The Brigadier seemed to be building up to something. Suddenly he leant forward and looked down at his hands, making him look half-wild, leaning forward like that in a drawing-room. “I confess I did not come here simply to visit with you, Miss Somerset, Mrs. Somerset, Miss Wilton. I confess I had another reason for coming to Wells. As I have said, I have a homestead and servants, a middling income, and a distaste for participating indefinitely in high society.
“Yes,” he went on. “I had another reason altogether for coming here today. I wish to ask, Miss Somerset, if you would be my wife. And as you are her guardian, Mrs. Somerset, I would ask your permission to make such a request.”
A proposal! Eve thought, her heart hammering within her chest.
Auntie Alice let out a long breath.
Mother started as though struck. “My!” she exclaimed, before regaining her composure. “This is a surprise!”
*****
Charles left soon after making his proposal to an indefinite answer from Mother. “I would appreciate it if you gave us some time – a week, say – to deliberate upon your proposal. You can of course call on us again in that time if you wish.”
As soon as Charles had left, Eve went to Mother. “Please, say yes, Mother,” Eve said.
“You wish to marry him?” Mother said. “You have only met him twice.”
“You only met Father once!” Eve cried. “Many women don’t even meet their husband before marrying him! You know that!”
“There is no need to get so excited,” Mother said. “I merely wish to think on the decision. It is no small thing, agreeing to marriage.”
“He has a house and servants and an income, Mother,” Eve said, knowing that she was more likely to get to her in this way. “He has the means to properly care for me. And you do want grandchildren, do you not?”
“Of course I do,” Mother said quietly. “It’s just—I will lose you, my sweet daughter.”
In her excitement, Eve hadn’t considered this aspect of it. Of course Mother was right. If she said yes and Eve married Charles, Mother would be without a daughter. It would just be her and Auntie Alice all alone in this house. For the past few years, Eve had been their project, the purpose to their lives. Now she was under threat of being taken away. And then what will become of them?
“He is a brilliant man, Mother,” Eve persisted, pushing those thoughts aside. She wanted to marry Brigadier Charles Appleyard more than anything. Of that she was sure. “I believe he may be a perfect match for me. I believe we may be happy together.”
“Well, we will see,” Mother muttered. “I must think about this.”
The next day, Charles called again. This time he stood at the door. “I would like to walk the grounds with Miss Somerset, if that is acceptable,” he said. “Of course we will stay in sight of the house.”
Eve almost bit her lip in excitement. He just asked her! He just came out and asked her! “I do not think—” Mother paused, and then nodded. “If you walk no further than to the end of the garden, I suppose it is okay.”
Eve knew Mother only accepted because Auntie Alice was asleep upstairs and unable to throw her judgmental gaze around. The unspoken agreement was that Eve would return before Auntie Alice awoke to avoid any unnecessary complications. Eve stood and walked toward the door where Charles stood. She felt strange, walking without Mother right beside her, but Mother only looked up once and smiled supportively.
Charles and she left the house and walked down to the end of the garden: a small garden with a few flowers bordering the sides, and weeds growing here and there where a gardener hadn’t been in years. They stood in full view of the window and faced each other. “This is the first time we have been alone,” Charles said slowly, as though it was a great fact of the world. “I do hope your mother says yes,” he went on. “I could barely sleep last night for thinking of it. I need a wife, and I do not believe any lady would suit me more than you. Yes, yes, I know, I am making love to you. I cannot help it. I thought the love had been torn from my heart, but, alas, it has not.”
“Alas?” Eve said. “It saddens you?”
“The love does not sadden me,” Charles said. “The idea of losing it does.” He paused, and then said: “I do not believe I am the most perceptive of men when it comes to social situations, but I did sense a certain restrain in you yesterday when I asked you to illuminate me concerning your person. Am I correct in thinking you held something back?”
Eve struggled to keep her face impassive, impenetrable, unexcitable, as she had been taught. A flicker of a smile touched her lips for barely an instant. “How did you know?” she said.
