The Lonely Wife

by Val Wood

  She cast a glance towards the young men. They were mainly her age, only one or two past the age of twenty-one. ‘I hope not,’ she said candidly. ‘They’re rather young for marriage, I think.’

  His face creased into a smile and he leaned towards her. ‘That’s what I was hoping you would say.’

  She looked at him, wondering whether or not she should flirt, except she didn’t really know how to, or whether to ask outright if he were a suitor, when disappointingly her mother appeared at her shoulder.

  Food was offered on trays; finger sandwiches and little cakes and then more trays of champagne and lemonade; Beatrix held her glass of lemonade and gazed longingly at the champagne and thought that if her mother hadn’t been there she would have liked to have tried it.

  Charles Dawley obviously saw her, for he took one glass from the tray and handed it to her mother, and with a quick sleight of hand took another and exchanged it for the lemonade Beatrix was holding, which he put on a side table. She gave him a covert glance and smiled, and took a sip.

  When her mother excused herself and moved away to speak to someone else Charles Dawley led Beatrix towards the chairs set against the wall where they could sit and watch the other guests.

  ‘There’s a possible fellow for you.’ Charles nodded in the direction of a red-haired young man who was listening seriously to one of the young ladies.

  ‘That’s Arthur Tennyson,’ Beatrix answered. ‘He’s the brother of a friend. I think he’s quite keen on Maria Lowe; she’s the dark-haired one over there with her parents and my mother. My friends Sophia and Eleanor are standing next to them.’ She paused. ‘Do you do much of this?’ she asked suddenly. ‘Partying to meet young ladies?’

  He glanced at her, then laughed and took her hand and shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t. But we men are expected to find a suitable wife who is able to adapt to our position in society.’ He looked into the distance. ‘It’s ridiculous,’ he murmured, barely opening his mouth, and turned back to Beatrix. ‘Shall we run away together; away from this charade?’

  ‘What?’ She stared at him, then licked her lips and tasted the lingering fizz of champagne. ‘I’m under age,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t marry without my father’s consent.’

  He gazed at her for a second, and then said softly, ‘Shall I then go to him and ask for his permission?’

  She swallowed. Was she ready for this? It would mean a change of her whole lifestyle, and he had said nothing of love. ‘You must be quite sure,’ she said quietly. ‘For I can tell you now that he will give his approval.’

  ‘And what about you?’ he asked. ‘What would your answer be?’

  She hesitated, and then murmured. ‘I know nothing of marriage. This – arrangement … has come as a great shock to me; I wasn’t expecting it to happen yet. I was looking forward to attending balls and dances first. But …’ She looked up at him, and thought she saw some emotion in his eyes. She was drawn to him in concern. He hadn’t been ready either, she thought, even though he was a grown man. Why was that? Why should there be such a great hurry for him to marry?

  ‘I can give you balls and dances, if that is what you want,’ he said quietly. ‘If that would make you happy.’

  ‘Will you be kind to me, and loving?’

  Again she saw the flicker of something: sadness or emptiness, she couldn’t tell, but he nodded and said, ‘I will do my best, my dear Beatrix.’ He stood up and held out his hand as if he had made a decision. ‘Then if you will allow me, I will speak to your father now and he may announce it tonight if he chooses.’

  Beatrix drew in a startled breath. Would there be no courtship, no walks together so that they might get to know one another? She had always understood that was the usual way of things. He would only know of her from what had been described by her father, and did her father really know her? Had her mother told him how to define her?

  They would only discover each other’s foibles and habits after marriage, and she supposed it was the same for anyone contemplating matrimony. And it would be too late then. She hesitated over her decision for a brief moment. It would be a risk whoever I accepted, but my parents think that Charles Dawley is a good candidate for marriage and they must know better than I do. She stood up and held out her hand, which he took and gently stroked with his thumb.

  ‘If you change your mind in the cold light of day,’ he said softly, ‘I will release you.’

  She swallowed again. ‘I won’t change my mind,’ she said, as together they walked across to where her father was standing and looking in their direction. ‘A promise is a promise.’

