It was true his parents would argue, but he witnessed tender moments too. Their stormy relationship certainly was not so turbulent an ordeal that it conditioned him to expect a loveless marriage of his own in adulthood. He had also experienced the vitriol of the Duke and Duchess of Montwood though, during a stay at Caleb’s house one summer out of term time and he quite understood how Caleb had been traumatised growing up in such a turbulent environment.
‘Yet you expect me to enter a marriage anticipating peace and pacifism?’ A smile teased the corner of Caleb’s lip.
‘I only wish it so for you, my friend!’ Albert raised his glass once again in hope and this time, Caleb met it with his own.
‘That,I can drink to!’
CHAPTER FIVE
The day had arrived so promptly. Mere days ago, Hannah had never even met the man they called the Duke of Montwood and here she was – poised to take his hand in marriage.
The soft morning light streamed in through the window of Hannah’s bedchambers. She regarded it sadly, noting that should she be experiencing a wedding as lavish as her sister’s, it would have been the perfect weather for champagne on the lawn in the sunshine. The day looked to be bright and mild but Hannah would be ensconced inside the house for the duration – it seemed symbolic for how she felt about her life; would it be forever sunny on the other side of the glass as she stared out, wishing she were elsewhere?
Standing before her full-length mirror, her Lady’s Maid, Lucy had gotten her fully corseted. Her ribs were tied tightly in to the point where she could just breathe, but there certainly would not be space to enjoy any of the sumptuous wedding feast Hannah could smell being prepared in the kitchens below.
‘Are you ready for your dress, Lady Hannah?’ Lucy’s voice was respectfully sombre. It was a sad day for both of them – Hannah knew she was dressing in her own bedroom for the last time and – as Lucy was going to relocate with Hannah after the wedding, it was also her final morning in the Haworth residence. It felt very strange to them both – they moved slowly, savouring each moment and treated the morning with reverence, almost ceremoniously.
Hannah closed her eyes a moment and then whispered, ‘I am ready, Lucy,’ although she knew she was not prepared for the next step; she thought she might never be.
Hannah thought back to the years she had spent in that very bedroom. She knew that under her bed - should her parents decide to redecorate once she had departed - they would find piles of sketchbooks, spanning back to the days when she drew people with rounded bellies and stick arms. She remembered a day when she was aged about six, when she had found an injured sparrow in the garden and asked her governess for a cardboard box. Her governess had provided it, assuming it was for her next art project, but Hannah had filled the box with an old nightdress she had outgrown and placed the poor bird inside. For two nights, she had kept the little sparrow in her bedroom without anybody knowing. She fed it tiny pieces of bread she had snatched from her dinner plate and allowed it to sip water from a small puddle in the palm of her hand. On the third day, she walked into her bedroom to find the little fellow flying about! Upon opening the largest window, he made a bid for freedom. She had cried – with relief, a notion of achievement, and a more dominant sense of loss.
Hannah felt all those emotions anew. She would not remain an unmarried woman, which she understood was the dread of many young ladies and the lament of those who were older — here, she could find solace. There was a strange sense of achievement; she was to be a Duchess - a title which still amazed and bewildered her. Most dominant, though, as with the sparrow, was an overwhelming feeling of loss. Teamed with this, was the resentment that her childhood and all associated with her family home was being snatched away without being given the chance to commit time to her farewells. It was a rushed goodbye and the unfairness of it made tears sting at her eyes.
Lucy stepped over to the flat paper box on the bed and delicately adjusted the layout of the fabric before lifting the beautiful gown, ensuring to elevate it high enough that the skirts should not sweep upon the floor. Gently, with her caring hands, she worked her way into the dress with her arms, gathering the fabric at her wrists and then bid Hannah to dip slightly so she could feed it over her head. Once Hannah’s upper body was clothed in the garment, Lucy moved around Hannah as if in a dance, pulling down the swathes of layers to cascade down her full length. The only sound in the still room was the soft rustling of the wedding gown and as the cool ivory silk touched Hannah’s skin it was a stark contrast to the warmth of anxiety that bloomed in her chest.
Lucy busied herself, spreading the gown tails around Hannah as though she were to have her photograph taken there on the spot, then she stood back and collectively, they took a sharp breath.
‘Oh Lady Hannah!’ Lucy gasped. ‘You look like an angel!’
Lucy had beautifully fixed Hannah’s hair before pulling on the wedding gown and it fell in romantic curled tendrils framing her face. She had discreetly applied beeswax to her lashes and lips, and had lightly coloured her cheeks – though she felt sure she would be blushing enough in the ceremony without any cosmetic assistance. Her face was radiant with youth and as she stared at her reflection, she found herself wishing that today she was marrying a man who loved her. It felt self-indulgent to make such a fanciful request and with shame, she lowered her eyes, fluttering her lashes as she took in the intricate lace fittings upon the silk. How privileged she was to wear such a beautiful gown – how sad that the man she wore it for was unlikely to notice.
‘Do you need anything else, Lady Hannah?’ Lucy asked gently.
Hannah thought how she would like a day painting in her art room one last time; how she would love for her sister to be there for her wedding, but that the ceremony had been called at such late notice, Clara had been unable to make the trip back from whichever exotic country she was currently residing in. She thought how she would like to have had aproperwedding to a man who chose her because he loved her and not because his father had determined their union, but none of these wishes could be granted, so she simply smiled.
‘Thank you, Lucy. I believe that is all.’