“There was a light in your eyes,” Charles said. “It was as though it was trying to break free, but something – Mrs. Somerset and Miss Wilton, I am guessing – was keeping it trapped. Tell me, Eve, about yourself.”
Nobody had ever taken an interest in Eve before; she had never dreamt that anybody would care. She had thought that either she would become another Auntie Alice, or she would marry some cold and disinterested man. But there was fear in this openness, for what if she shared her interests, which were scandalous in the extreme, and Charles fled her? How will you know, if you do not risk it? Quickly, lest she change her mind, she told Charles of her interest in Latin and Greek and the natural arts. She told him of the sketches she had drawn of various plants, with labels and terminology taken from one dusty book on the subject she’d found buried in the library. She told him of the hours of candlelit study.
“I knew there was something different about you,” he said. “I simply knew it. The other girls, all so keen to converse about this or that until I no longer had the constitution to listen, and here is a young lady who wishes to talk about the war! Ha!” His scar wrinkled when he laughed. It didn’t bother Eve at all. “And the scar, Miss Somerset?” he said, tracing his finger along it. “You have not flinched from me once. Miss Wilton certainly has, no matter how she tries to hide it. And even Mrs. Somerset has some disgust in her eyes, but not you?”
“It does not bother me at all,” Eve said honestly.
“Eve,” Charles said, and then looked quickly at the window. “May I kiss your hand? It is monstrous of me to ask, I know. But I would—I would like it very much.”
Eve felt her heartbeat speed up as though a jolt of lightening had just coursed through her. She looked anxiously toward the window and saw that nobody was there; nobody was watching. Her hand was gloved. Slowly, her hands trembling, she unpeeled the glove, revealing her small white hand. Charles reached down and touched her hand. “Miss Somerset, are you sure?”
“Yes, Charles,” she said quietly, her heart hammering in her chest now. “I would— I think I would like it if you did.”
He clasped her hand in his. His hand was rough and war-worn, but warm and somehow safe-feeling, as though nothing could harm her as long as he had hold of her hand. He bowed down and laid his lips upon her skin. She shivered as the sensation ran up her body. “Thank you, Miss Somerset,” Charles said, straightening again. “
Eve quickly put her glove back on, and then she looked toward the house, just to make sure— there, in the top window, stood Auntie Alice, her nose pressed against the glass. As soon as she saw Alice, she darted back into the house, the curtains fluttering behind her. “What is it?” Charles said, looking toward the house. But it was too late. Auntie Alice was gone. “What is it, Miss Somerset? Has something bothered you?”
She saw, Eve thought in panic. Auntie Alice saw. Oh, Heavens, I am going to hear it now!
*****
“Kissed your hand, indeed!” Auntie Alice cried, almost the instant Charles was gone. She paced the room with her knitting bundled in her meaty fist. “In my day, that sort of thing never would have happened! What, a revolution abroad breeds a revolution of skirts over here! Is that how it is? Oh, Lord bless me, kissed your hand indeed!”
Eve bowed her head and waited for the scorn that really mattered, the scorn that would come from Mothe
r: come like a beam of fire. Eve waited and waited until finally Auntie Alice exclaimed: “Mary, aren’t you going to say something to your daughter? She runs around with the man like a common slattern! How dare you let her conduct herself in such a way! How dare you—”
“Enough,” Mother said, her voice as cool as ice. “That is enough, Alice. What’s done is done. It has happened and there is naught we can do about it. So, Eve, my sweet daughter, this is your scheme, is it?”
“Scheme, Mother?” Eve said, confused.
Mother squinted at her, and then nodded. “Perhaps you are naïve after all. You know of course we must accept the Brigadier’s proposal now. We could barely dream of refusing before, for his income and his prestige. Now there is no question of it. He has touched you now, dear; he has claimed you. I will send word immediately.”
