Aurelia left the party in the company of her sisters. Edward strolled over to Jonathan. He cocked his head in the direction of the departing women. He had the misty-eyed look of a man who had taken full advantage of the champagne Sir Robert had so liberally provided. He looked hearty and if it wasn’t for the wheezing that followed each time he spoke, Jonathan would have suspected his illness to be mild.
‘I hope you won’t consider this too much of a sacrifice, Jonathan. Perhaps I should not have forced your hand, but I think you made the right choice.’
Jonathan grimaced. ‘It’s done now and I dare say we’ll be able to tolerate each other.’
* * *
Mrs Harcourt returned a short while later dressed in the same walking dress she had worn when Jonathan had met her at the river. Her change of outfit signalled that she was ready to leave. Sir Robert had offered the couple his own covered carriage and pair of horse to take them to Jonathan’s house. To Jonathan’s surprise, Aurelia had refused the offer, saying her husband’s chaise and pony would be adequate.
‘I am leaving this house and life behind me,’ she had explained. ‘I should begin my new life with the facilities at my disposal.’
Jonathan had felt a burst of admiration for her, reminded a little of the independent spirit his mother had shown. In the end Jonathan had brokered a compromise. Sir Robert’s second vehicle, an open-topped pony cart, had taken Mrs Harcourt’s possessions to the house under the supervision of Annie, the lady’s maid Aurelia swore she could not live without. Now, sitting together in the pony chaise, Jonathan wondered if his wife was regretting her choice. There was only one seat and she was forced to sit close beside him with her dress creased and pushed against his body. Jonathan’s senses felt unusually heightened, which he put down to the champagne he had drunk, because the slightest movement caused their limbs to brush and the scent of her rosewater perfume made his head reel and his nerves spark like a tinderbox.
‘I’m sorry we could not arrange a honeymoon tour,’ he said as they jolted along the cobbled streets. ‘With affairs being arranged so quickly I could not spare the time I would like. At another time we could travel together when I have more leisure at my disposal.’
Aurelia smiled at him. ‘I’d like that. I have never travelled very far.’
‘We could tour the south of the country if you would like,’ Jonathan suggested. ‘We could visit Oxford. I’ve never seen the city and I’m sure you would like to return to see acquaintances you made while you lived there.’
‘No,’ she said firmly. Jonathan wrinkled his brow. She bit her lip. ‘There is no one in particular I would like to visit in that area. Anywhere else you choose I am happy to visit, but I would rather avoid Oxford.’
She turned her face and looked out of the window until they arrived at the house. Jonathan sat in silence, wondering at the strange intent of his bride to leave everything behind her.
* * *
By the time they arrived at Jonathan’s house, Aurelia seemed to have recovered her equilibrium. He helped her down from the chaise and wondered briefly whether he should offer to carry her over the threshold in the traditional manner, but after the way she had withdrawn from him he thought better of it. Instead he knocked and, when Harris, his manservant, opened the door, he held a hand out to allow her to pass inside.
‘Welcome to your new home, Mrs Harcourt.’
‘Thank you, Mr Harcourt,’ she answered seriously, bobbing him a small curtsy. She paused to stare around at the flowerbeds on either side of the double-fronted house before passing in front of Jonathan into the hallway.
Jonathan showed her around the house that was now hers and presented the small staff: Mrs Barnes, the cook-cum-housekeeper; Sarah, the all-duty maid; and Harris, Jonathan’s manservant. The property was substantially smaller than the one she had just left and he looked for signs on her face that she was dissatisfied but she appeared pleased with everything and everyone. As he led her through the double parlour, dining room and past his study he felt a justifiable sense of pride and confidence growing inside him. He had worked for this and there was nothing in his life he should not feel able to accomplish. His business would continue to be a success and he knew he was equal to the task of ensuring his marriage would be likewise.
It was only when he led Aurelia to the first floor that he had cause to hesitate. The staircase led upwards through the centre of the house and the banisters turned either way, with a suite of rooms on the left and right.
‘My rooms are to the left,’ he explained, gesturing to the pair of doors belonging to his bed and dressing rooms. ‘Yours are to the right.’
Mrs Harcourt turned left and walked around the landing, one hand trailing on the banister. Jonathan thought for a moment she was intending to enter his room and the frisson of excitement that set the hairs on his neck standing upright took him by surprise. That would come later and it struck him he hadn’t discussed whether he would come to her or she to him. She continued past, however, and stopped in front of the large window above the front door. Jonathan joined her and looked out. He liked this view. The house looked out on to a small, grassy square where a nursemaid and her charge were enjoying the sunshine and throwing crumbs of rusk to a flock of pigeons. The child was no more than four and giggling loudly enough to be heard inside.
‘Albertina Millicent Healy,’ he said. ‘She lives on the other side of the square.
Aurelia smiled. ‘What a dreadful name, poor child!’
Jonathan suppressed a snort. He’d often thought the same.
‘It isn’t one I’d choose.’
He felt Aurelia stiffen beside him and could have kicked himself for mentioning the child he would one day have. The child she would have to give him.
‘Let me show you your rooms,’ he said. ‘I hope you will find them to your satisfaction.’
