Finagled

  George's wound was healing. He no longer needed the constant bandage changing regimen, and freed to spend her time elsewhere, Ramona found herself reluctant. She spent more time at meals, she bathed with more thought, but she still spent every free moment in George's room watching him sleep or talking quietly with him. A week passed and the Doctor said they could transport George to his townhouse.

  "The servants have all gone on to Loathewood to await us," he said, "it makes no sense to call them all back. Is it not safe for me to travel that distance, Doctor Loopy?"

  "I would not recommend it. From the first I have been your physician in this matter and I do not recommend changing caretakers in the midst of a complaint. Secondly, I think you would find the bumpy roads exceedingly uncomfortable and they would endanger a reopening of the wound, which has only now closed and stopped seeping repulsive fluids."

  "I hesitate to suggest..." Ramona began, "I am sure we could stay at my parents until you were well enough to travel... though..." she looked somewhat pained.

  "Excuse us, Doctor," George said, sitting up against the white pillows of his bed.

  "Of course, Your Grace" Doctor Loopy made a slight bow and left the room.

  "Your mother has clearly made you uncomfortable in the past week." George said, "I would rather we stay here if you would find her constant presence unenjoyable."

  "I... I do not like to speak ill of her, but she has some very old fashioned ideas that do not quite agree with my current situation." Ramona admitted. They had not been married but a week, and yet her mother was constantly haranguing her to get with child. She made only small exceptions for George's invalid state. Ramona found herself blushing at her mother’s suggestions, "Just climb on top dear, and don't move too much, it won't hurt him at all."

  "I understand. It’s not too much imposition for me to stay right where we are. I’m sure you would be more comfortable in our own household... as it is..." he found himself reluctant to say it, "I do not need you to sleep on the cot any more."

  "But you can't reach the bell, what if you were to need something?" Ramona asked, "I would sleep much better in that cot, uncomfortable as it is, than in the next room thinking every moment that I heard some sound, that you needed something, even so small as a glass of water. And who would call for your valet should you need to relieve your bladder?" Ramona shook her head. "You are not quite as self sufficient as you would like me to believe. The cot stays."

  "My valet could sleep in it," George said, "and then no one would have to send for him at all."

  "I am used to it. I do not mind." Ramona said, quietly.

  "Have it your way, Duchess." George chuckled. What George thought of as the sexual tension between them had been lessened by his injury, but he still at times wanted to pull little Ramona into the bed with him. He felt too weak to try, and this was fortuitous.

  Ramona was a beautiful nurse. When the look of concern came upon her brow, and she pursed her lips in thought, wiping his forehead. She looked like an angel, his very own. She took her meals now at his side, a tray across her knees, and they talked again, like they had before any of this had happened. She was less inhibited than ever in her conversation, and he began to really know his new wife, to like what he learned of her.

  George was a wonderful patient. Yes he teased her over her concern, but he never cried out when she dressed his wound or asked for anything, though he thanked her gratefully for what she brought him. The hours he spent sleeping lessened, but Ramona still had plenty of opportunities to study his face. As the color returned she no longer thought it swarthy or weather worn. She quite liked his coloring, actually. She found herself studying his lips especially, a little pale and dry at first, as the life returned to them she occasionally thought of their touch, but she did not let herself think of it too much.

  She was just going to have to live without it.

  Chapter Nine

  When George was finally up on his feet he convinced the Doctor that he was well enough to travel, well padded in the carriage, surrounded by blankets and pillows and the sweet ministrations of his lovely young bride, he set out for Loathewood.

  The countryside passed slowly, as they took a slower pace than they had originally intended. The servants, Melanie and a couple of others, rode ahead with their trunks, while George's valet sat on top with the driver, should his master need for anything.

  Sitting across from George in this, their second carriage ride together, Ramona was struck by the contrast. The last time she had been so anxious, so unsure. The things that she had worried about were still there, completely unchanged, but George no longer avoided her gaze, and his gold pocket watch could no longer sit open in his fingers. Ramona wished that his injury had never happened, but she wondered where they would be if it had not. Already settled for weeks at Loathewood, would the air between them have been as chilly? Would she only sit across from her husband at meals? Even now she worried a little, that, given a whole estate to escape to, and returning eventually to his duties and obligations there, she would not see him so often. Even if they had been sharing the marriage bed, and everything that that entailed, she imagined she would not see much of her new husband. Country estates were like little countries, and her Duke was the king of Loathewood.

  Ramona took a deep breath and smiled warmly at George. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

  "Ah, a bit stiff, and a bit over bundled." He said, adjusting his copious pillows. "A bit mothered and smothered," he chuckled.

  "Well, you are just going to have to live with it, Doctor’s orders. We probably shouldn’t have set out yet..." she furrowed her brow and reached a hand across to him.

  His smile faltered a bit and he took her hand hesitantly. It was starting already. Their closeness would become awkward again, if he let it. It did not have to be. If he could keep the hesitation out of his voice and actions, he need not wound her.

