Authors: Fenella J Miller
Somehow she
mumbled through her vows, smiled bravely during the wedding breakfast and far
too soon was at his side to wave her parents and relatives away. Without
thinking she turned to him imploringly. 'My lord, I shall miss my family
sorely. May I invite them to stay later in the year?'
He shook his
head. 'No, not this year, my dear, perhaps they can come when you have produced
a child for them to dote on.' His arm was hard around her waist and she was
firmly escorted inside. 'Go upstairs and change into your habit, I thought we
could ride around the estate this afternoon. I know you explored the park
yesterday, but I should like to show the rest to you myself.'
'I should enjoy
that above everything, I shan't be long. Do we expect further visitors today?'
His eyes
darkened and he lowered his voice so the ever present butler could not
overhear. 'I thought you would be tired this afternoon and wish to rest.'
His meaning was unmistakable, there
would be little rest involved of that she was quite certain. Despite her
sadness at his high-handed actions she could not help smiling at the thought of
what was to come. His lips curved and he dropped a light kiss on her brow.
*
The weeks passed in much the same fashion.
During the day he was distant, always aware of his position, never letting down
his guard for a second. However, when he came to her room at night he was her
darling Alexander, and she lived with these moments. He was assiduous in his
attentions and she prayed she would not conceive immediately. If his visits
stopped because of her pregnancy she would have nothing to look forward to.
Maynard, the supercilious
housekeeper, appeared punctiliously at noon each day with the menu but Isobel
was not required to do more than read it. She had nothing to do apart from
playing the pianoforte, painting
water-colours
of the
grounds and reading her novels. Alexander usually rode out with her but during
these rides she learnt little about the estate as they stayed within the park.
Sometimes he was absent and she didn’t ask where he went. On the days he did
not come to her at night he remained in his study drinking heavily.
When her monthly
courses appeared for the third time things changed. Even his lovemaking became
less passionate as if already he considered her incapable of producing the much
wished for child. That it was her fault was indisputable. After all, had he not
already fathered two children during his first union?
In October a
group of his friends arrived for the shooting and hunting. They were mostly
objectionable gentlemen and she did her best to remain aloof from them. She
wrote to her aunt and uncle and heard that Petunia had accepted an offer from a
young man who had limited prospects but unbounded love. Dearly she wished she
could change places with her cousin, material possessions were nothing without
affection.
Alexander removed to Town returning
a few times each month to do his duty by her. The joy she had once found in his
lovemaking was fading. Although he was still more relaxed in the privacy of her
chambers he no longer seemed as approachable as he had in the beginning. It
became painfully apparent that his sole reason for coming to her bed was to
conceive a child.
As the festive season approached she
asked Alexander what celebrations would take place at Newcomb. He shook his
head.
'Nothing at all, Isobel.
We attend church and
give Christmas boxes to the staff— apart from that we have no traditions.'
'May I arrange
to decorate the house? Could we not invite our
neighbours
?
I know it is customary to leave a newly married couple alone initially, but
more than six months have passed since we were married and still we have no
visitors or invitations.'
'I thought you
understood that I don't entertain here. The ball and garden party were
exceptions to my rule. I
organised
the events for you
in order to mark your wedding day. If you wish to mix then you must come to London
for the Season.' He smiled sadly. 'It would appear there is no reason for you
to be confined to the country.'
She flushed;
there was nothing she could say. She was apparently unable to have children,
small wonder he had little interest in her. To be saddled with a barren wife,
after he had paid so much to get her, must rankle.
‘I’ve no wish to
go to London, thank you. However, I have no objection if you prefer to be
elsewhere at Christmas.'
His eyebrows
shot up at her impertinent comment. 'There's nothing to keep me here, I shall
do as you suggest and go to Town, and you must please yourself whilst I'm gone.
I shall arrange for your allowance to be paid in coin in future. You have my
permission to spend it as you wish.'
When his
carriage left the next morning she remained in her bed chamber unwilling to
appear before the staff with her blotched eyes and running nose. One thing she
could do with the pile of gold he'd given her, was send for Mary and Sam. She
was sure they could find themselves a cottage nearby and bring her beloved dogs
with them. Being able to visit with them would give her something to fill her
empty days.
*
Sam and Mary were safely installed in a cottage
which could be reached by walking through Home Wood. It needed some repairs to
make it habitable but these would soon be done. Ebony and Othello were
overjoyed to be reunited with her.
'Mary, I shall
come as often as I can to walk the dogs. However, I must be vigilant as Foster
and Maynard, as well as the unpleasant girl who has replaced you, spy on me.'
'I'm surprised
Lord Drummond did not refuse his permission for us to take the dogs. But he
seemed happy for them to go and made no enquiries as to where we were taking
them.'
'He obviously does not believe I
shall ever return to Bracken Hall to visit, he and my husband must have come to
an arrangement on that score.'
'Will you be
requiring luncheon today?'
Isobel frowned.
'Rochester is bringing down a group of his friends for the shooting. The Season
will be starting next month. Why could they not remain where they were?'
'You mustn't be
tardy, the duke will wish you to be there to greet his guests when they arrive
and you must change.'
'Indeed I must.
I shan't be able to visit until he and his guests have gone. Take care of
yourselves and my dogs.'