‘I’m sure everything will be perfect,’ she answered. She lingered on the threshold as he held the door open. ‘I shall see you for dinner. Goodbye, Mr Harcourt, for now.’
She slipped backwards into the room, peering at him as she closed the door.
He would come to her room, he decided. She belonged in the more feminine domain and when he lay in his own bed afterwards he would not be imagining her at his side.
* * *
Dinner was a quiet affair. The day had exhausted Jonathan. He would usually enjoy this time of peace in an informal manner dressed in his shirtsleeves with a tray at the fireside. Now, with a wife to accommodate, he felt duty bound to eat at the dining table wearing his wedding suit. He stared down the length of the table at Aurelia, who sat at the far end. If his bride was tired, she showed no outward signs. Her eyes glowed and in the hour they had been apart, her hair had been reworked into a low bun at the nape of her neck by Annie. It suited her wearing it low, with waves framing her face and softening it. When she wore it up her cheekbones were somehow pulled back, giving her a more severe demeanour. She had changed from the walking dress she had arrived in into a blue-satin gown with a scooped collar and tight sleeves. Jonathan, in his tight cravat and best waistcoat, felt uncomfortably formal for the time of night and wondered if his bride felt the same. And he did not know best how to ask her. He had no idea how to talk to her beyond brief exchanges concerning the soup.
Was it always going to be this uneasy? He hoped not, for the idea of spending the next forty years sitting opposite a silent woman made his heart sink.
As Aurelia toyed with her spoon, pushing the frothy lemon syllabub around the dish, Jonathan could bear the silence no longer. The marriage had been his idea so he should be the one to make the effort. He laid his spoon on the edge of the dish and, when she glanced in his direction, he smiled.
‘Thank you for today,’ he said. ‘I must admit I was a trifle nervous when I arrived at the church, but seeing you smile at me put me at ease. I hope you haven’t found it too arduous.�
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‘Only a little,’ she admitted. She lowered her eyelashes and scooped a little of the pudding on to her spoon. ‘I do find occasions with a great number of people quite overbearing at times. And I am a little tired.’
She lifted the spoon to her mouth. Jonathan watched, unable to tear his eyes away from the full, red lips as they closed around the spoon and licked away the cream.
‘Are you happy with your rooms?’ he asked.
‘Very.’ She smiled. ‘You have excellent taste, Mr Harcourt.’
‘I can claim no credit for that. Some of the pieces of furniture belonged to my mother,’ Jonathan explained. He frowned. Perhaps she would object to using a dead woman’s possessions, especially the one who would have been her mother-in-law. ‘I hope you don’t mind me using them for you. If there’s anything you’d like to change, of course you must tell me at once.’
‘No, everything is perfect, she said. ‘In that case I should compliment your mother’s taste.’ She raised her eyes to meet his. ‘Those were to have been her rooms, weren’t they?’ she asked.
Jonathan nodded. He had explained the event of her death to Aurelia, although not the circumstances under which they had moved to Macclesfield in the first place. One day if they somehow grew close enough he would, but not now.
‘It’s getting late,’ he said. ‘I think, unless you have any objection, I will retire for the night.’
Silence coalesced in the air between them. Jonathan held his breath, knowing that both of them would be thinking of what would happen once they made their way upstairs. He noticed Aurelia’s fingers tighten over her spoon, the almond-shaped nails going white with a slight pressure. She placed it down neatly on the side of her dish.
‘I have no objection,’ she said quietly, not meeting his eye.
Jonathan pushed his chair back and helped Aurelia rise from hers. He walked behind her up the stairs, feeling the anticipation growing with each step. On the landing he paused.
‘I shall come to your room shortly,’ he said.
She nodded. He bowed and made his way to his bedroom where he undressed and doused his face in cold water. It had to be done. It wasn’t that he did not want to make love to Aurelia. He very much did and the thought of finally satisfying the urges that had built within him for so long came as a relief. It was more the idea of laying claim to her when he knew she would doubtless find it uncomfortable and felt no emotional attachment to him. Some men would not mind. Some boasted freely of the women they visited for sexual gratification in return for payment, never wondering how willing their partners truly were. Jonathan had never been able to summon the nerve or inclination to indulge in what he suspected was a joyless transaction for both.
He summoned Aurelia’s face before him and tried to picture some of the times they had spent together, content in each other’s company. He liked her and she had said she liked him also. That would have to be enough.
He rinsed his teeth, dressed in his nightshirt and dressing gown and picked up his well-thumbed volume of Waverley. He read for fifteen minutes to give his bride the necessary time to make whatever preparations she was making, then closed the book, stood and straightened his dressing gown with the air of a knight preparing for battle.
It was time to visit his wife and there was no sense prolonging what was sure to be an excruciating encounter for both of them any longer than absolutely necessary.
Chapter Eight
Aurelia sat in front of the mirror on her dressing table and peered at the woman who stared back at her. She barely recognised the face whose rosy cheeks and bright eyes suggested an excitement she did not feel.
