by Sheila Walsh
Lady Margerson, who considered pallor in a bride to be an essential requisite, thought that her protégée looked almost beautiful, though she could have wished for more flounces and much more lace ‒ and bridesmaids. She sighed heavily over Heron’s wishing to celebrate his nuptials in this hole and corner fashion.
‘Such a highly respectable marriage, my love!’ she had murmured through her tears, having recovered from the initial shock of arriving at Clearwater to find Pandora on the verge of matrimony. ‘Far away and above anything I could have hoped for, though I am sure I shall never forgive you for being such a sly-puss as to keep it from me!’
But though she could have wished for more people in the church to honour so solemn an occasion (in her opinion, a mere eight people including the bride and groom and the priest could be considered little short of niggardly!) she had to own the ceremony itself to be most moving. Supported by Mr Varley, she wept silently and copiously throughout, no more so than when Heron took Pandora’s hand in his.
Fitz performed his part with careless grace and kept his thoughts to himself, as he had done when Heron first confided the news to him with the wry observation that he was like to be accused of cradle-snatching. Fitz wondered a little, but only said in his droll way: ‘Never knew you to give a toss for what anyone said of you, dear old fellow. If the little lady is content, I don’t see you beginning now.’
But watching Pandora when they returned to Clearwater for the wedding breakfast, Fitz thought her composure to be a little more on the fragile side than was usual; on at least one occasion when she believed herself to be unobserved, her hands crept up to her cheeks in a gesture which he might well have attributed to an excess of maidenly nerves, had he not also seen the expression in her eyes when they rested for a moment on Robert. It was the despairing look for someone yearning for that which is beyond their reach. Just for a moment he surprised in himself a strong surge of anger against Robert.
Pandora was in fact finding the occasion something of an ordeal, yet she could not wish for the day to end, knowing that she would then be alone with the Duke.
If only dear Lady Margerson would not keep throwing out arch hints about love nests. Her ladyship had partaken rather too liberally of the champagne and was by now inclined to be sportive. The final embarrassment came when she began to quiz her about the honeymoon.
‘I’ll wager Robert is to take you somewhere very special?’
‘Oh! I … that is …’ Pandora’s glance flew to Heron as a palpable silence ensued.
‘We have not settled anything as yet,’ he said smoothly. ‘We thought to stay at Clearwater for a while and decide where to go at our leisure.’
William, who had been debating with himself his chances of attempting what remained of the syllabub, looked up with sudden interest.
‘Are you going away?’ he asked. ‘Oh, good. If it’s somewhere interesting, can I come too?’
‘Incorrigible boy!’ Lady Margerson’s ample form shook. ‘As if Robert would want you along to spoil the sport!’
The syllabub momentarily forgotten, the boy looked from one to the other. ‘Sport? Is it to be a sporting holiday, then? I don’t think my sister will enjoy that very much, will you, ’dora?’
His sister could feel the tide of colour flooding her face. She hardly knew where to look until, inadvertently catching the Duke’s eyes, she found amusement lurking in their depths and the tension was dissolved in laughter.
More mystified than ever, William turned to Mr Chessington who smiled gently at him.
‘’Tis nothing to fret over, dear boy. Just grown-ups behaving foolishly. We frequently do, you know.’
William gave up in disgust and returned to the far more interesting pastime of investigating the contents of the dishes on the side table.
‘I’m sorry that you should have been embarrassed,’ said Heron when he later walked with her to the suite in the west wing. Her belongings had been moved that morning from the guest bedchamber she had occupied since her arrival.
‘It d-doesn’t matter,’ she said, striving for a light air. The housekeeper had already made her familiar with the wing. ‘This is his grace’s room, ma’am,’ she had said, leaving Pandora with an impression of rich velvet hangings and much dark woodwork. ‘And next to it a dressing room, and this will be your bedchamber, ma’am …’
They stopped now at the door and Heron opened it, standing aside to let her enter. It was a beautiful, gracious room and looked the more so in the soft lamplight. The young maidservant who had been appointed to look after her turned from her tasks to bob a curtsy, saw that her mistress was not alone and in a shy soft voice murmured something about forgotten towels and slipped from the room.
