by Lena West
Ducking her head, she drew fresh breath into straining lungs, then continued at the same breakneck speed.
“Best of all Grandmama, there was a letter for me too. Stephen wrote to me personally, asking me to marry him. Oh, Grandmama, it's all I've ever wanted; to be Stephen Fortescue's wife.” She took a few seconds to savour the idea.
“Isn't 'wife' the most wonderful word in the whole English language?”
“May I assume from your raptures you gave your parents an affirmative answer?”
In spite of being about to take the edge off it, Susannah couldn't help smiling at her granddaughter's excitement.
Lucy's breathless laughter trilled out, startling a nearby willie-wagtail into flight.
“I am running on, aren't I? Only I'm so happy. I told Mama and Papa straight away that my answer is 'Yes'. I'll write to Stephen today and tell him too.”
She clasped her hands together as if answering a prayer. “I'll tell him he's made all my wishes come true.”
Feeling a shudder ripple through Susannah's frame, Lucy really looked at her companion. Her joyous stream of words came to an abrupt halt when the old woman's troubled expression in the face of her own rapture impinged on her awareness, and the smile slid off her face.
“You are happy for me, aren't you, Grandmama?”
Prevaricating a little, Susannah patted Lucy's hand. “Your happiness is always my happiness, my dear. That's all I demand of life these days. Your happiness.”
“You don't sound happy, though. Is something wrong, Grandmama? Don't you feel well?”
It is now or never, Susannah told herself, so I'd better get it over with, for she'd not forgive herself if an omission on her part led to even the slightest future unhappiness for Lucy. Better to sort this bothersome issue out now; then they could put it behind them and get started with planning a wedding. She turned on the seat until her searching gaze took in the whole of the girl's sweetly concerned face.
“Lucy dearest, you know I'm no gossip, don't you?”
Lucy nodded, wondering what awful history her grandmother was about to reveal. Grandmama looked so sad and miserable it must be something awful.
“My friend Hetty McGowan lives only a few miles from Eden Vale, as you know, and in her last letter she passed on a rather disturbing rumour concerning your Stephen.”
Susannah breathed deeply, steeling herself to continue.
“Now it's only rumour, mind, but I feel bound to share it with you just in case it should prove to hold some measure of truth. I sincerely hope it won't, for your sake.”
Lucy's euphoria evaporating as quickly as a drop of water spilt on a hot paving stone, she felt chilled to the bone even though brilliant sunshine flooded the garden.
“What are you saying, Grandmama? What could Stephen have done to make you look so solemn?” she whispered, her shaky voice barely audible.
“Remember, Darling, this is only rumour.”
She patted her granddaughter’s hand in a vaguely comforting manner.
“Hetty said there's quite a bit of talk about Archibald Cummings's beautiful new wife. She's young enough to be his daughter, and apparently a bit loose in her morals. All the old tabbies have their fur on end because she's been flirting with their husbands; who have been more flattered by her attention than they should be.”
“I don't care about them,” Lucy broke in. “What did Aunt Hetty say about Stephen?”
“I'm getting to Stephen. Don't rush me, lass. According to Hetty, and I've always found her information to be fairly reliable, Stephen is smitten with this siren. Hetty said he hangs on her every word; eyes following wherever she goes. Young men being what they are, if that was all, I wouldn't be too concerned; it's the rest of the gossip she's been hearing that worries me.”
The old lady paused a moment, gathering her strength to deliver what she knew would be a cruel blow.
“Now mind, even Hetty says this is mere conjecture, but the story doing the rounds is that when Archibald Cummings was away from home recently, his wife was seen entertaining Stephen Fortescue in the privacy of her bedroom.”
Lucy's head spun, and the rich perfume of the jasmine flowers suddenly nauseated her. The monotonous drone of bees, barely noticeable moments before, was deafening in her ears. Her vision faded as faintness threatened to assail her. It couldn't be true! It just couldn't! Not her Stephen. She gasped, getting her breath back.
“Noooo. Grandmama, I don't believe it. Those old cats are making it up. Surely you don't believe it, do you?”
It broke Susannah's heart to be the cause of so much pain to her beloved girl. A tear slipped from her eye. She wiped it away, gathering her strength. Lucy needed her to be strong.
“What I believe …” she began, wavering to a halt before starting again.
“It's possible there is a kernel of fact mixed in with a great deal of exaggeration. It wouldn't be the first time an impressionable young man from a sheltered background was dazzled by such a woman. But Lucy, these infatuations are usually short-lived. I hope and believe that to be the case here. Otherwise, why has he proposed to you? I only mention it to prepare you for any stray gossip you might hear later on. Forewarned is forearmed; and should there be anything to the story, you'll be ready to counter it, don't you see? I simply couldn't let you walk blindly into a situation like that.”
“So, you do believe it's true!” Lucy wailed.
Springing to her feet, she raced away, dashing tears from her eyes as she headed for the sanctuary of her bedroom; praying not to encounter anyone on the way.
How could she marry Stephen if this horrible story was true?
3
Falling in love was my first mistake.
Marrying my love in good faith. That was my second mistake.
