Hannah considered this and it made sense – Anne had been so eager to attend the exhibition, even though it meant declining an invitation from the Fairfax family. This behaviour was unprecedented and perhaps Hannah may have been more suspicious had she not been overwhelmed by the finer details of their plot and concerned over the precision of executing the method consummately.
Fierce anger flooded Hannah’s body – Anne’s loud insinuation about the similarity in styles had been premeditated and she would have revelled in the joy of bringing shame upon Hannah.
Worse still, Anne would undoubtedly believe that she had acted acceptably and would inevitably address Hannah with scorn when next they came face-to-face. Hannah did not believe herself capable of enduring it.
Her mother-in-law had purposely betrayed her but not only her – she had humiliated her own son. Hannah had to accept culpability that she, too, had hurt Caleb. It had never been her intention, but it was her ambition and ego that had brought about such a public disgrace. Hannah did not think Caleb would ever speak to her again and as the city whizzed past her window, she finally allowed the pent-up tears to fall.
***
As the heavy wooden door slammed shut behind Caleb, he heard it echo throughout the Montwood town-house. He had departed ahead of his family and the household staff were not expecting him home yet so nobody attended. For the first time ever, he felt alone in that house. He stood, enjoying the silence and noted that the only sound emanated from the grandfather clock. The steady ticking seemed to Caleb to become louder as he focused on it – each second punctuating another moment he was distancing from Hannah. Determined, he strode down the hallway to the parlour room he had assigned to her.
In wanting suddenly to feel close to her, to understand the woman she was beneath the dutiful façade of the Duchess, he knew he would be most likely to discover this affinity in her art studio. Assertively, Caleb entered the room. And stopped.
He had not considered what to expect, but he certainly did not anticipate a room filled with canvasses – some complete and dazzling, others a work in progress, yet to be perfected. He allotted time to each one; strolling around the room and pausing at each easel.
A sinking feeling settled in Caleb’s stomach as it became abundantly clear to him how much he had underestimated his young wife. Her artwork outshone any of the paintings he had viewed over the years in stuffy exhibition halls. She was skilled beyond his imagination – yet it had never occurred to him to request a viewing. In hindsight, he envisaged Hannah would have generously enthused whilst showcasing her work to him; been keen to share this creative side of herself, and felt so appreciated and grateful that he had shown an interest. Now, he could only wallow in the error of his ways. He had enquired quite formally about her art and chatted as though it were a mere hobby. Now it was starkly obvious to him that it was so very much more than a pastime.
As he appraised each image, he truly saw the passion and talent evident in every brush stroke, every line. The weight of his own blindness, his failure to fully appreciate his wife, settled heavily on his shoulders.
In the corner of the room, a canvas was covered with a heavy black cloth. This intrigued Caleb – it was the only picture that was hidden. Cautiously, he moved between the canvases to reach it. Caleb gasped as the cloth fell away to reveal his own face. It was half-finished but unmistakably the Duke of Montwood. What astounded him was that he was not only looking at an image of himself - the stoic, grand and unsmiling Duke who had responsibilities and duties he took seriously – but he could now see himself through Hannah’s eyes. What she saw in him stole his breath for a moment. The eyes, which she had shaded with depths of charcoal betrayed a twinkle of affection and the slight curl of his lips suggested a fondness; an affection that was reserved only for her. Hannah saw him in a way that nobody else ever could. As powerful as a physical blow to the chest, Caleb felt the force of his inaction impact him. He understood the weight of what he might have lost and suddenly felt the need to escape the house. He could no longer bear to be around Hannah’s beautiful creations, taunting him with what he had been too blind to see.
***
Albert ushered Caleb quickly inside and took him through to his study. As Caleb took his usual armchair, Albert poured them both a brandy.
‘For your nerves, old boy.’ Albert held the glass out for Caleb to take.
‘Appreciated,’ Caleb knocked back a gulp and winced as it burned his throat on the way down.
Looking concerned, Albert settled in the chair opposite Caleb, a small occasional table nestled between them.
‘Hannah has gone to stay with Sophia,’ Albert announced, softly.
The news hit Caleb hard as he realised how disappointed in him she must feel. He did not congratulate her, did not defend her honour – he had walked away and left her to fend off the attention from the crowd, alone. To employ the shelter of her best friend’s family home, she must have been so distressed and anxious to distance herself from him.
Caleb processed the implications of Hannah leaving and as he lifted his glass to his mouth for a second time, Albert leaned forward and gently asked;
‘Caleb, when will you admit to yourself, that you are in love with her?’
Caleb’s glass paused halfway to his mouth as the realisation hit him. The concept seemed so obvious to him now that Albert had articulated it, yet it had not been evident to him until that moment. Caleb placed his glass down on the table as his mind reeled at the revelation.
‘You are not your father and Hannah is not your mother. Not every marriage is doomed to become a festering prison of resentment and bitterness. I know this is your most prevalent fear.’
Caleb’s glassy stare left the bookcase he had been unseeingly focused upon and moved across to Albert’s face. His friend was wise – he spoke such truth. It occurred to Caleb that Albert sometimes knew him better than he knew himself.
‘I also appreciate your fear of neglecting your ducal duties, but never have I known a man so steadfastly committed to seeing through his plans, and delivering on his promises. Why, just last week a Lord in the Commons did not attend due to a heavy night on the liquor the past evening! There are members of the Ton who squander and indulge yet retain their position in the elite. So concerned are you at the prospect of dishonouring your father’s memory, that you will not allow yourself an ounce of happiness! Some of life is to be lived for the joy of it!’
Caleb’s eyes twinkled with wetness as his friend eloquently expressed the conflicts Caleb had not even summarised in his own mind.
Hannah’s face flashed up in Caleb’s mind – how sweetly she would smile up at him, bathing in his attention. But it was always a stolen moment before he whisked it away again from underneath her. He engaged in jolly conversation over dinner then locked himself in his study; he had kissed her in the library and then disappeared for three days to punish himself for allowing distraction into his life. How unfair he had been to her. He realised that she must have no perception at all of how he felt; he was always switching up and changing. How could she possibly know which man would sit across from her at the dining table? His mood was so changeable, she had no stability. Only a fortnight into their marriage, Caleb felt he had already let her down.
‘Your father would be enormously proud of you, Caleb. You have embraced your status despite it having been slung upon you prematurely and with no warning; you have maintained your estate impressively; you have engaged in business with respectability and integrity. You married the girl he selected for you, to honour a decades-old contract. And to sprinkle sugar onto the cake, you have fallen in love with your wife so that you can cherish her and grow old with a precious relationship – something he sadly could not achieve. But you have, old friend!’
Caleb held his face in his hands, overwhelmed by Albert’s generous words but determined not to openly cry. Albert leaned forward, grabbing his friend by the shoulder in solidarity.
Hidden there behind his hands, Hannah’s face appeared in his mind's eye once more, but this vision was of the moment she confessed to him, with a simple nod, that the painting was hers. Her eyes had implored him not to be angry; not to hate or admonish her. That look of pleading and vulnerability, replaced by such sadness and defeat as she witnessed his enraged response when Lord Bryant had attempted to placate him. Caleb shook his head, to rid himself of the memory, knowing that he had failed her and his nemesis, Nathaniel Bryant had championed her in his place. A jealous umbrage rattled in his chest. Lord Bryant’s part in the scenario made Caleb’s own actions even harder to face. Caleb breathed deeply to calm himself down.
‘You have a lot left to fight for, Caleb,’ Albert concluded. ‘You have quite a wife.’
