by Regina Darcy
“It is entirely a gentleman’s household,” Tabitha said. “You must make it a fit setting for a lady. And Theo, do, I pray you, bring in Christmas to the house. I know that it is not a holiday which inspires you to glee, but you know that Uncle Theodore and Aunt Estelle would want you to celebrate Christmas as they were wont to do when we were younger. Do you remember how Aunt Estelle eagerly awaited the bringing in of the Yule log, and how resplendently the hall was decorated?”
Theodosia did remember. It had not occurred to her that she would be responsible for the trappings of the holiday, but she remembered that the task had fallen to her mother to organise. The menus for the twelve days of Christmas, the gifts for the servants, the invitations, they had all been her mother’s province. Papa had said that he followed Mama’s direction and did as he was told to do. It had been said with laughter.
“They did relish the holiday season,” Theodosia admitted. “I have not kept faith with that habit.”
Tabitha did not press the matter, confident that her cousin, now awakened to it, would recognise that Christmas was part of her own family celebration and would afford it the observation the holiday merited.
The carriage stopped. “Ahh, here we are,” Tabitha said as her driver opened the door to help them out. “We shall be at least two hours, Kellingsby,” Tabitha said.
Two hours? Theodosia was stunned, but once they were inside, and Tabitha had explained their haste, the dressmaker was immediately galvanised into haste. Of course, Mademoiselle must have a new frock for a wedding, it was the day of the importance, was it not? And Mademoiselle had such beautiful skin, she ought to wear something vivid, not dull.
Theodosia supposed that her sober greys and pale pastels were lacking in the sort of vividness that the dressmaker proposed, but when the woman presented a dress which was almost finished, its skirt a brilliant assembly of dark and light green flounces and its bodice of ivory velvet, she gasped at the lovely garment.
“Ahh, yes, Mademoiselle sees, does she not,” the dressmaker said. “It is perfect for you.”
“But can you finish it in time? The wedding is at the end of the week.”
The dressmaker assured her that it was nearly finished and only required the few remaining additions; the bows to be sewed to the inset of each flounce, the buttons down the bodies, a bit of ribbon here or there, and it would be done. She would see to it herself.
After expressing their appreciation for the dressmaker’s willingness to guarantee the delivery of the dress in such a short time, and during such a busy season, and promising that payment would reflect their appreciation in the appropriate lucrative manner, the women returned to the carriage where Killingsby was waiting.
“We ought to have gotten a new hat as well,” Tabitha fretted when they returned to her home. “And pretty night things.”
She stole a glance at her cousin, but Theodosia seemed not to have heard. Tabitha decided not to press the issue. Intimacy between a couple in love was a wondrous thing to enjoy, but for a marriage such as this, who could say? There was nothing that she could do to make the marriage less ominous and so she concentrated on what she could do.
“Should we have supper afterwards?” she asked. “Or a lunch? When do you anticipate the ceremony taking place?”
“I don’t know; the Marquess said he would attend to those details. I think supper or lunch would be superfluous. It is not as if this is a traditional wedding.”
“Oh, but Theo, I want so for you to have a happy day.”
“I am quite happy to be getting married,” Theodosia assured her. “I thought never to be a wife and considering the circumstances of my spinsterhood, I expected nothing but drudgery to accompany me for the rest of my life. Now, it appears that I shall have something quite different to anticipate. I am content with my decision, Tabitha and I want you to be confident that this is so.”
“I shall prevail upon Arthur to remain in London for the holiday,” Tabitha said decisively. “I shall be here should you need me.”
Theodosia laughed. “Dear Tabby,” she said with affection, “you make it sound as though I am facing some grim ordeal. I assure you that I do not feel that way. I am happy to be getting married. Let us leave it at that and enjoy the occasion.”
Arthur and Tabitha were the only guests at the evening wedding. Theodosia did not want anyone else; indeed, she had no particular friends among the ton and David was content to bend to her wishes. He was entirely amenable to simply appearing among his friends as a married man with no preamble.
He had found a clergyman willing to perform the ceremony despite the haste and lack of customary preliminary steps which accompanied most weddings. The couple repeated their vows in a calm, matter-of-fact manner that seemed strange to Tabitha, who could remember struggling to remember what to say, so bedazzled was she by the expression of fondness in Arthur’s eyes.
The couple kissed, a brief, ceremonial kiss such as might be exchanged at a formal occasion rather than a romantic one. And then it was over. David thanked Arthur and Tabitha for coming; Theodosia hugged her cousin and promised that she would call upon her soon.
They were alone.
The servants had been given the day off; David had explained his intentions and assured them that he would not need their services this night. The cook had laid out a simple cold meal for the couple to eat, but Theodosia said that she wasn’t particularly hungry. David suspected that she might be uncomfortable at the unfamiliarity of the circumstances.
“I’ll bring the tray into my study,” he suggested, “and we’ll eat there. You can hardly go until breakfast; you’ll feel faint. Or get a headache. Or whatever it is that women get when they are lacking food. Come, this way.”
