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It was the routine. To the country for the shooting season and the hunt until winter had well and truly set in; and then soon after Christmas, plans were already being made for visits to Europe; traveling about to kill the time until the next London season began. It was like living by a clock—by a sundial.
Alexa and Harriet traveled down to the house in one of the carriages. In spite of the fine drizzle that was falling, Lord Embry had preferred to drive himself in the phaeton. It took three other carriages and a heavy, rather old-fashioned traveling coach to carry all of their baggage and those of the servants who were to accompany them to the country. Alexa had worn three flannel petticoats under the others she usually wore and her warmest fur-trimmed cashmere pelisse over a fine wool dress of warm golden brown trimmed with dark orange and flame. Autumn colors, her dressmaker had told her. Even Harriet had complimented her on her looks and the color in her face, little suspecting that it was not natural but due to artificial aids.
“I’m afraid I’ll never get used to this English weather again,” Harriet commented, shivering a little as they started out. “My dear, I think it must be back to Ceylon for me, after all. Martin’s being more than generous, and I can afford to take a small house in Colombo or in Kandy, I think. It’s the damp here that is so hard on old joints and old bones.”
“Then you should come with me next month to Spain. At least you can go with us there first, can’t you? You’ll miss the worst of the Bay of Biscay that way; and I believe there are always ships on their way to Ceylon and India that stop in at Lisbon and Cadiz for cargo and passengers. At least, do think about it, won’t you? I don’t intend to be buried away in the country for more than a week or ten days at the very most and expect to be warm and enjoying myself thoroughly again before the end of November.”
“Well, I certainly hope so,” Harriet said in a rather noncommittal voice as she drew her fleece-lined lap robe more closely about her. “But, my dear, I don’t know if I am up to life in high circles and the constant running around you’re bound to be doing. And my wardrobe will hardly pass muster as you well know, so either way I’d feel like a fish out of water.”
“But if I took a small villa of my own, so that we could just lie and bake in the sun and explore—at least for a while?”
“Well, we’ll see! But perhaps Embry might decide to accompany you? After all, modern marriage or not, every man desires an heir to inherit his name and his title, if he has one. Surely...”
“Since you are going to live in the same house with us, Aunt Harriet, I suppose it’s best that I explain something to you before you find out for yourself—or from the servants.” Harriet had never heard such a cold bitterness in Alexa’s voice before as she continued with only the curling and uncurling of her fingers over the handle of her reticule betraying emotion: “My husband does not visit my room nor my bed and in fact chooses to avoid me as much as possible. I do not think he cares if he has an heir or not, as long as it’s not by me. And he does not care where I go or how I amuse myself as long as I...well, that is not too important. The point is that he is completely indifferent to me. You will see it for yourself, I’m sure.”
What Harriet did see during the next few days was that Alexa was desperately unhappy, for all of her pretended insouciance and surface gaiety and lightheartedness. She hardly saw Lord Embry at all except at dinnertime, for he usually went out riding for most of the day or else stayed closeted in his study or his bedroom. This was a strange marriage indeed, and Harriet wondered how it had come about in the first place.
The sun had not shown itself for three days now, and although there had been invitations to dinners and musical evenings or whist at the houses of some of the local gentry, Alexa had pleaded tiredness and the nuisance of having to supervise the unpacking of their baggage as her excuse for not going out. She spent the dreary sunless days in the house or in her own rooms, where she could pace until she felt tired enough to be able to sleep; and she played chess with Harriet and wrote letters and poured tea. And saw him across the dinner table from her, met him sometimes on the stairs where they exchanged polite greetings, or saw him from her window as he left on his rides mounted on a big black stallion with a white star on its forehead that she would have loved to ride—and saw him come back soaked to the skin; knowing by now that he would stay to dry himself off in the stables while he talked to the grooms and the stablehands and they drank brandy together. She knew that because Bridget had reported it to her. Mr. Bowles, Bridget said, did not think it was proper for his Lordship to hobnob with his servants!
This afternoon Alexa did not turn away from the window as she usually did but remained staring outside as the light gradually changed from one shade of grey to another until it was dark, with the orange lantern-glow blooming from the windows of the stables and the head groom’s quarters above it; and she found herself wondering what they talked about and why he seemed to enjoy the company of those rough, simple men enough to spend so much time with them. What am I to do? she thought, watching the water run down from the eaves in long streams that reminded her of the heavy monsoon rains in Ceylon. I have everything I once thought I wanted, and nothing I want now.
“My dear, you really cannot go on making excuses to all your neighbors forever,” Harriet reminded her as they sat in the smaller drawing room waiting for dinner to be announced. “Even if you do plan to go away soon you should perhaps make their acquaintance at least; so that next year...”
Next year? And then the year after that and the year after that, with Europe to look forward to next, before London. Her lovers would be carefully chosen and discreetly met, and she would change them if she grew tired of them or if they showed signs of becoming too intense. No doubt her grandmother would advise her! And soon she would be armored against emotion or weakness and would not even feel the emptiness inside herself. .
