What do they want with me now?
Climbing the stairs, she felt her feet getting heavier with every step. It was probably just her overactive mind, but the dread she was feeling felt like a ton of lead when she got to the drawing room and knocked.
“Enter,” Lady Ogbent’s snide tone called out.
She obeyed and a few feet in, spotted the man and his wife before she curtsied. “Lord and Lady Ogbent, good evening.”
“Isabella has decided on the Honiton lace, after all,” the Lady said, “You must add it to the neckline and the arms of the dress. And the bodice is not good enough for her. She does not want a smocked bodice anymore, she now wants dense gathers and a more squared-off neckline.”
Dense gathers and a more squared-off neckline! But that will take me days to complete when I am almost done!
“I understand, My Lady,” Rosaline replied while wisely refraining from uttering her dismay, “Does Miss Fawcett need anything else?”
Lady Ogbent turned to her husband and asked him a question. Rosaline followed her eyes and assessed the man, who reportedly, Mary had been involved with. It was not hard to see that the man was handsome, but Rosaline was strident in believing that her sister was wiser than that.
“Miss Hall!”
She snapped out of her reverie to see the lady glaring at her and felt a sick wash of fear that she had been caught looking at the Lord.
“My apologies, My Lady,” said she, “I was making the calculations about the dress in my head.”
Lady Ogbent sniffed, “As I was saying, Isabella does not need anything more at the present, but she will convey her wishes when she is ready. You are dismissed.”
With another curtsy, Rosaline was out the door as fast as her feet could take her. That was such a close call!
Heading to the workroom, she went straight to the almost-finished dress and took it off the mannequin. Getting her tools, she carefully plucked out the smocked bodice, one that she had worked on for over six to seven hours and set it aside. She was not going to dismantle it in case Miss Fawcett, in another finicky bout, decided that she wanted it after all.
Never in her life had she met a lady like Miss Fawcett, who was the perfect devil and the most persuasive angel when she wanted to be. Her mind must be a battleground for God and the Devil.
Luckily, she already had the measurement and there were many more yards of cloth at her disposal. Cutting away, she stopped and gently sank in the nearby chair.
Why did I feel the lack of his eyes on me so intensely? Do I really miss his attention? I know I liked it…no loved it when he smiled at me. I know his joy makes me happy.
She took up the scissors again and then stopped once more, I cannot do anything. I must finish my work and forget all about how he made me feel. I must forget how right it feels to be in his arms and how warm his touch makes me. I must forget his soft kiss and his caring eyes. I must forget them all! How foolish was I to think I could be more than…more than what I am...Just snap out of it, Rosaline!
Though the bodice would not be done that night, she made all the preparations with the cloth and the thread until the lamp was lit and her eyes felt weary. It was time for her to turn in. Gently blowing out the lamp she left the room and made it to her quarters more tired than she had been in a while.
As she passed her bed her eye caught something, and she did a double take. Laying there, in the same place where the books had been was another book, but this time it was plain. Taking it up, a card dropped out and curious she opened it. It was a poem written in a hand that she knew well.
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes,
Instantly, Rosaline dropped the card and paced to the window. Her heart was beating in arrhythmically and her breath short. She shot a look back to the card, but dragged her eyes away from it. What was the Duke trying to tell her? She breathed out and went to read again.
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
She feared reading more and wondered if she had the strength to ignore it for the rest of the night. Bravely, she disrobed and donned her nightclothes but even then, her eye went to the card. Nibbling her lips she read the last of it.
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
Rosaline promptly fell to the edge of the bed. This poem…it screamed romantic intentions. Her heart started to pump severely. Oh God, what does this mean?
Chapter 22
As soon as Norman knew his mother was up and about the next morning, he went to look for her in her sitting room.
“Mother,” Norman said after knocking, “we must speak.”
The Duchess looked up from her book, “About what?”
“This courtship period with Miss Fawcett,” he replied, “It is at an end. I will be sending them home.”
His mother’s head snapped up and her face radiated shock. She quietly closed the book and spoke softly, “Norman, are you mad?”
“No, Mother, I am not, and this is my decision,” he said evenly, “they are going home.”
“Why now, when you have been going on so well?” she asked with narrowed eyes, “Do you have a good enough reason to be sending them home? Mark you, if you tell me that you do not feel a connection with Miss Fawcett, that is not a good enough reason.”
