by Regina Darcy
But those Theodosia intended to take. With sachets and careful storage, she could keep moths from eating away at them. The bedlinens were among the few items that she had taken with her when she left the country house and they would go with her, in five years, when she had a new place to live.
The work went surprisingly fast. She didn’t have much in the way of belongings and they were ready for the carriage driver when he returned to pick them up.
“When are you going to go calling?” Tabitha asked once they were back in the carriage.
“Calling? Calling on whom?”
“Why, the ladies of course. I have been asked about your marriage and when you will be leaving your card to call.”
“I haven’t any cards,” Theodosia said with a laugh.
But Tabitha was not amused. “Theo, you must have cards, you know that is important in society.”
“Why? We don’t intend to entertain and it’s no use leaving my card at the homes of the ladies of London if I have no intention of welcoming them in return. I like matters just as they are and David is in accord. He has no plans to engage in society beyond what he already does and we are quite happy to keep to ourselves.”
“But that is virtually impossible. You are married to a marquess and people, naturally, are curious.”
“People are curious for no good reason,” Theodosia said bitterly, remembering how she had been shunned after her failure to capture a husband following the three seasons in which she had duly appeared before the Patronesses of Almack’s and been passed over by the gentlemen. “I have had enough of public speculation and observation and as I do not have to cater to it, I intend to avoid it.”
“Eventually there will be some occasion when you will wish to accept an invitation,” Tabitha said positively.
But Theodosia was not at all convinced that this was the case and that night, while they supped, she asked David about the matter.
He agreed that she needed calling cards, even if she did not call on anyone.
“They are your identification in society, even if, as you assert, you have no wish to be identified by society. Whether or not you wish to go calling is entirely up to you. As I have explained, my own life has been rather unique in habit and I will not inflict society upon you. I think you may find that there will be invitations which we ought to accept and we will consider those as they arrive. For now, no one could fault you for choosing to adjust to the duties of your new situation. Besides, Christmas approaches and plans are already set for many. Do not trouble yourself over it. You have finished with your lodgings and all of your possessions are now here?”
“Yes, James and the driver of the dray wagon brought them this afternoon and they are upstairs in one of the empty bedrooms being stored.”
“The rooms might as well have some purpose,” he agreed, spreading butter on his bread. “This house has been in my family for more than four generations and while it has been kept up in terms of modernisation and appearance, it is vastly bigger than it needs to be.”
“Would you object if I ordered new draperies?” she asked.
“Not if that is what you wish to do. As I have said, the management of the house is in your hands,” he replied his gaze locking with hers.
Suddenly hot for no reason, Theodosia looked away.
“I thought perhaps if you did not object, to turn on of the unused rooms upstairs into a music room. I love to play and the pianoforte could be tuned.”
“The pianoforte . . . I’d forgotten about that,” David replied with a wistful smile. “My grandmother was a musician in her younger days and played. The pianoforte hasn’t been touched in decades. It must be dreadfully out of tune.”
Theodosia smiled, not bothering to say how exciting it was to find the instrument, unused though it was, in one of the bedrooms. That had been what inspired her to consider renovating the room into a music room, where she could play every day without attracting attention or disturbing anyone. It had been so long since she had bought sheet music or played that she was quite eager to begin, although she knew that this was a project best put off until after Christmas. “A piano can be tuned,” she said.
Music in the house.
It had been so long since there had been music inside these walls. David felt a quickening of interest at the idea but then quickly tamped down his reaction. Theodosia would only be his wife for five years. During that time, she would likely play and create an environment where music was a part of the routine of the house. After the five years, he would have to adjust to the quiet again.
He clenched his fists.
But that was five years from now, he thought rebelliously. Why deprive himself of music in the meantime if she played and wished to enjoy it?
“That would be excellent,” he answered, whilst still quelling the thrill of anticipation that he felt. “Do whatever needs to be done. It would be pleasant to have music for Christmas, would it not?”
“Yes,” she agreed, filled with excitement. “It would be. I have not had my own piano since moving into my rooms and I have missed music.”
The two of them looked at each other, sharing the unexpected moment of pleasure at the prospect of something like music, which meant so much to each one.
“I shall look forward to your return to it,” he said.
With David’s encouragement, Theodosia began to concentrate her efforts on renovating the unused bedroom where the pianoforte was kept into a music room. She thought that new wallpaper would serve the room well; there was nothing wrong with the current pattern but she wanted something which evoked a sense of airiness and light to the interior. The furnishings in the room would also need to be changed and that much could at least begin immediately by moving the current furniture out and putting it into storage in other rooms.
In addition to the music room project, she was also preparing for the two new servants who would be joining the staff after the New Year. Elsie, the sister to James the footman, was a cheerful country girl with an energetic spirit and a captivating smile; Theodosia was not surprised that the young man of the household had been intent upon pursuing her for his own amorous intentions.
