by Daphne Bloom
“I hope so, my lady,” she says.
“Julia is as fine as any well-bred lady,” her father interjects. “She had a very fine governess from Paris who had been educated at an abbey.”
“That is good to know,” my mother says. “Indeed, it can be hard to learn manners late in life. These things must be instilled from birth.”
“Mrs. Davenport and I could not agree more,” Mr. Davenport says. “We have always made Julia’s education a priority. For all our children, really.”
“But what do you enjoy doing, Julia,” I ask again. “Not what you have been trained to enjoy. If you have a free afternoon with no expectations, how do you spend your time?”
“Who has a free afternoon?” Julia asks with a chuckle. “Mother has been teaching me how to run a household. It seems the work is never done.”
“I suppose idle pleasures are the provenance of the nobility,” Mr. Davenport says, and I must admit that I am impressed by his candor. “Julia is a hardworking young lady, Lord Henry. She is industrious and dutiful. A fine wife for any man with a sizeable household or estate.”
I nod and give Mr. Davenport a smile. “I am sure she is.” I raise my goblet. “To Miss Julia Davenport.”
“To Miss Julia Davenport,” everyone else says at once.
Julia blushes and giggles, flattered by the attention. She is fairly pretty I suppose, though the complete opposite of Lily, with dark hair and brown eyes. She’s young though, nineteen. I can’t help but wonder if she truly knows what she could be agreeing to if I was to propose.
I have to set my glass down and shift in my seat as the thought makes me a little queasy. It’s not the girl’s fault. Indeed, I suppose there is no real fault to be found with her. But the idea of proposing marriage to anyone but Lily turns my stomach. Of course, even if I did ask, I don’t know if Lily would accept. She is as deserving of a fully capable husband as anyone. I know that with her father being ill, she’s running out of time and options and would possibly accept if I asked. But would it be right? Could she be truly happy with me? I am not sure.
And I suppose it is a moot point anyway. Father would never approve the match. I simply can’t understand it. If I can look past her quirks enough to marry her, can’t Father look past them enough to have her as a daughter-in-law?
If I’d had another brother or if Alice could have another son, perhaps he could. But as it is, he is terrified that my wife, whoever she is, will one day be the Countess of Pembroke. He refuses to accept that Lily would be capable of the role.
The way Lily is able to devote so much time and attention to her plants, I am sure she could learn the basics of running a household. And I could hire the best people to help her. A mindful lady’s maid or a meticulous secretary of her own.
But even with those concessions, I know that there is also the concern that any son Lily might have could be peculiar too. It’s one thing for a girl to be strange, but a man… An heir. An earl. What if we had a son who could not carry on the title? I have to admit, that would be cause for concern. But who says that Lily’s condition would carry to the children? Her parents, her sisters, her nieces, as far as I know they are all perfectly normal. Perhaps the fear is as completely unfounded as believing that I could pass on my broken bones to a child.
I groan to myself. The whole situation has me running around in circles in my mind and it is exhausting. My only options are to convince my father to accept Lily as a daughter-in-law or give in and propose to some other girl he already approves of, like Julia Davenport. The latter seems far more likely than the former.
“Shall we go through?” Mother asks, laying her napkin on the table. Everyone mumbles their agreements as they stand, the ladies to the card room and the men to the smoking room. This is when the true business of the evening is to be discussed. And tonight I know that Father and Mr. Davenport are going to discuss a match between myself and Julia. I only pray the night does not end with an engagement that I cannot get out of.
One of the footmen helps pull my chair out and then get to my feet. I’m still sore from the thrashing George—rightly—gave me, but at least I can walk again. The good doctor did indeed put me in touch with the Indian doctor he knew, Dr. Patel. The stretches are painful, but I was back on my feet sooner than I expected. I suppose there could be some use in them…
By the time I make it to the smoking-room, Father and Mr. Davenport are already sitting next to one another with their glasses of Scottish whiskey.
