She had unpacked and placed all of her things and was starting to feel a little more at home with each passing day. She took Clover out to ride every day right after breakfast but this consisted of a turn about the clearing by the house and following a path into the woods and then turning around after ten minutes. William had cautioned her about getting lost and warned her to stay on the path. She was surprised to find her husband owned a number of fine horses stabled in the barn. Sometimes he accompanied her on her morning ride to exercise them all.
She found the kitchen garden required a good deal of her time along with washing all of the dishes after every meal. In the evenings they started to fall into a comfortable and enjoyable routine of evening walks, time by the fireplace, time sitting together on the front porch where she could work on her embroidery. It was during these times they where they found themselves getting to know each other. They talked about everything and every subject. What surprised her most was how much her husband shared her love of reading the Bible. This always seemed to be the book he reached for first when they sat down to read.
She found it reassuring to look out the windows or to look up from the garden and catch a glimpse of him splitting wood or working in the barn adjacent to the cottage house. Sometimes she would see him on foot and other times on horseback as he surveyed the crops or rode out to repair a fence somewhere on the farm. He was constantly busy but quite often he would take a break to stop in the house during the day and inquire on how her day was progressing. He seemed to seek her out no matter what she was doing, whether peeling vegetables in the kitchen, hanging clothing to dry on a line outside the kitchen to the rear of the house, weeding the garden or making a flower arrangement for one of the upstairs bedrooms. She soon discovered these little visits during the day always surprised and brightened her mood and she sometimes felt a little more melancholy when he didn't seem to have the time to stop and talk with her. Sometimes she would catch him watching her for a time before he made his presence known and she wondered how long he'd been there watching her and what he was thinking.
Usually they enjoyed a light luncheon together on the little front porch or at the kitchen table, often leftovers from the previous evening meal or something easily managed. He never complained about anything she served and seemed to particularly like her breads and especially her kidney or chicken pie. Then he would return to the fields and she was left to wonder what he did all day. She knew running a farm was hard work but she really had no idea what consumed much of his time; he just always seemed busy and ready for a hot bath when he returned. There was a hip bath upstairs for use in the bedrooms and a larger tub behind a privacy screen in a corner of the kitchen... and a tub in the barn. He usually chose to bathe in the barn. He seemed to appreciate that she kept plenty of towels for drying near each of these bathing areas. She was careful to keep her distance when he was bathing and usually took her own baths when she was sure he was busy with something else somewhere on the farm.
Still, by the end of those first few weeks, she was both relieved and troubled by the fact he had not come to her bedroom to consummate the marriage. She was not sure of exactly what to expect but it was getting harder and harder to be with her husband and resist the urge to be kissed by him. She was however, enjoying getting to know him and establishing a daily routine that brought normalcy to their lives. Thank you God for bringing this man into my life she prayed. Now that we're here Lord, help us become a truly happy husband and wife. Something seems wrong... or maybe this is right... I don't know quite what it is. Show me the way Lord.
It was a July Saturday morning when William announced he would not be doing any chores for the day. “Everything is caught up. Benjamin can handle things around here for a while. How would you like to spend the day at the lake?”
“Oh yes! I'd like that very much!” she answered, delighted with this turn of events. They had been working very hard just keeping up with the usual chores. A day at the lake would be so refreshing. “Is it very far?”
“No, not really,” he replied. “It's about a half an hour ride in the wagon.”
“I'll pack a picnic lunch then... ”
A little while later she met William at the front door wearing a white summery day gown printed with tiny pink rosebuds on green stems. The dress had a scoop neckline and three quarter length sleeves, both edged with lace. The bodice came to a point at the front of her gown at the middle of her waist where her skirt gathered and flowed out at her hips to the tips of her shoes. She opted for comfortable light brown kid walking ankle boots. She wore a sage green shawl draped at her elbows. Her pale pink lined bonnet tied with a lovely sage green bow to one side of her chin.
William had already placed their picnic basket in the wagon and hitched two fine horses to it, she'd noticed, instead of the mules, when she'd glanced out of the upstairs bedroom window as she had changed from her morning gown, a plain blue but practical frock. She wasn't sure, but the wagon looked to be a more reliable one as well.
She had several books and her embroidery hoop and threads tucked into a little straw woven handbag and William placed it beside the picnic basket and lifted her into the wagon. He took his place beside her. She noticed little Benjamin watching the wagon drive off onto a wagon trail they'd explored once before. He had looked so alone and forlorn to her but William did not invite him to accompany them on their outing and she felt it was not her place to suggest it. She was glad William had handed the boy the lunch she'd thought to pack for him.
