Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

A few days had passed since the disastrous perambulation with the young Mr. Dewsbury. Stephen had written to the family and informed them that his sister was no longer interested in pursuing the courtship. It had been a polite but cold letter and while Dewsbury had come to call several times since and left his card, each time he was told politely that they were not in.

Hopefully the young ass would eventually give up. Selina’s happiness was not to be squandered on the hubris of proud young men who didn’t even have the sense to appreciate the woman in front of them.

“Elizabeth, you absolutely must come and tell me what you think of the samples for some of my wardrobe for the season,” Diana exclaimed, tugging Elizabeth past the open door of the library where Stephen was sitting.

His attention had not been on his books or his work for some time. No matter how hard he worked to focus on everything he needed to do, his thoughts drifted away to thoughts of his wife. Her eyes were universes of secrets and her lips promised endless temptations and he was having to stay late hours in his study to try to catch up on his daydreaming hours.

Was this what married life was like? How did anyone ever get anything done?

His gaze followed Elizabeth as it was now wont to do as she followed after Diana, a little smile on her face. She was settling in better now. Selina was warmer to her and even Herbert had stopped viewing her with open suspicion. She talked a little over meals, though still mostly sat quietly and listened.

He found that if she was nearby he was looking at her, watching her. She drew his attention like the sun. He noticed things like how her meals were always small and plain, carefully selected from the simplest items on offer and how her dresses were also simply made and practical.

Stephen couldn’t decide whether she was a modest, cautious person or if she simply wasn’t used to the luxury of an estate like Westall. Her wit was quick enough when she liked, but other times she shrank from confrontation. She was a creature of passion and also of restraint, of quiet footsteps and a loud voice.

He was mystified by her. And worse, he could tell that she wasn’t happy, and it was driving him mad.

Perhaps at the beginning it would have been reasonable for her to be unhappy with the way that she had been married off without a say in the matter to a family that was hostile to her, but now she was settled, she was surrounded by anything she could want, she had gotten the friendship of his younger sister and she still was not happy.

It wasn’t even as if he could be angry with her about it. She was not unhappy . She was not moping around creating misery for herself. But she had an air of reserve, a quiet sort of seriousness as though there was something that stopped her from being happy.

Stephen hated it. He found that of all things in the world at this moment he wanted Elizabeth to be happy, to smile and laugh and embrace her new home. It was important, for the peace between the families of course. How could there be peace if the Duchess wasn’t happy?

That was why he rose from his seat, left his book lying on his chair and strode out to summon a horse. For the treaty. That was all.

“My dear fellow, what exactly is it that you are telling me?” Perceval Hamilton, Marquess of Stapleton asked, his kind face clouded by a small frown of concern.

Stephen had ridden up to Stapleton's manor, covering the several hours of travel at a fierce pace. Some people thought that his fast, sometimes furious activity meant that he was a man who didn’t think through his actions, however the opposite was true. He considered things carefully, with a strategic mind, and then once his mind was made up so was his path set. He acted quickly and without mercy or hesitation.

Percival had taken him into his study and was pouring them both decanters of brandy with the sort of single-minded focus that had made him a particularly good student when the two of them had been in college together.

“What part of my speech is confusing you?” Stephen said, perhaps more sharply than was warranted. Now he was taking action on the matter he was impatient to get started. “I am in need of marital advice, and as you have been married since the Dark Ages by this time, you seemed the right person to speak to.”

“Very droll,” Perceval said, rolling his eyes and handing him a glass. “You have indeed made your point in as few words as you could, my friend, however I need more specificity. Do you want advice on managing your married household, putting off your in-laws, understanding your wife’s purchases? The matter is vast and varied, and while I am obviously an expert on the subject I do need a little direction.”

Stephen scowled and sipped his brandy, flexing a fist at his side at the thought of his in laws trying to take over Westall Estate in any way. “I trust you know me well enough to know I can manage administrative matters on my own. No, it is the matter of Elizabeth - the Duchess and her -” he groped for the right word. As dear a friend as Stapleton was, he did not want to speak too freely to him about his wife’s heart. It felt like an intrusion to take the private things she was feeling and dissect them with another. “Her moods. I am at a loss on how to handle her moods. How do you manage with your lady wife when she is unhappy?”

“Good God, man!” Perceval exclaimed, sitting back in his chair. “I never thought it would happen so fast. You are barely wed and already the feathers of the hen are ruffled, are they?” He barked a laugh, his eyes twinkling. “It’s different dealing with the sharp tongue of a woman, isn’t it? I always say better by far to box the ears of a man who has insulted me than to hear Celia raise her voice in anger. The creatures are so soft and sweet but their hearts are mighty!”

“Indeed,” Stephen said dryly, raising his eyebrows. “I have noticed that.”

“Take heart, sir!” Perceval said, his smile broadening. If there was a topic that would be sure to keep Perceval Hamilton speaking hour on end, it was the matter of his beloved wife Celia and the joys and trials of being wed to her. “I can help you. I have weathered many a storm from my lady’s fair eyes, and I have much advice for you. Now, what manner of upset is the Duchess in, tell me. Is she storming around your house? Is she slamming doors or scolding? Has she taken to the particular polite coldness that can only mean a lonely bed and a long difficult mystery to solve on why she is so offended?”

“She is quiet,” Stephen said, slowly. He was struggling to imagine Celia doing any of the things being described as he had always known her to be a calm, sensible lady. “And withdrawn, I suppose. She appears neither happy nor unhappy. She is not shutting herself away but she is not exactly speaking with me either.”

“Ah,” Perceval said sagely. “I see.”