“Are you ready for this?” George asks me as we linger near the door. After sitting for so long, I’m glad to stand for a few minutes. George is watching Father and Mr. Davenport as intently as I am.
“You don’t think they will come to an agreement without asking me, do you?” I ask.
George shrugs. “If I were you, I’d go back out there and propose to the girl yourself before Father does it on your behalf. At least then you could claim some sort of agency over the whole thing.”
“I don’t know her,” I say, “except that she’s as interesting as a blank canvas.”
“She’s only putting on a show,” George says. “I’m sure that in a less formal sitting she would open up more.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” I say with a sigh. “Still, I’d like to know that before we were wed.”
“You might not—”
“Ah! There he is,” Mr. Davenport says, raising a glass to me. “Come have a drink, son.”
“Lord, give me strength,” I mutter. I walk over and take a seat across from him and Father. A footman offers me my own glass of whiskey.
“To new friends and family,” Mr. Davenport says, raising his glass.
“Indeed,” Father says. “Cheers.”
I give a small nod and then down the drink, holding my glass up for another.
“Mr. Davenport and I were just saying that we think you and Julia would make an excellent match,” Father says.
“Based on what?” I ask.
“Well, Julia is a lovely girl,” Father says. “She’s well-educated. She knows how to run a household. Not an estate, exactly, but she’s capable of learning.”
“Yes, I know all that,” I say. “But what makes her suited for me? Do we have anything in common? Would we get along?”
“Julia gets along with everyone,” Mr. Davenport says. “A very pleasant girl.”
“But I don’t know her,” I say.
“That’s what marriage is for,” Father says with a laugh and Mr. Davenport joins him, the two clinking their glasses together.
“Does she know that I’ll soon be an invalid?” I interrupt, and the men stop laughing.
“That might not be true,” Father says.
“Julia and I have full confidence that you will recover,” Mr. Davenport says.
“No,” I say. “You need to be realistic. It is far more likely that my condition will only deteriorate. Does Julia know this?”
“Don’t be so negative,” Mr. Davenport says, reaching over and patting my knee. “You’ll get better. You’ll see.”
“Don’t talk down to me, sir,” I say, my irritation growing.
“Henry,” Father warns.
“That was not my intent,” Mr. Davenport says, trying to placate me. “I just don’t see a reason to worry about what might happen years from now. I’m sure you have many years of vitality left before it comes to that.”
“Vitality?” I ask. “Is that what you’ve told Julia? Sir, I hate to be blunt, but man to man, I’ve not been with a woman since the accident.”
“Henry!”
“No, Father, he needs to be aware. And so does Julia. I told you that those were my terms. I’ll not marry any woman under false pretenses.”
Father looks to George for support, but George shrugs and asks for another drink.
“Please, Mr. Davenport,” I say, leaning forward, trying to find a way between being honest and polite at the same time. “I wish for my wife, whoever she is, to be happy. Julia does not st
rike me as the sort of girl who would be happy without a husband and children. Of course, it is possible that we could have children. It is possible that I could recover. But the opposite is just as likely, not less likely. In fact, it is probably more likely.”
I scoot forward in my seat and look Mr. Davenport in the eyes. “I will only consider marrying Julia if she is made fully aware of my situation. Do you understand? She needs to tell me herself, with her own mouth, that she understands.”
“I’m not sure it is an appropriate discussion—”
“You think it is not appropriate for a woman to know the health status of the man she wishes to marry? Come now, do be reasonable.”
“Mr. Davenport,” George finally says, “this is not a reflection of my brother’s feelings for your daughter. He will not allow any woman to enter this marriage with blinders on. He won’t start his marriage with a lie.”
Mr. Davenport is quiet for a moment, but then he puts his glass down and looks back at me. “I admire your frankness,” he says. “It cannot be easy to express so much to a man you hardly know. But I agree. As much as I want my daughter to make a good match, I want her to be happy as well. I admit that I…downplayed the severity of your situation to her. I will correct that. I’ll speak to her privately on the matter and let her come to her own decision. Does that please you?”