***
Caleb stood proudly as his valet fussed at his neck with a burgundy cravat. Emmeline had suggested the colour was sophisticated and softened his features away from the monochromes he usually wore. The valet created the desired design with slick, precise movements and as Caleb stood as still as a statue, the only sound he could hear in the wooden panelled room was the loud ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall. It summoned in his new life and each second felt poignant. The very next morning he dressed in this house, there would be another member of the household – his wife would be here, filling spaces with her floral scent where there were currently voids. It felt entirely surreal to him and he breathed deeply to calm his thoughts, reminding himself this was his father’s wish. He was doing this for his father.
He wondered what his father knew of the Haworth family that reassured him beyond doubt that Lady Hannah was the right woman for him to marry. He hoped that his father had experienced some moment of wisdom that told him of happiness and unity that was the complete opposite of his own marital partnership. Certainly, Caleb had seen in Hannah – even in just the brief glimpse where her façade was unprepared – that she was quite a different woman from his fierce mother. He wondered if he might catch a glimpse of that lady on his wedding day, or if she would have prepared yet another shield.
‘How is this, Your Grace?’ Caleb’s valet gestured to the wall-mounted mirror. Caleb stood to appraise his reflection and was pleased with how well his hair was prepared and how pressed and immaculate his suit was. The cravat was a good choice – he had to thank Emmeline later. Staring at himself, he was reminded of a younger version of his father. He felt a wave of emotion threaten to overflow and shuddered through a deep breath to calm himself.
This was a momentous day – the Montwood family dynasty was depending on Caleb to make the right choice; to act in an unselfish way that would secure the future of their legacy. Caleb was stepping up to make it happen, but even as he knew that today must be committed to all the superficial gestures required to fulfill a wedding and satisfy both the Haworth and Montwood families, his mind still wandered to all the things he needed to do. Since inheriting the estate, there were constantly contractors to arrange to maintain some part of the country house, financial dealings to be arranged, staff to communicate to….Be still, Caleb instructed his mind. It was his wedding day. Nothing else should matter. The burden of obligation had weighed heavily upon Caleb’s shoulders since his father’s passing – it was rare for him to simply forget and relax. Today, he breathed out, he had to.
CHAPTER SIX
The Haworth drawing room was a muted flurry of tension. Caleb stood stoically before the small gathering, awaiting his bride, looking as though he had sent a boy to fetch a newspaper and waited with indifference for his return. Emmeline fidgeted in her seat, keen to attract his eye – if he caught her eye contact, she would feign a ridiculous grin to make him smile. She knew her brother was experiencing a myriad of emotions but that he was a master at masking them. She burnt her eyes into his face in the hope of making him turn so she could communicate to him that it was acceptable to smile – he could lessen his tight grip on boundaries; today, the individuals gathered would expect some manifestation of feeling. He did not look, but instead stared dead ahead with intent focus.
Emmeline wondered at how her brother was so different from her. She was gregarious whereas he was stoic; she would feel grateful that her glass was half-filled with wine whereas he would anxiously look about for a member of staff to refill before he reached the bottom. Perhaps, she considered, she was most similar to her jolly father and perhaps – poor Caleb – he had inherited more of the pessimistic genes of their mother. Or, she countered, it could realistically be the curse of the older son. There was an infinite amount of pressure on Caleb’s shoulders to carry the Montwood family down through the next generation. When Father passed, all his responsibilities and ducal duties had immediately passed to Caleb. She had only been fifteen and so did not entirely appreciate at the time how instantly Caleb probably had to pack away his grief and deal with all the business and estate issues. How exhausting that must have been, even for a seasoned Duke, but for an inexperienced young man coping with the sudden loss of his beloved father – Emmeline felt tears spring to her eyes as she considered how much he had to endure and how little time he had to process the situation. This would explain, she thought to herself, why Caleb was so serious and steadfast in his commitment to his role. Emmeline turned her eyes to her lap, blinking away the emotion that struck her. She hoped that she was gaining a sister and not losing a brother.
Anne also glared into thin air, like her son – but hers was with her signature scowl. The woman had been unable to manipulate the situation to work in the way she had wanted it to. She’d become adept at working positions to fit her own preferences and she was not at all happy when issues were not pliable enough for her coercion to succeed. Her son was marrying Lady Hannah Haworth when Anne felt determined that it should have been Lady Lucinda Fairfax he advanced upon. She hardly exchanged a word of courtesy as the Marquess and Marchioness welcomed her to their home and she sat reluctantly, her disapproval rolling off her.
In extreme contrast, Lady Evelyn Haworth was unable to remove the smile from her face. She could not quite believe how she had gone from the beginning of the week; planning her daughter’s debut and worrying that the season may be a failure due to Hannah’s artistic distractions, to now sitting in wait for her daughter to be wed and confirmed a Duchess! She admitted that she had harboured reservations when Vincent had first announced his intentions. She knew from a long time back that Vincent had promised Hannah’s hand in marriage to the Duke of Montwood, but when the Duke died in that dreadful accident, she had assumed the son would refrain from engaging in the arrangement. It seemed very rushed which did not put her at ease – she would have loved to plan a lavish wedding as they had done for Clara and when the Duke declared his plan to apply for a special license, Evelyn had worried about his reasons for doing so, but her mind had been put at rest by Vincent’s reassurances that Caleb was a good man who was simply timid – and a Duke who could demand an accelerated wedding should he wish.
Once Evelyn’s mind was settled, she allowed herself to feel happy about the arrangement. Sitting at the ceremony awaiting her daughter’s arrival, this happy event had a rosy blush set upon her cheeks and water consistently welled in her eyes. She used a pretty lace handkerchief to tap at the corners of her eyes so that the tears of pride would not affect her powdered complexion.
