No one had heard of Antonia and Simon’s betrothal, and much time was spent in exclamations and congratulations to the future bride and groom. Later, after an excellent dinner and several sets of country dancing, Antonia mentioned the fact to her intended when they went outside for cooler air. “It seems odd that no one read about our engagement.”
They had been strolling across the brick patio, but her words caused Simon to stop, a guilty expression on his face. “I daresay I forgot to post the notices to the London newspapers.” Seeing Antonia’s dismayed expression, he added apologetically, “I’m afraid I forget things with some regularity.”
Antonia stared at him. How could he forget something so important? She made an effort to keep the sharpness from her tone. “It isn’t really important. It’s just that I want everyone in Britain to know how lucky I am.”
“I’ll post the letters tomorrow,” he promised.
She thought a moment. “We might as well wait and send in a notice after the wedding, since it is only fortnight away.”
“Very well.” Simon gazed down at her, laying a hand over hers where it rested on his arm. “A fortnight seems an eternity.”
“It does indeed,” she murmured, her voice as husky as his. The light from the drawing room emphasized the clean planes of his face and shadowed the faint cleft in his chin.
But even as they gazed raptly at each other, Antonia could not quite still her doubts. For the first time, she wondered if she was as important to Simon as he was to her.
* * * *
Once planted, doubt grew with startling speed, and with it came tension. The next day when they were riding, Antonia presented a carefully reasoned plea for spending a substantial part of the year at Thornleigh. Of course, time must be spent in London and at the Launceston estate in Kent, but to her the Peak District would always be home.
Though she could visit here alone, she would much prefer having the company of her husband. She had no desire to have a fashionable marriage where the partners scarcely ever saw each other.
Simon’s noble brows were drawn together during her speech, and she believed he was well-inclined to her proposal. But when she finished speaking and asked his opinion, her betrothed remarked thoughtfully that the contours of the Peaks reminded him of an area in Switzerland where glaciers had gouged out the rock.
Irritated that he had not been listening to something so important to her, Antonia snapped at her betrothed. His face had closed up immediately; she had seen before how he could withdraw behind an unbreachable barrier, but this was the first time he had done so with her.
With a mental curse for her unruly tongue, she apologized immediately. Though he apologized in turn for his distraction and assured her that the spat was forgotten, they began to be wary with each other.
Ten days before the wedding, tension escalated to full-scale battle. They were having tea together in the morning room when Antonia asked about provisions for health care and education among the Launceston tenants.
Simon looked blank. “I have no idea what the situation is.”
Raised by a Whig nobleman who constantly emphasized the responsibility that privilege carried, Antonia was deeply shocked by his answer. Not wanting to think badly of her beloved, she said, “I suppose you haven’t been back in England long enough to become familiar with conditions on your estate.”
With unfortunate truthfulness, Lord Launceston replied, “To be honest, when I was at Abbotsden it didn’t occur to me to ask my steward about such things.”
“If you don’t take an interest in your tenants’ welfare, who will?” Antonia pointed out with what she considered perfect reasonableness.
“Isn’t that what stewards are for?” Simon answered with equal logic.
“No matter how competent a steward is, one can’t count on him to take an enlightened interest.” Antonia struggled mightily to keep her exasperation from showing, but was not entirely successful. “For that matter, many of them will rob their masters blind if not closely monitored.”
Simon sighed. “I daresay you are right, but I find the idea of keeping my employees up to the mark quite tedious. I would far rather be at my studies.”
“Natural philosophy is all very well,” Antonia said tartly, “but one’s responsibilities must come first. Are your tenants adequately housed and fed? Is medical care available? Did your father have an enclosure act passed, and if so, have the freeholders who are injured by such acts been properly compensated? Are promising children given the opportunity to advance themselves through education?”
With a flash of irritation, Simon said, “Since you are so concerned with the welfare of my dependents, I give you leave to arrange such matters after we are married. Certainly you enjoy managing far more than I do.”