“It is to me,” Norman replied. “I have tried, Mother, I have tried and though she is a lovely lady there is nothing between us.”
“Give it time,” she replied, “Nothing comes easy, Norman, least of all, love,” she pleaded, “Give her a few more chances, and even then, even after your marriage you can find the connection. It takes time, Norman.”
“I have given it time,” the Duke replied, “and nothing has changed.”
“I did not mean the courtship,” the lady countered, “the marriage, Norman. I mean the marriage. You will grow to love each other in that time.”
“Mother, do you recall why you called off the courtship with Father, once during and a second time right before the wedding?” Norman injected
Though his tone was blithe, Norman knew his mother would pick up on the unsaid message, and when she did, her eyes narrowed.
“Because I was a young girl who was scared to her bones of marrying a duke. Thankfully, your father loved me enough to keep pursuing me and assured me all would be well. Norman, Miss Fawcett is probably feeling the same fear. Your office is one that is noncomparable to any in the world. Think of being thrown into the spotlight so suddenly. It is terrifying. Give her another chance, and let her adjust, Norman.”
Let her adjust…
“And you are assured we will get married,” Noman said.
“Yes,” she nodded.
“You will,” the Duchess assured. “And, Norman, if you need time go ahead and extend it. I am sure I did not raise you to give up so early. A connection, a real connection, cannot be made overnight.”
I beg to differ.
“A month,” she negotiated, “Give her a month…at least. I am sure Lord Edgehill would have told you the same.”
Find some common ground, share some past experiences, share your hopes and dreams, wants and even your fears. It will go a long way into smoothing the road that you’re going to walk on for the rest of your life.
“He did,” Norman added admittedl
y with a grimace. He had not heard from Evan since that day, and a part of him died knowing that their friendship had been broken over something so simple.
Simple to me, probably Armageddon to him.
“I give my word,” he replied while going to the door and there he paused, “but I will not cross over if something does not happen between now and then.”
Outside, Norman took his mother’s words to heart. If Miss Fawcett was going to be the Duchess, what would be wrong in giving her a glimpse into his affairs? The position of a duchess was not all glitz and glamor, hosting balls, and running off to France for the latest fashion trends.
A duke was indebted to his people and so was the lady he married. His mother and father had worked tirelessly for their people, with his father out and in front and his mother as the motivating force behind him.
While his father had tirelessly lobbied in the capital for the good of his workers and enforced peace and harmony in the countryside, his mother had sent poor young girls to school, sent food to the widows and made shelters for the homeless. A duke had power and a duchess met that power with empathy and kindness.
If Miss Fawcett could not do the same…
While considering the ways to tell her about his decision to extend the courtship, he had decided against telling her while doing something blasé like over a cup of tea or during a walk. So, he had opted for dinner where not only she would hear but her parents too.
The invitation was one Norman was sure Miss Fawcett was not going to refuse. She had been ill for the last two days and no one except the maids and her parents had attended to her. His mother, though still not satisfied with him putting off the marriage, had agreed on letting them know after the meal.
“You will be making the announcement alone, Norman,” the Duchess had said. “My presence will only complicate things as they will be contrary.”
“I had never thought of you being scared of a confrontation, Mother.”
“If I am there, we will look like a house divided,” she said, “remember, I was the one who got them into this, and you are the one breaking it.”
He had dressed in a stately suit of white breeches and dark waistcoat. Miss Fawcett looked lovely in a gown of pale lavender and with tiny rosebuds in her perfectly-coiffed hair. After greeting her parents, he inquired, “Miss Fawcett, how are you feeling now?”
She blushed delicately, “Much better, Your Grace, thank you for pardoning my absence these past days.”
“Think none of it,” said he, “May I escort you to the table?”
“Thank you,” she replied while taking his arm.
The meal was served, and polite conversation ensued over the lightly-spiced turtle soup. As they were moving on to the second course, Lady Ogbent spoke.
“I have wonderful news, Your Grace. I was told that the wedding dress is nearly ready,” she said happily as the table was cleared and reset with meat servings, pilau rice, meat pies, and custard puddings.
“By your leave, we can have the ceremony done in the next few days.”
Norman wiped his mouth and cleared his throat. He had planned on making the announcement later, but the opening was there. How much could it hurt to just say it?
