by Louise Allen
Alex reached out a hand as if to comfort her and Hebe flinched away, frantically aware that in her present state of mind he would only have to touch her and all her defences would be down and she would throw herself into his arms. It would be bitterly humiliating to see his embarrassment. Bad enough to be jilted, then to find yourself married to satisfy considerations of honour. But how did a man cope with an unwanted wife who wept in his arms and begged to be loved?
Hebe was well aware that demonstrations of strong affection between husband and wife were considered bad form, even in the case of the few admitted love matches in Society. She had never seen her parents, nor her aunt and uncle, display more than the most restrained affection in public, and she had every reason to suppose theirs were warm and loving relationships. And she was a Countess now: it behoved her to behave with restraint and dignity.
After a moment Alex said, ‘I am sorry, I did not think. Perhaps now is a good time to repeat what I said before, in case you were unsure that I meant it. Ours is a strange marriage, Hebe, one neither of us looked for. I want to reassure you that it will be a marriage in form only and you need never fear that I will…trouble you in any way. I give you my word I will not enter your bedchamber.’
Hebe looked at him, her gaze wide and troubled. ‘Not ever?’
He was as expressionless as she had ever seen him, his eyes cast into shadow. ‘Never, you have my word.’
Somehow her pride came to her rescue. ‘Thank you for being so frank. It is as well to know where we stand, is it not? I am relieved you feel able to speak to me about it.’
It was perhaps as well that the carriage passed through the gates of Tasborough Hall at that moment, for Hebe doubted whether she could maintain this calm pose for much longer. The groom up on the box blew a long blast on his horn, and by the time they drew up in front of the doors the servants were already assembled on the driveway, the maids hastily patting their hair down and straightening the long ribbons that streamed from their caps.
Alex helped Hebe down, offered her his arm, and began to walk her down the ranks of staff, introducing each in turn.
For many a young bride, unused to such splendour as the numbers drawn up to greet them signified, this would have been a terrifying experience. For Hebe it was a merciful relief. Here were people: new faces, new characters, all of whom would form part of her new life. She would have to learn to manage them, to be mistress of the household, but she knew as she looked at the line of shining, newly-scrubbed faces that these strangers would soon become part of the family.
She shook hands warmly with Starling, much to his surprise and that of his underlings. ‘Good afternoon, Starling! How glad I am to see a familiar face to welcome me. And Mrs Fitton, of course: we must have a long talk and you will tell me how to go on here at Tasborough Hall.’ She did not miss the look of shock on the housekeeper’s face at the realisation that she had been so incredibly indiscreet about his lordship’s lost love to the lady he had now married.
‘You have already been such a help to me, Mrs Fitton, I know I can rely on you,’ she added, much to that good woman’s relief.
As the housekeeper said to Starling much later in the privacy of her sitting room when they were indulging in a much-needed bumper of his lordship’s brandy, ‘I could have sunk through the floor, Mr Starling, when I saw her sweet face and I recall what I said about that Lady Clarissa, cruel flirt that she must be.’
‘Well, he has married this lady now, hasn’t he, Mrs Fitton, so you can’t have done much damage. Old friend of the family, his lordship told me, with an important message from the fleet in the Mediterranean—them not knowing that the Major was now an Earl, you see. That’s why she had a false name, and came while he was in mourning.’
‘Ohh!’ Mrs Fitton was enjoyably titillated by this glimpse into the war against the Corsican Monster, as she always liked to think of Napoleon. ‘Well, he’s made the right choice, I say: a nicer young lady you could not hope to meet.’
Mrs Fitton had bustled after her new mistress and was soon showing her to her room, then escorting the party to where the new countess’s lady companion would be installed. Anna gravely approved her new suite, but took the first opportunity to hiss in Hebe’s ear, ‘I am very tired and will not, of course, be dining anywhere but in my chamber tonight.’
Hebe whispered back, ‘Thank you, Anna, but you may have no fear of interrupting the slightest intimacy.’
