Dear God, he prayed as he tapped his fingers on the ledger, I'm losing my nerve. Somehow this doesn't seem fair to her, he argued. She's going to be so angry with me when she finds out who I really am. I may lose her in the process of all of this testing.
The next day would disturb him even more. He returned from a particularly difficult day to find his wife smiling and laughing on the floorboards in the kitchen, surrounded by a litter of tiny, mewing kittens and a very zealous Benjamin Trimmel assisting her. She was, one by one, nursing each kitten from a little bottle of milk. The kittens were licking droplets of milk as she gently held each one in her lap.
He was so startled by the nurturing scene. It immediately invoked images of his wife having their baby and nursing their own child someday. He stood there in the alcove of the kitchen scratching his head, wondering what to say about the creatures that had invaded his time with her. They crawled on her and fell off her lap, nudging each other out of the way to get to the bottle.
“Ouch!” she cried and then giggled softly, removing a kitten who'd sunk it's claws into her skin trying to be next in line for nutrition. “Their little claws are so very sharp Benjamin. Be careful that they do not scratch you when you handle them. It hurts!” Benjamin nodded vigorously, rapt with attention at the entire scene.
“Where did the kittens come from, or should I not inquire?” he said, sounding like a Duke.
“Yes, of course you may inquire, husband,” she smiled up at him, “but only after you kiss me hello.”
He dismissed her idea of a hello and reminded himself he dare not kiss his wife. It would only make things harder when she left him. “Hello,” he started again.
She ignored the fact that he ignored her invitation to kiss her. How could she be too concerned with that at this moment? The little kittens were purring in her lap and nestling close to her, allowing her to love and nurture them.
“I found them behind the barn and asked the Du... “ Benjamin stopped himself before the word Duchess rolled off his tongue. The Duke's eyes glared warningly and he stammered, “Uh, uh, I found them today, behind the barn, and asked her, uh, what we should do with them. I knows they can be good mouse catchers.”
“Mouse catchers dear!” exclaimed Alexandra. “Benjamin is right! They can be of great use on a farm!”
Benjamin looked up at the Duke, eyes wide with hope.
“Where is their mother, or do I not want to know the answer to that?” Hartford asked reluctantly.
“We don't know where the mother cat is, do we Benjamin?” Alexandra asked, the little boy nodding vigorously.
“No we do not,” Benjamin agreed, trying not to look too eager.
The Duke observed his wife again on the floor with the litter of kittens nestled in her lap. One was trying to sniff the milk to determine where it was exactly, while another tried to trample its sister or brother to get to the nipple next. Suddenly he could see his wife holding twins, or triplets, with two or three children at her knee, all crying out for food. And she was gently and patiently feeding each one.... he shook his head until he could see the kittens again and sat down next to them on the floor, silently observing.
Benjamin kept each kitten in order when it fell off her lap. He kept them gathered together in the area between the three of them. If one strayed, he placed it back in its proper place. There were several black ones, three gray kittens and one calico, and one with one white paw and the rest all black fur and a white chest. Apparently, it had been decided that the kittens would sleep in the loft with Benjamin if he agreed.
“Well, Mr. Harcourt,” his wife said, having explained the terms, with hopeful eyes. “Are you agreeable to this solution?”
He cringed, hearing her call him that. He couldn't bare to tell them no, looking from the hope in her eyes to the hope in Benjamin's eyes. It seemed neither of them would breathe again until he said yes.
“I suppose so, for now. But Benjamin will have to be responsible for nursing them. Do you understand son? My wife is far too busy to be nursing kittens every day.”
“Yes Sir! Thank you!” he said, grinning from ear to ear.
“But-- you may bring them by for a visit now and then,” she said sweetly as she began feeding the last hungry kitten. “You will need to feed them several times per day... maybe three or four,” she explained. “Be sure to take this bottle with you and wash it out each time you use it. And we will have to think of names for all of them later. Right now, I have to feed my hungry husband. So run along and take your supper with you.” She motioned to a pail of food she'd prepared for him.
William was relieved to see them go as Benjamin grabbed the pail and scooped the kittens up into a basket, covered them with a blanket and dashed out the back door and around the house to the barn loft with his new little friends. He knew the boy was lonely and thought it would bring him a great deal of comfort to have the kittens to look after.
His wife was just beaming with happiness at his decision and after Benjamin's exit, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him ever so softly on the cheek. “Thank you William, thank you so much!” He pulled away unexpectedly and caught a slight look of misunderstanding flash through her eyes. She recovered quickly but remained more quiet than usual throughout their meal that evening (a steaming chicken pie with a perfectly golden brown crust, creamy gravy and fresh vegetables from the garden).
