The Folly at Falconbridge Hall

by Maggi Andersen

  His offer surprised and delighted her.

  He led her up the steps of the folly. Vanessa couldn’t help remembering the night she heard Lovel making love here to some woman. She’d never worked out who that woman was, perhaps a girl from the village. They sat together on the chaise longue, watching a swan leaving ripples in its wake as it paddled smoothly towards the small island. It was peaceful, but she still felt tense, aware of his nearness.

  He searched her eyes. “You are happy to marry me? I know it’s for Blythe’s sake.”

  “I wouldn’t have agreed if I didn’t think it wise.” She couldn’t tell him that, although Blythe was her central concern, she had her own selfish reasons for marrying him, and it wasn’t to improve her position in the world. Foolishly, she was immensely attracted to him, and it made being close like this extremely difficult. She sighed. Dare she hope that love would enter into the bargain they’d made?

  “I want you to be happy too. Vanessa….” He paused and looked away over the water. “I am a man who needs little from a spouse. My profession is extremely important to me and takes a lot of my time. Do you think that will worry you?”

  She swallowed the bitterness of disappointment. “No, Julian.”

  “You appear to be quite self-contained,” he said with relief.

  No, she wasn’t. She wasn’t at all. She yearned for him to take her in his arms and kiss her. Now. Passionately. Instead, he merely stood and offered her his arm to assist her down the steps. “It grows late, and it’s been a long day. You must be tired.”

  “Yes, a little,” Vanessa confessed. It was entirely reasonable he wanted a mother for Blythe. She would never demand too much from him, well aware of his precise scientific nature. Such a man seldom made an ardent lover. He was undoubtedly a good man. What woman wouldn’t wish for such a husband? If he proved to be preoccupied and often away, although it wasn’t what she wished for, she wouldn’t allow it to bother her. It was in her nature to find contentment in simple things. And, of course, there was Blythe. She drew a surprised breath. Blythe was to be her daughter, and God willing, later on there would be more children. A dream she had thought would never come true. If only he had kissed her, as if he really wished to.

  Later in her room, she became determined not to lapse into romantic dreams of love. This was more of a business arrangement. It was not a love match. Julian had made that perfectly clear. Surprised at the depth of her disappointment, she couldn’t resist envisaging how his lips would feel pressed to hers in a passionate kiss, and a moan escaped at the needy ache that resulted.

  *****

  Mrs. Royce took Vanessa on a tour of the house. There were so many rooms she hadn’t seen, all shuttered up with the curtains drawn, that her head felt befogged by the time they approached the long gallery linking the east and west wings. Like the rest of the house, this richly paneled room was shadowy, the row of long mullioned windows covered with heavy drapes.

  The housekeeper paused in front of Clara’s painting and gave the elaborate frame a flick with the cloth she had tucked at her waist. “This is Lady Falconbridge.”

  Vanessa could see a little of Blythe in the shape of her eyes and brow. Not wishing to admit to having already seen it, she said, “Lady Falconbridge was very beautiful.”

  Mrs. Royce folded her arms. “Beauty is as beauty does.”

  Vanessa suspected Mrs. Royce had no truck with beauty. Neatness, modesty, and cleanliness were far more important to the housekeeper. She had certainly settled on the perfect profession to suit her nature. Clara seemed an extravagant creature, and no doubt, that was part of her charm, but to Mrs. Royce, extravagance of any kind was immoral. The artist, though, had been a master with a brush. Curious, Vanessa leant closer, trying to make out the artist’s signature in the gloom.

  “Shall we continue?” The housekeeper sounded irritated. “We have yet to discuss the linens.”

  It was an unusually ardent response for Mrs. Royce to make. She was quite able to purvey the full force of her feelings with one small gesture. “I think we can leave the linens for today, Mrs. Royce.”

  The housekeeper flushed as if fearing she’d sounded too abrupt. “I’m sorry, Miss Ashley. I didn’t wish to speak out of turn. It’s just that his lordship suffered so when Lady Falconbridge left him. When she died, I didn’t expect him ever to recover. I’m so pleased that now.…”

  Surprised by the change in the usually formal woman, Vanessa said, “Please don’t give it another thought, Mrs. Royce. I think that will be all for now. Blythe is waiting.”

