Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"I'm dining with Lady Strawbridge tonight. You remember Lady Strawbridge, don't you, Edmund?" the dowager said.

Edmund looked up from his desk and shook his head. He was trying to concentrate on some important business, but his mother seemed determined to interrupt him.

"I'm not sure I do, no," he replied, not particularly caring who Lady Strawbridge was or why he should remember her.

His mother sighed.

"She's the daughter of the Duke of Clarence—never married. She and I were at Faversham together. We've kept in touch all these years. I should've chosen her to be your godmother, but I was closer to Bonnie at the time, and well...but you know her," the dowager said.

Edmund decided it was easier to agree than argue. Whenever his mother mentioned her finishing school at Faversham, it would be accompanied by a string of names Edmund could make no sense of. He had not seen his godmother, Lady Bonnie Routledge, in years, and as for Lady Strawbridge…

"Ah, yes, I remember now," he said, lying in the hope of returning to his work.

"Tell Johanna, won't you?" his mother said, and Edmund nodded.

"I will," he said, breathing a sigh of relief as his mother left the room.

He loved her dearly, but he was beginning to think it might be better for him and Johanna to return to Beaumont Abbey. Edmund did not think Johanna had settled well into life in London. She busied herself with her hobbies—often making excursions to the parks and monuments to sketch or spending her time at the pianoforte. But Edmund had seen little interest in her making friends or involving herself in the social scene. He worried she would become a recluse, and he was beginning to think it better for her to be back closer to her family and the garden she so loved.

"My lord, may I enquire as to the arrangements for dinner this evening?" the butler asked after Edmund's mother had left to dine with Lady Strawbridge.

"Ah, yes, thank you, Roberts. I'll take a tray in here as usual. I'm sure Her Ladyship won't mind dining alone," Edmund replied, and the butler nodded.

Edmund had taken to dining alone in the past few weeks. He was busy—the affairs of the estate taking up much of his time—and he did not have the luxury of dining leisurely. The clock on the mantelpiece had just struck seven, but when the butler returned, it was not with a tray of food, but with a note.

"From Her Ladyship, my lord," he said, handing Edmund the note.

"Where's my dinner?" Edmund asked, but the butler merely handed Edmund the note.

Unfolding the piece of paper, Edmund began to read—it was only a brief missive, but it made him smile to read it.

The Countess of Beaumont requests the pleasure of the company of her husband at dinner this evening, to be served in the dining room at eight o'clock. Formal dress, it read, and Edmund now looked up at the butler and laughed.

"It seems I've been given my instructions," he said, feeling suddenly guilty at the thought of having neglected his wife—or of Johanna feeling as though he had.

The two of them lived somewhat separate lives—not by design, but by circumstance. Edmund had his work, and Johanna entertained herself with her hobbies. The common denominator was Edmund's mother, in whose house they were staying, and who kept Edmund abreast with Johanna's activities and vice-versa. Edmund knew he needed to make more of an effort—he had promised as much at the ball. It was not that he did not want to. He liked Johanna a great deal. She was charming and witty, possessed of a keen intellect, with a confidence born from her travels across Europe—an independent spirit he admired. She was pretty, too—beautiful, in fact—and Edmund could not help but find himself attracted to her, just as he had been at the first moment they set eyes on one another. Now, he nodded, rising from his desk and pushing his correspondence aside.

"Shall I tell Her Ladyship you accept her invitation, my lord?" the butler asked, and Edmund nodded.

"Please do—I'd better go and dress for dinner, I suppose," he replied, and the butler nodded.

As Edmund readied himself, he smiled at the thought of the invitation he had received. But behind it, there was a sincerity—a need, even.

I want to make more of an effort. She deserves as much, he thought to himself.

But behind his words, there was a further question—that of his own feelings toward Johanna. He was growing fond of her, and his guilt at not spending enough time with her was born of that very reason. But as for how Johanna felt toward him…

It's all very practical, he reminded himself.

He had kept his distance for this very reason. It would not do for his own feelings to get carried away. Should he grow attached to Johanna, he might well find himself disappointed—heartbroken, even—if she did not reciprocate. But the invitation to dine with her had intrigued him. Was she merely angry with him for not spending more time with her, or was there another reason behind this unexpected summons? Having finished dressing, Edmund made his way downstairs, curious as to what lay ahead.

"Her Ladyship's waiting for you in the dining room, my lord," the butler said.

"Thank you, Roberts," Edmund said, and now he entered the dining room, finding Johanna standing by the table.