“Oh, Mother!” Eve cried, almost clapping her hands together like when she was a girl. “Do you mean it? I can marry him?”
“This is her punishment?” Auntie Alice said, her voice full of disbelief. “This is how you punish your daughter, your flesh-and-blood? You give her what she wants!”
“Sister,” Mother said quietly. “We have both poured our lives into Eve. We have worked for her marriage ever since my dear, confused husband robbed her of a dowry. This is everything we wanted; and we are lucky that she wants it to. A rare thing in this world. Do not be sad, because she is starting her life. Ours is not over just yet.”
The rest was just background noise. Soon Mother wrote the letter and sent it into town. Within an hour, there was a reply saying that Charles would call tomorrow when they would arrange the vicar and the church. Charles wanted to be married as soon as he could, he wrote in the letter, and would see today about getting the license sorted. Eve sat stunned all through this, barely able to take it all in, barely able to comprehend that her life was changing so drastically before her.
That night, when she laid her head against the pillow, she dreamt that she was afloat in a sea of black water, water that swallowed up whole countries and left land desolate. She was alone in this sea and helpless, arms flailing, legs kicking, all to no use. And then Charles appeared, but he had no scar, and his manner was kindly and boyish. He picked her up and somehow they were on land, kissing, kissing like no man and woman should kiss.
She awoke, breathing heavily, sweat coating her forehead.
Three-and-twenty, and excited like a mere girl!
*****
“My dear wife,” Charles said, clutching Eve’s hand. “My dear wife. My dear wife. My dear wife. I feel I must keep saying it, if only to make it all seem real. Perhaps if I repeat it enough times, I will convince myself that it is true. You are beautiful. Do you know that? I do not believe I told you. Yes, you are beautiful. I wish I could better describe just how beautiful you are, but words fail me.”
Eve let these words wash over her. The road beneath them was bumpy, but they were safe and comfortable enough in the carriage. Charles clasped her hand tightly, and she clasped his hand back. There was something almost overwhelming about clutching his hand like this, something that Eve had never felt before. She ran her forefinger over his knuckle, and was astounded when he let out a low sigh.
“It tickled,” he said, sounding younger than his years (which Eve had learnt were five-and-thirty). “I hope you like our home,” he went on, blushing slightly. He absentmindedly scratched at his scar. “It is not the biggest estate a man has ever owned, but it is spacious enough, and you will want for nothing. There is a library, too, and I can use some of my income to purchase books for you, if you will only give me the topics. I am afraid you are more well-read than I.”
“It does not intimidate you, I hope,” Eve said.
“Not even close,” Charles said. “It refreshes me. It is like a splash of cold water on a sweltering day.”
The carriage stopped at around four o’ clock in the afternoon outside an enclosed estate in which a ten-bedroom, stone-built house stood. The garden was not well-tended, but the grass was healthy and bright green in the waning sunlight. Pillars supported the house and wide windows looked out like glassy smiles. Charles helped Eve down from the carriage and she took the place in, which had to be at least three times the size of Mother’s house. “It is absolutely incredible,” Eve said, her voice full of awe. “Scarily so,” she went on. “I will certainly have to rise to the challenge to be worthy of such a magnificent place, shall I not?”
“You will not change one bit!” Charles exclaimed melodramatically. “If I have to, I will tear the place down and change it in your image, but never the other way around! Never!”
Eve laughed – allowed herself to laugh because he was her husband and Mother was not watching – and stood close beside Charles. Slowly, carefully, as though he was afraid she would bolt like a startled squirrel, he reached down for her hand. She opened her fingers and they interlocked hands. They stood like that for a long time, as the sun began to set behind them, and their home became more and more like a formless shape in the dark.
In the dark, alone, in his bedroom, and the pleasure and the discovery mixed together—running her hand along his face as they embraced in love—moaning in pleasure as they gyrated as one—rolling across the sheets—giggling into his neck—lying beside each other, exhausted and hopelessly in love.