Anna raised her eyebrows at Alex’s retreating back and sighed. She had not thought the Major so blind. She was gravely tempted to presume on past friendship and tell him exactly how his new bride felt about him and what he was throwing away by clinging to the memory of one beautiful, but faithless, woman. But Hebe had confided in her, trusted in her, and all Anna felt she could do was to help and advise the English girl whom she had grown to love like a sister.
So it was that the new Countess sat down to dinner that night at one end of what seemed an endless expanse of Jamaican mahogany and warily eyed the only other occupant of the dining room—besides, that is, three footmen and an expressionless butler.
The first remove consisted of what would have generously fed the entire servants’ hall with some to spare for luncheon the next day. Hebe pecked at a slice of poached chicken in white wine sauce, crumbled a bread roll and nibbled a single spear of asparagus. Her lord made a rather better attempt upon the dishes spread before him, but even so, it took some time for the footmen to clear the remains before resetting the table with the second remove.
Hebe made a decision. Either this house was going to run her or she was going to be mistress of it. ‘Starling.’
‘Yes, my lady?’
‘Please present my compliments to Mrs Dexter upon an excellent dinner and convey my apologies for not having done it justice. We have had a long day.’
‘Indeed, my lady.’
‘Please ask Mrs Dexter to attend me at ten o’clock tomorrow so that we may discuss the week’s menus.’
‘Certainly, my lady.’
‘And, Starling—’
‘Yes, my lady?’
‘When my lord and I dine alone, or with Mrs Wilkins, we will only require the presence of yourself and one footman.’
‘Certainly, my lady. May I help your ladyship to some salmon?’
‘Thank you, Starling. And, Starling, unless we are entertaining twenty or more, please remove that epergne and three of the leaves from the table.’
The meal wound on its interminable way until Hebe decided enough was enough and rose gracefully from her seat, remembering just in time the length of train on her second-best dinner gown. ‘I will leave you to your port, my lord,’ she said, acknowledging with an inclination of her head Alex rising from his place.
‘Ma’am. I will join you very shortly in the Panelled Room.’
‘Which is the Panelled Room?’ Hebe hissed to Starling as he opened the door for her. ‘And please do not say it is the one with the panelling, they all have that in this part of the house.’
She had surprised the glimmer of a smile from the butler. ‘The door on your right, my lady. It has more panelling than any of the others.’
Hebe had to agree that the room certainly had a superabundance of panelling. She felt confident that she could identify linen-fold style, plain panelling and something which appeared to be Gothic in its inspiration. Alex, arriving half an hour later—more, he ruefully felt, to comply with the expectations of his butler than any desire to linger over his port—found his bride standing on a chair and inspecting the carvings over the fireplace.
‘Looking for dust?’ he enquired casually.
Hebe jumped at the sound of his voice, but said reprovingly, ‘Certainly not. Mrs Fitton is an admirable housekeeper. I am looking for the boss which opens the secret panel, of course.’
‘The what?’ Alex strolled into the room, pleasantly flushed with a good dinner, wine and port and ready to be entertained by the Countess’s explorations.
; ‘The secret panel,’ Hebe repeated, regarding him from her superior height. ‘Please do not tell me there are no secret panels, priest holes, skeletons in cupboards or headless ghouls.’ She had a sneaking suspicion that she had had rather too much wine at dinner, but Alex appeared merely amused, so her light-headedness could not have been apparent.
‘I am very sorry to disappoint you,’ he said, coming to stand by the chair, his head tipped back. ‘This house was never a monastic building—so no headless monks or walled-up nuns, and we have been a Protestant family since the Reformation, so no priests’ holes either.’
‘Oh,’ Hebe said flatly. ‘Never mind. I shall not repine.’ She made to jump down, slipped and found herself being lifted safely down to the floor. For one long moment she was back in a small boat in the Grand Harbour, the sun beating down and the strong arms of this man encircling her waist. Hebe inhaled deeply, filling her nostrils with the scent of citrus and sandalwood, before she was sat neatly on the hard chair with her husband already settling himself in a wing chair by the fire.
