I lifted my eyes and looked at him warily. “Very honorable,” I said. “Here we are. The picture of two obedient offsprings, willing to give up everything for the sake of money, title, and position. A pure union of convenience.”
A moment later, I rose to my feet and brushed off the crumbs from my skirt. “Would you care to walk with me?”
“If you wish,” he said.
He rose to his feet and offered his arm, which I gladly took. A gust of wind pushed up the brim of my hat, and I grabbed it before it flew off like a kite. I did not wish to look at my parents nor John’s. We started to stroll, and I became curious about my surroundings.
“How many acres?” I asked.
“Fourteen hundred,” he replied.
“What is that odd looking building over there?” I pointed toward a square tower on top of a nearby hill.
“It is a hunting tower,” he replied.
“May I see inside?”
“Yes, of course, but shouldn’t you ask permission from your parents to depart from the picnic?”
“No. Let us be scandalous and run off.” I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him forward. He voiced no protest. A smile burst across his face. I dared not turn around to see the gasps of my mother and father. We were clearly in their sight. Surely, they would not worry as long as they could see John behaving himself. I trusted him implicitly not to take advantage of the situation. After all, he had not shown an ounce of interest to tempt me otherwise.
When we approached the structure, I stood there surveying the stonework. “So what is a hunting tower anyway?” I asked. Frankly, I had no idea. Did the men go up to the top and shoot deer passing by?
“Its original purpose was a lodge for hunters when built in 1580. The park keeper used it for a cottage for many years, but it is empty now.”
“Can we go inside and climb to the top?” I tilted my head and looked at the three-story structure. It would surely have a prime view of the vast acreage of the estate. John glanced back toward the party guests no doubt looking for any parental objections.
“Of course. I see no harm in it,” he said.
He opened the entrance and led me inside the dark building. The window shutters were closed, but light illuminated the room from the open door. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, and my nose wrinkled from the dusty and mildewed smell. A narrow staircase led to the second floor, and I followed John to the third. He flung open a door, and we exited to the rooftop. The bright sunlight caused me to squint, readjusting my gaze again. I walked over to a waist-high stone perimeter and peered at the expansive landscape.
“How beautiful.” The scenery mesmerized me for a moment, bringing a reprieve from the awkward moment. John stood closely by my side. We remained silent. The wind rustled the trees nearby, and another windy gust flung my hat off my head. It took flight like a bird and whirled in the air.
“Oh my goodness,” I shrieked. “It is quite windy up here.” I laughed while I watched my sunhat flip-flop across the green grass. At least it tumbled toward the picnic guests, and I hoped that Mother would grab it as it flew by.
My hairstyle fell apart around my shoulders. Strands of hair whirled around my head in wild disarray. John reached out and brushed a lock out of my eyes. Embarrassed over his touch, I lowered my head wondering if he would do anything more. Would he dare kiss me? I doubted that he would before our engagement. Of course, I still had not received a proposal of marriage either, though we both knew that to be the ultimate goal. Why did he hesitate to ask?
Slowly I lifted my head. He looked terribly sad, and I wondered why. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I am fine,” he responded. John turned his head away from me. “We should return.”
My plan for a romantic moment alone vanished. I resigned my fate with a sigh and followed him down the stairs and out the door. We leisurely returned to the party, and I saw that my mother had caught my hat, after all.
“Did you have a pleasant walk?” she asked, handing over my bonnet.
I flashed a feigned smile. “Yes, it was quite enjoyable.” No Mother, it was a complete disaster, I thought to myself. After the failed attempt to bond with my intended, I wanted to return to Blythe Court and hide in my room. Maybe I would have an epiphany on how to win his heart.
Loveless Proposal
On Sunday evening, I prepared for our last dinner together. Melanie had been an excellent lady’s maid, tending to my needs. She helped me dress and styled my hair. As I observed her pamper me, a part of me envied her simple life.
“When I return, will you still be here?” I had considered keeping her services as my attendant.
“You mean when you marry his lordship?”
“Oh, you know about that do you?”
“Everyone does, my lady. It’s the talk of the staff,” she responded in a strained tone.
My brow rose. “I do not mind if you speak about it,” I added. “It is merely an arrangement.”
“We all think that you are fortunate to be marrying his lordship,” she replied.
Melanie quietly finished my hair and helped to fasten a necklace around my neck. I rose from the vanity and grabbed my gloves.
“Well, then, I wish to thank you for helping me this weekend. If or when I do return on a permanent basis, I would like you to be my attendant. Would Mrs. James agree to such an arrangement?”
“If?” she repeated. She looked at me curiously.
“Well, I have not received a proposal as of yet. The marquess hesitates to ask me, even though our parents have all but signed the contract.”
“Oh, I see.”
“If I do return as his wife, will you be so kind as to attend me?” I eagerly asked again, hoping that she would agree.
A broad smile spread across her face. “Oh, yes, my lady, I would be honored.”
“It is settled then,” I said. “You may go now, Melanie.”