Lucy flung herself down on her bed, sobs muffled in her pillow. If she didn't love Grandmama so much, she could hate her for spoiling the excitement and joy of Stephen's proposal. Only she did love the darling old lady with whom she had shared a lifetime of girlish confidences, so she couldn't possibly hate her.
Quickly running out of steam she stopped crying. Holding the dampened pillow to her chest, she rolled onto her back, suddenly ashamed of herself.
Her tears were childish self-indulgence. She needed to think this situation through, in the logical way of solving problems which she had learned from her father.
Can Grandmama be wrong? she wondered.
She could, of course.
Even Grandmama herself had stressed the story was only rumour. Except that she had seemed to believe at least some of it was based in fact; and Grandmama's sound common sense and the generous heart which invariably sought the good in people, could both be relied upon.
Therefore, reason demanded she closely consider all the implications of the nasty tale before flying into precipitate action. Even if it was true, it didn't necessarily prohibit the marriage. She could still marry Stephen, if she wanted to. Papa had handed the decision to her. Sniffling back the last stray tears, Lucy sat up to take stock of her feelings.
Yes, I feel hurt.
The gloss had gone from the joy of receiving Stephen's proposal and her heart felt battered and bruised.
Bruised. Not broken, she noted. That was good, wasn't it? Did she still love Stephen?
Yes. Although her unquestioning faith in him was no longer unblemished as it had been just this very morning. Was it only this morning all this had all occurred? Incredible! It was still well short of the luncheon hour and her whole life had changed completely. Not once, but twice!
Stephen had been pushed off his pedestal.
But then, I was the one who put him there, Lucy realised. Grandmama had warned her against doing so, always maintaining everyone was a mixture of good and bad, noble and base.
According to her, no-one should be placed on a pedestal, as sooner or later their fall from the heights was inevitable. Lucy considered this idea for some time, mulling over the proposition that an imperfec
t person could still be worthy of the love and trust of their friends. She applied the concept to Stephen Fortescue.
Surely, it is better to know a man's faults and love him in spite of them, she concluded, than to go blindly into marriage erroneously believing him to be perfect?
Besides, was it truly a character fault if one made a mistake, then corrected it?
Surely this was what had happened to Stephen, since he had turned his back on That Woman to propose to herself. Could it therefore be counted as a positive? She rubbed her temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache.
Her mind was in such a dreadful muddle. Lying here wrestling with her thoughts was achieving nothing.
Sitting up, Lucy brushed the tangle of soft, brown curls from her hot brow and continued to apply these more liberal standards to Stephen, surprised to discover there were any number of minor annoyances already marring his perfect image.
Things like his impatience with the Gothic romances she so enjoyed reading. He didn't like small lapdogs like Mama's dear little Bobo, either, preferring dogs which earned their living; cattle dogs and the like. When she really thought about it there were lots of tiny, unimportant, imperfections in the real man when compared to the paladin she'd made of him in his absence. And not one of them had detracted from her loving him.
This second-hand tale of perfidy though, was no little thing, easily tolerated. She needed to be very sure of her feelings on this matter.
Did she still love Stephen, imperfections and all? Yes, she did. That imperfect man was absolutely her Stephen. She still wanted nothing more than to be his wife, she realised, her heart lifting.
Looking on the bright side, the tale which at first had appeared to spell disaster, could now be viewed as a test of Stephen's love for herself. A test which had seen true love triumph.
Lucy, fully restored to her normally cheerful state, could no longer see any impediment to marrying Stephen Fortescue in Grandmama's rumours. With his proposal Stephen had put all other women behind him, and so would she.
Clambering off the bed, she splashed water into her wash bowl and scrubbed her face, removing all trace of her childish bout of tears. Gazing critically into the woefully inadequate mirror hanging above the washstand, she decided she could safely blame her slightly reddened eyelids on the bright sunshine outside.
As Lucy brushed her curls into tidiness, she marshalled her thoughts, then set off once again to find her grandmother; intending that this time they would have a proper, serious heart-to-heart talk regarding the harsher realities of love and marriage, undisguised by romantic dreams.
The kind of discussion it had never before occurred to her she might one day want, let alone need.
Well, I need it now, she thought, knowing Grandmama's worldly experience would happily be placed at her disposal.
*****
“Grandmama, will you help me to understand about men?”
Startled, Susannah looked up, drawing herself out of the despondency born of knowing she had hurt Lucy; the fear she had completely alienated her. Yet she knew she'd do the same again. And now, here was her dear girl, come back to her; still trusting her. Her heart overflowed with gratitude.
“What was that, Dear?”
“Men, Grandmama. I realised I don't understand them one little bit. Can you help me?”
Susannah chuckled, giddy with relief at still being loved and trusted; her advice still being sought.
“Impossible, Darling. No woman ever fully understands men. They don't see the world the same way we do. Sometimes, though, we come close. You ask your questions and I'll give you the best answers I can.”
The old lady chuckled.
Between now and the wedding, she'd see to it that her girl was better prepared for the carnal aspects of marriage than most young ladies. During her long life, she'd had two very different husbands. She had acquired a wealth of worldly knowledge and had every intention of sharing a great deal of it with her granddaughter.
