As she turned her attention back to their conversation, she found herself wondering and amazed at her husband's knowledge and education. She enjoyed the view of the blue summer sky from the open travel mode of being in the barouche. The fresh morning air and ventilation made the journey pleasant.
After a few hours, they spotted a scenic clearing to the side of the road overlooking a vale of meadows where the road curved to the south with a knoll just beyond. Her husband tapped on the driver's bench lightly to alert the driver to stop. The horses needed to rest and were hungry. Her husband stepped down easily and then as she landed on the step he easily picked her up and planted her on the grass beside the road. The driver fed the horses from a pouch of food he strapped onto their heads while William carried the picnic basket to a spot under a cluster of trees and she followed to spread a blanket.
William complemented her about the oyster stew which he favored. He shared memories with her about Christmas and times when his mother and aunt had served the same dish. He had such a faraway look in his eyes. She listened to his every word, thankful he was opening up to her about a memory from his past.
Eventually they were back in the barouche and traveling further south, having to stop once to let a flock of geese cross the road. She was thankful for the cushioned seats and seemed to relax after the pleasant lunch they'd shared. She grew weary from the heat and for a good part of the afternoon, drifted in and out of sleep. He seemed quieter in the second leg of the day and his gaze seemed glued to the ever changing landscape around them.
By late afternoon a few dark clouds had rolled in and a clap of thunder was heard moments before heavy rains began to fall. They'd had to close the opening in the roof as much as they could. William spread the picnic blanket over their laps to keep them both dry. She seemed to huddle closer to her husband, wishing he would put his arm around her. He did have one arm behind her on the upper part of the seat's edge but he never touched her unless they were jostled together by bumps in the road.
The rain brought their travels to an end earlier than expected that day but thankfully it waned to a steady drizzle after the first half an hour of pounding rain. Somewhere between Banbury but closer to Woodstock they stopped at an old Tudor style inn and were made comfortable by a hot meal, a clean room and a warm bed. William hadn't seemed to notice that she was terribly preoccupied about the letters she'd read. Again, they shared a bed, her husband sleeping on top of the covers and she beneath. She was glad to hear him breathing as they drifted off to sleep and reminded herself not to let her heart feel any loss if he chose not to express any affection toward her. She could not afford to fall in love with him if he was in love with someone else.
“Did you sleep well?” William asked her the next morning at breakfast. They were downstairs in the public dining room and it was crowded with other guests. The sun was shining brightly and seated near a window, she could look out and see that everything glistened from the previous day's rain.
He noticed she wore a lovely chintz frock in summer white with pink and yellow flowers embroidered along the edges of the square neckline and at the hem of the skirt and the sleeves. The sleeves were three quarter length and slim along her shoulders and upper arms and wide at the hem, and lined with white lace trim and another row of pale yellow lace. She was draped in a pale yellow chintz shawl that hung at her elbows nearly a foot from the ground, giving her an elegant look. Her bonnet was trimmed in pale yellow silky ribbon and she looked positively radiant after a good night's rest. She wore pale yellow slippers and carried a matching reticule. Her hair was done in a fashionable style with some curls to one side dangling to just above her shoulder and the rest she wore up.
“Thank you, yes,” she smiled. He loved her smile and how her eyes lit up when she smiled up at him. “I did. I was surprised to find the bed so comfortable. And you?”
“Very well. We should reach Woodstock early this afternoon so eat a good breakfast. We can picnic in the barouche along the route if you have no objections.”
“There is still plenty of bread, more oyster stew, cheese and apples. I do not object,” she replied as she sliced her fork into a plate of fried eggs a waitress had placed before her. She ate a cinnamon roll and a few bites of porridge. She had time to finish a cup of warm cocoa before he indicated he was ready to begin the day's journey.
After they were seated in the barouche together, side by side and facing the empty seat behind the driver, his large hand covered her smaller one. “Let us pray for the rest of our journey,” he said. He always seemed to keep a proper distance from her so his hand covering hers sent a little tremble through her.
“Dear Father,” he prayed, “Keep us safe on this journey. Help us to enjoy this time together and to deepen our relationship. Help us to always have true love and trust in each other. Help my new wife to know that I care deeply about her and help us both adjust to this new life together. Draw us closer to you and to each other. Help us to understand each other. May she know that I am here for the duration, for forever and teach me how to love her the way she needs loved. Amen.”
When he had finished the prayer, her heart soared and she dabbed at a lone tear that had escaped the duct of her eye before he could see it. She was taking in all that his prayer had meant and allowing her heart to mend in his words. Oh Lord, she prayed, you certainly seem to have found the right man for me. “Amen,” she said, adding her silent prayer to his verbal one. He continued to hold her hand for a long while.