She curtsied and left me to assess my appearance in the mirror one more time. My attractiveness, I believed, pleased him. As far as my companionship, that was yet to be determined. If he felt so inclined, this evening would be the time to propose. Perhaps he would decide to court me for a few more months. I despised not knowing what to expect in the hours ahead because it heightened my anxiety.
As I descended the stairs and joined the guests in the sitting room, my nerves tingled with apprehension. Most of the invitees arrived for drinks before dinner. John caught my eye and came over to my side.
“Lady Seddon,” he said.
“Lord Broadhurst,” I replied. My voice answered in the same glib tone as his own.
For a few quiet moments, he stared at me without speaking a word. I did the same in return, enjoying his attractive face and dark hair but not swooning over him like a silly schoolgirl. Instead, I considered him like any other acquaintance. If he had shown me an ounce of affection the entire weekend, I might feel different. His lack of interest in me as a woman wounded my delicate ego.
“Have you enjoyed your stay at Blythe Court?” he asked.
Surprised he initiated the conversation, it took me a second to formulate my answer. Should I tell him the truth how I really felt? I decided upon a half-spoken falsehood if such a thing existed.
“For the most part,” I replied, trying to restrain my other sentiments.
Before anything further could be said, the room filled with the remaining guests, and we were ushered off to dinner. The usual seating arrangement continued, as well as the small chatter around the table. Once again, John said very little of consequence until dinner ended. To my disbelief, when the women rose to retire to the sitting room, John did not stay for cigars and drinks with the men.
“Would you be so kind, Lady Seddon, as to accompany me for a short walk out-of-doors?”
His invitation sent my heart fluttering, and I glanced at my parents who nodded their head granting permission. I knew this meant an imminent proposal.
“Yes, of course, I would be
delighted.” My voice quavered betraying my nerves. He offered his arm and escorted me to the veranda that overlooked the garden. There was a slight chill in the air, which added to the nervous goose pimples rising on my arms. Once outdoors, I glanced above to the heavens. It appeared the angels gave me a dreamy setting underneath the twinkling stars but no romance.
John halted his step. I sensed a trembling in his arm. It was endearing to think that he too struggled with nervousness. I found the courage to raise my eyes. He studied me as if he were reading a book line by line. His gaze wandered from the top of my head to the tip of my chin and rested on my lips.
“It is a lovely night,” I said, trying to make light of the awkward moment. His silent pondering continued until he reached forward and took my hand. After giving it a slight squeeze, his lips parted.
“Perhaps I should have made more of an effort to spend time with you this weekend,” he began.
“Ann,” I said. “Please, call me Ann.”
A slight grin lifted the corner of his mouth. “Ann,” he repeated.
My name sounded divine coming from his voice. I sighed during the starry-eyed moment. “It has been a busy social affair,” I said, trying to make light of the short interludes we experienced together. “I’m sure we will have more time together in the days ahead.” I prodded him toward the ultimate question and felt guilty for doing so. “That is,” I clarified in a whisper, “if you wish to spend time with me.”
He tightly squeezed my hand. My heart yearned to observe a spark of affection for me, but I only witnessed resignation. Suddenly, he was down on one knee.
“I desire to be with you,” he said, sounding sincere. “And it is to this end that I humbly ask for your hand in marriage.”
Finally, the most important time in my life had arrived. A man upon one knee, a proposal of marriage, but he spoke not one word of affection or endearment for me as an individual. He accepted our future together, but did he yearn for me as a woman? No doubt, his motives came from the responsibilities that he faced—duty to his title, father, and fortune. He was bound in chains of obligation, and soon I would be bound as well.
For a full minute, I remained silent. I said nothing but searched his eyes. As the seconds passed, he looked worried that I might refuse him. I knew if I did, my parents would disown me, and his parents would be displeased. Even if he did not reciprocate the miniscule amount of admiration that I held for him, he offered to be my husband. One day I would be a duchess and live at Blythe Court. Perhaps I would eventually win his heart, and we would experience love as husband and wife. As I considered the risk, I relented and seized the opportunity.
“I accept your generous proposal of marriage, Lord Broadhurst.” With my hand, I pulled him from his knee until he stood before me. In response, he placed both of his hands upon my shoulders and stepped closer.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
He lowered his head to kiss me, and I closed my eyes. I underestimated him completely, for the kiss he gave felt as if it held a crumb of fondness for me. Thankfully, he acted with prudence, not prolonging the outward show of regard. If he had, I would have surely fallen from my weakened knees. I never experienced such a glorious thing as the lips of a man lingering upon mine.
“Perhaps we should go inside,” he suggested, “and break the news to our parents.”
He offered his arm, which I took, and without protest, we returned indoors. The men joined the women in the large parlor, and it appeared every eye scrutinized us as we entered. John walked toward his father and in a toneless voice spoke, “She has accepted.” A broad smile spread across the duke’s face as if a victory had been won and the spoils captured. I wondered how big of a dowry my father would hand over for my life.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” his father quickly announced raising a glass. “I would like to announce the engagement of my son the Marquess of Dorchester to Lady Seddon. Raise your glasses with me and let us toast to their happiness.”
My blood rushed to my cheeks, and I blushed profusely. The combination of every eye looking at the two of us had been responsible but also the residual effects of the kiss I received a moment ago. John handed me a glass of champagne.