I’m so surprised by Mr. Davenport’s words, I can only nod at first. “Yes…yes, of course.”
“Good.” Mr. Davenport stands and shakes my father’s hand, then mine. “It might take a few days for Julia to come to a decision.”
“There’s no rush,” Father says as he claps the man on the back and escorts him to the door. “Let me know as soon as you have your answer and we will arrange another meeting for Julia and Henry to get to know each other better.”
“I like the sound of that,” Mr. Davenport says. We all say our goodbyes, then Mr. Davenport is escorted out by the butler. As soon as the door is closed, Father lets out a long exhale.
“You almost ruined everything, you know?” he says. “You possibly still have. He might have only agreed so he could leave as quickly as possible.”
“Let’s not jump to any conclusions,” George says. “Let’s just wait a few days, shall we?”
“Very well,” Father says. “But no more excuses,” he says directly to me. “If that girl agrees even after learning everything I expect you to propose.”
“I can’t promise—”
“Don’t give me that—”
“Henry! Father!” George says, exasperated. “Please, just call it a night. No more discussion until we hear back. Agreed?”
Father presses his lips, obviously wanting to say more, but he opens the door and leaves the room without another word. As soon as he’s gone, I’m able to let out the breath I was holding.
“Thank you, George,” I say.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he says. “You’ll have to have a damn good excuse to get out of proposing if she accepts your true condition. You need to accept the fact that marriage is on the horizon.”
“I know,” I say.
George nods and bids me goodnight as he leaves the room as well, giving me a moment to myself. Can I do it? Can I really propose to that girl?
My eyes fall on a flower arrangement on a nearby table. I walk over to it to get a better look. I can’t name most of the flowers in it, but there is a pale yellow rose the same color as Lily’s hair and I’m immediately struck with a pang of sadness.
I don’t know if Lily has any feelings for me. If she would even accept me if I asked to court her. But the fact that I’ll never even have the opportunity to ask breaks my heart.
Chapter Thirteen
Lily
In my little greenhouse at the back of the terrace, I finally find some peace. For days my sisters have spoken of nothing but who they should invite to dinner and when. I hate the very thought of it. I know I cannot escape attending any dinners, but at least I don’t have to be involved in planning them.
I can’t stop thinking about Henry Pembroke and how much pain he seemed to be in after he tumbled down the stairs at Lord Ellsworth’s home. Of course, then I am reminded of how I acted the fool in front of him. In front of everyone. I’m not sure if I can ever face him again, but I can’t bear the thought of him in pain.
In a mortar, I add a few dried flowers and herbs that I think might help with leg and back pain. Feverfew and ginger can help when applied topically, while valerian root tea will help him relax and sleep, and sleep always helps regenerate the body.
I grind the feverfew and ginger with a few other items, then add the concoction to a small bottle of olive oil. I put a good amount of valerian root tea into a small bag along with instructions on how much to drink before bed. I put both items together in a small basket and go back inside the house to find someone to send the package to Henry. I find a footman willing to make the short journey to Lord Pembroke’s city home and then attempt to return to my garden, but Constance catches me.
“Lily! Where have you been?” she asks me, out of breath and her face flushed.
“The greenhouse,” I say. Why does she never seem to understand me? Where else would I be?
“You must come with me,” she says, dragging me to the stairs. “Elise has gone into labor.”
“What?” I ask as we both quickly climb the steps to the second floor.
“She woke complaining of pain in her lower back and feeling nauseous,” Constance explains. “And then while I was trying to convince her to send for a doctor, her waters broke!”
I grimace a bit at that. I like children well enough, I suppose, but the act of childbirth does not appeal to me.
Constance leads me into Elise’s room where I am met with groans of pain. Elise is on her bed, the covers pulled back, gripping the hand of her lady’s maid.