She managed to make it rather sullenly through an after dinner cup of hot tea with honey, served just the way he liked it, the way Charles made it. They took their tea in the spacious parlor in the two cozy reading chairs by the empty fireplace, but by the end of her cup, she politely declined his request to play a song or two on the piano due to a mild headache. She said she was tired and going to bed early, if he didn't mind. It was the first evening he'd noticed her to be out of sorts and not cheerful. He suspected it was because he had pulled away in the kitchen but needed more time to sort out his concerns and the growing guilt over not being able to tell her about his identity.
He had to find a way to tell her soon, and the courage to do so, come what may. It was her honor and his own he felt he might compromise if he didn't tell her soon. He'd never before found himself to be so … indecisive, and so lacking courage. Usually he faced all of his problems and challenges head on. This change in his own behavior puzzled him.
Perhaps the best thing to do in the entire matter was to do his best to make the marriage work. He wanted to, with all his heart, he wanted it to work. The question in his mind was how she would react to the truth of his situation and the miserable and glaringly loud fact he had withheld his circumstances and his elevated station in life from her. Each time he saw her scrubbing the floors or beating a rug outside or working hard in the garden to pull weeds he felt a twinge of guilt for withholding the truth from her. At Ivy Clifton she would have servants for all of those chores and lead a life of relative ease, even luxury. Yet, she never complained.
It was a difficult end to a difficult day for the Duke. He spent the rest of the evening lost in his thoughts, pacing in the parlor, then the kitchen and then the parlor again, and finally, on the front porch more pacing, before he finally climbed the stairs to retire to bed with a great deal on his troubled mind. He'd stopped outside her bedroom door and had almost knocked, but then decided against it and went straight to his bedroom.
Chapter 10. Lost... a Letter & Three Ladies
She had risen early the next morning and in her long white cotton nightgown and matching chintz ruffled robe had enjoyed the solace of a quiet sunrise on the front porch with a cup of hot cocoa, her Bible and much needed time in prayer. Her husband had risen a little later than she, his sleep having been greatly disturbed and disrupted by perpetual tossing and turning.
He had assumed she was yet sleeping and headed for the privy with only his trousers on. He was therefore caught off guard when he returned to enter the house through the kitchen and encountered his wife frying sliced ham and eggs over the coo
k stove. It still unnerved him a bit the thought that he was now a married man and this woman he barely knew, his wife.
She heard the back door open and close. She swung around from the stove with her long brown curls hanging past her elbows, curls tumbling everywhere, the ruffles of her slightly sheer, long flowing robe whirling about her as she turned, to see her very handsome husband standing there.
She quickly averted her eyes from his muscular bare chest though he made no attempt to avert his eyes from her. “Good morning,” he said and crossed the kitchen to stand in the arch of the doorway near the fireplace where he watched her every move. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes,” she replied, turning back to the skillet, aware that he seemed to be studying her. “Thank you. And you?”
“Somewhat,” he replied. It was all he could do to refrain from taking her in his arms. She looked beautiful standing there, the morning sunlight streaming through the window, her lovely gown and robe loosely flowing with her every movement. She always dressed before coming downstairs so he was a little surprised to find her there cooking in her nightgown and robe. His eyes followed her as she moved to the brick oven at the fireplace and produced a tray of steaming hot biscuits, lightly golden brown.
She made no attempt at continuing any conversation with him, kept her eyes focused on the tasks she worked at and seemed unusually quiet. Without any further attempt on his part to start any other conversation he went upstairs to dress. Clearly she was upset with him though she held her tongue. He almost wished she would yell at him or at least speak her mind. Call him cork-brained or any other names she might wish to insert.
She covered the ham and eggs and placed cheesecloth over the biscuits to keep the food warm and slipped upstairs after her husband to change into a morning dress. She chose a pale green muslin gown with a simple scooped neckline, a fashionable empire waist trimmed in ribbon of the same shade of pale green and short sleeves that puffed just below her shoulders. She struggled with her corset momentarily after slipping into a clean white chemise and then pulled her gown on over her head. Getting dressed would be so much easier with a lady's maid but as a simple farmer's wife she might not expect her husband to pay for such luxuries. Then she remembered she had far too many buttons on the back of her gown near the top of her back to reach without assistance and exasperated, nearly changed her choice in gowns entirely. She changed her mind because she realized their breakfast would grow cold. She stepped into her pale green matching slippers and quickly twisted her hair into a chignon at the base of her neck and went downstairs with a number of buttons undone.