All she felt was relief to be alone and in her nightgown. Her feet had been squeezed into narrow silk shoes and her stays laced tighter than she preferred in order to squeeze into the impossibly small-waisted wedding gown. Now she was freed from both those cages her back and feet ached with unfamiliar freedom. She wanted to climb into bed, snuff the candle and sleep, but she could not do that. Her husband—and she knew those words would take a long time to become ordinary—would be here shortly and, after the wedding day was done, the wedding night would begin.
She understood the...particulars of how babies were created. Growing up around as many dogs as Sir Robert’s household held, she had enough experience of them engaging in the reproductive act though she had a suspicion that humans lay face to face. She ran her fingers over the rows and rows of ruffles of her nightgown, more elaborate than the plain linen she usually wore. Her stomach filled with a thousand sharp-winged moths, beating to escape. Would Mr Harcourt expect her to remove it so he could see her naked? Would he want to remove it himself? She had no idea what was customary. Would he come to her room dressed as he had been at dinner, or wearing his own nightclothes? And should he be naked, too? Too many questions and knowing they would shortly be answered did not help in the slightest.
She drank a glass of water to calm her nerves, wishing it was the brandy he had offered to fortify her with on the night he had proposed.
This is what you wanted, she reminded herself.
Mr Harcourt had made it clear on the night of his proposal that a physical relationship was a part of the marriage he wanted. In fact, Aurelia’s main purpose as Mrs Harcourt—if not her sole purpose—was to provide him with a son. She had known that and gone into the marriage with open eyes and it was too late to change her mind.
When a knock came at the door she took one last glance in the mirror at the girl she had been, knowing that the next time she looked into those eyes a woman would be staring back at her.
‘Come in.’
She stood in the middle of the room in the spot where the light from the candle caught her. The doorknob turned slowly and it seemed like eternity passed before the door edged open and Mr Harcourt came in. He closed it behind him quietly and stood with his back to the door, facing Aurelia.
He was clad in a long dressing gown of deep rich blue with a pattern of paisleys worked in black so that as he took a step closer to Aurelia the pattern came and went according to whether the light shone on it or not. Aurelia was so caught up in admiring the garment that she entirely forgot to look at the man inside it until he spoke.
‘Good evening, Mrs Harcourt. I trust you are well and everything is to your satisfaction?’
He glanced around and Aurelia smiled warmly.
‘Everything is perfect,’ she said. ‘I could not have wished for a nicer room.’
She meant it sincerely. The well-proportioned bedrooms held ample furniture and the walls were decorated with paper depicting flowers and peacocks on a sunny yellow background. The size and furnishings would have been enough to keep her happy, but the door that lead to an adjoining sitting room had been the perfect discovery.
‘I’m sure I will be very happy living here,’ she said and Mr Harcourt smiled again. He took another step towards her, but still did not touch her.
‘You look very beautiful,’ he said, looking up so that his eyes met hers for the first time.
She recognised the light in them as desire, having seen it plainly on Arthur’s face on so many occasions. Unlike Arthur, Mr Harcourt was entitled to and expected to claim her. He seemed hesitant to begin taking his rights and, oddly, this meant Aurelia was finding herself more anxious and eager to begin.
He looked around once more. ‘You have a lot of books,’ he said, gesturing to the shelf which was already full of volumes. Only half of what she owned.
‘I like to read,’ she said, almost apologetically. Then she remembered she was married and Mr Harcourt did not care what she did. She did not have to apologise.
‘I like to read, too,’ he said. ‘Histories, accounts of travelling, biographies...’
He tailed off and his serious expression returned. She wondered why he was hesitating and whether now he had seen her in her nightgown he was regretting that h
e had married her instead of the more beautiful Cassandra.
‘You look very handsome, Mr Harcourt,’ she said.
He blinked in surprise and Aurelia felt the heat rushing to her cheeks. What had possessed her to say something so forward? Her husband looked pleased, however, and he took another step forward until now he was close enough that she could smell the cologne he wore.
He reached a hand out and placed it on her shoulder. She remained motionless and, seeing that she did not protest, he extended his fingers up the side of her neck on her bare skin. She remembered him doing similar at the altar, which reminded her again of their kiss and the way her lips had responded to the pressure of his. Of how she had not wanted him to stop when he had drawn back.
‘Are you...? Do you...? I mean...’
He took his hand away and gave her another look that sent shivers through her body. She realised that she was trembling and looked up into his eyes.
‘You are very beautiful,’ he repeated, ‘and we are man and wife now. Do you understand that?’
She nodded, finding that his consideration brought a lump to her throat. He did not have to do that, she was his by law and by right he could do whatever he wanted with her and she would have no recourse for complaint. The very fact that he was taking pains to ensure she was agreeable to the fact made her grow a little fonder of him.
‘I understand,’ she said. ‘I know what needs to be done.’
He looked away. ‘Needs to,’ he muttered and his voice was tinged with bitterness. Shame made Aurelia’s cheeks redden even further than the thought of Jonathan kissing her had.
‘I told you when I consented to be your wife that I would fulfil every part of a wife’s duty,’ she said. ‘I meant it and I did not mean to imply I would find that duty unpleasant. If I did, I apologise.’
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