Soon her thoughts were taking in the sights and sounds of the lovely day around her. The sun was bright but the temperature was not too terribly hot and it seemed to be a mild summer day, perfect for a day at the lake. She spied a red chested bird as it flew from one branch to another and a little further down the trail she discovered a field of daisies and wildflowers off in the distance that she hadn't noticed before. William whistled as they progressed closer to the lake. They were in a wonderful mood and the change of scenery and routine had already been good for both of them.
“How many children do you want?” she suddenly asked.
“As many as possible,” he said, a wide grin spreading immediately across his face revealing handsome dimples in his strong face. His blond hair waved gently in the light breeze that swept over them. “Lots and lots! As many as we can stand!”
She smiled and laughed thinking of a group of five or six children all trying to cram into one of the upstairs bedrooms. “We'd have to build on...”
“I suppose we would,” William replied, thinking of the many unused rooms at Ivy Clifton Hall.
When they were settled on a blanket under a large oak tree beside the lake she immediately curled up beside him and tucked her knees underneath her. She faced him with one of her elbows on his chest and her other arm holding a book of poems she'd found in the cottage. She softly read poetry while he reclined with his feet straight out, boots kicked off and arms crossed behind his head and his elbows sticking out. They passed an hour that way before she tired of reading and decided to pull one of his socks off and make away with it in a playful dash through the woods.
He immediately smiled at her playfulness and ran after her while she squealed as he gained on her, giving her location dead away. Just when he had almost overtaken her she made a dash in the opposite direction back towards the lake. He knocked his head on a low tree limb and ran after her-- rubbing his head. He finally cornered her against a tree with both of his hands pinning her shoulders to the bark. Laughing, she kept the sock behind her waist where he tried to retrieve it. She squealed again when he'd let go of one of her shoulders and managed to wiggle her way out of his grasp and under his arms.
She had been able to take two or three steps away from him but before she could run away from his reach he captured her with one arm and gently pulled her back in his direction and to the ground in a heap of all petticoats, lace and skirts. She was laughing, but he caught wind of her perfume and breathed in deeply, g
iving her just enough time to get away again, though he had slickly captured the sock, she soon realized as she collapsed again to catch her breath.
Her smile was infectious and radiant. Finally, having put his socks and boots back on, he held a hand out to her where she had remained on the ground and pulled her to her feet. “Come,” he said, “fetch your bonnet. There's a little boat tucked there behind the reeds. I'll take you for a ride on the water.”
“That sounds heavenly!” she said, delighted at the prospect.
“Do you swim?” he asked as she lifted her skirts and he helped her into the boat before pushing off land.
“I do!” she answered. “My father taught me when I was a little girl. Do you?”
“Yes. My father taught my brother and I, when we were very young also,” he said. “Have you been to the ocean?”
“No but I'd like to see it ever so much,” she replied, her eyes lighting up as he rowed them out to the middle of the lake. “Is it deep, the lake?”
“Not really, but I'm not entirely sure. My brother and I swam here when we were children, but it's been years. So don't stand up in the boat or anything like that. I'd hate to have to rescue you and see you looking like a drowned rat when you look so... beautiful today.”
She looked at the lake and then at her hands and blushed deeply at his complement. “Thank you,” she said, “I will do my best to behave.”
He laughed at her remark and she grinned at him. They were quiet for the rest of the time on the lake. The calmness of the water had subdued them. She stretched a hand into the water after a while and enjoyed dangling her fingers in the lake creating ripples. She was careful not to lean over the edge of the boat though so they wouldn't tip. She liked the way the cool water felt on her fingertips and the way he watched her, intently studying her. She didn't press him for his thoughts. She had to show him she was contented to just be with him... and confident that he would eventually trust and love her.
After about an hour he rowed them back to land and stepped out first, pushed the boat back into the gritty mud where they'd rowed out from and then assisted her to her feet. There was no where she might step without muddying her shoes, so he picked her up, took two or three steps forward and swung her to the grassy bank. She hadn't wanted him to let go of her.
When they ate cold chicken, bread, cheese and plates of blueberry pie, they sat quietly on the blanket enjoying the sounds of the woods around them and the view of the lake before them. After they'd eaten until they were full and drank mugs of cider, they lay beside each other for a long while on the blanket, just looking up at the sky through the tree branches above. He had his arms resting on his chest. She had hers lying at her sides. They could hear an occasional squirrel scurry across the leaves on the floor of the woods. Sometimes a bird would sing a message to another bird. A little white butterfly flew into view and then flew away again, a yellow one chasing it. They lay very still, just taking in all the sounds. Her eyes drooped shut and she felt so relaxed she was almost drifting off to sleep.
