To Find a Duchess

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To Find a Duchess Page 8

by Lisa M. Prysock


  “Ahhh,” he replied, a clever twinkle appearing in his eye. “I thought that might be the case. I have taken the liberty of obtaining a special license.”

  “I see.” Then stammering she said, “Have you had many replies? To the advertisement, I mean? ”

  “Five,” he answered, squinting in the sun as they turned into an unshaded area of the garden. How quickly the time seemed to pass with Alexandra. He couldn't remember a time he'd enjoyed more in the presence of a lady. Even the severe heat did not seem to annoy him.

  “Did you interview all five ladies then?” she asked curiously, glad to have her bonnet on to keep the sun from her eyes.

  “No, only two.” he said as they reached another partially shaded spot. They stopped there to rest in the shade.

  “Why have you chosen me?” she asked, wondering how he would reply.

  He put one hand to his chin and looked pensively. “Such hard questions!” he said, grinning broadly down at her. She looked up and realized he was teasing her now. They both laughed and then all that either of them could hear was the sound of a bird as it landed on one of the pickets to the fence around the garden, flapped its wings and flew away again. She liked that he was tall and strong, with broad shoulders and strong arms, so manly looking.

  He could see she was waiting on his answer. “Well, it was not because of your looks, although you were the more beautiful of my two interviews. It was not because of your age, though you are the youngest of my interviews.”

  “Well if not for my beauty nor my age, then pray what reason have you for choosing me?”

  “You have all of the right elements in exactly the right quantity. You are intelligent and kind, confident, yet humble, cheerful and effervescent, reserved and yet bold, afraid and yet not timid, capable and warm, and well, although you may be a bit too young... you are wise beyond your years. You are old enough to make your own decisions and navigate through the world, yet you are sweet and unharmed by the hardness of it. You've taken the difficulties and challenges of life in stride. You are well educated and though you are small, you seem unafraid of hard work. Something that has struck me from the first time I read your letter of introduction in reply to my advertisement, though the daughter of a Viscount and a respected vicar, willing to consider a marriage to ... a mere farmer.”

  “My father was a humble man,” she replied. “His faith in Jesus meant more to him than his title or his position and station in life. I learned not to judge anyone by those things. I like the quiet life I have had with my father in the countryside. I am sure I will adapt to almost any situation but I have always generally liked the idea of being a farmer's wife.” She stood there then looking at the tips of her pale blue slippered feet, pondering his answer. He had been able to summarize all of her most important qualities better than she could have herself. Stunned, she said nothing more. They both stood there pretending to admire a rose when they were both thinking a hundred thoughts all at once.

  “You could have married a Duke or a Viscount, like your father,” he reminded her. “You could have that coming out ball in London that Lady Dresden has promised and meet someone better than myself.”

  “If perhaps you refer to someone of the landed gentry or the peerage,” she proceeded cautiously. “Titles and wealth do not impress me. While I agree someone of a greater rank in life can be useful at times… and having wealth makes life easier in some ways, I do not think it makes a person “better” than another.” Then changing the subject, she asked, “Is there a church in Hanwell?”

  “Yes, but in the beginning, we won't be able to attend church services. This would be a trial sort of marriage, at least for a month or two.”

  He thought this would be as good a time as any to tell her there was a piano forte at the cottage, so he spit this fact out too. “We can worship at home and you can play hymns on the piano forte in the parlor. You won't have to bring yours. The one I have is practically brand new and rarely played.”

  This distraction delighted her so much she completely forgot about the church-- as well as all sense of propriety. She jumped and embraced him around the neck in her joy and relief. They both pulled away from each other nearly as quickly as she had jumped to hug him. She was smiling and laughing and then whirling about. He stood back, more reserved by nature, happy to watch her dance about enjoying the bliss of the moment at this news he'd shared.

  When she had recovered herself, breathless but quite nearly satisfied, she stopped whirling about before him and smoothed out her skirt and pulled her delicate shawl tighter about her elbows so it wouldn't drag along on the ground as she walked. “So wh... where would our marriage ceremony take place and when... when would we depart for Hanwell?”

  “Since I have a piano forte, and since you have inquired of the time and place... does that mean you will have me for a husband, Miss Benningham?” He asked, his hands clasped firmly behind his back again.

  She looked at him standing there in some degree of concern and perhaps she had even detected a little agony. It was not enough agony, however. He did not fully realize what he had taken on in choosing her for a bride she was thinking...

  “That depends on your answer to my next question, Sir. What if this doesn't work, William Harcourt?” (...For he had signed his reply to her letter inviting her to the interview as William Harcourt and she did not know his true name.)

  He looked beyond this time of testing and looked hard at her before he gave a reply. “I believe it will work. If it does not, then you have my word, I shall grant you an annulment. We should give it at least a month or two. Then we can evaluate whether we are suited to each other. If you are not happy, I will release you from the marriage. You have my word.”