Pandora smiled nervously, averted her eyes from the bed and crossed to the dressing table, aware that he followed her. She rearranged several of the little porcelain ornaments and dabbled her fingers in an open dish filled with pot-pourri.
‘I wondered why the house smelled so fresh and sweet when I first came, but I see these are everywhere.’
‘Grandmère brought the receipt with her from France. You had better ask her for it since you get on so well together.’
They were making conversation, thought Pandora in a panic. He would think her so terribly gauche. The mirror against the wall showed their faces very close, his a little above her, shadowed like strangers.
‘There is so much to learn,’ she said jerkily. ‘I hope I may not disgrace you, sir.’
Heron turned her to face him. ‘You could never do that, my dear.’ He cupped her chin in his hand, smiling down into her eyes. ‘But you will have to stop sir-ing me, you know ‒ and there must be no more my lord Duke either. My name is Robert.’
‘Yes. I will try to remember.’ Her answering smile was fleeting, her voice reduced to a whisper by the beating of her heart right up in her throat.
There was a wholly unstudied pliant look about her as she swayed towards him. It took him off guard. He kissed her softly parted lips and they clung to his with a sweet innocence such as he had not known in a very long time.
Desire stirred in him and he caught her close, his mouth growing more demanding.
Taken by surprise, Pandora stiffened momentarily and then began to tremble. Heron cursed himself for a fool; in the face of her innocence all his years of careless philandering rose up to accuse him, and he released her almost abruptly.
‘You must be tired,’ he said huskily. ‘Get to bed now. I’ll send your maid to you.’
It sounded very final. Pandora knew that she had blundered. With a sense of urgency she watched him stride to the door and knew that she must find the courage to speak before he left the room..
‘My lord … Robert. Please wait!’
He turned in that half-impatient way by now so familiar to her, as though he could not wait to be gone.
She clasped her hands nervously in front of her. ‘You must be aware that I have never … that is, oh, I do so want to be a proper wife to you … but you will have to help me.’ Dear God, what a mull she was making of it! How gauche he must think her. Perhaps if she cared less, she would put it better.
Did she, Heron wondered bleakly, have any idea how much like a sacrificial offering she appeared, standing there in her demure dress, a tell-tale trace of desperation in her eyes? With a muttered exclamation he returned to her side and took the pale face between his hands, feeling an instant quiver run through her.
‘Don’t!’ he said tersely. ‘Don’t look like that! There is all the time in the world. I have no intention of rushing you into anything before you are ready.’
‘I am ready,’ she said tremulously. ‘Quite ready, I promise you.’
His eyes searched her face and she met them unwaveringly.
‘Well then,’ he said softly.
But their wedding night was not an unqualified success. Heron was full of tenderness, but his concern lest he hurt or frighten Pandora put an unnatural constraint upon him, and this
in turn confused his bride, who from lack of experience was unsure quite what was expected of her and so strove to subdue the wild unfamiliar urges of her body. Thus, in spite of his assurances that next time it would be different, she was left with a sense of unfulfilment and the lingering impression that she had somehow failed him.
Lady Margerson and Fitz returned to Town the following day, and in all the bustle of their departure it was easy enough for Pandora to show sufficient animation to fend off curiosity.
Her ladyship took her leave amid tears of happiness, and expressed the hope that she might see them in town before long.
‘Shall you present her, Robert?’ she asked, catching Heron on his own for a moment.
‘I think not,’ he said, frowning. ‘The autumn will be soon enough.’
‘The child will certainly find her life vastly altered.’ Lady Margerson glanced at his impassive face and, recalling his rackety past, said with sudden urgency, ‘You will be good to her?’ Almost at once she wished the words unsaid, for he pokered up and assured her in his most distant manner that such was his intention.