“Alexa? My dear, are you dressed warmly enough? You shivered just now as if you’d felt a cold draught on you. You’re not sickening for something, are you?”
Alexa gave one of her new, brittle laughs. “Someone must have walked over my grave just then. Isn’t that what the superstitious say?”
That night over dinner Lord Embry said casually: “The weather is expected to clear by tomorrow, according to one old farmer I encountered today. Perhaps you ladies might want to take one of the carriages and make some calls? Our closest neighbors are the local squire and his wife, and Mrs. Eden is quite young and would be glad of company of someone her age, I’m sure. She’s also quite an excellent horsewoman, and has a friendly, vivacious personality.”
Since Alexa had just taken a taste of her game pie and could hardly answer him yet, Harriet said, “Then we should certainly make that the first of our calls, since Alexa too has always loved to ride and is quite a horsewoman herself—although I’m sure you know that already.”
“Did you ever watch me when I used to ride in the Row almost every day, Embry? Why, at first they could not decide if I was one of the pretty horsebreakers or not, and then everyone began taking wagers on who was the better rider, your friend ‘Skittles’ or I!”
For just an instant Alexa thought she saw some tiny spark of amusement in his eyes, and then he raised his napkin to his lips before saying indifferently: “Really? In that case, my dear, I must hope that you came off the winner. You’ll find, though, that riding in Rotten Row is very different from riding about in the countryside, especially if you don’t know your way about. And you should be sure that the hack you choose is not easily startled. Perhaps Mary Eden might be able to give you some advice and show you which paths and bridle trails are safest for riding.”
They’re dueling now, Harriet thought with a sense of foreboding. And after that cut she waited for Alexa’s temper to show. But surprisingly the explosion she dreaded did not come, and instead Alexa said with surprising calmness: “It is always wisest to know one’s way about in a strange place, of course, and even more pleasant to have such an obliging and knowledgeable neighbor as this Mrs. Mary Eden. But do tell me something about her husband to prepare me. Does he ride too?”
Her answer was delivered shortly. “Squire Eden used to be Master of the Hunt some years back, until he took a bad fall and injured his spine in some way. He’s confined to a chair or his bed now.”
“Oh, how very sad for him. And for his wife, of course, but at least she can still go riding, so I suppose she must count herself fortunate to have such an understanding husband who does not tie her to his side.”
Intervening quickly, Harriet put in, “But under the circumstances, do you think it might be too much of a strain or even an embarrassment for the poor gentleman to have to receive callers who are strangers to him?”
“They both enjoy company tremendously, I assure you, and your visit would be very welcome if you’d care to go?”
“I’ll send a letter over tomorrow to inquire when it would be convenient for the Edens to receive us, of course. Since we have not met before it would hardly be proper to show up unannounced, I’m sure, unless people in this part of the country are more informal. Or were you planning to escort us and perform introductions?”
“As a matter of fact, I visited Eden Manor earlier today to look at a thoroughbred yearling they’ve decided to sell,” Nicholas said deliberately. “So they are halfway expecting you—unless you’d prefer not to go, or feel you might be bored by people who prefer the country to London and are down to earth and quite simple, in their way, I suppose. No, the Edens are too natural and honest to stand on ceremony or insist upon formalities, I’m afraid, if that is what you expect. And more often than not they do not even bother to get dressed for dinner. They have three or four courses at the most, and Mary Eden enjoys cooking a meal herself sometimes. If you wish to seek their acquaintance you’ll find that what they appear to be is what they are and that they accept other people in the same way.” Suddenly, as if he had realized he’d said too much, he shrugged and added carelessly: “But you must do as you please, of course. I’ll say no more on the subject.”
Glancing at Alexa, Harriet thought she looked as if she’d been struck, her eyes like dark pools in her pale face until she shielded them by looking down at her plate to make a pretense of eating. When she looked up again she had composed her features into a mask that gave nothing away, like the sound of her voice as she said, “My goodness! All I asked you, after all, was whether you planned to go with us if we visit your friends tomorrow. I had no idea...”
“I beg your pardon.” By now he too was composed. “I should have mentioned it earlier, I suppose, but I have made plans to visit a horse fair at a small village close to Basingstoke with one of the grooms who was born there. I shall probably be away until some time tomorrow, or perhaps the day after if I do not find any horses worth buying and decide to go up to London for a day.”
“My dear,” Harriet said when the ladies had retired, “is that what is making you so unhappy? The thought that there might be another woman involved?”
If she let herself laugh as she almost felt tempted to, Alexa thought, then she would not be able to stop and would end up in hysterics, which would never do. “Another Woman”—the way poor Harriet had said it! Mary Eden, whose company he sought out instead of hers and whose praises he’d just sung? He’d cut himself off from all feeling, he’d told her, but had he omitted to tell her that he had only cut himself off from feeling anything for her? Why couldn’t she do the same thing?