  She looked up at him, squinting a little in the sun, thinking that over. Finally, after a moment of uncomfortable silence, she spoke. Casting aside her fears, “I came here hoping for a whole new life... a good and lasting marriage, and maybe even love... one day. Somehow, I think you too... are looking for all of those things, or you wouldn't be here either.”

  “You are absolutely correct,” he said. He took a step closer to her and stood still, looking down at her lips. He could have kissed her just then, but held himself back.

  “Yes,” she said, looking up at him. She could have let him kiss her just then, she was thinking. “Yes, I think I shall. I will marry you Mr. Harcourt, Sir.”

  Chapter 7. No Wedding Bells

  Since the June day in that garden overgrown in some areas with weeds, but blooming in other areas with promise and hope, to where she stood now in the little country kitchen at Hanwell Farm peeling potatoes and mixing pie dough, “Mrs. William Harcourt” woke up every morning as if she were on a new adventure. She was preparing an evening meal for her husband but couldn't help from daydreaming about him as she looked out the window at the wheat field stretching over seemingly endless acres of land.

  A perfectly blue sky, framed only on one side at the bottom of the horizon by an edging of fir trees in the distance, enveloped the two story cottage house with the honey gold walls. The clean, white linen curtains stirred softly with the occasional summer breeze. She held a paring knife in one hand and a starchy potato in the other but could not seem to concentrate on any of her chores for long. It seemed her mind kept turning toward thoughts of her new “trial period” husband.

  Well, it was a trial period for both of them. That's what they referred to this as... the trial marriage of sorts, for lack of a better word. She really wished there had been church bells ringing on the day they'd wed. That was the one thing she had really missed, besides having her father present. She had been comforted knowing her heavenly Father had been with her.

  Other than the fact they'd had no marital relations, the early days and weeks of the marriage had gone very well... He was a quiet man, so it was hard to guess what his thoughts might be. She thought back to the day in the garden at the little house on Peach Street. He had surprised her when he'd suggested
that he drive her to pack her things after that walk in the garden. He had helped her up into her curricle, lifting her easily into the seat with his hands around her slight waist. She was always surprised by the butterfly feelings he stirred in her at even his slightest touch. He'd been a perfect gentleman with her, too perfect. She seemed ready to embrace their new life together while he held back, testing her. It almost infuriated her. God, give me patience, she prayed.

  The young servant boy she'd come to know as Benjamin Trimmel had followed them in a wagon with two slow paced but steady mules at a great distance behind, under the orders of her new husband to-be. She had been excitedly nervous on that drive to her little home. She didn't own it though, so it would be easy in some respects to say good-bye. The house held so many happy memories of her father, and sad ones too, memories of missing her mother.

  They were able to slip in and out of the manse without notice. Several bags, a few boxes and crates, a portmanteau and three trunks were carefully packed; loaded to the gills with books, hats, dishes, pots and pans, linens, blankets, shoes, boots, coats, pictures, baskets, jars and jams, and clothing.

  Ben had carried numerous hat boxes, a few more bags, packed at the last minute... and a few small pieces of furniture to the wagon. A small cherry writing desk and chair, her vanity and the matching bench, and one favored rocking chair were handed up to William. Her future husband had stood in the wagon with one leg bent at the knee and perched on the back edge, his sleeves rolled up, patiently positioning items. He'd looked so handsome standing there and packing her things to bring her along into his world. At the same time, it struck her how little they really knew about each other... yet she still had this unusual feeling of peace.

  Her groom had carefully covered each piece with a cherished quilt she refused to leave behind. There was a last minute request to make room on the wagon for a small china cabinet and like a good husband would, William had obeyed with mild reluctance. She hadn't known he'd been thinking she would have more furniture than she knew what to do with when she finally realized who he really was... but it had briefly occurred to him as he loaded items onto the wagon and tied them securely in place that each of the possessions she packed were a small reminder of who she was and who she'd come from. He understood she would need each piece of her treasured possessions … as much as he needed the pictures of his mother and the things that had been in his own family for generations. He could almost picture his bride at Ivy Clifton, enjoying the things he'd always rather taken for granted. What surprises he had in store for her if this marriage worked out the way he hoped it would!

  Every clock and piece of silverware, each glassware and platter or goblet seemed to fit neatly in crates. Then into the wagon the crates went. She didn't have an overabundance of anything. It made packing move along quickly. William had pointed out things to her which he already owned in case she didn't want to waste time packing items she didn't want to duplicate, so she was able to leave a number of items behind for the next vicar or tenant. Benjamin had located the packing crates in the small attic and brought them down for packing. She wrapped fragile items in towels and tissue paper and handed them to William. He had neatly packed them into the crates, boxes and trunks.