“An excellent idea,” Antonia said tightly. “Someone must be concerned for their well-being, and obviously it won’t be you.”
Their ideas about what was important differed sharply, and with shocking suddenness they moved from amiability to alienation. Simon withdrew into the detachment that upset her so, his handsome face chilly and remote, but she could see the pain in his intense blue eyes.
Impulsively she reached out one hand. “Simon, I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to be a managing female. You were not raised to be the heir, and it is beastly of me to criticize you for not immediately becoming a model landlord.”
He clasped her hand hard, his expression softening with relief. “But you’re right, Antonia. The Launceston estate supports many people. It’s a disgrace that I don’t even know how many dependents I have, much less what their condition is.”
He shook his head ruefully. “A tragedy that my brother died. He was much better at practical matters than I. That’s why we never got on, actually. Will you help me learn what I should know? The well-being of my dependents is more important than my dabblings in natural philosophy.”
In an instant she was in his arms, clinging as if an embrace could erase the unpleasantness, her face muffled against the smooth weave of his blue coat. “I should not have said what I did. Any country squire can oversee an estate. Your intelligence and talent for natural philosophy are far rarer and more valuable. In the long run, it is thinkers and scholars like you who will improve the lives of everyone.”
He held her tightly and she raised her face to his. This time, when they kissed, an undercurrent of desperation ran between them.
* * * *
A bespectacled gentleman was reading in the library when Judith entered, and for a moment she didn’t recognize him. Then he glanced up and she realized it was Lord Launceston.
Amazing what a difference a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles made. Though he was still the handsomest man she’d ever seen, his scholarly air made him look more like a professor than a romantic hero.
Characteristically oblivious to the effect he produced, Simon rose politely and held up the volume he was reading. “I see from the inscription that this is your copy of
The Theory of the Earth.
I hope you don’t mind my reading it. My own is in Kent, and there is something I wanted to check.” He laid the book on the table. “Tell me, what do you think of Hutton’s ideas?”
“I can see why he is considered sacrilegious by those who believe the earth only six thousand years old,” Judith replied cautiously, “but his theories appear sound. It seems logical that the earth has been formed over eons of time, from many different processes of water, wind, and heat.”
“I agree. Someday James Hutton will be considered the father of geology. His theories have the simplicity and logic of brilliance.” After they had both settled in the comfortable library chairs, Simon asked, “Have you read much geology?”
She waved her hand deprecatingly. “Some. All nature is fascinating, but plants and flowers interest me more than rocks. When I was a child, nature was a great solace.”
“Oh, yes, I recall that Antonia told me that you do wonderful drawings of wildflowers,” Lord Launceston said with every evidence of interest. “I’d like to see them sometime, if you didn’t mind showing them to me.”
“Really?” Judith said doubtfully.
“Really.” Simon’s smile was reassuring. “Good art enables one to see the world in a new way, and I would expect you to draw very well indeed.”
“My drawings aren’t really art. They are just accurate records of local botanicals,” Judith cautioned, but she was already heading to the far end of the library, where a portfolio of her drawings was stored. It was impossible to resist the opportunity to show off work that she was secretly very proud of.
She expected him to flip through the portfolio quickly, but Simon took his time, examining every drawing carefully and reading the notes that she’d written on the side. When he finally looked up, his blue eyes glowed behind the spectacles. “Your drawings are lovely in themselves, but far more important, you have the eye of a natural philosopher. Every detail is rendered with exquisite accuracy. At least, it appears that way to me. Have you considered having these published?”
“Publish my drawings?” Judith said, surprise even stronger than her pleasure at his good opinion. “Who could possibly be interested in common wildflowers?”
“Many people, when they are as well done as these.” He grinned. “It won’t be enough people to make you rich, but I imagine you would find it satisfying to reach a wider audience.” He glanced down at the portfolio again. “I gather from your notes that many of these are flowers found only in the high country. That would make an interesting focus for a book.”
“What you say is very flattering,” Judith said, “but I haven’t the faintest idea of how to find a publisher.”