The wind was
bitter. Sam had predicted there would be snow before the day was out. She
prayed it would come soon and prevent the unwanted visitors from setting out
from London. She no longer looked forward to Alexander's return for there had
been no further glimpses of the man she loved— the tender and passionate lover
who said shared her bed for the first three months of their union. The
interludes they spent in bed were still most enjoyable, her body always
responded willingly to his touch, but she believed he was no longer fully
engaged in what they did.
She hurried in
through the side door hoping to return to her chambers without comment. She was
waylaid by Maynard, the usual supercilious sneer on her face.
'Your grace,
I’ve been waiting for you to approve the menus for the visitors.'
Isobel stiffened
and for once did not
apologise
. 'It's of no interest
to me what you have been doing, Maynard. It is your duty to be there when I
wish to see
you
not the other way round. Kindly remember that in
future.'
The woman
recoiled, unused to being reprimanded. She curtsied, her navy bombazine
rustling noisily. 'I beg your pardon, your grace. When will it be convenient
for you to see the menus?'
‘I’ve no
interest in them, whatever I say will be ignored, so in future don't bother me
with such trivia.' Isobel walked off wishing she had held her tongue
,.
Her duty was to view these things and Alexander would be
most displeased when he heard. That he would know was certain, the staff at
Newcomb were loyal to him, treated her as an interloper even after almost a
year as their mistress.
She took the
little used back stairs and braced herself for another confrontation. Cranford,
the
abigail
Alexander had appointed, had taken to
setting out her gowns without requesting permission to do so. Every morning
Isobel felt obliged to insist something else was fetched, although if she was
honest, quite often the ensemble selected by her maid was a better choice than
the one she chose for herself.
Her bath was
waiting in the small anteroom used for this purpose. She hastily disrobed glad
that she'd forbidden Cranford to enter during her ablutions. Today the warm
water failed to soothe her and she did not linger. Quickly donning the
necessary underpinnings she stepped through from the bathing room to her
dressing-room to see what had been put out today.
'I thought the blue velvet
afternoon-dress might be suitable, your grace. I don't believe you've worn it
more than once and certainly not when there have been guests at Newcomb.'
Isobel prepared
to argue but was too dispirited. 'It will do. Please dress my hair plainly, no
ribbons or feathers.'
In silence she
sat whilst her hair was arranged to her satisfaction, raising and lowering her
arms when necessary. After collecting her cashmere shawl she left her apartment
without a second glance at herself in the mirror. What did it matter if she looked
her best? Alexander no
longer
noticed and he was the only
gentleman she wished to approve of her appearance.
She was standing
dutifully in the freezing entrance hall when the party arrived. Alexander
strode in first and smiled briefly before removing his caped coat and tossing
it to the waiting footman.
'My dear, that's
a most becoming gown. The weather has deteriorated and I thought we might have
to abandon our trip. However, we are here now, but I doubt there'll be much
shooting.'
'Did any of the
wives accompany the gentleman this time, your grace?'
'Unfortunately,
this visit was arranged too quickly to allow the ladies to join us. It might be
better if you did not dine downstairs, but that's entirely up to you.'
Her heart
lifted; perhaps this gesture showed he still thought of her a little. 'Thank
you, my lord. I would much prefer to remain apart when there are no ladies
present.' The gentlemen would drink too much and behave accordingly—far better
to be safe in her apartment until they left. There was something she needed to
tell him, but now was not the time as, accompanied by a flurry of snow, the
gentlemen poured in.
She retreated
halfway up the grand staircase, from there she curtsied and bid them welcome before
hurrying back to the sanctuary of our own chambers. Her dinner was brought to
her on a tray, as always it was beautifully cooked but stone cold. The kitchen
was so far from the main part of the house she rarely ate a meal that was more
than warm.
The mantel clock
struck nine. If she slipped down now maybe she could find Alexander in his
study and tell him she was unavailable tonight. Her monthly course had arrived
that very morning. He usually timed his visits better; she was regular as
clockwork so it was easy for him to avoid the few days she could not welcome
him to her bed.
There had seemed
no necessity to change so she was still wearing the blue gown from the
afternoon. The wall sconces were lit along the wide passageway and there was no
need to carry a candlestick at Newcomb unless one wished to go downstairs when
all the staff
were
abed.
The noise coming
from the drawing-room gave her due warning what to expect if she encountered any
of the inebriated gentlemen within. A footman stepped out and bowed.
'Is the duke in
his study?'
'I believe him
to be in the billiard room, your grace.'
Botheration! She
could hardly go there to speak to him, she had better write him a note and
leave this in his dressing-room. Hopefully he would not be so foxed he could
not read it when he retired. She was about to return when a gentleman holding
two glasses of wine staggered out from the drawing-room.
'Your grace,
have a drink with me. We missed your lovely presence this evening.' He wove his
way towards her. She could not get past him. Several other guests appeared in
the doorway to watch the confrontation.
'Thank you, sir,
but I’ve no wish for a glass. If you’ll kindly allow me to pass, I wish to
return to my apartments.'
He leered at her
and thrust one of the glasses into her hand; she had no option but to take it
or allow it to smash onto the tiles. She
waited,
her
expression icy, for him to move. To her horror he lurched forward and with his
free hand attempted to touch her face. Her reaction was instinctive. She flung
the glass of wine into his face. This was enough to stop him momentarily.
Dodging past the spluttering gentleman she shot up the stairs before he could
do her more harm. The whoops and cheers that followed made her fear they would
decide to give chase.