  They worked quickly, anxious to start their new adventure together. Her stable hand, Jake, came along eventually, and once she explained that she was going to marry the man she'd introduced as William, with Benjamin helping too, the task of packing sped along. They worked room by room together until they reached hers. She shooed them all away to pack her clothing and toiletry items in private. William steered the boys in the direction of loading the wagon.

  The two boys seemed curious about the situation but they could also smell both adventure and romance in the air and kept busy doing whatever was given to them to do without making remarks or asking questions. Alexandra carefully packed her trunks with all of her personal garments, shoes, linens and books. Her perfume, powder and talc, brush, comb and mirror fit neatly in a portmanteau for the journey along with a few dresses, a bonnet and nightgown. She packed her sewing box, crochet needles, embroidery hoops and patterns into one of the trunks as well. There had been a few more pictures and books to fit in the trunks, and her father's well-worn Bible, along with her own. She had to wrap her pitcher and basin in towels and carefully pack them among her clothing so they wouldn't chip in the rickety wagon. Eventually she'd finished packing everything she wanted to take to her new life except what she laid out on the bed for her wedding ceremony beside her portmanteau.

  When the wagon was finally loaded, the boys sat on the front porch to rest. William looked over her shoulder while she finished last minute tasks. A few necessary but short letters were penned and a basket of breads, cheeses and marmalade thoughtfully packed for the journey and sent with the boys to the wagon. She walked through each room in the little house once again and in this way, the house was baid farewell in her heart.

  When she'd reached her own little room for the last time, she laid aside the work apron that had protected her dress during the packing process and slipped out of her day dress and carefully into her mother's wedding gown. It had been hanging in her wardrobe for years now, carefully wrapped and protected from the elements. She was pleasantly surprised that it wasn't damaged or wrinkled too badly. She placed her day dress and apron in the portmanteau along with a few things she'd chosen for the journey ahead. Her nerves felt jittery in a way she couldn't even begin to describe, even a little light headed with excitement.

  Wordlessly, and trembling, she arranged her hair, some up and some down. Then she unwrapped the long, slim package on her bed, pulling away folds of unwrapped tissue paper, revealing what had been her mother's sheer bridal veil. It was as long as the back of her knees after she'd secured it with pins to her hair.

  She stepped in front of the oval dressing mirror to pin a few sprigs of tiny bell shaped flowers around her curls. Jake had brought them to her from the garden. The ivory white silk dress flowed all the way to the floor and she stood back to admire it. It was still as lovely as it had been the first time she'd seen it. Hundreds of tiny ivory and pearl colored beads had been sewn into the bodice of the gown.

  The bodice and square neckline fit her snugly. More ivory silk draped the front of the gown and was pulled up in the back to her waist where it flared out into a bustle. Under the bustle the gown flowed to a simple but elegant three foot train trimmed in rippled chiffon ruffles. The sleeves were puffy three quarter length sleeves which flared out at the edge with three inch wide lace.

  She stepped back into her blue satin slippers. She'd need help with her mother's pearl necklace. She didn't have a bouquet to carry but she had the old (and borrowed) veil and dress; and something blue, her pale blue slippers. …The new, the flowers that adorned her hair.

  She slipped a long cream colored lace shawl, folded neatly in loose folds, through her arms at the elbows. It draped almost to the floor, tipped with ivory fringe. When she looked in the mirror, she was surprised to see that for the first time, she really looked and felt like a bride. She could almost see her mother looking back at her from her own reflection in the mirror. She blinked a lone tear back, wishing her parents were there to see her today. No matter... she took a deep breath and determined to be stoic. She hadn't counted on all the doubts rushing through her mind or the fact that she hadn't quite pictured her wedding day to be quite this secret. She hadn't thought she'd end up marrying a perfect stranger. She reminded herself that if it didn't work out, he'd promised her an annulment. Lord Jesus, get me through this day … fill me with a little more joy... help me to make this a happy and memorable day!

  She said her last good-bye to her room and took a deep breath. Her gown rustled as the train of her dress followed her into the little parlor, alerting him to her presence. He turned from the window where he'd been looking out at the wagon, wondering if it was going to make the journey. He turned to face her and she presented herself to him gingerly, glad
the boys weren't in the room at that moment. She had wanted this moment alone with him.

  He'd been calmly and intermittently pacing the parlor floor. She thought he looked as nervous as she about the idea of the two of them barely knowing each other, about to wed. Somehow, after all the packing, they felt a little less like strangers and more like friends. In truth, he was nervous about the whole situation, but had been more overcome by the emotion of relief than anything else... relieved to have found a bride he thought he could love. He found himself equally apprehensive about the ceremony ahead of them. He was at least prepared. He'd been carrying the special license around in his pocket for days now and had already spoken to a clergyman situated in a scenic small parish on the western outskirts of London about his unique circumstance.

 

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