My demure qualities attracted Lord Benedict Russell. We met at a weekend house party at Harold Hall. Being as equally reserved as I, it took some prodding before introductions ensued. Olivia thought him somewhat plain, but I found no aversion to his physical appearance. Tall and broad shouldered, he towered above my five-foot-four-inch frame. Although he lacked the makings of a fairy-tale prince charming, I thought him attentive, polite, and tender in his dealings with me as a woman. Those qualities in themselves produced an agreeable opinion of his character.
Did I love him? The emotion of romantic love remained foreign to me. I enjoyed his company even though he maintained a reticent personality. We had little in common regarding interests that brought us pleasure in life but were careful to exhibit mutual respect. If those qualities were the cornerstone of a happy marriage, then perhaps I did possess the emotion in spite of the fact my heart never swelled as Olivia told me it should.
The only unfavorable circumstance had been his mother, a widow, who lived with him in their stately home of Stratton Park. Her initial reaction to her son’s attraction to a younger woman had been one of suspicion and distrust. Though she eventually accepted our courtship and subsequent engagement, I never sensed she wholeheartedly agreed with Benedict’s choice of a wife. Admittedly, I was somewhat naïve on matters concerning the marriage bed and the running of a household. Both were tasks I found equally challenging after receiving little instruction from my mother, who doted on her sons rather than her daughter.
During our wedding night, Benedict seemingly found the experience of intercourse to be as foreign as I did. Naturally, I determined all men bedded women before they married as a rite of passage to manhood. Perhaps he had done so, but his timid approach astounded me. I didn’t need to ask him to dim the lights because he did so without my plea. Neither did he beseech me to unclothe my body nor did I see the curious male appendage my mother warned me about before we wed. Instead, I crawled into bed naked beneath my nightgown and lay nervously underneath the covers.
Discreetly he reclined next to me. After a few tender kisses, he lifted my hem, positioned himself between my legs, and slipped inside my body. The swift and painful consummating encounter felt more perfunctory than passionate. He released himself and rolled off me with a groan. Our marriage, sealed in a composed regard, left a dreadful emotional chasm in my heart that grew wider over time. Afterward, my role as his wife had been a dutiful one, allowing him to bed me when he pleased. Those occasions were infrequent. Eventually I performed the task of bearing him a child.
In the sixth month of our marriage, I became pregnant. Nine months later in March of 1914, I bore Benedict his long-awaited heir to the family fortune. We named our son Percy, in honor of Benedict’s father. Life between us continued amicably, and I resolved I had experienced the totality of what marriage offered. The contentment of motherhood somewhat occupied the void I felt as an unfulfilled wife.
I never doubted Benedict’s love nor questioned further my endearment for him. Nevertheless, something lacked in our relationship, and as the months passed, it eventually wilted my happiness like a decaying flower. Before I could seek the answer to my growing despondency, the world around us shattered.
On August 4, 1914, England declared war on Germany. In the days that followed, the House of Commons set aside funds for an army of five hundred thousand new recruits. Benedict received his notice of mobilization among the thousands of other reserves in England.
As a major in the Royal Warwickshire Regiment, Benedict would fight against the advancing German army. Whatever solid footing I felt beforehand in our lives gave way to shifting sand as I watched my husband dress in his uniform and prepare to leave his family behind. Distraught and nervous over his departure, I feared an uncertain future. In a desperate attempt to stop him leaving, I clutched his forearm.
“You will let me come with you to the train station?”
Benedict’s eyes lowered to my hand, and he gently detached it as if he were removing a piece of lint from his suit. After giving it an assuring pat, he sternly spoke. “I think it best you do not. It will be much easier, and I prefer to spare you, my darling.”
His disappointing words did not deter my insistence. With equal resolve, I answered in an unyielding tone. “If you were to spare me anything, it would be not going to war.” I countered foolishly, knowing it to be impossible. “I intend to spend every last second together before you depart.”