Carrying the platter of food, David led the way to his study. Theodosia looked around the room with curiosity. Here, at least, she could see hints of her husband’s character. An entire wall was taken up with fencing items: different swords of varying sizes were displayed, along with the accoutrements of the art.
“You fence, I take it?” she said.
“It is a passion of mine,” he told her. “It is no longer a means of self-defence, as I am no longer of an age where I am likely to respond to an insult with a challenge, but I have an abiding affection for the sport.
You will find that my library is quite extensive. There are other books as well which may be more to your interest. Come, sit down and let’s enjoy Mrs Morris’ excellent bread. You will find her a satisfactory cook, I think; I suppose she is capable of more than I require, but you can determine that when you meet with the staff tomorrow.”
“I suppose they will find it very different to have someone else in the house,” she said, sitting in the chair across from him.
David was placing a generous slice of bread, a piece of cold chicken, and a handful of dried raisins on a plate and put it before her, then made up a plate for himself. He poured wine into glasses.
“To marriage,” he toasted. “May we enjoy our five years.”
That seemed a very suitable toast and Theodosia touched his glass with her own. “May we enjoy our five years,” she repeated.
“Since we had no courtship, we need to learn more about one another,” he began. “I shall begin by revealing to you a secret known to very few and one which I entrust to no one. However, as you are my wife, I shall trust you with it.”
She looked at him with alarm. Was he going to confess to some diabolical episode in his past which had led to this day? Was he, now that she was his wife, about to commit some dreadful act?
“My middle name—you must not laugh—is Swithin. The Overtons are of Anglo-Saxon stock and my grandfather, a man of formidable presence, insisted that the heir to the title must honour his ancestral forebears. Thus, I am David Swithin Overton.”
Theodosia smiled.
“Oh, well, if that is the worst that you can reveal,” she replied with insouciance, “my given name is surely enough to counter that.”
“Without a doubt your name is an unusual one. It has some family significance?”
“My father’s name was Theodore; I am named for him.”
“I regret that I did not know your father or your mother. I am sorry for that and even sorrier still for the manner and time at which you lost them.”
“Yes,” Theodosia agreed, “but as Tabitha reminded me, we had many happy Christmases together before their death. She advises me to remember those times.
Do you celebrate the holiday?”
“I have not had occasion to,” he admitted. “But you are welcome to do whatever you wish to make the house festive for the season.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I believe there are one or two things which I would like to implement.”
He talked further about his business endeavours. She was surprised to learn that he was very involved in funding the explorations of British seafarers who were searching for the places on the maps of the world which had no name. He was a member of the Royal Geographic Society and enjoyed attending lectures presented by the various men who had ventured far beyond the borders of Great Britain to claim lands in the name of the monarch.”
“Do you ever invite them here?” Theodosia asked.
He was taken aback. “I have not done so. Would you like to meet some of them?”
“I would find it fascinating,” Theodosia said honestly. “To hear their tales of lands far from our own, and customs entirely unlike ours, as well as the travails they experienced on their voyage . . . that would make for a most riveting evening, I think.”
It had never occurred to him that such an opportunity would present itself.
“I shall be glad to oblige,” he told her. “I am unused to welcoming guests and the staff is not accustomed to it, but we are all willing to be retrained if you are willing to act as hostess for such occasions.”
He had no doubt that she would perform admirably in that role. She had a rare ability, he knew, to listen, and any guest at the table would be sure of receiving her complete attention. Her interest would not be feigned, he was confident of that. And if she continued to dress as she was now, the Marchioness of Marquenson would set a new standard for dignified beauty.
“That dress,” he commented. “It suits you perfectly. Green is an excellent colour for you, although I find it likely that any colour would do you justice. You will, I hope, go to Worth Street and acquire more attire? I have set up accounts for you at the dressmakers there.”
The terms of the contract had indicated that he was prepared to be generous but she had not expected him to grant her such largesse.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m afraid that my current wardrobe is somewhat behind the times. However, I do not have any wish to set fashion trends. In truth, I have no real interest in becoming a feature of the ton. I would like our home to be a welcoming one for people we truly wish to spend time with, such as your explorers and my cousin and her husband and those people who matter. But I dislike the superficial conversations that dominate society.
Would it trouble you if, at least for this first year, we remained rather private?”
“The social schedule that we shall follow is the one that you will set, Theodosia,” he told her. “I have no wish to impose upon you in any way.”
Seeing that she had finished eating, he held out his hand.
“You must be tired,” he said. “I’ll show you to your bedchamber.”
She accepted his hand with some trepidation, which she hoped that she’d successfully concealed.
Together, they ascended the staircase, passing several doors before he stopped and opened the next door.
“This is your room,” he said, leading her inside. “It has not been redecorated; I thought it only fair to wait so that you could choose the colours and fabrics yourself.”