  After consulting her mother, her father did choose to make the announcement. He tapped on a wine glass and told the throng that he had some splendid news and would like to announce that Mr Charles Dawley had asked for the hand of his daughter Beatrix in marriage; he and his wife had agreed to the betrothal and Beatrix had accepted.

  ‘We are delighted, of course,’ he harrumphed. ‘It has been an unusually short courtship and Beatrix is still young, but we feel she will be in very capable, and – erm,’ he turned to his wife, who was murmuring something, ‘and, erm, yes, indeed, very capable and caring hands.’

  There were whispers, mainly from the older guests, some critical that this was not the way things were normally done, and then the tinkle of glassware as others tapped their wine glasses and the young ladies waved their fans or clapped their hands.

  The happy couple were separated then as various people claimed their attention. The gentlemen tried to ascertain Charles’s business or professional status, but he gave nothing away, bar that he was in banking as his father was. He revealed nothing about his inheritance. When asked how long he had known Beatrix, he said smoothly, ‘I have known of Beatrix for a very long time and admired her from afar, but have only recently had the pleasure of meeting her, which had been my dearest wish.’

  Beatrix turned round when she heard the breathy whisper of Sophia in her ear. ‘You secretive monkey,’ her friend murmured. ‘Why didn’t you say?’ And then some of Beatrix’s other friends gathered around her, wanting to know how they had met and when the wedding would be.

  ‘It’s all happened so quickly,’ she told them, ‘that we haven’t made any arrangements yet. We shall simply enjoy our engagement.’ She gave a huge sigh and clasped her hands together, suddenly feeling the most tremendous flurry of excitement.

  ‘How very exciting,’ Maria Lowe exclaimed. ‘And he’s so handsome and elegant.’ She glanced across at Arthur Tennyson and unconsciously made a pouting moue before lowering her voice. ‘He looks incredibly rich, Beatrix. Have you discovered his worth?’

  I will not invite you to the wedding, Beatrix considered scathingly as she gazed at her without answering. I will cut you from now on, for I have discovered your worth by your question and I hope that Arthur doesn’t ask for your hand. He is too nice a man to be saddled with someone like you.

  Sophia, intuitively knowing Beatrix’s feelings, grasped her hand. ‘We are so happy for you, Beatrix; Mr Dawley seems utterly charming.’ She kissed Beatrix on the cheek, thus sealing their friendship. ‘We are so thrilled for you, and absolutely green-eyed with jealousy!’

  CHAPTER SIX

  The first thing to be arranged was a supper engagement when Charles’s parents and sister would meet Beatrix. Mrs Fawcett discussed the date and the menu with Beatrix, and then told her husband they would need temporary extra kitchen help for Cook, and a hired butler and manservant to wait on table. She then asked the housekeeper, who did not live in but came in daily, whether two temporary parlour maids would be sufficient.

  ‘Mama,’ Beatrix said, blinking away a tear, ‘if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask Dora if she will come with me after I’m married. I must have someone who knows me.’ Tears had come frequently since the betrothal had been announced in some London newspapers. The sight of the announcement in print had made her realize the magnitude of the change to come, and wonder whether
she had made the right decision.

  ‘She’s not really a lady’s maid type of person,’ her mother said, from where she was writing at her escritoire. ‘She was taken on as a general housemaid.’

  ‘I know,’ Beatrix said. ‘But I like her and I can trust her, and if she’s willing we could offer her some training in arranging my hair and my clothes and so on, and she’s a good seamstress so she can help me with other types of sewing. I’m sure she’d rather do that than cleaning and dusting or serving tea.’

  ‘She might not want to go,’ her mother said. ‘She’s a London girl, after all. There’s no point in taking someone who will weep to come home the moment she steps over the threshold.’

  But might not that be me too, Beatrix wondered? I have no idea what is in front of me and I haven’t seen Mr— erm, Charles, since the night of our betrothal. I suppose that he’s working at the bank.