He picked up his military hat and inhaled a deep breath. Tiny lines had formed around his eyes, and for the first time, I noticed the marks of maturity creep across his face. Regardless of our age difference, I believed we had many years ahead together. With a sense of urgency, I flung my arms around his neck and kissed him ardently.
The fears that boiled beneath my surface met his usual unruffled demeanor. Inwardly, I knew he disapproved of my weakness. He pulled away and thoughtfully gazed into my eyes.
“If you feel that strongly, then come with me to the station.”
Thankfully, he relented, and I smiled over my successful bid to stay with him.
“Let me say goodbye to Mother first, and I’ll meet you downstairs in a few minutes.”
Benedict departed, and I grabbed a sweater and my purse. When I reached the foyer at the bottom of the grand staircase, Florence stood before her son. Their faces displayed little emotion, which reminded me that she, in many ways, had forged his character like her own.
“Write if you can.” She calmly spoke. “And do take care of yourself.”
“I will, Mother.” Benedict glanced at me approaching. “Watch over Grace.”
“Of course. I am keenly aware, my dear, of her needs.”
After hearing her unsurprising reaffirmation of my flaws, I approached and stood by Benedict’s side.
“If the military needs to commandeer the house and grounds for anything, you have my permission to do as you please,” Benedict announced. “We all must do our part abroad and here at home.”
“It shall be done as you wish.” Florence noted my handbag and sweater. “Are you going to the station?” She flashed me a disapproving look, pressing her lips together.
“I agreed that Grace could accompany me,” Benedict answered in my stead.
“Very well then.”
Florence turned away from me to show her disapproval of my actions. Benedict kissed his mother on her right cheek, and we walked out the door together. As we climbed into the waiting car, a shiver of fear ran through my veins. The driver pulled slowly away from the estate as if he dreaded our destination. Benedict and I sat silently next to one another. Fearful thoughts taunted me that this could be the last time I saw my husband. When the car arrived, my eyes widened at the chaotic scene.
Hundreds of men, women, and children crowded the platforms, making it difficult to reach the railcars. Soldiers from the community had arrived to join their regiments. Already anxious over my goodbye, I suddenly found myself engulfed in a scene of tearful farewells. Couples held each other tightly, children clung to their fathers, and tears flowed plentifully down the cheeks of concerned family members. Sucking in a breath to stifle my raw emotions, I swore for Benedict’s sake not to weep.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Benedict said. He came to an abrupt halt and faced me. “I don’t want this to be your last memory before I go.”
“No, I want to be here,” I assured him, grabbing his hand tightly. “I only see you and not the others. It’s your face I wish to remember.”
He brought the palm of his hand and cupped my cheek, looking devotedly into my eyes. “You are precious.”
“Take this.” Carefully I removed a picture from my purse. It had been a favorite family photograph with the three of us together. “Remember us each day and draw strength you are loved and needed.” As I handed it to Benedict, an anxious frown pulled his eyebrows together. “Come home to us,” I pleaded with a trembling voice.
“I’ll keep it close to my heart.” Ben
edict slipped the picture into his pocket. “Goodbye Grace.”
Benedict took me in his arms, giving me a short but sweet kiss. As I clung to his body, refusing to let go, he gently pulled my arms down from around his neck until I eventually relented to his release. A moment later, he disappeared down the length of the railcars, and I saw him for one more fleeting glimpse as he turned and waved goodbye.
“All aboard!” the conductor’s voice boomed. A few straggling soldiers swiftly boarded when the train whistle shrieked, announcing its imminent departure.
Women and children stood forlornly on the platforms, waving as the railcars pulled slowly from the station. Benedict had left to serve England in war, and I wondered if I would see him again.
Chapter Two
Shared Heartache
As noisy as it had been a few minutes ago, a somber hush filled the air. The crowd dissipated, but I stood numb, staring at the empty tracks. Off to my left, I heard a woman whimpering. When I glanced in the direction, to my surprise, I saw Olivia weeping into her hankie. We hadn’t spoken since the declaration of war, but her tears told me her husband either received a call to serve or enlisted.
