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‘Not well,’ Hebe admitted. ‘I keep dreaming.’
‘About the child?’ he asked gently.
‘No,’ Hebe said slowly. ‘Wherever he or she is, they are safe, I feel that. No, I dream of…other things.’ Of you in my arms, of the scent of you, the strength of you, how much I long to show you I love you. That is what I dream about, and that is what I cannot tell you.
Alex reached out a hand as if to comfort her and Hebe flinched away, frantically aware that in her present state of mind he would only have to touch her and all her defences would be down and she would throw herself into his arms. It would be bitterly humiliating to see his embarrassment. Bad enough to be jilted, then to find yourself married to satisfy considerations of honour. But how did a man cope with an unwanted wife who wept in his arms and begged to be loved?
Hebe was well aware that demonstrations of strong affection between husband and wife were considered bad form, even in the case of the few admitted love matches in Society. She had never seen her parents, nor her aunt and uncle, display more than the most restrained affection in public, and she had every reason to suppose theirs were warm and loving relationships. And she was a Countess now: it behoved her to behave with restraint and dignity.
After a moment Alex said, ‘I am sorry, I did not think. Perhaps now is a good time to repeat what I said before, in case you were unsure that I meant it. Ours is a strange marriage, Hebe, one neither of us looked for. I want to reassure you that it will be a marriage in form only and you need never fear that I will…trouble you in any way. I give you my word I will not enter your bedchamber.’
Hebe looked at him, her gaze wide and troubled. ‘Not ever?’
He was as expressionless as she had ever seen him, his eyes cast into shadow. ‘Never, you have my word.’
Somehow her pride came to her rescue. ‘Thank you for being so frank. It is as well to know where we stand, is it not? I am relieved you feel able to speak to me about it.’
It was perhaps as well that the carriage passed through the gates of Tasborough Hall at that moment, for Hebe doubted whether she could maintain this calm pose for much longer. The groom up on the box blew a long blast on his horn, and by the time they drew up in front of the doors the servants were already assembled on the driveway, the maids hastily patting their hair down and straightening the long ribbons that streamed from their caps.
Alex helped Hebe down, offered her his arm, and began to walk her down the ranks of staff, introducing each in turn.
For many a young bride, unused to such splendour as the numbers drawn up to greet them signified, this would have been a terrifying experience. For Hebe it was a merciful relief. Here were people: new faces, new characters, all of whom would form part of her new life. She would have to learn to manage them, to be mistress of the household, but she knew as she looked at the line of shining, newly-scrubbed faces that these strangers would soon become part of the family.
She shook hands warmly with Starling, much to his surprise and that of his underlings. ‘Good afternoon, Starling! How glad I am to see a familiar face to welcome me. And Mrs Fitton, of course: we must have a long talk and you will tell me how to go on here at Tasborough Hall.’ She did not miss the look of shock on the housekeeper’s face at the realisation that she had been so incredibly indiscreet about his lordship’s lost love to the lady he had now married.
‘You have already been such a help to me, Mrs Fitton, I know I can rely on you,’ she added, much to that good woman’s relief.
As the housekeeper said to Starling much later in the privacy of her sitting room when they were indulging in a much-needed bumper of his lordship’s brandy, ‘I could have sunk through the floor, Mr Starling, when I saw her sweet face and I recall what I said about that Lady Clarissa, cruel flirt that she must be.’
‘Well, he has married this lady now, hasn’t he, Mrs Fitton, so you can’t have done much damage. Old friend of the family, his lordship told me, with an important message from the fleet in the Mediterranean—them not knowing that the Major was now an Earl, you see. That’s why she had a false name, and came while he was in mourning.’
‘Ohh!’ Mrs Fitton was enjoyably titillated by this glimpse into the war against the Corsican Monster, as she always liked to think of Napoleon. ‘Well, he’s made the right choice, I say: a nicer young lady you could not hope to meet.’
Mrs Fitton had bustled after her new mistress and was soon showing her to her room, then escorting the party to where the new countess’s lady companion would be installed. Anna gravely approved her new suite, but took the first opportunity to hiss in Hebe’s ear, ‘I am very tired and will not, of course, be dining anywhere but in my chamber tonight.’
Hebe whispered back, ‘Thank you, Anna, but you may have no fear of interrupting the slightest intimacy.’
Anna raised her eyebrows at Alex’s retreating back and sighed. She had not thought the Major so blind. She was gravely tempted to presume on past friendship and tell him exactly how his new bride felt about him and what he was throwing away by clinging to the memory of one beautiful, but faithless, woman. But Hebe had confided in her, trusted in her, and all Anna felt she could do was to help and advise the English girl whom she had grown to love like a sister.
So it was that the new Countess sat down to dinner that night at one end of what seemed an endless expanse of Jamaican mahogany and warily eyed the only other occupant of the dining room—besides, that is, three footmen and an expressionless butler.
The first remove consisted of what would have generously fed the entire servants’ hall with some to spare for luncheon the next day. Hebe pecked at a slice of poached chicken in white wine sauce, crumbled a bread roll and nibbled a single spear of asparagus. Her lord made a rather better attempt upon the dishes spread before him, but even so, it took some time for the footmen to clear the remains before resetting the table with the second remove.
Hebe made a decision. Either this house was going to run her or she was going to be mistress of it. ‘Starling.’
‘Yes, my lady?’
‘Please present my compliments to Mrs Dexter upon an excellent dinner and convey my apologies for not having done it justice. We have had a long day.’
‘Indeed, my lady.’
‘Please ask Mrs Dexter to attend me at ten o’clock tomorrow so that we may discuss the week’s menus.’
‘Certainly, my lady.’
‘And, Starling—’
‘Yes, my lady?’