She pondered his prayer and all that it had meant for much of the duration of the journey. The splendor of Blenheim when she laid eyes on it, however, could not compare to the moment that her heart had soared after that prayer with her handsome husband and the peacefulness in their journey as he held her hand that day. It had been so nice to simply take that small step of allowing him to hold her hand and speak words of commitment and love toward her. It had been a turning point for them.
He had watched her eyes when she beheld Blenheim Palace and took in all of the magnificence before her later that afternoon. They had decided against a tour of the inside of the palace but determined to enjoy the view from a distance and walk the grounds. She had a child-like wonder on her face and he delighted to see her captivated by the beauty of the baroque and enormously beautiful structure as their driver brought the swift barouche to a stop where they could light and walk about.
They walked around a waterway after exploring the gardens and it was there they found a pleasant place to sit with a view of the palace in the distance. There she found the courage inside herself to ask him a question about his past. He had been surprised again by her ability to perform the unexpected when he heard her question. “Have I ever been in love before?” He repeated the question, softly, holding her hand again. She remained quiet, bracing herself for his answer.
“No,” he said, “I've never been in love before.”
“Never?” she repeated. This time it was she who was surprised by his answer.
“A long time ago I thought I might be in love with a girl named Cordelia, but it turned out to be infatuation I suppose. Nothing more,” he said. “She married someone else before I could figure it all out.”
“And now, what do you think is happening to us?” she asked.
He looked down at her face framed by her pretty bonnet where she sat beside him on the lawn beneath a shady maple tree. Her eyes held such questions. “I think we are falling in love with each other slowly, cautiously... and very deeply. I believe, love is a choice... it is not something to enter into lightly and it is something that takes nurturing, constantly and forever. I think we are laying a solid foundation on which our love can grow,” he said. “I seem to learn something new about you each day.” He paused and then continued thoughtfully, his jaw muscles tightening, “I find I'm captivated by everything about you and eager for each new morning, every next moment, every hour. I haven't felt that way in a very long time, since I can't remember when.”
> She nodded and squeezed his hand tightly in response. She loved the firmness of his face, his firm jaw and chin, the determined look in his eyes when he said something he really meant. She thought he would have kissed her just then but something told her he was holding himself back with everything he could muster inside himself, as if once he started he would never stop. She was absolutely certain she saw a faint glimmer of desire cross his face as he looked at her but instinctively she knew it was too soon, though she wanted to throw herself in his arms. She needed to hear more words of love and commitment from him before she could fully give herself to him romantically. She turned away from him, kept her eyes on the ground ahead of their path and the palace beyond in the horizon of the distance, which seemed like a promise of hope to them both. She had to hide what she wanted to say in reply because she felt as though he still didn't fully trust her and wasn't ready to move forward on what he felt.
He was older and wiser and wanted to give her time to know him and know her own heart. She was able to follow his lead in patience but this stemmed partly from her own pride that she should hold back if he did, and partly the reservoir of fear she had of rushing into a decision to remain with him without more prayer. And where would she go if she left him? She had to give this marriage a chance. There were few options, if any, before her. Lady Victoria would take her back under her own roof if necessary, but that was an option she refused to consider. She would rather forge a new life with the man beside her. She had a feeling that when he did finally succumb to his love for her, it was going to be a deep and passionate love; something that would last forever; something glorious, even eternal. It was the way his eyes looked at her that day.
Chapter 12. What She Thought and What He Thought
And pray she did in the days that followed. As she finished peeling potatoes and placed them in a large pot of water to boil over the fireplace she set about making the crust for another kidney pie. She formed the dough into a ball before rolling it out and placing into a pie pan to form a shell for the pie filling. They were back at home on Hanwell Farm and as she reflected on their journey she knew they had been strengthened and seemed to have escaped whatever it was her husband had been fleeing. She felt a deep sorrow that he hadn't been able to trust her with his problems or the other things that were happening in his world... a world she felt she didn't fully know or understand.
She marveled that every kind of provision seemed to be in the cellar and the kitchen and that even now the only thing she could think of that they were running short on were candles, because they both liked to read in the evenings. How wonderful a situation you have provided for me Father God. We have all of our needs supplied. Please help me learn about my husband and be a good wife to him. Please help him trust me.