Elsie did not speak ill of her former employers; Her Ladyship was very kind, she said when she was interviewed by Mrs Morris and Theodosia. Her innate discretion and willingness to work had endeared her to both the cook and the Marchioness, and she seemed as though she would be a good fit in the household, especially with her brother there to guide her.
The position of lady’s maid had been quite an easy choice for Theodosia. One of the candidates, Miss Lucy Watterson, was a haughty young woman who spoke with reverence of her former employer, the Countess Warleigh, who had moved to the country. Miss Watterson explained that she couldn’t abide the country and was seeking a position in London. She liked, she told the Marquess and the Marchioness, a position where her talents for fashion were appreciated. As she said that, she had cast a disparaging eye at Theodosia, who had not yet gone shopping for a new wardrobe to replace her current one.
After she left the library, David had said that he hoped the second candidate would be more promising. He had said nothing further about Miss Watterson and neither had Theodosia, but their silence was eloquent.
The second candidate, Miss Phoebe Edmiston, was cheerful and plump and explained that she was only seeking a new position because her current lady was going to follow her husband to India where his regiment was stationed.
Miss Edmiston explained that she had ageing parents and she didn’t want to be far from England if they should fall ill and need her. Her employer had provided a letter of reference, which she shared with Theodosia. The letter was indeed glowing, praising Miss Edmiston for her sewing skills, her ability to dress hair, and her commendable stamina in attending to her duties throughout the late hours. As the interview came to a conclusion, David had glanced inquiringly at Theodosia. She had nodded slightly. Miss Edmiston had left with the knowledge that she had the position
and would commence her duties upon the New Year.
Everything was proceeding even better than he had hoped. Why then, David wondered when he returned home after his day was done, was he feeling so dissatisfied? Their time together at breakfast and supper was pleasant; he looked forward to being with his wife and she did not seem averse to being in his company. Her excitement at the prospect of creating a music room was infectious and he had already ordered sheet music for her, including tunes that were favourites of his which she said she would be glad to play once the room was completed.
David went to his study and instructed Abbot to tell the Marchioness that he would be working and unable to join her for supper. But the only work that David accomplished was to lower the level of brandy in the decanter on his desk. As he drank, his efforts to solve the mystery of his inexplicable dissatisfaction became more and more muddled.
Marriage was exactly as he had hoped, was it not?
Yes.
He’d sought a wife who would not disturb the foundation of his life while also transforming it.
Something he’d thought impossible before meeting Theodosia. They had only been married a week and he could already detect the changes in the house. It was more than the variety of Mrs Morris’ meals or James’ cheerful demeanour as he lit the fires in the rooms, and even more than the emanation of serenity which came from Abbot, the butler, who plainly liked have a household run by a woman.
It was something else…It was Theodosia.
He grimaced. One did not, however, marry for the pleasure of one’s servants, exemplary though they were. They didn’t know that in five years, the marriage would end and all would revert to the way it had been before.
How soon, David wondered, filling his glass again, before the marriage began the descent into divorce? Would it be at the beginning of the fifth year?
When would Theodosia begin to search for a new place to live? Would she seek to stay in London or would she, with the expectation of the wealth which would be hers when the divorce was final, embark upon a life of affluence?
Would she take a lover? He clenched his grip around his decanter. Would she remarry and bear a child to a new husband, one who would welcome the prospect of a family?
David slammed his glass upon his desk at the rogue thought. Droplets of brandy fell upon the wooden desk.
The thought of another man sitting at the dining table with his wife, listening to her account of how she had spent her day, or sitting while she played the piano, and then escorting her upstairs to the bedroom that they shared was unbearable.
David realised that he was very, very drunk and he pushed the decanter away.
When he heard the study door open, David peered past the wreath of illumination provided by the candelabra upon his desk.
“Who’s there?” he demanded.
“It’s Theodosia,” returned the calm intonation of his wife.
His wife. His wife.
“Abbot told me that you would be working and were unable to join me for supper,” she said, coming nearer. “I have brought you something to eat.”
Her gaze took in the depleted bottle of brandy, the absence of papers upon his desk, and his dishevelled state. She hurried to him.
“What is the matter, David?” she inquired compassionately.
“Do you know why I avoided marriage for so long?” he asked her.
Theodosia was not sure where his query came from.
“No,” she answered carefully.
“Because,” he replied.
He seemed to feel that he had answered his own question. But ‘because’ was not an answer.
“You must get to bed, David,” she said. “Come, let’s go upstairs and I shall see you to your room.”
“You shall see me to my room, but you shall not stay there!”
“No,” she replied in moderated tones, keeping her voice calm although the vehemence of his remark was not flattering. Was he so affronted by her that he loathed the thought of her in his bedroom? In his bed? She bit her lower lip.
She would not go where she was not welcome.
“No, I shall not stay there. Come, David, let’s go upstairs. I cannot carry you. Shall I ask James to help us?”