“That is good to hear. However, I do not think Miss Fawcett and I have bonded enough, and as you are all aware, marriage is a life-long commitment and shouldn’t be taken lightly. So, after careful deliberation, I have decided to extend the courtship by another month.”
Silence enveloped the room and Miss Fawcett suddenly dropped her utensils that fell to the table and then clattered to the ground with a loud tinny noise.
Norman frowned, Why has she gone so pale?
Why am I doing this?
Looking down at the completed handkerchief, now embroidered with a burst of golden flowerer in one corner and N.O.K in the circle made by the flowers’ vines.
This will only cause more trouble….
Glancing up, her eyes landed on the drawer where the Duke’s books and handwritten poem rested in secrecy. They then dipped to the handkerchief.
I should not be doing this…tokens of gratitude I can understand but if only they were just that. I pledged to stay away from him and now, I’m doing this. Why do I not know my own mind?
“Ugh,” she pushed away from the table, “Why is it so hard to think when he is the subject? I need some tea.”
Leaving the room, she descended the stairs and approached the kitchen, which to her delight was still warm and bustling with activity. She shifted out of the way when Tilly rushed out with a tray loaded with sweet buns and teapots.
“To Miss Fawcett, I assume,” she asked dryly.
“Yes Miss,” another maid nodded, and her voice dipped, “This evening after His Grace and the Ogbents had dinner, I heard that His Grace told the lady that he is delaying the marriage for another month and she fainted.”
“Nay,” another shook her head, “She didn’t faint that time, no, she just went pale and sickly like. Her mother had to sit her down and beg His Grace to do a week, not a month. She says her daughter is already prepared to marry him so a week should be enough, but his Grace said a month and that’s when she fainted.”
Why would she be afraid to wait a month?
“She did not faint at all,” another said, “she just had to be laid out on the chaise-lounge.”
Shaking her head, Rosaline shelved those thoughts and asked a nearby servant for a cup of tea. While she waiting, her doubt from before came back. Miss Fawcett slept for most of the day, her stomach was uneasy, her bosom was tender and her belly was tender and swollen. Can it really be that she is increasing?
“Your tea, Miss Hall,” the servant spoke while handing over the cup.
“Thank you,” taking the cup, Rosaline went to an unoccupied corner of the kitchen and deliberated. If she is increasing, she could be afraid that her stomach would be showing in that time…that is, if she is.
A similar question was on Norman’s mind as he settled into his chair in his study. Why did Miss Fawcett go so pale and why did she have to be rushed off to the fainting room? Is she that invested in this marriage? What am I missing here?
After the announcement, Miss Fawcett had gone pale, but her mother was the one who had look horrified. Lord Ogbent’s eyes had darted between his wife and his daughter and when Miss Fawcett cried dizziness, he had rushed her to the nearby room.
His door was knocked on and he saw the silhouette of Lord Ogbent in the doorway, “Come in.”
The man entered and sat with his palms running over his thighs, a sign of nervousness if Norman knew human emotions. “I must relay that Isabella is feeling better, Horenwall, she was just taken aback by your sudden postponing of the marriage.”
One that I was coerced into making. Something about you lot is not right and I need this time to prove it.
“She does not take surprises well,” he clarified. “Her nature is a bit delicate, you see.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Norman added, “Is it only the unexpected delay that is troubling her or was a continuance of her malady from two days ago?”
“I think it’s really the postponement,” Lord Ogbent said, “But in truth, Horenwall, don’t you think another month is too long? We’ve already been here for over a month. The two of you have gotten along so well these past few days. I’m sure you and Isabella can work out the little snags after the marriage, don’t you say?”
Norman canted his head to the side. Based on the man’s nervous attitude and his wavering voice, he was there to follow through on his wife’s previous attempt at changing his mind.
What is it imperative for us to get married so quickly?
“A valid point, Ogbent, but my decision stands,” Norman said easily but with enough power in his voice to negate any arguments. “I will have another month.”
“My good man, please see sense,” Ogbent said, “the dress is almost ready, the arrangements are in place for our dealing, and Isabella has waited a long ti
me for this, what is there to wait on?”
How can a month and a half be a long time? Oh, he must be referring to the night when she first saw me. That is very troubling…
“Ogbent, can you give me a viable reason why waiting another month is too troubling? Or, possibly, it is not troubling for you but rather for your lovely wife, hm?”
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