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That night, Henry considered crossing the hallway and going to Eleanor’s room, but then he changed his mind. Even though he had borne his thoughts and feelings to Eleanor, he imagined she would remain unmoved in her response to his advances. He hoped that eventually she would see how important it was to him and to the family that they conceive, but as his emotions were still rare from sharing that afternoon, he decided to leave the subject be for the night.
* * *
“How are things with your wife?” Lord Watson asked. Henry lifted his rifle to his shoulder and fired at one of the birds that flew just overhead. Lord Watson chuckled warmly. “That good, huh?”
Lord Watson was one of Henry’s closest friends. He was a rotund, little man, with a protruding stomach. His head was oval-shaped, and completely bald. Lord Watson wore a thin moustache, which he treated affectionately, probably because it was the only hair left on his face, aside from his thick eyebrows, of course. Lord Watson was nearly twice as old as Henry, as he had been friends with Henry’s father and grandfather before him. Whenever Henry was feeling especially lonely or in need of some fatherly advice, he would ask Lord Watson to join him for a bit of sport.
Having missed the first bird in his sights, Henry swung a tad to his left and aimed his rifle at a second pheasant. This time, his aim was true, and the bird fluttered to the ground.
“Nice shot, my boy,” Lord Watson congratulated Henry and the two men walked toward the downed bird. They waded together through the tall grass, and as they did, Henry felt himself relax. It felt good to be here, hunting. He felt more like himself than he had in days.
“Thank you,” Henry replied, “and in answer to your previous question, things are not going as I thought they would with the Duchess.”
“No?” Lord Watson returned, his avuncular chuckle resounding through the still morning air.
“No,” Henry shook his head. “I’m thoroughly confounded by my wife. I thought she wanted to have children… I thought that if I took her on a pony ride yesterday and opened up to her a little, she might soften.” Henry removed several shells from his pocket and began to shove them into the rifle.
“I take it your lovely young bride has not ‘softened’, as you say?” Lord Watson raised his eyebrows significantly, and Henry rolled his eyes.
“She and I get along well, which is something, but she determinedly has barred me from her bedchambers,” Henry said with a touch of exasperation.
“Well, what did you expect? You’ve only been married a handful of days, and I understand you and the young lady did not know each other very well when you married. Did you think she would just welcome you into her boudoir with open arms?”
“Yes,” Henry replied, giving Lord Watson a puckish grin, “I rather thought she would.”
“Because that’s always been your experience before?” Lord Watson prompted, waggling his eyebrows once more.
Henry grinned impishly, “Does that question even require a response?”
Lord Watson smiled and shook his head in response. He tipped his head toward the sky and then lifted his rifle. A bird had come into view, and Lord Watson took aim, and fired. He missed the pheasant but didn’t seem too dejected. “You know,” he said at length, as he and Henry began moving once more. “I think having to work to win over your lady might be good for you.”
“Good for me?” Henry said with a grunt. “I beg to differ.”
“No, no,” Lord Watson replied instantly. “Hear me out. You’ve always had a unique talent for wooing the fairer sex, but for some reason, with your wife, you just expect her to succumb to your wishes without putting in any effort.”
“She’s my wife,” Henry ground out.
“Yes, but wives are ladies first and foremost,” Lord Watson said, fixing his black round eyes on Henry.
“Yes…” Henry replied, stretching out the word carefully. “And what am I supposed to do with that information?”
Lord Watson clapped Henry on the back. “You’re supposed to remember it when you’re dealing with your lady. She may be your wife, but she still wants to be wooed. She wants to feel a connection to you.” He paused and looked out over the horizon. “You must try to please your wife before you expect something of her in return.”
Henry nodded thoughtfully. “So, you’re saying I should keep trying to court my wife?”
“I’m not sure that you need to court her or that you need to do anything special. I just think the key idea here is to keep trying.”
Henry tucked his rifle underneath his arm and rubbed his free hand across the back of his neck. He tried to massage the spot, hoping to ease the tension that was building there. “How do you suggest I do that?” Henry said, turning to look at his friend.
Lord Watson shrugged. “Each lady is different, so how you go about gaining her affection depends entirely on what you can do that might delight her specifically.”
“Thanks for narrowing it down,” Henry said sarcastically. He removed his rifle from underneath his arm and he began moving once more in the direction of the bird he had felled just moments before. He came upon the animal and swooped down to retrieve it. He tied it to the line that was attached to his belt and then he looked back at Lord Watson.
The older man moved carefully through the tall grass, and then he came to a stop at Henry’s side. “It doesn’t have to be so hard, Henry. Think of what your wife wants… anticipate her needs… go out of your way to show her affection. In time, she’ll come around.”
Henry grunted, “I sure hope so.” A flapping of wings caught his attention, and he turned his head sharply toward the commotion. With one quick, clean movement, Henry triumphantly shot down his second bird of the morning.