  It had been five days since the end of summer party, and she hadn’t even received a note from him, but perhaps on Saturday he might call. When she asked her mother what she thought, Mrs Fawcett was preoccupied with the details of Wednesday’s dinner and said impatiently that he was probably busy with other things.

  ‘Life goes on as usual, Beatrix,’ she said irritably. ‘It doesn’t stop just because someone has become betrothed.’ Then she lifted her head and smiled at her daughter. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. ‘I realize it is all new to you and everything is happening too fast, but I’m sure it will work out all right.’ She paused for a second as if to say something else, but then sighed. ‘This is all new to me too. I didn’t think you would be marrying yet, either.’

  ‘But it won’t be just yet, will it?’ Beatrix asked anxiously. ‘I thought maybe next year, in the spring or summer, perhaps?’

  ‘Your father suggested just before Christmas, but I said no. We don’t want anyone saying you are marrying in a rush.’

  ‘Why would anyone say that?’ Beatrix said naively, putting down the glove that she was stitching to strengthen the seam. ‘Not that I want to marry in the winter. I’d far rather marry on a sunny day in summer; and besides, I’d like to get to know him first.’ She looked pensive for a second, and then applied herself to her sewing again. ‘And he – Mr Dawley – did say if I changed my mind in the cold light of day he would release me.’

  Her mother pushed her chair back from the desk. ‘When? When did he say that?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘He was joking, Beatrix! Don’t even think of it! Plans – arrangements are being made now! Discussions about the church, the reception; the Yorkshire house is being put in order for you.’

  ‘But I haven’t even seen it yet! I might hate what they’re doing. How does anyone know what I like, or what I might prefer?’ She raised a flushed face towards her mother. ‘Surely I should be asked my opinion? Do I not have any say in this?’

  Mrs Fawcett bent over, her hands covering her face, and didn’t answer.

  ‘Mama?’ Beatrix said tearfully.

  Her mother lifted her head and gave a deep sigh, then moistened her lips and cleared her throat. ‘No, my dear,’ she said softly. ‘I’m afraid you don’t. Not unless you want to see us all lose face: your father, me, and most of all you. Don’t think that anyone else will ask for your hand if you reject this offer now, for they won’t.’

  Mrs Fawcett wrote and asked Mr Dawley to call. ‘Our daughter would like to ask you about the Yorkshire estate, so that she is prepared for what she will find. She is young, Mr Dawley, and quite naturally is anxious about what to expect there once you are married.’

  She addressed the letter to his parents’ home in Hampstead; she had no address for his London town house and was quite surprised when a reply came the next day, saying he would call on Saturday unless he heard from her that the time was inconvenient.

  On Friday Beatrix was in her room when the doorbell rang, engaged in the task of emptying a trunk of some of her childhood toys, and books that she hadn’t read and was unlikely to look at now. She lifted her head, wondering if it might be Mr Dawley calling on the off chance that she might be at home. But then, she thought cynically, that might not be considered proper.

  Dora tapped on her door. ‘Miss Beatrix, Mr Dawley has called. He’s with your mother in the sitting room and she has requested that you go down. Let me tidy your hair, miss,’ she added. ‘You’re all tousled.’

  ‘I’ve had my head in the trunk,’ Beatrix said. ‘Do I look all right?’

  Dora patted the top of her head and ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Lovely, miss.’ She smiled. ‘Mr Dawley should see you like this,’ she said. ‘Just natural, without any fol-de-rols and suchlike.’

  ‘He might change his mind,’ Beatrix said blithely, slipping her feet back into her shoes, and she wasn’t sure if she would care or not if he did.

  ‘You could sue him for breach of promise if he did, miss,’ Dora told her, ‘and then you could keep his money all for yourself.’

  Beatrix laughed. She would definitely ask Dora to come with her, she considered. With her plain speaking and common sense she would keep her own spirits up. As she ran downstairs she thought what a sensible head Dora had on her young shoulders; perhaps they’d do their growing up together. But how did she know about breach of promise?

  ‘Miss Fawcett. Beatrix!’ Charles rose from his chair and put out both hands to greet her. ‘How are you? You look lovely,’ he said. ‘Have you done something with your hair?’