The sight took his breath away—she was dressed in a beautiful, flowing gown, peacock blue with a matching sash and wearing diamond earrings and matching necklace. The table was lavishly set with the best silver cutlery and crystal glassware, and a candelabra illuminated the scene. The wine had already been poured, and two footmen stood stiffly by the sideboard, ready to serve.

"I thought you should have a proper dinner this evening—rather than a tray in the study. We haven't dined together alone since we arrived in London," Johanna said, pulling back the chair at the head of the table for Edmund to sit down.

There was a note of firmness in her voice, and once again, Edmund felt a sense of guilt at having neglected her.

"Ah, well...yes...I'm sorry about that," he said, taking the proffered seat.

"If we're to be married, we need to appear as a married couple," she said as the first course—a soup—was served.

Edmund nodded. She really did look very pretty in her finery. She was wearing an opal brooch—studded with diamonds—and Edmund recognized it as one belonging to his mother.

"You're right...I suppose my mother had a hand in this," he said, but Johanna shook her head.

"No, it was my idea. I asked your mother if I could borrow her brooch. She was more than happy to allow it," Johanna replied.

The footmen had now left the dining room, and the two of them were alone. Edmund took a sip of wine, fearing he had inadvertently upset Johanna by failing to spend time with her.

"I'm sorry if I've been...distant," he said.

"You can't go on behaving like a bachelor. It's not just the ton who like to gossip. Servants do, too, and I wouldn't put it past the Parker sisters to slip a few shillings to one of the scullery maids for the tittle-tattle of below stairs. You promised you'd make more of an effort…" Johanna said.

There was hurt in her voice, and Edmund now realized he had been neglectful, even as he had not wanted Johanna to feel pressured into anything she did not wish for.

"I'm sorry, but I thought you'd want time to yourself. You seem more than capable of amusing yourself with your hobbies," he said.

Johanna sighed.

"Yes, but only because you're too busy for anything else. I have to make my own entertainment. Otherwise I'd only have your mother's company, and...well, as much as I'm grateful to her for her kindness...oh, I don't know, I just don't really feel I know what I'm doing. I'm supposed to be the Countess of Beaumont, but as for what that means…" she said, shaking her head sadly.

Edmund put down his soup spoon, reaching out his hand and placing it on her arm. It pained him to think she was struggling. He had not realized the extent of her difficulties, and now he could only feel guilty for having neglected her.

"I'm sorry, Johanna. I didn't realize. I should've been more attentive to your needs. I admit, it's not been easy. You're right, I've been behaving like a bachelor. I thought you wanted it that way...I mean, I thought you were happy with the way things were. I didn't want you to feel pressured in any way," Edmund said.

Johanna gave a weak smile.

"And I thought you were happy ignoring me," she said.

Edmund shook his head.

"Not at all...is this the reason for all this? Oh, Johanna, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize you felt this way. None of this was intentional on my part, I assure you. But I see now how you must've felt. What a fool I've been. Can you forgive me?" he asked, and Johanna smiled.

"I can, yes—of course. There's really nothing to forgive. I just wanted you to understand...well, if this is going to work, we've got to make it work. We can't just expect others to see us as a happily married couple if we're not going to make the effort to appear as such," she said.

But to look at her now, to see the obvious hurt in her eyes, Edmund could only feel guilty, and it brought forth in him a strength of feeling he had not expected. He wanted Johanna to be happy, and in realizing she was not, he felt determined to do all he could to make her so. But more than that, Edmund realized his own feelings toward her were changing—they were growing stronger, more pronounced. He had kept his distance from her, not wishing her to think he was domineering or controlling. He had wanted her to have her freedom, but now he realized the neglect he had shown her in doing so. It was clear she wanted more, and in realizing her feelings, his own were brought to the fore.

"You're right—you're absolutely right. I'm sorry, Johanna. I don't know what I was thinking. But I think we can be happy, don't you?" he said, still with his hand on her arm.

She smiled at him and nodded.

"I think we can, yes—but only if we make the effort to be so. I want...well, I want us to be happy, and not just for show, but because it really means something," she said, and Edmund smiled back at her.

"Then perhaps this evening can be the beginning of something better?" he said, and Johanna nodded.

"I think it can, yes," she said, and it felt to Edmund as though there was now a new understanding between them—a new sense of intimacy, born of a common desire for the happiness they both longed for.

"I'm sorry, Johanna—I'm going to try a lot harder from now on, I promise," Edmund said, just as the footmen returned to clear away the first course.

"We both will," Johanna replied, smiling at him as she dabbed the side of her mouth with a napkin.