Мэри Бэлоу: Someone to Wed

During one of their private talks in the library she broached a topic she had discussed with Alexander the night before. “Colin,” she said, “you told me you live here in London all year. I suppose that means you do not feel comfortable going home to Roxingly even though it is yours. Would you consider living at Withington House in Wiltshire? It is just eight miles or so from Brambledean. I have thought of selling it, but I do love it. It holds fond memories for me. I would far prefer to see a family member there.”

He looked consideringly at her. “I have thought of purchasing a place of my own in the country,” he admitted. “Maybe I will buy it from you, Roe. I like the idea of having a place close to you.”

“No.” She held up one finger. “You do not need to buy it. I will give it to you. Alexander will approve.”

But he was adamant, of course. If he was going to move to Withington, he was not going to do it on her charity.

“Then let us compromise,” she said. “Come there this summer if you will and stay as long as you like. Pay the servants’ wages and the other expenses. After a year, decide if it is somewhere you wish to make your home and then purchase it if it is. But only if it is, Colin. No obligations.”

He grinned at her and held out his hand to shake on the deal.

“Oh, I do love you, Colin,” she said.

“Roe,” he said, her hand still clasped in his, “will you write to Ruby? I think it will please her to discover that you are alive and that you are willing to hold out an olive branch. I recall her telling me just before she married Sean Murphy and went off to Ireland that the biggest regret of her life was never having stood up for you while you were still alive.”

Wren looked down at their clasped hands and heaved an audible sigh. She hesitated for a long time. “Very well,” she said at last. “Because you ask it of me, Colin. The worst she can do is ignore the letter. Or answer it.”

“Were they very nasty to you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I will write to Ruby,” she said.

“Thank you.” He raised her hand to his lips.

During those weeks she dealt with all the reports that came from the glassworks. Her suggestion of one minor color change to the new design had been well received, and soon she would have samples of the finished product before it was put on the market.

And she learned to dance. It was quickly apparent that the skills she thought she had were woefully inadequate, but she set to with a will. Uncle Richard on the pianoforte showed a great deal of patience. So did all the other dancers who had volunteered their time to come to Westcott House almost every afternoon to help her. And learn she did, to the accompaniment of a great deal of laughter and some serious work. The relatives who were not actually dancing often turned up to watch and give their advice and encouragement. Alexander’s mother was always there, smiling and laughing and nodding her head in time to the music. Cousin Matilda announced that she was coming around to the waltz on the afternoon when Wren finally got it as she performed the steps with Alexander. Elizabeth was dancing with Sidney, Anna with Avery, Susan with Alvin, and Colin with Jessica.

“Though I would question its appropriateness for any couple who are not related by blood or married or at the very least betrothed,” she added to the obvious discomfort of Jessica and Colin.

“If I were but fifty years younger,” the dowager countess said, “I would not waste my time waltzing with a brother or father or even a husband. I will never forgive whoever invented the waltz for not doing so half a century sooner.”

“Perfect.” Alexander was smiling at Wren, her hand still in his, his other arm still about her waist. “Either I am a perfect teacher or you are a perfect pupil.”

“Or both,” she said.

“Or both,” he agreed.

Those two weeks were busy and a bit frightening as she wondered more and more what she had unleashed. They were blissful too. For there were always the nights to look forward to, that span of hours when she was alone with her husband. She loved lying in bed with him, sometimes in darkness, occasionally with candles burning. They did not always make love, though usually they did, and sometimes they made love both at night and in the early morning. But they always talked, their arms about each other, and they always slept deeply and well. She knew he liked her, respected her, cared for her. No, more than cared. She knew he had an affection for her. And it was enough. It was what she had dreamed of and more than that. She only hoped it would continue, that they were not just in a honeymoon stage of their marriage that would wear off in time. But she would not believe it. It was up to her to make sure it continued, never to grow complacent or lazy.

She was going to make her marriage work, just as she was going to make her life work.

If only there was not a ball to be faced first. And everybody who was anybody, as Avery had put it, was going to be there. Of all the invitations they had sent out, only three had been refused, with regrets. Only three. It was enough to give her heart palpitations.

But she was going to waltz with Alexander.

Twenty-three

“I would say she looks stunningly beautiful,” Alexander said, “but I may, of course, be biased. What would you say, Maude?”

He had stepped into his wife’s dressing room to see if she was ready for the ball. Clearly she was. She was standing before the pier glass in a gown of primrose yellow silk overlaid with fine lace, looking youthful and vibrant. It was high waisted, low necked, and short sleeved. It was deeply ruched and scalloped about the hem. Her gloves and slippers were ivory colored. Her dark hair was dressed in elaborate curls on the top of her head, adding to her height, with tendrils curling along her neck and over her temples. Ah, but she was not quite ready. Her pearl necklace still lay on the dressing table.

“I said the same thing five minutes before you even came in here,” Maude said. “This time I think she believes me. Us. My lord.”

“Well, I do.” Wren laughed. “I think I am the most beautiful woman in the world.” She twirled once about, and her skirt twirled with her. “There. Are you both satisfied?”

“Sit down again,” Maude said. “We forgot your pearls.”

“I will see to that,” Alexander said. “You may go and have your dinner, Maude. I daresay you missed it at the proper time.”

“You go to the ball, then,” Maude said, addressing Wren. “And just remember what Mr. Heyden always used to say to you. There is nothing you can’t do if you set your mind to it.”

“I will remember, Maude,” Wren said. “Thank you.”

She looked ruefully at Alexander after her maid had left. “She is more nervous than I am,” she said.

“You are not nervous?” he asked.

“Not nervous,” she said. “Terrified.”

He smiled at her. He was a bit surprised that she had chosen delicacy over boldness for her gown. She and his mother and Lizzie had been involved in a conspiracy of secrecy about it. He had imagined she would choose royal blue or a vivid rose pink or even bright red, bold colors to bolster her courage. The yellow was inspired. Actually it was a little brighter than primrose. And then he understood. Of course.

“Daffodils in June?” he said, indicating her gown with both hands. “Trumpets of hope?”

“I have danced alone among them at Withington,” she said. “Tonight I will be one of them and dance in company.”

“Yes, you will,” he said. “Sit down while I will put on your necklace.”

She sat, handed him the pearls, and bowed her head. He slipped the pearls into a pocket, drew out a diamond necklace from another, and clasped it about her neck. He set his hands on her shoulders.