  She saw, but felt a warmth inside as he accepted her small fingers, enclosing them warmly.

  Ramona read aloud for a while, and then passed the time staring out the window at the changes in scenery, as they moved away from the city and into the countryside she imagined walking in the fields and wildernesses that they passed. She had always done this on long journeys, imagining herself running alongside the carriage, jumping from stone to stone and fencepost to fencepost. It was a distraction, and as usual she fell asleep with her face against the glass in this way.

  The next two days went in much the same way and suddenly she was having her very first look at Loathewood.

  She had heard of it, it was a large estate and she had seen illustrations in history books, postcards in shops, but the vastness of it, approaching as they did at nightfall, she was not prepared for. It loomed over the landscape, huge and imposing on the sinking horizon. This was her new home, and looking over it she could well imagine it swallowing her whole. The duties she would have as mistress of this home were enough to make her heart palpitate. The idea that inside were dozens of unknown faces with unknown alliances. She was genuinely comfortable with servants, she had had them long enough, but never so completely under her own control, and the responsibility made her shake. All of the plans and problems that had been brought to her mother on a much smaller estate than this came back to her after years of not really paying attention to them.

  And then there was the nephew. She figured that whatever promise George had made, his nephew Andrew figured into it chiefly, for he was the heir to all of this, not her or any child that she might wish for, Andrew Flanders. The young master of Loathewood made her more nervous than anything. She was fairly unprepared for him. George did not mention him but in passing, not as he might have someone he had a adoptive father-son relationship with. He was a fixture of life at Loathewood, not someone he was anxious to see again, but not someone he felt like avoiding either. There had been a couple of letters from Andrew while George was convalescing, short and dutiful, not with news or memories, and Ramona had been
asked to read them aloud. It was hard to put feeling behind the well wishes they contained, both for his marriage to Ramona, and his speedy recovery. They did not seem ungenuine, just a little disinterested, but then, Andrew was a 13 year old boy, he had likely been directed by some tutor or other to the very letter. They were polite and appropriate missives, the same as were received from dozens of others at the hotel from relatives and acquaintances much more distant.

  Ramona did not have much experience with children. She had taken it for granted that with her own she would have some natural affinity, a mother's instinct or talent, and the knowledge of her own mother’s failings as an example of what not to do. Being thrust into some sort of maternal relationship with a boy already on his way to manhood was daunting at the very least. She could not remember the last time she had interacted with a boy of that age, truly interacted. There had been occasional guests in her parents home with children of that age, but they had as little interest in her as she did them.

  "You do think Andrew will like me?" she asked, as they made their way up the long drive, the house getting larger and more ominous the closer they approached.

  "Of course. He’s a clever boy. No one has ever had any trouble with him before." He assured her, "I haven't seen him in a number of months, of course, but he is dutiful and eager to please." He gave Ramona an encouraging smile.

  "I do hope so." she said, biting her lip.

  In the front hall of the house by candlelight an impossibly long line of servants were ready to greet them. Andrew stood on the staircase, and he did not seem terribly interested in running to greet his uncle or new aunt. He waited while introductions to the upper staff were made and then George, leaning slightly on a cane that he very much resented, called him down.

  "Hullo Uncle," he said, turning to look at Ramona he peered at her with narrowed eyes. "This is she, then?"

  "Come Andrew, of course it is, don't be rude, now."

  "Nice to meet you, Aunt." he said, standing up straight.

  "Nice to meet you, Andrew. I hope we shall be friends."

  He smiled, but it was tight, polite, without any real feeling behind it.

  "Well then, I’m famished from the drive. Please serve dinner in the small dining room, near the fire if you please. Andrew will be joining us."

  Andrew opened his mouth to say something, but closed it just as quickly.

  This dinner was almost as awkward as their first as husband and wife. Their free conversation was somewhat halted by this teenaged addition, but chiefly because the young man was completely unwilling to engage in pleasantries. Ramona had to admit that it did not seem like strange behaviour for a young man of his age asked to dine with someone he had only just met. If the boy would have been eager to talk to George alone, she could not tell. He answered questions about his studies and activities in a sort of monotone, without enthusiasm for one subject or another, until the courses had been finished and he asked to be excused, to continue his studies.

  "Well, I say, he is usually a little bit more agreeable than that, but then, you are the first woman of your station that he has interacted with since..." he paused, "Well, since his mother left. I imagine this is neglect on my part. I should have entertained more. It did not occur to me that something of that sort would be beneficial."

  "He is very polite," Ramona said.

  "Polite indeed, but usually... he laughs a lot, I suppose. But now that you are here, perhaps we can work on his broader social skills. Entertain a bit. Would you enjoy that? We should have something soon, a ball, to introduce you to the neighborhood. It is a bit far to the next estate, but there are a number in this county worth cultivating. I hope you will not feel the lack of London society."