  “Yes, of course,” Mrs. Royce said in her usual brisk tone. “You go right along, Miss Ashley.”

  Vanessa hurried away. Clara had broken Julian’s heart. Her heart sank, knowing how impossible it would be for her to compete with such a woman.

  She made her way to the schoolroom wing. Blythe bounded to her feet at the sight of her.

  “Can we ride your bicycle before lunch, Miss Ashley?”

  “I don’t see why not.” Julian had been right, for a transformation was taking place before her eyes. Vanessa felt a swift stab of protectiveness towards the child. She could only hope this would last through the difficult months ahead when Blythe would sorely miss her father.

  *****

  Accompanied by Mary, who was to be her new lady’s maid, Vanessa traveled in the carriage to Harrods in Brompton Road, Kensington, where Julian had an account. His instructions were to buy a full trousseau: underwear, footwear, nightwear, and several suitable outfits that would take her into society after they were wed, when he intended to introduce her to his friends and associates. “Hats and things,” he’d said, waving a hand vaguely while expressing the wish to see her well dressed.

  With Mary gasping at her side, Vanessa rode the new escalator to the top, where they were offered a little brandy to recover from the shock. Vanessa firmly refused the spirit, and Mary glumly followed her into the ladies department.

  Faced with rack upon rack of lovely gowns, Vanessa faltered. Although given carte blanche to buy what she liked, after growing up with barely a penny to spend on herself, she found herself uncomfortable with the notion. She determined to buy only what she would need in the near future. The saleslady who attended her, once made aware of Julian’s account, pulled out dress after dress to hold before her. Vanessa’s head began to swim.

  “Lady Falconbridge loved clothes,” Mary said at her elbow. “She had them made by a French couturier. And the famous Madam Colombin, in the Rue de la Tour-d’Auvergne made her hats.” The maid looked wistful. “Her French maid, Josephine, received some wonderful hand-me-downs.”

  “And you shall have mine, Mary, although they will not be quite as grand.”

  “Thank you, Miss Ashley.”

  “Her clothes must have been lovely.” Vanessa discarded the simple wool dress with a row of bead embroidery at the neck she was considering and moved along the rack, to discover a pale-yellow mousseline de soie ballgown. It was quite frivolous and terribly expensive. Quite the loveliest evening gown she’d ever seen. Silk roses with darker green leaves decorated the bodice, and the front panel was of delicate lace. A small elegant train spoke of her status as a young matron. “I believe I shall have this,” she said surprised at her boldness.

  “Oh it’s quite lovely, Miss Ashley.” Mary brightened no doubt at the prospect of better hand-me-downs.

  “Certainly, Miss Ashley.” The saleslady removed it from the rack, holding the delicate material carefully in her arms. “If you’ll just step into the fitting room, it may need to be altered.”

  They arrived home with the carriage piled with parcels. Johnson instructed a servant to take them to her room while she went to fetch Blythe.

  “Sit down, Blythe. I have lots to show you,” Vanessa said when the child followed her in.

  Vanessa laid out the dainty ivory gown adorned with French knots, embroidered in featherstitch, light and silky in her hands. “This is my wedding dress.”

&nb
sp; Blythe curled up in the chair and giggled. “You mustn’t show Father before the wedding; it’s bad luck.”

  “Heavens, no. I’ll wear my mother’s pearls for something old.”

  “What about something new, something borrowed, and something blue, and a silver shilling in your shoe?” Blythe chanted.

  “I’ll pin a blue ribbon inside my hem,” Vanessa said. “I shall have to think about the rest.”

  “Your dress is new. You may borrow my butterfly pin father gave me,” Blythe said. “It is both blue and borrowed.”

  “Why, thank you, Blythe.” Touched, she squeezed the young girl’s hand. “I shall be most honored to wear it.”

  Vanessa shook out another gown. “I couldn’t resist this.” It was a high-collared, full-sleeved dress in the conventional style, but the pattern of oranges and leaves in clusters, woven into a black background of Spitalfields silk, was most unusual and striking. A dress like this gave her confidence. She could see herself entertaining and paying calls with aplomb in such a dress.