When the marriage was consummated, Charles rose and walked to the other side of the room. He was naked and Eve could see that the scar on his face was not the only scar he possessed. Bluish moonlight filtered through the windows and illumed a crisscross pattern across his leg and back. He turned and faced her, his manhood – all of him – visible. Naked under the sheets, Eve had never felt so free and so scared in her life.
“Was it everything you hoped?” Charles said, his voice stilted and awkward again after what they had just done.
“It was,” Eve said, blushing fiercely. “I—” She was about to say I want to do it again. But she couldn’t say that! “I enjoyed it greatly,” she breathed.
“Perhaps you are with child,” Charles said, falling upon the bed and looking down at her. He kissed her forehead and held her close. “I know, I have a master plan. If you are with child, and if the child is a girl, how about we call her Alice, after your dear aunt?”
She looked up at him in astonishment, and then his lips curled mischievously, and he fell upon her with tickling, playful hands.
*****
They called their first child Mary, after Eve’s mother who died a few months after the marriage: just four months before Mary was born. Little Mary grew to be three before Joseph and William were born. Eve did not give birth for five years after that, and thought herself done with children before her little gift, her precious Grace came into the world. Eve was one-and-thirty when she gave birth to Grace, and when she looked back she had to wonder where those years had gone. She looked all around her and saw children and light and happiness and had to tell herself each day that she was a wallflower, the girl at the party nobody wanted to dance with, the ignored girl, the unpopular girl, the lonely girl—and that she had made it.
Charles, under the guise of purchasing the books for his own use, acquired many books on the natural arts, history, Latin, Greek, and many other academic topics usually barred from women. Eve and Charles would sit up later in the library together, him smoking his pipe and reading the newspaper, or some correspondence on war, or a collection of diary entries from a prominent soldier, and she would delve into the mysterious of Homer and Lychnischalcedonica. Every so often the two of them would look up, into each other’s eyes, and the unspoken message was there:
We have saved each other, you and I. Nobody else wanted us. Nobody else was interested in us. They thought we were freaks, ugly, revolting. They thought nasty things of us and so we thought nasty things about ourselves. We thought we were the rascals they made us out to be. And then we met each other, and we looked within each other, and we became interested and alive to the possibility that perhap
s we were not that bad at all. Perhaps we were a little better than they made us out to be. We were different, yes, but perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing. And so we held onto that, and now if we were to go back – if God were to grant us that gift – we would not change a thing. We would not alter one mocking stare, one scythe-like comment, one dismissive glance, because all that hate led us to the greatest love we have ever known; all that scorn led us to this. Led us to a love greater than anything they, with their pretense and their prancing and their cynical denial of true emotion and true closeness, will ever know. I love you, Eve. I love you, Charles. Before I met you, I was half.
They would look into each other’s eyes, and smile, and all this would be communicated. But they wouldn’t say a thing.
They didn’t need to.
The Duke’s Match
“I hear he is a frightfully cold-hearted man,” Father said, sucking on his pipe and looking deep into the fire. Lord Lloyd Emerson would have caused a scandal if he’d voiced his opinions in public. Luckily they were just in their drawing-room in the deep country of south west England, just north of Cornwall. “His Grace Edison Wells, he fought in France, you know. His Grace fought the French for us! Yes, but that doesn’t change his bearing toward the world! A cold, cold-hearted man.”
“Husband,” Mother said. “You shall cause a disturbance with such talk.” Lady Esther Emerson shook her head. “We have been invited to a ball by the Duke of Waltren, and all you can think about is causing a disturbance. I pity you, my dear husband.”
“Ha!” Father cried, slapping his knee. “These are dark times indeed, when a man is pitied for having an opinion.”
“It is not the opinion that matters, Father,” Lady Rebecca Emerson said, smiling across the fire at him. “It is the way one expresses it. You cannot just come out and say what you think. It is awfully uncouth, not to mention tactically misguided.”
The Duke of Ice Page 5