  Beatrix patted her head. ‘I’m afraid not. If I’d known you might call I would have done something with it!’

  She saw his brows rise and the quick glance at her mother, and then he said, ‘I do apologize for coming without warning, but I was nearby and couldn’t pass without taking the chance of finding you at home.’

  ‘You must always call if you are in the vicinity,’ her mother said. ‘We are not so formal that we would always expect a card.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Beatrix said happily as they all sat down, her fears allayed. ‘I was wondering how you were. Mother has written to your parents, haven’t you, Mama, and we’ll expect you all for supper next week. I didn’t realize you had a sister.’

  ‘Anne, yes. She’s a little younger than me. She’s twenty-eight, and still single as yet. She hasn’t found anyone she wishes to marry.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with that,’ Beatrix’s mother said. ‘Better no one than someone unsuitable.’

  Charles shifted in his seat. ‘Yes indeed. It can be an emotive subject for you ladies.’

  Mrs Fawcett inclined her head. ‘Indeed,’ she murmured. ‘Will you excuse me for a moment?’ She rose from her chair. Charles half stood and then sat down again as she left the room, leaving the door open. He smiled at Beatrix.

  ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been able to call,’ he said. ‘I hope you haven’t thought that I’ve neglected you?’

  Beatrix began to murmur reassuringly, but he went on, ‘I’ve been on a quick journey to Yorkshire. There were some projects I needed to put in hand, but was unable to until my great-uncle’s Will was declared.’

  ‘Oh,’ Beatrix said. ‘Has there been some difficulty?’

  ‘No, not really, just boring legal details, but it’s in place now.’ He leaned towards her and put out his hands, and she gave him hers. He gently squeezed them. ‘You haven’t changed your mind?’ he said softly.

  She shook her head. ‘No,’ she murmured. ‘I haven’t, but I admit I’ve had a few moments of indecision. Only,’ she added swiftly, ‘because I have so little knowledge of what will happen next, and when. My mother said that my father has suggested we might marry around Christmastime.’ She saw a little frown appear on his forehead. ‘I think it’s too soon. We hardly know each other.’

  ‘I think you are exactly right,’ he said, giving her fingers another little squeeze. ‘There’s no rush whatsoever. Perhaps the spring would be rather nice? Springtime and a young bride.’ He smiled. ‘What could be lovelier? And we need time to think about where we
should go for a honeymoon, or whether we should go directly to Yorkshire. Would you like to visit the house first? We could ask your parents if they would like to see where their daughter will be living after our marriage.’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ Beatrix said, quite excited by the prospect. ‘Perhaps your family would like to come too?’

  ‘Heavens no! My father would hate it. When he used to go to visit his uncle he could never get back to London fast enough. I used to love it, though. Great-uncle Neville had never married and wasn’t used to children, so he didn’t discipline me in the slightest. I could do whatever I liked.’

  ‘Are you pleased to be going back to live there?’ she asked. ‘It must be quite different from London.’

  She thought she saw a shadow of concern cross his face, just as she had once before.

  ‘Ah, well,’ he said. ‘That was then, when I was young and carefree. Things are different now. I did say, I think, that I will have to come back to London from time to time.’ He looked up as Beatrix’s mother came back into the room, and dropped his hands from hers.

  ‘That’s all right,’ Beatrix said cheerfully. ‘I could probably come with you and visit my parents too.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said smoothly, and then wagged a finger. ‘But I venture to say that you’ll love the place so much you’ll hardly ever want to come back.’

  Beatrix felt much more settled and reassured after his visit, and on the Monday morning she and her mother went shopping for a dress suitable for her to wear for the supper with Charles’s family. She chose a deep blue that suited her eyes and bought a pale blue shawl sprinkled with embroidered forget-me-nots. She would wear her hair in a chignon, threaded with blue ribbon.

  On Wednesday evening Dora helped her climb into the stiffened petticoats and fasten the back buttons of her dress, and it was then that Beatrix asked her whether she would accompany her to Yorkshire after she was married.