“Oh, Olivia,” I said soothingly. My arm slipped around her shoulder. She looked up at me and blubbered.
“Have you bid farewell to Benedict too? Isn’t this just dreadful?”
I shook my head in agreement, fighting back the anguish when she buried her sad face in my shoulder.
“I shall surely die if he doesn’t come home. I cannot live without him.”
“He will be home.” I consoled her. “You must cling to that hope and be strong, dearest, for his sake and your own.” My words sounded like empty platitudes because neither of us knew what horrors the future held. Nevertheless, I loved my friend and wished to allay her fears as best I could.
Six months earlier, I had attended Olivia’s wedding. She had found love with a wonderful man named Thomas Gooding, and it appeared her wish for the fairy-tale love had come true. At that time, I fleetingly pondered whether I had been too hasty in my pursuit of a husband, having missed another I should have loved instead of Benedict. All the same, I had married and committed my life to him.
“You mustn’t stand here and weep,” my voice encouraged. “Time to wipe your tears. Let us get a cup of tea together and talk. It’s been far too long.”
Olivia nodded her head and blew her nose into the hankie she had clutched in her hand. When she inhaled a shaky breath of air, I could see she had taken my advice, striving for strength instead of feebleness. With England in the throes of war, we would all need to be strong.
“Do you have a car here?” Our driver had been waiting for my return.
“No, we took a tramcar,” she replied with embarrassment in her eyes.
Olivia had not married for money or status, even though her birthright could have enabled her to find a wealthy beau. Thomas did have a steady position as a tailor, but her standard of living had fallen significantly. As a close friend, I did not judge her decision to marry for love but admired her bravery.
“No matter,” I replied. “My driver will take us.”
We returned to my motorcar, and I gave the driver directions to our favorite tea room in Birmingham. A smile spread across Olivia’s face as we pulled up to the establishment, no doubt bringing back memories of our previous outings as single ladies.
“It’s been some time since we’ve had a cup of tea together and biscuits,” I remarked. We walked into the shop, found a table in the corner, and sat down. After giving our orders, I took a moment to observe my friend. Except for the redness of her eyes from a tearful goodbye, she looked well. Her auburn hair shimmered in highlights, and her rosy complexion remained flawless. Truthfully, I missed her friendship, but since she wed, our lives had drifted apart due to her change in social status.
“I’ve neglected you,” I admitted, feeling a prick of guilt about my lack of attentiveness to our relationship.
The server returned with our order, giving us a short reprieve from the conversation. As we filled our cups with warm tea, Olivia’s friendly face soothed my anxieties.
“I’ve missed you too,” Olivia responded. She wrapped her hands around the cup as if she were warming her fingers on the bone china.
As I studied her, I couldn’t help but ask what I wanted to know. “Are you happy with Thomas?” I posed in a quiet voice. Naturally, asking such a personal question had been terribly impolite, but I hoped she would not find it offensive.
“Yes, very happy,” she answered with a bashful smile. “Thomas is wonderful.” Olivia studied me in return and then tilted her head. “And you?”
“Yes, I’m happy,” I replied without hesitation. “Why wouldn’t I be?” My voice sounded tense and defensive to my hearing. A vexed glint flashed in Olivia’s eyes over my pithy reply. Aggravated about my reaction, I changed the subject from men to children.
“Percy is growing.” In all honesty, he had turned out to be a somewhat chubby baby, making me wonder if he had taken on my father’s weighty characteristics rather than Benedict’s thin stature.
“Thomas and I have been hoping for a baby for some time with no success,” she sadly announced. “We do so wish for a child, but now...” Her words trailed off, and her gaze lowered to the teacup.
“But now what?” I asked, not discerning her meaning. Olivia’s eyes lifted to me as if I should have known her connotation.
