by hiring four kitchenmaids to help Marianne, he’d spared her. He’d thought about what she would need in his absence. And she’d been vain to think she could do without extra help; all four of the Js, plus Marianne and Sally, had been busy since the moment of Jack’s departure.
Oh, he was worthy. He was the best. But he’d never come to her again.
She’d have to go to him. To swallow her pride, and go home, and beg forgiveness.
If that was the worst, she was prepared to do it. She was equal to the task. She’d make everything right.
Mrs. Brodie was still looking at Marianne, now with a knowing curve to her lips. “Something to tell me?”
Marianne took a deep breath. Stood up straight, realizing she’d lost the heavy, exhausted feeling that had been weighing her down. “I need to beg leave of you, ma’am. To make a trip home as soon as is possible. It might be...quite a long leave.”
“Very well. Will