William too left them to return to the Brearly’s. It had been decided that for the present he should continue there to pursue his studies, returning to them at the weekends.
It seemed very quiet when they had all gone. Heron was in his most restless abrupt mood, and Pandora was suddenly assailed by the enormity of the step she had taken. With the memory of the previous night like an invisible barrier between them, she wondered if he might not already be regretting his quixotic marriage.
She longed for a return to their old relationship. They had always been able to talk ‒ had never been awkward in one another’s company as they were now. But one could not go back. Perhaps marriage was always like this where there was not mutual love; if so, she must strive to adjust to it.
At dinner she made a determined effort to be cheerful despite the formality of the surroundings, and in part at least she succeeded, for as though suddenly realizing his shortcomings, he began to respond in kind and though he drank rather more than was usual, the remainder of the evening passed off reasonably well and her own stretched nerves began to ease.
That night she lay for a long time staring up at the ornately gilded tester of the vast bed, its ceiling depicting the Judgement of Paris, with the beautiful god-like young man leaning forward to bestow the golden apple upon Aphrodite. Occasionally, as the pretty French clock on the mantelshelf chimed with exquisite tuneful precision, she glanced towards the door that divided her room from Heron’s.
As time passed she shrank a little further into her pillows. She shed no tears, but when she could no longer delude herself that he might come, she extinguished the lamp and turned on her side, curling up in a ball for comfort.
In the room beyond, Heron was slumped in a chair, a brandy bottle at his elbow. In his mind’s eye he was seeing Pandora at dinner, her face pale with the strain of trying to show a brave front. He heard again Lady Margerson’s exhortation to him as she left. Finally he cursed and reached once more for the brandy bottle.
The days passed with surprising swiftness as Pandora subjugated her disappointment in a philosophical resolve to become, outwardly at least, the kind of duchess of whom Heron could be proud. And as if to show approval of her good sense, she found her husband unexpectedly accommodating.
In fact, the Duke had made a discovery. He did not want Pandora as a dutiful wife. For perhaps the first time in his life ‒ certainly since the early days of his infatuation for Mariette his feelings transcended mere selfishness, and this being so, he resolved to do what he should have done sooner; he would woo his wife with patience ‒ a virtue he had not hitherto practised to any marked degree. He had little doubt of his ability to teach Pandora to love him, but this time he would not rush his fences.
So it was that Pandora gradually became aware of a subtle difference in their relationship. She could not define it, but she accepted it with gratitude.
Soon the Duke and his young Duchess were regularly to be seen driving or riding round the estate and the home farm. It surprised Heron to see how very much at ease Pandora was already with people.
‘Well, I expect I find them easy to know because they are the kind of people I understand,’ she explained. ‘I called on Mrs Briggs yesterday. She has made my little cottage very pleasant.’
‘Your cottage?’ He glanced at her quizzically. ‘Do you then still hanker after it?’
‘Oh no.’ She blushed a little. ‘I am beginning to find being a duchess most agreeable.’
He laughed and she blushed the more.
In the house she was less confident. It was so grand and she was diffident lest any ideas she might propose in the way of change should offend some unknown shibboleth. Yet she very much wished to introduce a few more homely touches.
‘The house is very beautiful,’ she confessed anxiously. ‘But it is a little like … like …’
‘Living in a museum?’ he supplied with a whimsical drawl.
‘Well … I did wonder whether, perhaps, in just one or two of the rooms … the little drawing room, for instance? Now that could be much more welcoming with only a very little change. It gets nearly all the morning sun.’
‘My dear child, do as you please. It is your home now, and heaven knows, it needs a woman’s touch.’
Pandora needed no further encouragement. In a very short time bowls of flowers began to appear everywhere and the place took on an air of being lived in.
