“I have already made it clear that you may be easy on that score,” he said, knowing it was not going to be so easy for him. He wished then that he had the sort of common stupidity that would allow him with a clear conscience to insist upon his rights as her husband. A brief, rough coupling would have done a great deal to relieve his feelings, but he knew that the relief would only be temporary. There would be no pleasure in it. What he wanted was more. He wanted the Griselda who had given himself to him in the inn, for her own pleasure, not for his own. He would wait – he would damn well have to wait – until she came to him, not out of duty, but out of love.
Yes, he would have to make her love him first.
He watched her walk across the room to the supper laid before the fire. She stood with her back to him, her plaid shawl now slipped around her waist revealing the pale flesh of her back and shoulders glowing through the ice-white covering of thin lawn. It took every ounce of will-power he had to prevent himself stepping forward and drawing down the neckline of her shift so that he could reach around and cup her breasts in his hands. He could smell her skin and hair even from where he stood.
She looked round at him. He could not read her expression. She was holding a small russet apple, which she had pressed to her cheek in her abstraction. Her lips were parted, her eyes wide. It was unbearable to look at her any longer.
“Forgive me, ma’am,” he said, quickly making for the door. “I will leave you in peace.
Chapter 15
Griselda breakfasted alone in a small, sunny breakfast parlour in which she would, in other circumstances, have been content to linger. Manton informed her that Sir Thomas had gone out early to attend to estate business. He would not be back until dinner. Manton had a look about him that suggested he knew this was not the sort of message he should be delivering to a bride, but Griselda had no intention of betraying any disapproval or disappointment.
“I would like the carriage sent round, please,” she said, when the steward had refilled her coffee cup. “I shall be driving into Stamford this morning.”
“Very good, my lady. Oh, and Sir Thomas asked me to give you this.” Next to her place, he laid a package wrapped in a sheet of what appeared to be drawing paper, and tied up with a length of blue cotton tape.
“Thank you, Manton,” she said, her curiosity unavoidably piqued.
When Manton had gone, she lost no time untying the tape and opening the parcel. It contained a shawl – a genuine Kashmir shawl, very large, extremely soft, oblong in shape and richly patterned in black and red on a cream ground. A deep fringe trimmed the ends, and when Griselda wrapped herself in it, as she could not resist doing, she found it smelt warmly of spices and of India. It was an article that was the last word in style and elegance and Griselda knew that such shawls were neither cheap nor easily obtained. Where he had got such an item at short notice she could not imagine, and then the dreadful thought occurred to her: he had bought it for Caroline. It was the perfect gift from a husband to his new wife.
She threw it to the floor like a rag, horrified, and certain that was the case. Furiously she examined the package. Not even a note to explain himself. Well, what would have been the point of a note? It was such a foolish thing to have done! Could he not see that it would hurt her, and then she wondered if it were meant deliberately to wound. If he could not give it to Caroline, the woman he had chosen it for, he would throw it in her face to remind her of the honour that he had done her in making her his wife. It was an insult, nothing less.
She snatched it up and carried it, with its packing, to the morning room where she had noticed a writing table comfortably placed between the window and fire. She took up a pen and wrote the following note:
“Lady Thorpe thanks Sir Thomas for his handsome gift but feels it is inappropriate for her to accept such a valuable token of esteem. She therefore returns it to him, with her respectful compliments.”
She then repacked it, sticking the note to the parcel with a lump of sealing wax – using his signet ring to seal it – and told a servant to leave it for Sir Thomas in his dressing room. Then gathering her faithful plaid about her, and tying her bonnet strings, she went down into the entrance hall to the carriage which was now at her constant command.
“To the rectory first, please, Andrew,” she said.
Mrs Austin looked a trifle surprised to see her, but like her husband she seemed to have the happy knack of being easy with whatever circumstance came along. Griselda hoped she might acquire that soon, for she felt sure she would have to learn to bend like a reed in this new life.
But she struggled to find a delicate explanation for her circumstances.
“Our marriage was a trifle hasty,” she said. “We could not bear to wait to make all the preparations. Besides, my father had no money to spare for bride clothes. It was decided that Sir Thomas should provide them instead. I am therefore in rather urgent need of some new clothes. I wonder would you be so good as to accompany me to Stamford this morning and show me the best people to go to?”
“Gladly,” said Mrs Austin. “I have an excellent woman to whom I go for all my clothes. She is the sort of treasure one does not find in every neighbourhood and she does not charge immoderately. Not of course that expense is any great object for you.”
“I do not wish to appear at all extravagant,” Griselda said. She had decided to spend as little of Thorpe’s money as possible, only to buy what was necessary and no more.
“No, of course not,” said Mrs Austin. “That is a sentiment that does you credit, but a certain elegance will be expected of you. Your new position demands it.”
“No, I suppose I must not disgrace my husband,” Griselda said, conscious of a great impulse to do just that.