“No!” Even in his drunken state, he knew that he did not want the servants to see him in this condition. With difficulty, he rose from his chair and, leaning upon his wife’s slender shoulders, crossed the room.
With one hand on the bannister and the other gripping her shoulders, he made it up the stairs to his bedroom.
Theodosia could not leave him to get into bed on his own; she walked with him into the room.
“You don’t know why I stayed a bachelor for so long, do you?” he challenged her.
Gently she pressed him backward so that he fell upon his bed.
“No, David, I don’t know,” she replied. Gripping one boot in her arms, she pulled it from his foot.
“An unwanted child . . . terrible thing.”
Why would his child be unwanted, she thought. But she could not ask him, not in his current condition and she certainly could not ask him when he was sober. She took hold of his other boot and pulled it off his foot.
“Yes,” she agreed. “A child should be wanted. Most children are wanted.”
“No,” he disputed, waving his finger in negation of her response. “Not all children are wanted. I was not wanted. It’s terrible to ignore a child. Makes the child think he’s not worth anything.”
“Go to sleep, David,” she urged gently. “Go to sleep and don’t let your thoughts be troubled by such things.”
She pulled the coverlet over him. He would sleep better if he wasn’t cold. How he would feel in the morning when he awoke was another matter.
She closed the door behind her and continued to her own room, her thoughts a jumble of questions, answers, and unexplained understanding. There was more to David than the impression he created of a man who had no deeply rooted emotional commitments.
The child who had been David years ago was still within the sophisticated, intellectual man who had asked her to marry him. That child had ruled over the man.
But what would happen if the man gained the advantage over the forlorn child? Could that save David from his pain?
Could she save David from his pain?
EIGHT
When Theodosia went downstairs for breakfast the next morning, Abbot met her in the dining room and explained that the Marquess was ill and would not be coming downstairs to eat. Theodosia thanked him for letting her know and asked him to convey her concern to the Marquess and assure him that if there was anything she could do, he had only to ask.
She ate her meal in thoughtful silence. It was all an elaborate ruse, of course. Abbot knew that David had overindulged in drink and he likely realised that it was the Marchioness who had gotten the master upstairs to bed. David would not confess his folly to a servant and he could only elude exposure by feigning illness and remaining in his bedroom.
After finishing her breakfast, which despite Mrs Morris’ excellent culinary skills was quite lacklustre without David’s company, Theodosia decided to go upstairs and continue her work on the music room. The piano tuner had come to the house the day before and she had hoped to surprise David with an evening of music, but an excess of brandy, joined with his own invisible demons, had put an end to that hope. But she decided that she would benefit from practice; except for when she was a guest at Tabitha’s home, she had not been able to play with any frequency.
In his bedroom, the plaintive sounds of the piano notes penetrated through the walls and stirred David to a strange stage of wakefulness as he listened.
His excessive drinking had left him with a headache as expected. Indeed, he was no raw youth, he ought to have known what would happen as a result. But the music, gentle and melancholy, did not aggravate his condition and as he listened to her play, David found himself experiencing an inexplicable feeling of peace.
Such a sad song
ought not to have been healing, but it was music and he loved music. The house had been lacking in song for so very long that it seemed almost metaphorical now.
Allowing the notes to enter into the shadowed fortresses of his hidden self, David gradually fell asleep, the music lending solace to his aching hurt and throbbing head. When he awoke, his head was no longer aching and he felt himself to be in fine fettle. He summoned James to bring him heated water for a bath and, once he was fortified by a liberating bath and a shave, he went downstairs.
“I’ll lunch at my club, Abbot,” he said as the butler handed him his hat. “Please let Lady Theodosia know that I will join her for supper.”
“I will, my lord,” Abbot said.
David wondered whether it was his imagination or had the butler actually looked relieved upon learning that he would dine with his wife as usual? It seemed unlikely, but . . .
David found himself whistling the tune that he had heard Theodosia playing while he was in his room. When he entered his club, he was greeted by a long-time friend.
“Marriage certainly agrees with you, Overton,” exclaimed James Carlington, the Duke of Summersby, “ but then, I find that it agrees with me as well.”
“Summersby, what are you doing in London? I thought you would be at home with your wife and child.”
“We are in London briefly, Georgette has some shopping that she needs to finish before the holiday is upon us. I’ll join you for lunch and you can fill me in on all of the mystery surrounding your impromptu marriage.”
David was not opposed to the company; Summersby was an entertaining gentleman and although a decade separated the two in age, they were friends who were equally removed from the excesses of the ton and did not indulge in the vices which were thought obligatory for the nobility. Summersby, from all accounts, had become quite the husband and was known for doting upon his lovely wife. Moreover, he didn’t care a jot for the teasing that came his way as a result of his obvious infatuation with the Duchess.
“Impromptu?” David laughed as they chose a table apart from the other members, the better to converse in private, and ordered drinks. “Is that what it’s being described as?”