“But now we may never have the chance if he’s killed in action,” she replied with a quivering lower lip.
“Oh, I see,” I replied, shaking my head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. For some reason even I cannot think straight. It’s all far too upsetting—war and everything. It’s almost surreal.”
“Don’t you worry about Benedict?”
Her question caught me off guard, and it took me a minute to search my disoriented feelings that lingered after saying our goodbyes.
“Naturally, I worry about him,” I replied. My brows crinkled together, which Olivia knew to be a sure sign of uncertainty in my facial expression. Good friends always have a way of discovering when you are lying about something. She reached across the table and grabbed my hand resting limply by my teacup.
“What’s the matter, Grace? You don’t appear happy. Now you’re worrying me.”
She gave my hand a good squeeze, but I pulled it away and placed it in my lap. Unsure if I should discuss my most intimate thoughts, I slowly lifted my eyes and stared at her as the empty void within my soul reminded me of its existence. The longer I waited, the harder my heart pounded in my chest until I spoke.
“Something is not right,” I admitted with despondency. “It’s not that I don’t think highly of Benedict because I do. He’s kind to me and understanding, but when we are alone...” My mouth clamped shut, and I couldn’t allow myself to say such things in a public setting. It wasn’t proper under any circumstances. Olivia, nevertheless, would not permit me to step away from the subject.
In a whisper, she leaned toward me and asked what I dreaded. “Do you mean the marriage bed?”
As soon as the words left her lips, I felt my cheeks flush hot. My eyes pulled away, and I grabbed the last biscuit on the plate and stuffed it into my mouth.
“I take that as a yes,” she said, giggling at my response. “You shouldn’t be ashamed, Grace.” After pausing enough time for me to swallow the treat, she continued. “If you want to talk about it further, I’m happy to tell you about my experience with Thomas.” A smile spread across her face, and her eyes sparkled. I knew then she had married an ardent lover, unlike I who had married a man unskilled in the art of passion.
“Well, I should be getting back,” I announced, wanting to run away from the topic altogether.
“Yes, I suppose we should,” Olivia agreed. “I’m afraid I shall be dreadfully lonely without Thomas in our home.” She paused and clutched her purse. “I will need to find work while he is gone because I doubt the separa
tion allowance we receive from the military will be enough.”
The idea of Olivia being unaided while her husband fought during the war chilled my soul. I didn’t want her to struggle in solitary loneliness, toiling away at some meaningless job to subsidize the paltry allowance, when I, on the other hand, wandered around a grand estate with plenty of room.
“Can you not live with your parents while he’s away?”
“I don’t wish to inconvenience them,” she commented in a cool regard. “Besides, you know they were not too happy about my matrimonial choice.”
It hadn’t crossed my mind the relationship with her parents remained strained. Naturally, they didn’t approve of Thomas and his lack of social standing or money. Olivia, however, refused to relent and married without their blessing.
“Then come and live with me,” I suggested with firm insistence. “It makes no sense to be alone.” A smile spread across her face but then changed to a frown.
“But I must pay the rent on our row house. I cannot abandon our home,” she stated.
It was a bit of a conundrum, but I had a fair share of funds at my disposal to assist. “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Cover your furniture, lock your doors, and if it is a necessity, we can move your belongings and store them at our estate until the war has ended.” It all sounded rational to me. “I’ll pay your rent until we decide what to do.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” she protested.
In spite of Olivia’s situation in life, her pride remained. “I’ll hear nothing to the contrary,” I spouted. “You’re coming to live with me, and that is final.”
“But what of Benedict’s mother?”
Florence could be an obstacle that I had forgotten to consider before inviting Olivia to Stratton Park. Regardless of her objections, perhaps the time to make decisions by myself had arrived with Benedict’s departure.
“I’ll handle it. If Florence dislikes my decision, I shall write to Benedict and take it up with him. He is much too kind to turn you away, Olivia.”
Ladies of Disgrace Box Set Page 14