“I do not believe you could ever do that,” said Mrs Austin kindly, and Griselda was seized with the same urge to confess that had overtaken her in Caroline’s company. But once again she did not quite dare do it.
Mrs Austin proved to be a good choice for a companion on a shopping expedition. She had natural taste and much more knowledge than Griselda. She knew exactly what would be to the purpose and where to go for each item. She had an expert eye for a good piece of cloth, and would not let the silk mercer distract the new Lady Thorpe with showy novelties fresh from London and Paris.
“A better weight of satin than this, if you please, Mr Harrison,” she said. “This will tear to shreds in an evening. Ah, that is more like it, do you not think, my lady?” Griselda nodded. The satin was sumptuous, voluptuous even, and irresistible. “How much a yard, Mr Harrison?”
“Well, that is our very best quality, ma’am,” said Harrison. “It does not come cheap. Half a guinea a yard. But it comes in the most diverting shades. As well as this ivory, we have a bronze which would be very fetching on her ladyship, perhaps with one of our exclusive black zephyr gauzes? And just fresh in we have this apple green – not a tint which every lady could wear with confidence, but if your ladyship will permit me to say…”
“I will take a length of all three,” Griselda said quickly, anxious to be done with the business. Yet watching Harrison measuring and folding the ivory satin, the light playing on its soft gleam, the pleasures of her position stole over her. What were a few guineas to Thorpe, after all? She could indulge herself and he would not even notice.
“Mind you cut a full ten yards, Mr Harrison,” said Mrs Austin. “Sleeves are very full this year. Now, washing muslin. Best Indian muslin.”
“First show me your gauzes,” Griselda said. “Did I not see that gauze over-sleeves are to be worn this winter?”
“Why certainly, my lady,” said Mr Harrison.
After that, her resolution to be frugal crumbled. She justified it guiltily as a sort of revenge on Thorpe. The parcels increased – there was green silk twill and soft grey velvet for pelisses, soft cashmere and printed poplin for morning dresses, coffee-brown Melton cloth for a new riding habit and some flippant pieces of pure nonsense that were so exorbit
antly priced that Mr Harrison was even more pleased with her than she was with herself.
Mrs Austin, discreetly amused, now took her to Mrs Shane the milliner. She was the wonder of Stamford – Mrs Austin thought her the equal of anything in London. Certainly this was nothing like the milliners in Perth where Griselda had made the occasional and very economical purchase. Mrs Shane was very showy in her respectful deference to the new Lady Thorpe – other customers were left to wait – and the prices matched the service.
As she tried on hats, caps and bonnets, Griselda began to think that the two gaudily-dressed girls who were also in the shop were whispering about her. She hoped she was not making an exhibition of herself and began to feel very uncomfortable. Mrs Austin leant forward and said quietly,
“Do not mind them, my dear. They are too ill-bred to know any better than to stare at you.”
“But they have every reason to stare,” said Griselda, who had coloured. “The report of our marriage must be everywhere by now – it must seem very hasty to everyone.”
“It will be forgotten soon enough,” said Mrs Austin, handing her a velvet cap. “This would be very fetching, I think.”
“You are very kind not to judge us,” Griselda said.
“Why should I do that?” said Mrs Austin. “No, this has scarcely surprised me. I had always thought that Sir Thomas would do something romantic. It is in his character to act according to his heart rather than his head. Perhaps people have too much regard for the proper forms. Where there is sincerity of purpose, what can that matter?”
Griselda managed to nod and turned her attention to the handsome velvet cap.
Mrs Austin’s treasure of a dressmaker proved to be exactly that. Not only did she promise to make up all Griselda’s dresses as soon as possible but she was able to send her away with a dashing black velvet evening gown with gold trimmings which another customer, who had got into an interesting condition, had not required after all. A few stitches and it was a perfect fit, and that evening, Griselda went down to the drawing room feeling a little more like the mistress of Priorscote and all its splendour.
That morning Griselda had looked in through the door of the white drawing room and seen a room shrouded in brown holland. Now the room had been opened up for her to sit in, the striped covers taken from the white and gold lyre back chairs, the drugget taken up to reveal a dazzling Aubusson carpet, and the vases had been filled with flowers. It was a very elegant room, but coolly formal, despite the brightness of the fire. Griselda felt glad of the protective lustre of her new gown and of the gilded spangles that trimmed the long cuffs and decorated the low neckline. The women in the portraits on the walls, those other Lady Thorpes, seemed to look less disdainfully at her because of it. She wished for a moment that she were as insubstantial and as flat as they were. Painted ancestors did not have to feel.
She sat down at the rosewood table with the copy of “Waverley” Thorpe had given her the night before and tried to distract herself with it, with very little success. The clock, supported by gilded cherubs, said it was half past four – the usual dinner hour at Priorscote was five and soon the Austins would be there to distract the silence with their polite but lively conversation. Sometimes at Glenmorval she had run away from visiting neighbours, but she felt she would never do that here. In this new life they would be an absolute necessity.