“Do you find yourself …suitable to the confines of marriage?” he finally asked, his voice very quiet and equally relaxed.
Her eyes popped open but she didn't move or make a sound, not wanting to disturb the peaceful scene around them. She pondered his question and how to answer him as she looked at the tree leaves directly above with the bluest sky peeking through here and there. “It suits me very well,” she replied, wishing he would kiss her. Then she suddenly propped herself up on one elbow to look at her husband's face. “Although I expected more kissing!” she blurted out.
“More kissing?” he repeated, his voice hoarse, tired, barely audible. When she leaned closer to look at him she realized he had fallen asleep, and now he was beginning to snore. He looked so tired and so peaceful. She hadn't the heart to wake him. He worked so hard she wasn't the least surprised; only a little exasperated.
“More kissing,” she repeated softly, longing for the affection of her mysterious, tall, handsome husband. She learned an early lesson in marriage that day at the lake on how hard work can render a husband utterly exhausted. She decided she was rather weary herself and lay back down on the blanket, allowing herself to drift into a light sleep. All the while, the horses stood waiting patiently with the wagon, snapping their tails at the occasional pesky fly. Dear Lord, she prayed as she drifted off, am I in love? Will he ever kiss me?
And the Duke prayed as he drifted into a deeper sleep, Lord, don't allow me to ruin her honor or kiss her yet. We're still courting each other, sort of, Lord. I won't be able to stop once I start.
Chapter 9. The One with the Chickens and Kittens
One evening not long after the picnic by the lake, and after a most satisfying dinner she'd prepared for them (of roast beef, gravy, boiled potatoes, salad greens, peas in a cream sauce, peach cobbler, apple pie and tea), the Duke returned from his bath (in the barn) to find his young wife seated on the front porch. She had located an easel in the attic and was drawing a lovely pencil sketch of the sunset and the barn yard scene about them.
“I can't draw chickens,” she said, as the chickens cackled and fussed near the well.
“I can,” he replied. “I'm quite good with drawing chickens, actually,” he said, as he gently took over the pencil in her frustrated hands and quickly sketched a small flock of chickens into her scene.
She stood there with hands on hips, watching, mouth agape. “Where ever did you learn to draw like that?” she inquired, impressed with his rendition of cackling feathered poultry that simply would not stand still long enough for her to capture their likeness.
“I...uh...” he stumbled, looking for some way of imparting truth without stepping into a lie. “I've always enjoyed drawing.” The truth was, he'd had lessons from an instructor and a great deal of tutoring on the subject of art.
Still amazed, her eyes still barely believing what she beheld as he handed the pencil back to her, she replied with suspicion, “You are indeed the most amazing and talented, well versed, diverse, most well-bred farmer I've ever known.”
“I'm sure there are others like me,” he said, trying to dismiss her complement and the amazement in her eyes. He shouldn't have offered to draw the chickens for her. It would just lead to more questions he wasn't ready to answer. “As I said before, I had an excellent tutor growing up.” He tried to downplay his education, but his answer had been truthful.
“Well, thank you, for the chickens in my drawing,” she said. “They are very good. I'll stick with objects that aren't moving when I draw. I'd been about to leave them out altogether, but it wouldn't make for a very realistic barn yard, would it?”
“No, I don't suppose so,” he said, annoyed with himself. “If you will excuse me, I've got some ledger work to do.” He left her there in the porch and went to the little writing desk in the parlor to escape the whole scene of what had just transpired. In spite of her questions and statements that seemed to delve deeper and deeper into his background, which bothered him only a little, what bothered him most was that she was seemed nearly perfectly suitable to become his Duchess.
Somehow this all surprised and alarmed him to some degree. He supposed it was all part of the process of adapting from being a bachelor to a married man. She wasn't demanding or spoilt. She didn't complain. She was quiet and soothing to be around, calming, cheerful. And what he had observed was that her drawing had actually been good, very good, without his help. She had all of the necessary skills to live up to the expectations that would be put upon her as a Duchess, even though she had been raised a mere vicar's daughter.
In all fairness to her, he was growing more and more alarmed at the prospect of telling her the truth. She hadn't bargained for any of it and had no idea what she was really getting herself into. Not only could she manage a household efficiently enough without servants and seemed to handle the workload of two people, she could cook, garden, clean and organize, play the piano, draw, sew, knit, read the poets and convers
e on any topic. She shares my faith and thrives in this quiet country life. She is just so terribly young. Nineteen is terribly young to be thrust into the world of the peerage. Her father had protected her from all of that by leading a quiet life in the country as a simple man of the cloth. Her life would change in so many ways when he told her she hadn't just married a farmer.
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