“To our happiness,” he said. A warm smile curled the lips, which I had tasted only a few minutes ago.
“To our happiness,” I replied. My eyes watered from emotion. Even though I would soon gain a husband, a grand estate, and a new life, I worried that one day he would shatter my heart.
* * * *
I love the game of croquet. For some reason, I find it entertaining to whack a ball with a mallet. You get to direct the hard wooden object across the blades of grass, underneath wire rims, and finally to a tall post. At last, you hit it one more time aiming at the stick in the ground. If you are lucky being the first to wallop it to its destination and striking a pole, you have won the game.
After I had accepted John’s proposal, I swore I became that ball and everyone in my life the mallet. My existence had been swallowed up in a frenzy of preparations for the wedding. My mother enjoyed every moment by pampering me, building my trousseau, and shopping until I wanted to collapse from physical and emotional exhaustion. She shoved me here and there and chattered at me unceasingly, fraying my nerves.
“Oh, Mother, we must rest! How many more things shall I cram into my trunk?”
“A young lady needs a full trousseau of everything imaginable in the way of undergarments, corsets, stockings, nightgowns, and whatever else we might find.”
Had I known that preparing for a wedding would be so much work, I would have insisted we elope. I did not mean a word of it, of course. As the day approached, my excitement grew. John called upon me occasionally for short visits. It gave us the opportunity to deepen our relationship, but I still sensed that he did not love me.
I wanted to say the same of my heart, but after a while he became impossible to resist. There were good qualities about his personality. His soft-spoken voice soothed my ears, and his appearance—well, I often felt mesmerized by his good looks and tailored clothes. John acted politely to a fault, always putting me first in my needs and tender when we touched. If marrying a kind man was a prerequisite to a healthy marriage, there might be hope for our union even if it lacked passion and love.
The wedding date had been set far too soon as far as I was concerned. The marriage banns, which were required to be read aloud on three Sundays before our ceremony, had been completed. No one objected to our union, of course, and everything proceeded on schedule. Next week I would walk down the aisle and begin my prearranged life. Of course, I possessed questions about what awaited me in the marriage bed and thought the current moment would be a perfect time to ask.
“Mother,” I began in a serious tone, “is there any wisdom you can depart before my wedding night?” She halted and looked at me wide-eyed. The frown on her face told me she found the subject indecent.
“You will find out soon enough,” she quipped. “There is nothing you need to know.”
Surely, there were things I needed to know, and I determined to find out what they were. “Well, what should I do? How should I act when we are alone?”
My mother had done her Victorian duty in keeping me ignorant of the ways of men to protect me from becoming a fallen woman. My life had been so puritanically sheltered that my lack of knowledge brought me shame. I did have my suspicions about what might occur but wondered if they were accurate. It became apparent to me that men were drawn to the sight of plump breasts, but the hidden treasures under my skirt were yet to be understood.
“Merely lay back, open your legs, and let him do what he does. If you find it bothersome, take your mind to somewhere more pleasant. Ponder the beauty of the English countryside; I usually do. Soon it will be over. They never take long to do the deed—at least your father does not.”
“And will I get pregnant right away?” I thought it an apt question to ask.
“Well, that depends, dear, on ti
ming and the Lord’s will to give you children. I am sure, though, you will bear your husband a fine heir one day.”
My mother continued to count my clothing and other items making sure I owned enough frivolous things to take with me. John had not told me where we were going on our honeymoon. Rather than sharing that task, he decided to keep it a well-kept secret. I hoped that it would be a pleasant place to offset any unpleasantries I might endure in the bedchamber.
“Well, it seems that you are intent on keeping me in the dark,” I complained.
“The subject is not something proper ladies talk about,” she quickly defended. “Now let us get back to the task at hand. We need to check with the seamstress today about your wedding dress.”
My mother refused to enlighten me further. I had no one to ask either since I had been born the eldest in the family with one younger brother and a five-year-old sister. When the time came, I would experience the deed and the mystery would be solved.
The Marquess
Those dreaded words “until death you do part” resonated in my mind even after our vows were spoken. What had been done could never be undone in the eyes of God. I now belonged to John Broadhurst—mind, body, and soul. All of my worldly goods became his property. My individuality and single identity vanished, blowing away in a gust of wind much like my hat did over a month ago. Whatever small amount of freedom I possessed as a young woman rose to the heavens and evaporated upon the pronouncement, “You are now husband and wife.”
The same expression of duty and resignation remained in John’s eyes, even at the altar. I, on the other hand, yearned for his affection. As our marriage was solemnized, I wanted his love. In fact, a deep ache rooted in my heart. We signed the marriage register and were presented to the congregation. A multitude of aristocratic guests filled Dorchester Abbey, and I braced myself for the congratulatory remarks that would soon ensue.
John smiled at me warmly, offered his arm, and led me down the aisle. I married the Marquess of Dorchester and the future Duke of Dorset in a grand ceremony. My exquisite wedding dress adorned my body, and I became the envy of every unmarried woman in the congregation.
Blythe Court (Novella) Page 4