‘We shall make a hostess of you yet,’ Heron said, lounging in a chair with one leg thrown carelessly across its ornately gilded arm, and watching in some amusement the growing authority with which his wife directed a pair of footmen in the rearrangement of the furniture in the little drawing room. ‘The house already feels more alive than it has done for years. Grandmère tended to favour formality in her younger days when she took some interest. Mama, of course, never liked Clearwater and hasn’t been here in years.’
‘Your mama?’ Pandora, flushed from her exertions, looked up in surprise, brushing back a strand of hair. ‘Is she not … that is, I had always assumed she was dead?’
‘Good Lord, no! Or at least, not to my knowledge.’ His grin had a boyish air. ‘She married again, soon after my father died, when I was nineteen ‒ a diplomat of sorts. The last I heard they were in some benighted South American state, but it could as easily be China by now. Mama don’t trouble herself with tedious correspondence!’
‘And the Comtesse is her mother?’
‘They never hit it off. Mama was ever a butterfly,’ he added as if that explained all.
And when one remembered the rigid conformity of the Comtesse, it did.
‘Oh, that reminds me, sir.’ Pandora saw him lift an eyebrow. ‘I’m sorry. I do try to remember, but it isn’t very easy …’The eyebrow quirked. ‘Robert,’she said obediently, her mouth curving into a quick, crooked smile. ‘Do you think, Robert, that your carpenter could adapt a chair with wheels? It would then be possible to get the Comtesse out into the garden. It can’t be good for her to be for ever indoors. The sun is so warm, and at the very least she could sit on the terrace, though I hope in time she might consent to let me push her down as far as the lake …’
Heron stood up, his tawny eyes mocking. ‘I shouldn’t think you’ve a chance,’ he drawled, ‘but I doubt that will deter you.’
‘It is certainly worth a try, if you’ve no objections. We could take the children, too,’ she added enthusiastically. ‘Have a picnic!’
He strolled to the door. ‘I hope when you say “we”, you do so in the purely regal sense, and do not think to include me.’
‘Coward!’
He put his head back round the door. ‘And Madame Daubenay won’t love you, either.’
Pandora sighed. It was true that Madame had not taken to her. Clearly she resented Pandora’s frequent visits to the old lady and the growing closeness between them, the more so as she saw how much good t
hese visits were for her charge. Jealousy was evident in the cold eyes that followed Pandora’s every move, but she didn’t mean to be put off.
As soon as the chair was ready she set about convincing the Comtesse that she would come to no harm if she was suitably wrapped up and that she need go no further than the terrace if she did not care to. In the end it was Madame Daubenay’s opposition to the scheme that decided the matter. The Comtesse resented being ordered about and commanded the chair to be brought.
Before long a small procession was regularly to be seen making its way down to the lakeside on fine days ‒ the Comtesse being pushed by a footman with Pandora at her side, the nursemaid following behind with the children and two more footmen bringing up the rear carrying the picnic.
The old lady blossomed as though she had been released from prison; the gardens rang with laughter as Pandora encouraged Edouard to run about like any other child instead of behaving like a tiny adult.
Sometimes, at weekends, William would consent to accompany them. He treated the little ones with a kind of lofty tolerance, but struck up a curious friendship with the Comtesse.
And even Heron, for all his declared abhorrence of these family airings, was occasionally to be found in their midst.
But these new pleasures suffered a slight setback when they were obliged to go briefly to London, the Duke and Duchess being commanded by the Regent to attend a glorious fête at Carlton House in honour of Wellington, the all-conquering hero. Pandora was in a quake at being flung so drastically into society.
‘Must I go?’ she pleaded, to be told with unusual brusqueness by her husband that it would be the height of ill-manners to refuse the royal summons.
Her anxiety was only partially alleviated by the decision to take William with them. There were to be great celebrations in London’s parks for the entertainment of the populace. Mr Oliver had written to tell William so, one of the many highlights being regular balloon ascents.
‘It would be a great pity if William could not be there,’ she explained to Heron, plumping up the sofa cushions and settling back with her feet tucked under her. ‘He is very grateful to you for the handsome way you have sponsored Mr Oliver.’