She got up and took the chair opposite, still quivering slightly with the memory his touch had evoked.
Alex picked up a newspaper, but left it unfolded in his lap. ‘What would you care to do tomorrow, my dear?’
‘I think I had better spend my time with the female upper servants,’ Hebe decided. ‘If that is agreeable to you.’
‘Certainly. I hope I do not have to say again, Hebe, that whatever changes you wish to make to any aspect of this establishment and its running, you must do. There is no need to refer to me.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’ That sounded uncomfortably like a pleasant rebuke for having taken such a firm line with Starling at dinner.
Alex regarded her with a smile twitching the corner of his lips. ‘Hebe, when you call me “my lord” in that manner, I have the gravest misgivings that you are up to no good.’
Hebe twinkled back, suddenly at ease. ‘Me, my lord? Good Heavens, no. I think, if you do not mind, I will go to bed. I find I am very tired.’
She was surprised that he got to his feet and walked with her to the foot of the stairs. ‘Can you find your way amidst all this panelling?’ Hebe shot him a suspicious look. ‘No, no, Starling did not say anything, but I have uncommonly sharp hearing.’
‘Yes, I can find my way,’ Hebe said. ‘Goodnight.’ The stairs seemed endless, but the corridors were well lit with candles and she found her way easily to her room. Wearily she tugged the bellpull, and when Charity came sat quietly while the maid unpinned her hair and put away her simple jet jewellery.
When she turned from the basin, however, she was taken aback to find the girl had laid out the flimsy night-gown and negligée. It seemed ridiculous to put them on, and she almost said so, then caught herself in the nick of time. On top of everything else, she was going to have to pretend to the servants that she and their master were enjoying a perfectly normal married life.
Finally, clean, powdered, beribboned and dressed in her finery, she dismissed Charity and began to explore her new suite. The bedroom was vast with a half-tester bed and looming furniture. Well, if Alex said she could indulge herself with the house, this was where she was going to start.
Through a jib door hidden in the panelling was her dressing room, with its clothes presses and the luxury of an earth closet behind a further door. Hebe had read about new, water-flushing closets: that too was an indulgence she was ready to try.
The final door, when she twisted the handle, was locked. She looked at it perplexed for a moment, then realised what it was—the door that led through to Alex’s dressing room and bedchamber.
With a soft sigh Hebe discarded the exquisite negligée and went to bed, remembering to crumple the sheets on the far side of the bed and burrow her head into the pillows until it looked as though it had been occupied all night by two people.
She lay for a long time staring sightlessly into the darkness, but she did not hear Alex pass her door or enter his own room, and no key turned in the dressing-room lock that night.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Days at Tasborough Hall began to fall into a pleasant pattern during that first week. They would breakfast together, sometimes joined by Anna, sometimes not. Then Alex would vanish to consult with his steward or head gamekeeper and Hebe and Anna would explore the house, talk to Mrs Fitton and Mrs Dexter, the formidable cook, or ride out around the estate visiting tenants.
Usually Alex joined them for luncheon. On the first day Hebe decreed that the sunny parlour on the south face of the house would from now on be the Small Dining Room, whatever Starling said about the cavernous chamber that had previously carried that appellation. She tried to imagine the occasion when the Large Dining Room might be pressed into service, but only a State visit seemed appropriate. The butler was rapidly getting the measure of his new mistress and noted her list of orders about drapery, furniture and paintings with a perfectly straight face.
‘I am not prepared,’ Hebe said firmly, ‘to eat my luncheon facing a gentleman who appears to be in the act of casting me into hellfire.’ She gestured towards an exceedingly large and gloomy portrait of a gentleman clad in severe dress in the style of the preceding century. He clasped a large volume in one hand and had the other raised, apparently for the chastisement of all before him.