It would be a very simple thing to shake his friend of decades by the shoulders, but Stephen did not. Not because he couldn’t, but because he was a generous man who was asking a friend for advice and with that came some annoyances like said friend acting as though he were a sage explaining the mysteries of the stars. “What do you see, pray?”

“You, my dear friend, have taken some action that has hurt the lady’s feelings,” Perceval said firmly. “We all do so now and again. A lady is a wondrously steady soul, but the strangest and most alien actions can cut them to the quick. When I have upset my wife I buy her gifts to assure her of my affections and distract her from her wounded feelings. What you must do, without pause, is have some pretty trinkets brought to your home and give them to the lady. Ply her with sweets and flowers, give her glittering baubles, perhaps a fine hat. She will soon forgive you whatever it is that you have done without knowing.”

While Stephen was not certain that Stapleton was right when he said that Elizabeth’s feelings were hurt, it certainly sounded like the sort of thing he could remember seeing his father do for his mother when they were still alive.

Sometimes his mother, who had been small and fierce and kind and beautiful, would storm around the house in a quiet cold temper and his father would lay beautifully wrapped presents on her bed for her to find.

“That is a good idea,” he said, standing up and bowing. “Pardon my quick departure.”

“No, no, of course. Go and get your home life sorted!”

It was a good way of looking at it, and Stephen left the Stapleton manor with a lighter heart than he had felt for weeks.

He arrived back home two days later with mysterious and elegantly wrapped boxes and parcels piled in the coach with him and a sense of satisfaction in his heart.

It was no simple feat to procure clothes so swiftly and in fact Stephen had been required to bring to bear the weight of his name and his fortune at the dressmaker to achieve the miracle of two gowns in so short a time frame.

When the small woman, an older lady with thin nimble fingers, had prevaricated over her ability to keep her staff late and how she would needs do away with any other business over the period that she would be working on his order, Stephen had taken his card, laid it on her desk and said ‘Madam, I shall buy your whole shop if I need to’.

All other problems disappeared quickly afterwards once he had assured the lady that he had his lady’s measurements to hand after the wedding and would be returning to her for less urgent services at a later date.

It was the work of a busy afternoon to buy the other necessities, the headdresses and jewelry and muffs that he knew were in fashion. He had noticed how simply and almost invisibly Elizabeth dressed, always seeming to be trying to melt into the background and dammit that was not how his wife was going to present herself.

At last he was back home and he would be able to bring her the gifts he had collected. It had been hard to keep the secret from his siblings and their inquisitive questions, and even harder somehow not to tell Elizabeth that he was preparing something for her. The idea that she might be pleased, might be excited and smile upon him was a pleasant one.

One of the servants needed to help him with all the bags and boxes, and Stephen led the way, striding down the hall towards Elizabeth’s room with one of the boxed gowns under one arm.

He knocked and pushed the door open when she answered, waiting for the servant to leave his parcels and close the door behind himself before turning to his wife. She was sitting at the vanity, a hairbrush in her hand and a look of such surprise and confusion on her face that he found himself amused by it.

“Here,” he said, putting the box on her lap. “The rest are yours as well, but you may as well start with this one.”

“What - what is -” she stopped and fell to opening the box, giving a little gasp that thrilled his heart as folds of exquisite peach satin spilled out over her lap. He had thought long and hard about the best color for the first gown he would buy her. Something that represented her beauty, that would offset her coloring and her fair hair. It was both a sensual and an innocent color, which he felt suited her well. She ran a hand over the fabric in silence, her eyes wide.

This was encouraging, so Stephen reached into his pocket and put another box in her lap. “This accompanies it.”

She opened the box without a word, revealing the glittering pink topaz set of necklace and earrings that he had selected at the finest jeweler he could reach without going all the way to London.

Yes. This was going well. Stephen thought to himself and waited for Elizabeth to start the effusive sort of thanks his sisters always fell into whenever he got them something special. Of course in those situations he had the delight of showering gifts on someone he loved, whereas here naturally it was just to keep the peace.

“I can’t accept this,” she said, her eyes still on her lap and her voice strange and stilted. “I - you - please. Take it back. Take it back to the stores, you must. I simply cannot take it.”

He stepped backwards, startled and feeling the start of anger in his chest. “Why in heavens would I do that? I bought them for you and you are going to have them.”

“I say I shall not,” she said more firmly, looking up at him now with a defiant look in her eyes. “Please return them all. I do not want them here.”

“Are they not fine enough for you?” he demanded. “Are you so redolent with jewels and silks of your own that you can turn down those that I provide for you?”

“I can manage well enough with what I have,” she said, standing up and pushing the boxes so that they toppled to the ground in a heap. “I don’t need you to dress me or to cover me in jewels!”

“You do need me to if you are ever to look like you are actually a duchess and not a poor relative acting as a companion to one of the girls,” Stephen growled, his fists clenching so tight that his fingernails were biting into his skin.

“I assure you, Your Grace, I can present myself well enough that anyone with proper breeding will understand my rank,” Elizabeth said, her tone sharp.

Stephen shook his head and stalked back to the pile of gifts, sweeping them into his arms and taking them to where Elizabeth stood. “I am not returning them.”

“I am not keeping them!” she retorted.

He put them on top of the other boxes, creating a precarious pile with colorful ribbons and wrapping papers and lace spilling everywhere. “You can do what you like, wife. I have given them to you and they are your possessions. Wear them, burn them, eat them for all I care.”

He turned on his heel so he would not see her face any longer and that tight, fierce almost hurt expression she was wearing instead of the pleased smile he had been hoping for. “I’ll be damned if I have any more to do with it.”

With that said, he stormed out, leaving gifts and wife behind him.