“I know a man in London who publishes serious works of natural science, including studies of wildlife. In fact, he is the one who has been alternately coaxing and threatening me to finish my paper on geology. With your permission, I’ll send him a sample of your work.”
“Of course you have my permission,” Judith said with a delighted smile.
She allowed herself to savor a warm glow of pleasure. Even if the publisher was uninterested, Simon’s respect and approval gave her an insidious satisfaction. She might not be beautiful and charming like Antonia, but she had a few talents that the other woman lacked.
It was an unworthy thought, and Judith immediately chastised herself. Thinking of her employer, she asked, “Where is Antonia? I thought you were going riding together.’’
Lord Launceston glanced away, the enthusiasm he had shown for Judith’s work fading from his face, leaving his expression cool and unreadable. “Antonia went alone. I find it unnerving to watch the suicidal way she hurls herself down the hills. I made the mistake of telling her that yesterday.”
Judith rolled her eyes, trying to make a joke of it. “I’m sure you learned your error quickly.”
“Indeed.” His faint smile was humorless. “She said I could ride like a slowtop if I wished, but she had no intention of doing the same.”
“Oh, dear.” Judith’s brow furrowed, knowing the words were inadequate. “You know she didn’t mean it.”
“Oh, she meant it, though she didn’t intend insult,” he said dryly. “Antonia’s quite right. I can stay on a horse well enough, but I’m no great rider. Nor a whip, for that matter. To me, horses and carriages are transportation, not a passion.” He absently removed a red-gold hair from his sleeve. “She apologized.”
Looking beyond his words, Judith asked quietly, “Is something wrong?”
Lord Launceston removed his glasses and stood, moving across the room with his natural grace to gaze out the window at the Peaks. His voice was halting. “I d-don’t know. We keep quarreling. Then we are both aghast and make up immediately.” He turned his palm up vaguely. “The issues are usually trivial, but we seem to be always on the verge of a row. I detest rows.”
He turned to face Judith, appeal on the lean sculpted planes of his face. “You have been married. Is it possible for two people to be in love, yet to hurt each other constantly?”
Judith saw the same tension in Lord Launceston that had been visible in Antonia for the last few days. Though her experience of marriage was hardly such as to make her an expert in love, she tried her best to offer guidance.
“Perhaps you are suffering a reaction to the speed with which you fell in love with each other,” she suggested. “All couples have disagreements. Indeed, from what I have observed, much of a happy marriage is agreeing to disagree. You made a commitment to each other very quickly and are only now discovering your differences. That does not mean you will not suit.”
He turned again to stare unseeing out the window. “Antonia and I seem to be doing that quite often. Agreeing to disagree.”
“That is the beginning of learning how to rub along comfortably,” Judith said, trying to be encouraging. “It’s merely a matter of time, of learning each other’s ways.”
Simon sighed. “Perhaps that is what we need. More time.”
Bending his head, he wearily massaged his temples. Lord Launceston was a very private man, and Judith felt honored that he treated her as a trustworthy friend. She ached for his unhappiness, wanting to say something that would banish the shadow from his eyes. “When two people love each other, almost anything can be worked out. You will see.”
He raised his head and gave her a long look. “Thank you, Judith. You’re very wise . . . and very kind.”
She felt absurdly warmed by his praise.
* * * *
Even though there was strain between Lady Antonia and Lord Launceston, overall the four members of the house party blended well. Usually mornings were spent on personal activities. Antonia took care of her estate responsibilities, Judith conferred with the housekeeper or worked on her drawings, Simon read scholarly texts that he had purchased on his return to England, and Adam dealt with formidable quantities of papers sent to him by his London commercial agent.
In the afternoons, they usually did things as couples. Evenings were spent with the four of them talking and laughing from dinner until bedtime.
The day after Simon and Judith had talked in the library was an exception. Since the weather was fine, the four of them decided it was time to make an all-day excursion to the upland village of Castleton.