She enjoyed recalling their stay at the inn called All the King's Men near Woodstock. Though he made no attempts to kiss her and slept on top of the covers each night, he had held her hand for the remainder of those nights. It had been such a small sign of affection to her but had meant all the world to her heart. Eventually he had sent word to Benjamin of his location and about a week passed and a letter had returned to her husband with some kind of word. He never shared the letter with her but had decided the coast was clear to return to the farm at Hanwell a few days later.
She would miss the leisurely days they'd enjoyed having breakfast, luncheons and dinners at the inn; taking walks in the town and browsing the shops and the bookstore; exploring the meadows and lanes about the area. She wondered how her husband could afford such a fine trip but it seemed like a honeymoon of sorts to both of them. She hadn't had to cook, clean, scrub floors, sweep the porch, beat the dust out of the rugs or carry buckets of water from the well.
She could hardly recall the last time she'd had such an enjoyable time. Perhaps on one of the many visits where they had sometimes been invited to visit the Baron and his wife before the Baron had passed away, where the vicar and his daughter had been well cared for, well fed, very much entertained, surrounded by interesting people and waited on by the servants of the Baron, even having the use of a ladies' maid to do her hair. Those memories seemed so long ago now... she was in another place and time, where she knew her husband depended upon her help for things to run smoothly on the quiet farm nestled in the Cotswalds.
She brushed away a stray strand of hair as she set about cleaning up the flour and leftover bits of pie dough she had trimmed off the pie edges with a dull knife to make her pie look neat. She seemed to have flour under all her nails so she scrubbed her work area clean and then scrubbed her hands and nails at the basin at the rear door with fresh water from the pitcher nearby. When she was done washing up she dried her hands on her apron and found herself wandering in and out of the dining room and then the kitchen, trying to decide whether she should serve tonight's meal in the hot kitchen where the oven had made the temperature seem almost stifling, or the lovely dining room where the breeze might cool them off.
In the evenings they would open all the side windows to let fresh air into the parlor and the dining room, the latter from which she occasionally used to place their supper. She could look out the eastern facing windows and see far off in the distance a few honey colored cottages dotting the countryside, their thatched roofs protecting the families inside that she longed to someday meet. How long would it be before her husband fully trusted in her and in their marriage? How long, Lord?
She reflected once again on their little honeymoon trip as she stared out the window... she liked to call it that now in her mind... their little honeymoon. Well, sort of... there hadn't been any kissing of any sort... but it had been a nice break from their usual routine. They sometimes had curled up by the fireplace on the floor in their room at the inn and her husband had read poetry to her by the evening firelight. The evenings had been cool enough to warrant a fire... and how refreshing to have had a spell of cool summer nights. She would wrap a light blanket around her nightgown and listen to him read for hours. He would sit in the worn gray upholstered arm chair and she would sit on the floor at his knee and lean her head there to rest and listen to the romantic poems.
Several times she remembered waking up with her head on her husband's shoulder in the middle of the night. Still he slept on top of the covers and she under. He was a man determined to give her time and space to adjust to the idea of being married to him, to get to know him. She felt too eager to give her new husband a chance and yet, at the same time, a part of her was glad he didn't rush her into the relationship. Everything else has happened so fast Lord. Perhaps it is good that we are patient with each other and take our time, making sure we learn more about each other... there are so many things I don't know about him yet.
She missed those evenings the most but she felt they had some sort of new aspect to their relationship and a more solid ground from which to build their marriage since the journey to Blenheim. She was content to resume her duties at the cottage on the farm without having any details whatsoever as to how he had averted Marcus and Lady Catherine Duncan from a confrontation on their farm. Although it was a most curious situation to her, she did her best to remain confident and trusting in her husband and his personal affairs... She told herself to give it time and that she would soon understand everything about him. She never forgot the names in the letters she'd read but it didn't seem as important to her now as it once did. The words he'd spoken to her at Blenheim had given her a measure of peace, as did her prayers. Her days were busy with finding her way around the house and organizing the menu for each day and keeping up with the cleaning, cooking, baking, laundering linens and settling again into the daily routine of farm life.
She wandered back into the kitchen thinking she should find some sort of fresh fruit for a dessert. Her husband's kitchen was also so well organized and stocked with pots and pans and everything in place --as if a woman had once put everything in order. Then again, her husband's nature seemed very thorough and business-like. Perhaps at one time he
had employed a cook who had organized the kitchen. She had moved a few things around to make room for her own things but in general, she left things much the way they were before her arrival.
After cutting up some apple slices she lifted the lid to the kettle to check on the progress of the vegetables simmering on the stove. He really didn't seem like he knew his way around the kitchen all that well. He still seemed awkward with most household chores and didn't seem to know anything about cooking.
To Find a Duchess Page 14