‘Ah, Grandfather Bellingham,’ Alex observed, strolling in at that moment. Hebe was within an ace of saying ‘So that’s where you get the look from’ when she remembered the presence of the butler and bit her tongue. Alex’s expression showed he had read her mind with tolerable accuracy. Hebe twinkled at him and received a wink in return.
‘And what would your ladyship wish to be placed there instead?’ Starling enquired, managing to ignore the by-play with the superb aloofness of the superior upper servant.
Later, over their evening glass of brandy, he relaxed his guard with Mrs Fitton. ‘Anything you like, Starling, she said, just so long as it is cheerful. Cheerful! I ask you, Mrs Fitton, where am I going to find something cheerful in this house? Mind you, she’s a real lady, I will say that for her.’ And the housekeeper had nodded in solemn agreement.
The ladies stayed in until three o’clock for the first few days in case of visitors, but they received none. Most of the local gentry wrote letters of felicitation following the discreet announcement in the newspapers, but, respecting the early days of mourning, stayed away and no invitations were issued.
Hebe consulted Starling on when they might expect callers and was told that it would be perhaps three weeks before their isolation was broken. She could only be glad, for it would give her a breathing space to become accustomed to her new role before she had to play the Countess to a no doubt inquisitive and possibly critical audience. After that they decided to use the sunny afternoons more profitably and either rode or drove out to visit all the tenants on the list which Glossop, the steward, gave Hebe.
The days were pleasantly full of new experiences, new lessons and new people to meet. Hebe felt busy and useful and enjoyed Anna’s company. Even dinnertime was less of a strain with a more modest menu, a small table and fewer hovering servants. At Hebe’s request Anna joined them, but she refused to do so on more than alternate evenings. ‘You have to grow accustomed to being alone with him, ducky,’ she said, patting Hebe’s cheek. ‘You feel safe with him, do you not?’
Hebe felt like retorting that she felt all too safe, but said nothing. She lived in fear that Anna would decide that enough was enough and she was going to lecture Alex on his husbandly duties. The thought made Hebe cringe with embarrassment, so she did her best to make Anna believe that she was content.
But the evenings were another matter. Hebe felt a constant tension, however relaxed and charming Alex was. He always made time to sit and talk about her day, tell her about his and he was full of praise for her efforts with staff and tenants. Already he was giving Mr Glossop instructions based on Hebe’s observations about badly thatched roofs on cottages, or
holes in hedges.
Yet, despite his praise and his consideration, she was acutely conscious of how he kept his distance from her and of a constraint that entered his voice whenever she strayed into too personal a topic.
At first Hebe could not account for it, then she began to wonder if it was the effect on a healthy, virile young man of leading a celibate life. She could not believe he had a mistress in the country and he was certainly not the sort of landlord who would prey on the daughters of his tenants for sport. In London, of course, even Hebe knew there would be ample opportunity for a man to find congenial and obliging female companionship, and for all she knew, Alex already had a mistress established.
She wondered if she should encourage him to go up to Town, although quite how to do so without betraying her motives eluded her, and much as she loved him and wanted what was best for him, she could not quite bring herself to plot stratagems to deliver him into the hands of some willing barque of frailty.
Eventually she confided in Anna, who raised her eyebrows somewhat at her young friend’s earnest enquiries about the deleterious effects of self-denial on men, but answered her willingly enough.
‘Well, priests and monks do it for life, of course. At least, they should,’ she amended carefully. ‘But they have a strong reason for doing so and are supported by their vows and the discipline of their faith. For ordinary men, I would say it often makes them, what is the word? Grumped? No, grumpy and short-tempered, and it is not comfortable for them to desire it but not to be able to consummate it.’ She eyed Hebe’s face as she sat there unconsciously nibbling the end of one finger in thought. ‘You know, it is not of such meaning for a man as for a woman. For women, except of course those who sell their favours, it is important to feel an attachment, at the very least, for the man. Men do not have that need, they can separate love and lusting.’