When she returned to the kitchen, she found her husband had dressed in a fine pair of buckskins and a long sleeved loose fitting shirt with a simple collar. He still wore the shabby boots that looked as though they were on their last leg. Otherwise, he looked very attractive-- though she sometimes wished she could see him in a cravat. She was thinking she might begin to sew one for him but thought the better of it. She seemed to remember finding a few cravats among his garments in his bureau when she had put away his clean clothes a few days ago. Perhaps he steered away from them preferring to remain a humble and less dignified farmer. Perhaps he was saving them for going into the village or Sunday services.
He'd finished setting the table she observed from the kitchen entry while she pondered his drawer of cravats and why he didn't wear them. She seemed almost frozen in time for a moment as this thought disturbed her a little. He had also served the food, placed a jar of blackberry jam and a crock of butter near the biscuits, and was pouring hot tea into two cups. She appreciated his gesture of helpfulness as he'd been every bit lost in the kitchen until he'd started helping her dry a few dishes and learned to put things away. Still, it did little to lift her spirit.
It was in this vein, with the fragile threads of a great deal of consternation on both of their parts hanging in the air over breakfast, that the events of the day transpired. Her heart was beginning to sink and his floundered between how he ought to do what he thought he should without further delay and what might happen if he could not bring himself to do so yet, to thoughts of how she might react if he just blurted out the truth right then and there.
“Could you help me with a few buttons?” she asked gingerly.
The Duke paused and then cleared his throat. Before he could decline, she whirled around so her back was to him and presented him with her predicament. It grieved him that he was putting her through this. If he had fully made her his wife, he'd have at least occasionally been helping her with such matters by now without any oddity to the matter. Instead, because he had not been fully truthful with her now nearly a month into their marriage, she was approaching him looking as though she felt very awkward and hesitant to ask him for this kind of help.
He chided himself further as he stared at her lovely mass of thick hair and the task before him. If he had considered how difficult her life had been without servants he would have revealed his identity to her before now and she'd not have to be concerned with such trivial matters as finding help to dress or rising before dawn to cook breakfast over a hot stove. As a Duchess she would have a full staff at her command. The trouble was, he wasn't entirely sure how she would react to the idea of becoming a Duchess-- though she was accomplished and entirely capable in every way. He simply hadn't met any other nineteen year old girls with such a title nor so much responsibility. He wasn't sure at all in what light she would consider a husband who had been dishonest with her, even if for good reason. He was certain she would think him a cad for having tested her so severely.
Without any words, he quickly attempted to button her pale green gown, struggling with the tiny satin covered buttons and his large hands and fingers. It seemed he was all thumbs. Just being near her, the whole room seemed charged with their desire for each other. She was trembling before he was done and he was gripping the table edge as he sat down. This time it was his eyes which remained averted from her.
“Thank you,” she finally managed to breathe as she set about the business of buttering a biscuit.
“Maybe one day soon we will have more help...” he started to say.
She interrupted him, “Please, I do not mind not having help to dress. I do not need an Abigail. I am accustomed to taking care of myself. I'm rather independent, the way my parents raised me to be. I come from humble beginnings and it is of no concern to me. It's only every now and then that I need any assistance at all...” she said. “I would not want you to go to such an extravagant expense on my account William.”
He ate his breakfast quietly for a while. Then he finally asked her, “Do you need anything from the apothecary or the haberdashery perhaps? I have a few errands in the village this morning if you would like me to bring you anything.”
“I can't think of anything I need, but thank you for asking,” she replied, looking down at her plate and longing a little more for the day when he might ask her to accompany him to the village. Until he was certain she was going to remain his wife, he probably would not risk exposing her to any of the locals. If she wasn't in such a foul mood she might insist he bring her along. She was anxious for a change of scenery. “I do think I shall take a walk today, to explore the farm a little more.”
“Just be careful in the wooded areas. Some of the woods are easy to get turned around in so stay on the paths,” he warned, thinking a walk might do her some good. She seemed so melancholy today underneath her simmering anger. Obviously she was still miffed that he had pulled away from her embrace yesterday. He was only trying to protect her honor. She had no idea how much he wanted to return her affection. But until he was sure she could handle what he had to divulge, and until he was certain of how and when to do so, it was best that he kept a safe distance between them.
He had disappeared down the lane after breakfast on horseback, she thought, looking glad to escape the tension between them. Or had he just looked rather lost? She finished washing the breakfast dishes with an even gre
ater melancholy settling over her already downcast mood. For starters, on top of the previous evening's events, she found herself wishing more and more that he had invited her into the village with him. She was beginning to feel stripped of all of her independence and freedom, and more like a prisoner every day. Secondly, she felt she had failed as a wife. It had been a month of marriage and he had yet to even kiss her. Lord, I know you have a plan for my life. Help me deal with all of this. Please carry these burdens for me today or strengthen me to not buckle under this weight of what I feel.
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