  Ramona gave him a tight smile. She loved society, the excitement, the colors, being in a crowded room with something bubbly in a flute and listening to people she did not really care about talking about their children and poodles. It was, as a single woman, her chief joy. She recognized that it was something she would probably have to give up to some degree, expecting to visit it once a season for an extended time, finding a new pleasure in talking about her own children to people who did not really care to hear. What if she got the urge to take up poodles? A silent terror filled her. She tried to focus on thoughts of her interfering Aunt Tirinia and the fact that she had lived to a ripe old age without need of either children, or poodles.

  Unfortunately, Tirinia did not feel like the best example to follow at the moment.

  "I am sure I will enjoy whatever society your home could offer me," she replied, politely.

  "Well then, shall we go and see what a terrible job your mother and I have done outfitting your new rooms?" he asked.

  He led her up the wide flight of stairs to the first floor and then up a smaller set of stairs to the second, and down a long dark hallway lit intermittently by candles fitted into the wall. The windows they passed were inky black, she could not make out the view of the grounds from here. Ramona walked close to George as he leaned slightly on his cane.

  "Yes, yes. Here we are. These rooms adjoin my own..." he opened a door wide.

  It was a light room in comparison with what she had seen of Loathewood so far. Paneling that of an antique white with gilt gold details, and blue and lavender upholstery made up the color scheme. It was like something her mother would choose, but not unattractive for the association. The paneling looked as if it had not been freshly painted. It was likely that this had been George's mother's room at one time, and the feminine details of the mistress of the house could be seen in the lines of the fireplace. All of the furniture appeared new, a brighter white than the paneling, and there was nothing lacking. A vanity with a large, clear mirror stood across from the door. Almost imperceptible, another door was fitted into the panels to appear seamless, but for a small gold lock and handle just below the wainscoting. Against the wall beside this door, was a high backed wooden chair. By the fireplace there were two cushioned wingback chairs, both a pale blue, with plump lavender pillows arranged invitingly. There was a large Oriental rug on the floor, colors of tan joined with blue, and details too intricate for Ramona to make out by candlelight. Opposite the hidden door that joined this room with George's, there was a large, canopied bed. It seemed a bit... young, to Ramona, for the mistress of the house, but she imagined the virginal whites had been picked by her mother, for it rather mimicked her bed at home. It was soft, light, and lacy, very feminine, and the translucent curtains pulled back to reveal an inviting and comfortable looking bed.

  "It is lovely, I think I should be happy here." she said.

  George let out a slow sigh. His sister-in-law, Regina, had been so displeased with her room when she arrived. He remembered his little brother had gone to great expense and based it upon what he knew of her tastes, but she had had the whole thing ripped out and redone. Malcolm had said that he could hardly tell the difference when it was finished, but Regina had said it was a vast improvement. Ramona had shown nothing in common with Regina, who had been rather tempestuous from the start. George furrowed his brow. In many ways it was unfair of him to compare the two women, but he found himself doing so regardless. Andrew's mother was a hard woman to forget.

  "Good, then I shall be happy as well." he said.

  George walked around the room, turning up gas lamps and lighting a candle by the bedside.

  "Goodnight, George." She said with a small smile.

  "Well. Yes. Good night, Ramona," George hesitantly leaned forward and gave his wife a brotherly kiss on the forehead. "Sleep well."

  She stood alone in her new room for a moment before ringing for her maid. She looked at the room, now lit a little better. There was nothing wrong with it, it would just take her a while to think of it as her own. Her things, she found, had already been placed, familiar accoutrements in an unfamiliar setting. Her silver toiletries were laid out on the vanity. She opened the tall, white wardrobe and found her dresses hung there, somewhat limply with travel. Man
y of the dresses were new, purchased by her parents, they were intended to be worn on a honeymoon journey so several were practical for travel, and others were more extravagant, for showing off her new station as Duchess.

  As many times as she had been called Duchess in the past weeks, by hotel staff or well wishers, she could not believe that she, Ramona Havishamble, just plain old Ramona Havishamble, was now Ramona Flanders, Duchess of Blusterfuss.

  "Duchess of Blusterfuss," she said aloud, peering at the reflection of this Duchess in the large vanity mirror. "You have your work cut out for you."

  After her maid had left, she crawled into the large, white bed, alone.

  George went to his room. It was painful still to twist, but he removed his own jacket with some determination, and unbuttoned his crisp, dove grey shirt. He saw his reflection in his own mirror, full length and set into the dark wood paneling of his own bedroom, which somewhat mirrored Ramona's in design, though it was a bit larger, and outfitted in dark woods and green upholstery. His body had become weaker in his weeks of invalidism, but his chest still had a chiseled look about it. The bandage wrapped around his waist was to act as a brace. It really didn’t hurt much anymore, just felt tender to the touch, and he found it harder to walk than before. The Doctor said that he possibly had some nerve damage, something in his back having an effect on the nerves in his hip and upper thigh, where he felt the peculiar pain.