“The doctor should be here any moment,” Constance tells Elise.
“Oh, what can he do to help? This baby is coming!”
I stand there dumbly, wishing to be anywhere else as I hear my sister cry out with another birth pang.
“Lily!” Constance calls. “Help her! Mop her brow.”
I wrinkle my nose but know that I must stay and do something. This is not the first birth I’ve attended for my sisters, but that doesn’t make it any less agreeable. Still, I know I should do something to help. I kneel by the bed and use a cloth from a basin of water to keep the sweat from her eyes and help her stay cool.
“Oh, why is this happening now?” Elise asks between pains.
“Because it is the baby’s time,” I say.
“It’s too early… It’s too early,” she pants and a few tears escape her eyes. I have nothing to say to that. I know the baby is early, but it is too early to survive? I don’t know. I hope the baby will be healthy.
“Perhaps this is for the best,” I say.
“What?” Elise asks.
“If the child is a boy, maybe we can all go home.”
“You’re thinking about that now?” Then Elise lets out another grunt as she grits her teeth.
“I rarely think of little else,” I say. “If it is a boy, do you think Papa will give me my dowry?”
“I’d give you your dowry now to shut up!” Elise yells.
“I can see the head, my lady!” a maid says, looking under a sheet that is draped over Elise’s knees.
“Do you wish me to leave?” I ask Elise.
“Get out!” she screams, and I do as she commands. I’m sure Constance had good intentions in asking me to attend Elise. She seems to see such events as a sort of bonding between sisters, but I’d rather be anywhere else. Still, I know I should stay nearby. If I was to return to the garden and something happen… Well, childbirth is always a precarious endeavor, is it not?
I see the doctor climbing up the steps two at a time before he quickly disappears into the bedroom. I pace the hall, chewing my thumb as I listen to Elise’s grunts of pain. Hopefully I’ll be of some
use to Elise after the birth. I have a good store of dried red raspberry leaf tea in the greenhouse that can help prevent bleeding after childbirth. I’m about to go and fetch it when I hear a baby cry.
My heart hitches in my throat. Is it a boy? I’m almost afraid to enter the room and ask. But at the same time, I cannot wait. I open the door and step back into the room.
I see Elise crying and Constance trying to soothe her. I fear the worst, that the baby has died.
“What happened?” I ask. “Is the baby… Did something happen?”
“The babe’s right here,” Elise’s lady’s maid says. I see that she has already rinsed and wrapped the baby. She walks over so I can get a look at it. The baby is a bit smaller than Judith—Elise’s first child—was, but it looks perfect. Its eyes are closed and it opens its mouth in a great yawn.
“Oh, Elise,” I say, taking the baby in my arms and bouncing it gently. “He’s beautiful.”
“It’s not a boy,” Elise cries. “It’s not a boy!”
I freeze and my heart drops when I realize that I’m holding not the much-needed Derby heir—but another niece.
I feel tears rush to my eyes and hand the baby back to the maid before rushing out of the room and down the stairs to the comfort of the terrace. I race to the back of the lawn and the shade of the tree line where I drop to the ground and let myself weep.
That baby was my last chance, my last hope that Papa might leave me my dowry without marriage. But that hope is now gone.
I’m out of options.
“What are we going to call her?” I ask Elise the next day as I sit on the bed next to her. She’s rolled away from me, staring at the closed windows. Constance carries the baby as she walks back and forth through the room.
“What does it matter?” Elise mumbles. I glance at Constance, who has a worried face. Since the birth, my usually vibrant sister has fallen into a dreadful melancholy. She hasn’t gotten out of bed. Hasn’t fed the baby. A wet-nurse had to be called in. Constance has taken the lead in making sure the baby is well-cared for, though I hold her when Constance needs to rest. Elise’s husband should arrive soon, then he can oversee the baby’s care. I have heard that melancholy after birth is fairly common, but I’m sure that this is no routine sadness.
