Passionflower Betrothed

It was a strange fact that the long life of a man could fit into a book, but the short life of a woman could not.

Jane had been engaged to Andrew for five years. Five years of waiting, of his mother asking her to make sure she was ready, of his friends remarking on how well she’d done for herself, and Jane waiting, always waiting.

She’d bought a whole new wardrobe for their wedding day. She’d practiced her vows so many times she didn’t need the paper anymore. She’d had her hair cut and curled and kept in place with pins and bands and powder. And yet… nothing.

That was how it went with Andrew. It wasn’t that nobody else saw it, because they did. Andrew had always been attentive to Jane, but he was also heir to his father’s estate, which meant that he was often called away on urgent business or to take care of matters at home. The more money the family made in trade, the more those who needed favors would seek him out. There were always letters to read through and decisions to make about investments and taxes and land disputes; there was always some way in which Jane could be useful.

Andrew had never missed one of their meetings, though, even when she could tell from his eyes that he wanted nothing more than to lay down whatever he was dealing with and spend a few hours with her. Instead he’d pull up a chair next to hers and bend over her sewing or help her dye cloth or plan their garden. He’d once told her that he liked looking at her hands at work because they were so much smaller than his own, delicate and nimble against the folds of fabric or the seeds. He knew what she needed before she did, how much tea she drank during the day or what color ink looked best on her skin or how sharp her scissors were getting; he knew everything about her except why he hadn’t married her yet.

On the eve of their wedding day there was a great deal to do, so Jane laid down her sewing when the clock struck eight-thirty and set off for the kitchen to cook dinner for those who might be back before dark: mostly just Andrew himself; after all, no matter what time it got back here tonight, they would still be married tomorrow morning before noon. They would have barely enough time together between now and then for an afternoon nap so neither one of them would see each other in their wedding clothes until just before the ceremony began; but that would be fine because it would give them something new to look forward to in what otherwise seemed like such a short few days together.

Jane walked down the hall toward the door that led downstairs when someone else chose that moment to come out of another room – someone tall with dark hair who wore a smile as wide as hers when she saw him standing there; someone whose hand brushed hers as they walked into each other in surprise without turning away fast enough; someone who took her hand again in both of his after they managed not to fall down despite having nearly collided into each other – someone who hadn't seen each other in almost two months – someone whose name happened to be Andrew too – someone who happened to be Jane's husband-to-be - someone who definitely should have known better than to touch another woman as soon as four hours before their wedding day!