  “It goes with your hair,” Blythe said.

  “And a sable-colored wool cloak trimmed with bands of astrakhan and black chenille embroidery for when the weather grows cold. I think it’s very smart.”

  “Very smart,” Blythe echoed.

  “Do you like this?” The dress featured a ladybird-in-flight design in red floss silk. “Ladybirds are lucky. If one alights on your hand, you will soon receive new gloves.”

  “Bugs,” Blythe said with satisfaction. “Father will like it. I shall look for ladybirds in the garden.”

  Blythe put on a black hat and pulled the net veil over her face. She pranced before the mirror while Vanessa tried on the frivolous one laden with tulle, flowers, and feathers, tying the ribbon bow to one side under her chin. It complemented her wedding dress perfectly.

  Blythe opened more boxes, throwing tissue paper about. She pulled out two pairs of shoes, a buttoned black patent-leather shoes and a pair of cream glacé kid.

  Vanessa burrowed amongst her purchases spread out over her bed. “Of course, you must also wear a new dress.” She held out a cream embroidered toile. “You should dress with a touch of blue, Blythe. Look, the blue stitching matches your eyes.”

  Blythe held it against herself in front of the mirror, making Vanessa smile. She imagined how she would be when grown into a lovely young woman. She prayed she would be here to see it.

  Blythe spun around. “What shall I call you? Miss Ashley doesn’t seem right.”

  “What would you like to call me?”

  A shadow passed across Blythe’s eyes. “Not mother.”

  “Why not Nessa? My mother used to call me that.”

  “Nessa? Yes, I like that.”

  When Blythe returned to the nursery, Vanessa examined the new underwear. Nightdresses and undergarments trimmed with embroidery and ribbons, two petticoats, a pale blue wrapper, and a very fetching corset with roses on the panels trimmed with black lace. At the thought of wearing them in front of Julian, she flushed and a wave of panic caused heat to rush to her face. But then another anguished thought tightened her throat. Would he be interested enough to notice?

  *****

  Vanessa stood beside Julian at the Registry Office on King’s Road, Chelsea. A dry, dusty kind of place to be married. She didn’t mind really, although it was hard to summon the appropriate spiritual feeling and therefore the sense of legitimacy in the eyes of God that one would gain from standing before an altar with a vicar presiding. Blythe, enchanting in her new dress, held Vanessa’s bouquet of lily of the valley, myrtle, and hothouse orange blossoms, a surprise gift from her husband-to-be. Behind them stood Julian’s friends and partners in the expedition, accompanied by their well-dressed wives. It was the first time Vanessa had met the fearfully elegant Lord and Lady Forster and Mr. and Mrs. Hewson Watmore.

  As their wedding vows were made, the whole affair took on the semblance of a dream. Vanessa concentrated on her handsome husband, dressed in a grey suit with a silk damask waistcoat and striped cravat. He turned to hand his grey silk top hat to Mr. Watmore then took hold of her hand and, at a prompt from the registrar, slipped a gold wedding band on her finger. Her heart thudding, she met his gaze, suspecting he could read her like a book, and worried because her palms were moist.

  The touch of his cool lips on hers surprised her. Brief as it was, the kiss set her heart beating wildly, as her thoughts returned to what would happen when they were finally alone.

  The bridal party repaired to Claridge’s Hotel. Amid the elegant columns and gilt mirrors, Vanessa leaned back in her chair and sipped champagne. It settled her queasy stomach and made her tense limbs relax. She watched Julian from over the top of her glass, admiring his classical profile. He and Watmore were deep in discussion, something about luggage bearers. Julian had a very determined chin. A frisson of apprehension galloped through her, and she took another large swallow. Watmore was now talking about the medical supplies necessary to treat snakebite and other ailments. Vanessa put down her glass and rose to her feet. Julian jumped up as if he’d just realized she was there.

  “I wish to be excused,” she said, flushing.

  “Of course. So do I.” Aurelia Forster rose and took her arm. Together, they strolled to the ladies’ retiring room.

