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“Oh, it is lovely!” Marion gushed, instantly crossing to the piano and pressing an elegant finger against the keys. The lonely note sounded prettily in the perfect acoustics of the room. “Do you play?”
“I don’t.”
“Such a beautiful instrument,” Marion stroked the dark wood of the lid, “for a man who does not play.”
“My father was a great player.” Simon smiled, remembering fondly his father’s talent. “It is his instrument. I could never give it away.”
“Should I not play it, then?” Marion asked carefully. Simon appreciated that she thought of his feelings.
“You are welcome to play it,” Simon said kindly. “I would be happy if you did. I suppose you play?”
“A little,” she said, gently closing the lid. “Every governess should know a little of everything.”
“Of course.” Simon frowned. It troubled him to hear her still speak of herself as a governess. He wondered if showing her more of the house might make her feel more welcome.
“Come,” he said, “there is more to see.”
She came to his side, quickly slipping her warm hand into his arm as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to do. Simon felt a small swell of pleasure. Whatever was happening between them, he felt confident that she trusted him. It felt good to have earned it.
“This is the library.” Simon pushed open the door, bracing himself for this slightly strange moment of introducing his new wife to this space, which he had so often enjoyed with Stella.
Stella had favoured the small pink armchair by the lamp. Simon had been unable to move it out of the library after her death, but also unable to sit in it or allow anyone else to sit in it. Part of him hoped that Marion would not frequent this room, that it may be allowed to remain as a memorial to his lost love.
“It is wonderful.” Marion looked around eagerly, immediately stretching out a hand to stroke the spines of the books. Simon saw a familiar longing in her eyes—it was the same look Stella used to get when they came into the library on lazy afternoons, looking forward to hours of getting lost in the pages of their many books. He felt an odd tug inside; on the one hand he was hurt to see it, because it was in Marion’s dark eyes rather than Stella’s blue ones. But on the other, it was remarkably uplifting to see that look, which to him denoted such pleasurable times again.
“You are free to make use of it whenever you should like,” Simon said, knowing that he sounded oddly formal to her, but he was a little overwhelmed with his turbulent emotions.
“Let me show you to your chamber,” Simon said, holding the door open, wanting her to leave the room but also wanting her to stay, and feeling confused in every direction. She seemed to notice and her smile drooped slightly as she obediently came back to the door, taking his arm as he led her upstairs.
He felt sorry if he seemed strange or aloof to her, but he also didn’t know how to repair it. His mind was full of thoughts of Stella and how he had walked her up to this very chamber when he had first brought her into the house. She had chattered like a jaybird and he had felt more besotted with every step that they took.
Marion was silent in comparison, her peaceful, respectful nature stopping her from talking away. He didn’t find it cold. In fact, he found it quite calming. She was absolutely trying her best to respect him, and he was grateful for it. The least he could do was try to control his wild emotions and be as pleasant as possible.
“This is the oldest part of the house,” he said as they walked up a small, wood-panelled staircase to the north wing. “Once upon a time it would have been the area that the abbot lived in, nearly two hundred years ago.”
He felt as if he might be babbling, but he noticed that Marion was listening closely and looking around, observing her surroundings keenly.
“Fascinating,” she murmured. He liked the way she reached out to gently touch the walls, as if they held secrets she might try and discover.
“It was transformed into the earl and countess’s apartments in the last century,” Simon said. He was happy, he could talk about the Reading Estate all day, and Marion was clearly an eager listener. “The two bedchambers are adjoined by a small parlour, which is furnished suitably for the needs of a couple.”
“That is an interesting formation, isn’t it?” Marion said.
“It is, but I hope you shall like it.”
Simon opened the door to the parlour between the chambers, showing her the warm, wood-panelled room with its large windows overlooking the park, its bookcases, and its comfortable chairs by the fire.
“Oh!” Marion’s voice was surprised. “It’s so…cosy.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Simon smiled, looking around. “I hope you shall find good use of it. I hope it might be a place you can call your own.”
“Thank you,” Marion smiled, looking around. Simon could feel this was the first moment in the tour when she had felt truly comfortable.
There was a clattering in the next room, and Simon knew that Mrs Bolton would be overseeing the organisation of Marion’s things in her new bedchamber. That meant it was time that Marion stepped in as the lady of the house.
“You should go through and arrange your possessions,” Simon said quietly. “I shall leave you to get settled up here.”
“Where shall I see you?” Marion asked, and Simon could see a tiny flicker of panic in her eyes. He realised she was so unused to this situation, to being the lady of the house and commanding servants. This was a role she had never been prepared to take, trained instead for being one of the girls folding and carrying and arranging instead of the lady telling them what to do.