It was a room which gave no indication of the sex of any prior occupant, leading her to guess that it was a guest room for visitors, should they be invited to stay, which apparently was not the Marquess’ habit. The four-poster bed had thick embroidered curtains around it to keep out the night chill.
The fire had been lit in the fireplace and the room was pleasantly warm. There was more furniture in this single chamber than she owned in all three rooms where she had been a tenant before her marriage.
“Here is your dressing room,” the Marquess said, opening another door. “I have put out a notice for a lady’s maid and I expect to be interviewing candidates shortly.”
“It has been a long time since I have had a lady’s maid,” she said. “I have had no need of one.”
“It is, I believe, customary for ladies to have them and she will manage your wardrobe and tend to those feminine charges. I do not expect you to do your own mending and cleaning. I have asked Brace to advertise among his clients and he will send a list of prospects.”
“Your solicitor has a most versatile set of assignments,” she observed.
“It is the fate of a man who has a bachelor for a client,” he replied. “Now that I am married, he will expect to be relieved of these superfluous tasks. If you require anything of me,” he said, “I am in the first bedroom off the staircase. I sleep lightly; should you need me, do not hesitate to knock on my door.”
She realised that he did not intend to spend the night with her, nor expect her to perform the wifely duties of intimacy which were part of marriage. She was not sure what to think, but she was rather relieved to know that she would have this night to herself, to adjust to her new surroundings and circumstances and to prepare herself to take on the duties of a married woman.
He would not have expected his wife to be impulsive, and so he was entirely taken aback when she leaned forward and kissed his cheek.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said, the informality of the kiss at variance with the manner in which she addressed him.
“David,” he reminded her. “My mother always addressed my father as ‘my lord’ and it seemed to me to be quite cumbersome. Will it be so unpleasant to call me by my name?”
“No, not at all,” Theodosia replied. “I am simply not accustomed to it.”
“You will become so. Good night, Theodosia.”
“Good night.”
She watched as he went out the door, closing it behind him. There was a key in the lock, but it was apparent that there was no reason to turn it. He had no intention of coming into her bedroom. She was not sure if, over the course of five years, that would be a relief or a disappointment.
But she had no wish, tonight, to think about five years from now. She opened her trunk and found a nightdress to wear, glad that she had not indulged Tabitha in her wish to have the seamstress sew pretty garments for her to wear to bed. There was no need.
After dressing for bed, Theodosia put out the fire in the fireplace, doused the candle by her bed, and pulled back the curtains so that she could get into bed.
The mattress was firm and broad; there would have been ample room for David, had he wished to share this wedding night with his bride. But as he did not, Theodosia stretched out comfortably beneath the linens. She thought that perhaps she might suggest to David that he hire a maid for the housework.
The cook would have enough to do, and a housemaid could take care of such tasks that a footman would not think of, such as adding dried herbs to the laundry so that the bedlinens would have a sweet fragrance. While the house appeared to be in pristine condition and there was no cause for complaint about the housekeeping, it needed more than an absence of dust to make it feel like a home.
As she fell asleep, she thought of the home that she had lived in with her father and mother. What better way, she wondered drowsily as her eyelids closed, to honour their memory than to recreate that atmosphere in this house?
SIX
She awoke the next day with a sense of resolve about her role as the Marchioness of Marquenson. Her first task must be to determine the abilities of the household staff. She rose and quickly dressed, then went do
wn the stairs. There was no sound from behind the door of the bedroom occupied by the Marquess; was he already awake and out for the day, she wondered or was he still abed? She did not know what the routines for meals were in the household; that too was something that she would need to learn.
She went straight down to the kitchen area. When she opened the door and entered the room, she saw three servants sitting at the table, having their breakfast. The three immediately rose to their feet, looking startled.
“Oh, please, remain seated,” Theodosia said, taking a seat herself.
“Ma’am—that is, milady—we’re ever so sorry. We hadn’t any instructions. I’ll have a tray brought up to you first thing,” said the woman.
“You must be Mrs Morris, the cook,” Theodosia said warmly to the tall, slender woman who looked to be in her middle to late forties.
“Yes, milady.”
“When would be a convenient time for us to meet to go over the running of the household? I understand from the Marquess that you have been doing an excellent job of seeing to the accounts, the meals, and the general operation of the house.”
“I---thank you, milady, I’m happy to meet whenever you would like.”
An older gentleman with the stiff bearing of a military man spoke up.
“I am Abbot, the butler. We apologise for any inconvenience this morning in failing to wait upon you. As Mrs Morris says, we shall adhere to your wishes forthwith.”
“Oh, there’s no need for apologies,” Theodosia replied with a reassuring smile. “I wanted to meet with you to learn what the routines are.”
“The Marquess takes his breakfast by eight o’clock and then he’s off on business. We’re only eating now because he’s already been served and breakfast cleared away. He said not to disturb you.”
“But I can have a plate sent up to you in no time, ma’am. There’s plenty of eggs and I’ll toast some bread and brew a fresh pot of coffee or tea and you’ll have a fine breakfast.”