  The mirror confirmed Vanessa’s worst fears. Her eyes looked like a startled hare’s, and her cheeks were closer to the color of tomatoes than apples.

  “This is all a bit sudden, isn’t it?” Lady Forster said sympathy in her grey eyes.

  Vanessa swallowed. “Yes. A bit.”

  “You have no need to worry.” She turned her attention to the mirror, removing her violet-grey hat to pat her fair hair. “Has your mother prepared you for what to expect from marriage?”

  “I’m afraid not.” Vanessa’s breath hitched. “She passed away two years ago.”

  “I see.” The older woman met her gaze in the glass. “You are worried about tonight, no doubt. The marriage bed.”

  “A little.” Vanessa had many concerns but silently agreed that was definitely the first hurdle to cross. At the thought of Julian as a hurdle, she smothered a nervous giggle. She tugged down a sleeve.

  Lady Forster laid a gloved hand on her arm. “You know what happens between a man and woman?”

  Vanessa had a fair idea, and that was the trouble. She nodded.

  “Good. It might hurt a bit at first,” the lady said in an unruffled tone. “But it will all be over in a few minutes.” She shrugged. “Something we women must endure.”

  “Endure?” It came out as a croak.

  “But husbands give us so much more than a little discomfort now and then, do they not?” her ladyship replied. “Are you ready to return to the party?”

  Vanessa followed Lady Forster’s wide grey chiffon-covered hips across the room. She chewed the inside of her cheek, aware her concerns had deepened. Blythe raised her head from a dish of ice cream to watch her. Before they went in to dinner, the nursery maid would take her home. Vanessa painted a smile on her face. If only she could have convinced Julian to wait until his return to consummate the marriage. She wondered if she might still be able to do so. The men stood as she and Lady Forster approached the table. Julian helped Vanessa with her chair then turned back to his friend again. She grew confident he had little interest in such things.

  Chapter Ten

  After an elegant repast of Galantine de veau and lobster, Vanessa and Julian left their guests and returned to Falconbridge Hall. It drew a laugh from Vanessa to see slippers tied to the back of the carriage.

  “It means that you are now your husband’s possession.” A humorous spark lit Julian’s eyes.

  “How old fashioned and quaint,” Vanessa said with a moue.

  He raised a brow at her effrontery. “I’m beginning to wonder how much like your mother you are.”

  “We shall have to see,” Vanessa said with a smile. She wasn’t sure herself. She’d always had so little p
ower; just making her way in life had been her main objective. It occurred to her that she was now in the position to try to make a difference in other women’s lives. It was a heady thought. “Would you mind if I was?”

  A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “We shall have to see.”

  The household staff waited to greet them and offer their felicitations decked out in their wedding favors—silver leaves and acorns for the men and a sprig of orange blossom and white ribbons for the ladies.

  Vanessa longed to speak to Julian privately, but they were whisked off to the servants’ hall for a piece of wedding cake and a celebratory glass of wine. After that, she left Julian discussing the finer points of pugilism with Johnson and retired upstairs, wishing to see Blythe.

  The child was almost asleep, a lamp casting soft shadows over the walls.

  “Hello, Nessa.” She yawned. “I waited for you.”

  Vanessa perched on the edge of the bed. “Hello, sleepy-head. Did you enjoy today?”

  “Oh yes. I liked the ice cream, ’specially.”

  “That’s good.” Vanessa tucked wisps of black hair back from Blythe’s brow. “And have you said your prayers?”

  “Yes. I prayed Father would return safely. And I prayed for you too.”

  “Thank you for adding me to your prayers.” She bent and kissed her forehead. “I always put you in mine. I wish you sweet dreams.”

  “Night, Nessa.”

  She was halfway to the door when Blythe called to her. “Are you my mother now, Nessa?”

  Her breath caught in her throat at the urgent plea. She turned. “I’d like to be.”

  “And you won’t leave me?”

  She approached the bed and gazed down at the pale little face, almost lost against the lace edged pillow. “No, sweetheart. I won’t leave you.”

  “Good.” Blythe closed her eyes.

  Blythe’s breathing grew deeper. Vanessa crossed quietly to the door, and the child was asleep before she opened it.