She had finally lost herself in the story when the double doors banged open and she looked up to see Sir Thomas come in. He had dressed for dinner and was carrying the shawl which he immediately slapped down on the table in front of Griselda.
“What do you mean by this?” he demanded.
“Exactly what I say in my note,” she said. “I thank you for it, but I must return it. I do not care to wear love tokens meant for another woman.”
“What do you mean?” he said.
“You bought it for Caroline,” she said. “You expected me to accept a gift originally intended for Caroline. How unfeeling do you imagine I am?”
“I did not buy it for Caroline!” he exclaimed. “Do you think I would be so cruel as that?”
She could not answer him.
“I did not buy it for Caroline,” he repeated. “It is true I bought it as a wedding gift – but for two dear friends who were to have been married. I bought it for her because he was given a living in Northumberland, and she was a slight creature and always felt the cold so terribly. It was to have been my wedding gift to her.”
“She w-was…?” stuttered Griselda. “She died?”
“Yes, before they were married. Poor Foster, I never saw a man so in love – and she was so in love with him. Her name was Marianne. She was…” he broke off.
The shawl still lay folded on the centre of the well polished table and he reached out and fingered the stuff. Griselda who had put down the book now sat with her hands folded on her lap. She watched the thoughtless sensuality with which he carressed it.
“I did not mean anything by it,” he continued. “I thought it only might be useful to you. I suppose I should have given it away long ago to some poor creature who had real of need of it. That would have been what Marianne would have wanted. She always knew what was right.”
“Perhaps then there is someone – some dependant of the family who you still might send it too. Perhaps one of her sisters… as a memorial?”
“As you wish,” he said, indifferently letting the shawl drop from his fingers. “Since you do not care for it.”
“I do not feel the cold,” said Griselda carefully, but her heart felt frozen.
At this moment Manton announced the arrival of Mr and Mrs Austin. There was no time to remove the shawl. It lay on the table in a glorious heap, looking like a recently opened present. Mr Austin was the first to remark on it.
“Ah, but we have intruded upon something,” he said. “You must forgive us.”
“Indeed sir, you have not,” said Griselda, getting up and giving him the best smile she could muster.
“Such a gift,” said Mr Austin, picking up the shawl. “I must congratulate you, Sir Thomas. So much better than jewellery – which no really modest woman can rejoice in. There is true beauty in this, true devotion. And what a match for my lady’s complexion. I never saw anything so handsome!”
And with a priestly air, he held out the shawl to Griselda, so that she could not avoid putting it on.
“Very pretty, my dear,” said Mrs Austin. “And very useful. This is a cold part of the country.”
“And with that gown,” said Mr Austin, who clearly had as much an eye for these things as his wife. “Ah, Sir Thomas, what have you brought into the neighbourhood!”
***
To Tom, the Rector’s compliment seemed to indicate a gallant gesture would be in order, and he wanted very much to take her hand and kiss it. Griselda looked incomparable in her black velvet dress, the shawl draped gracefully over her forearms. He had known it would look well on her.
He realised now that it had been a mistake, but it did not stop him briefly taking her hand and kissing it. She did not flinch, of course, but the smile which crossed her lips was uneasy. Her fingertips were as cool as marble and she made no attempt to grasp his fingers. She was play-acting perfectly but she would do nothing more for the role than was required.
Now she walked away to the window with Mrs Austin, and the two women stood discussing the prospect while Tom poured the wine. Standing there with her back to him, the shawl hung down in all its magnificence taunting him with its beauty. He bitterly regretted sending it. He wished he could have predicted she might take it amiss but he had not been thinking of it in that way. He had sent it as a substitute embrace. If he was not allowed to touch her, then it could. And now, just as he realised this, she pulled it around her a little more closely, chilled perhaps by a sudden draft at the window. He had meant the shawl as a gesture of goodwill, a first step in his courtship. He had not expected it to be so spectacularly rejected.
But here she was, wear
ing it in spite of herself and looking as beautiful in it as he had imagined.
Chapter 16
After the servants were clearing away the second remove and bringing in the dessert, Manton stopped at Sir Thomas’s elbow and said, “Sir Thomas, there’s a party from the village school outside. They would like to pay their compliments to you and my lady.”
“How delightful,” said Mr Austin, with a smile at his wife.
“Do we have you to thank for this, Mrs Austin?” said Thorpe, amused.
“It is traditional, Sir Thomas,” said Mrs Austin. “And the children were very anxious to see Lady Thorpe.”
“I hope I do not disappoint them,” said Griselda.
“How could you?” said Mr Austin.
“Show them in, Manton.”
“In here, sir?” Manton queried.
“Why not,” said Thorpe, “when we’ve a table covered with sweetmeats?” And he got to his feet and went out of the room, with Manton a step or two after him.
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