*****
The bell was ringing for luncheon when Susannah summed up their lengthy discussion.
“Dearest Lucy, remember these two things and you won't go far wrong. Firstly, if you're angry, don't tax a man with his sins, or you'll run the risk of alienating him; lead him into better ways by example. Secondly, use your feminine gifts of heart, mind and body to steer a man in the direction you want him to go; and be sure to reward him generously when he does.”
She cackled, giving her solemn-faced granddaughter a gentle poke in the ribs.
“That last, using your bodily gifts to persuade, encourage and reward, is usually not only the most effective weapon in your arsenal, but the most pleasurable; for both of you. A well-matched couple who enjoy each other in bed generally have a head start in achieving a happy marriage.”
4
Trusting Isabella when she claimed to return my love; trusting her to be faithful and true unto death. That was my third and greatest mistake.
Soon I shall seek the means to correct these mistakes.
Two anxious weeks of surreptitiously watching the mails was rewarded by a pair of letters for Stephen, both bearing the stamp of the Morpeth Post Office. Along Blue Gum Ridge, they were very lucky in their mail service. Cobb & Company coaches delivered regularly to Scone, and twice weekly the mail was forwarded to Merton's Store where everyone was expected to go to collect their own.
At last!
Stephen snatched the letters up from the mailbag Old Pete, their gardener-cum-handyman, had deposited on the hall table.
Letters in hand, he disappeared into his room before Thomas caught a glimpse of them and questioned him. Once there, he tossed both letters onto his writing desk, reluctant to discover their contents, now his agonising wait was at an end.
The contents of those two letters would dictate the direction his life would take from now on, for good or evil.
Finally, he dredged up the resolution to confront his doom.
He broke the seal on the one inscribed in Peter Gordon's spiky handwriting and quickly scanned its contents.
No! No, no, no.
Stephen scrunched the offending missive, tossing it on the floor. Head low, he clutched his sandy locks so tightly the hair threatened to come out by the roots. If he wasn't a grown man he might have cried.
He had lost his precarious gamble with fate.
Peter Gordon's warmly phrased acceptance of himself into the family as a favoured son-in-law was not the reply he'd hoped for in response to his terse, stiffly worded request for permission to marry Lucy.
Stephen toed the crumpled page, then snatched it up to see if he'd misread it. No such luck! Sighing, he reached for Lucy's letter, dreading the gushing, girlish sentiments he felt sure it contained.
He didn't think he could bear to read it; only he must. Sighing again, he broke the seal and slowly spread the sheet out on his desk. How he longed at this moment for the comfort of Isabella's arms, once again denied him with Archibald keeping close to home.
Unable to procrastinate any longer, he dropped his eyes to the page.
My dearest Stephen,
You cannot imagine my surprise when Papa told me of your offer. I had, of course, been long aware of the hopes of our parents, but since the matter had never been spoken of between the two of us, I was unsure of your sentiments. I was certainly not so presumptuous as to take you for granted, even though I enjoyed your company more than that of any other of my suitors.
Yes, Stephen. I will gladly become your wife. You have my promise that I will be the best wife you could ever have. It will not be through any fault of mine should you come to regret choosing me as your life's companion.
I am equally sure you will never do anything to drive me to repent choosing you as mine.
Since Stephen had made no declaration of love, Lucy had felt it only fitting that she also omit any reference to such tender emotions.
Still smarting from the scurrilous rumours she'd been exposed to, she stubbornly elec
ted to be friendly, but by no means ecstatic in her acceptance; for of course she had stuck with her initial decision to marry the dratted man. There was no question on that score.
Anyway, she'd mused, it wasn't what he got up to prior to marriage that mattered, only what came after; and, as Grandmama said, it was up to her to set the tone of their marriage.
Stephen may have made her an offer, but he had yet to declare his love, and Lucy Gordon was not a girl to be taken for granted. She would keep her true feelings to herself; until such time as Stephen was ready to share his.
This adjustment in her outlook was reflected in the phrasing of her letter, so much more pragmatic than it would otherwise have been.
I am so looking forward to exploring 'Eden Vale' and Blue Gum Ridge in your company after we are married. Your lyrical descriptions have roused me to eager anticipation to get to know the place which is about to become my home.
When will you be visiting next?
We have so much to talk about, and so many plans to make.
You must tell me when you wish the ceremony to take place, so Mama and I can make our arrangements.
Until we meet again, my dearest Stephen,
Your fiancée,
Lucy.
PS How strange to sign myself a fiancée. Strange yet thrilling. L.
Frowning, Stephen read it a second time, wondering what it was about this very proper letter that vaguely disturbed him. Then it struck him.
This almost staid acceptance was not the joyful, unrestrained response he might have expected from Lucy, who was never staid. Lucy was either bubbling with exuberance or utterly cast down; at least the Lucy he knew was. Could she have changed so much? Maybe her mother had had a hand in the letter's composition. He shrugged. There was more at stake than the mere authorship of a letter, although he felt guilty at the thought that Lucy might have been constrained to accept him.