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“I see you are preparing for our engagements this week,” he said. “I congratulate you on your organisation.”
“Thank you.”
Silence fell between them and Marion unconsciously fiddled with her mother’s pearls, which were now always around her neck. She didn’t know how to feel around Simon anymore. Before they had married, she had felt confident in the fact that he wanted to protect her and be kind to her and that was all there was between them—mutual respect and understanding.
Then they had kissed.
Their wedding day had been bookended by two kisses; the first, a surprise and a question, the second had been an answer. She had wondered if she really desired him, if her infatuated had been nothing more than an idle fantasy of an ideal man, but when he had kissed her the second time Marion had felt two things in absolute truth. The first was that her desire was real and flowering. The second was that Simon did not feel the same way. In his eyes she had seen all the sorrow for his lost love. Since then, she had felt him retreating back inside his grief. It was painful to watch, and she felt entirely helpless. She had no idea how to stop it.
“I look forward to our dinner tomorrow,” he said quietly.
“I do also,” Marion said, swallowing hard as she looked down at the blue and white china. Suddenly she felt a warm hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently.
“It will all be fine,” Simon said behind her before she heard the closing of the door behind him.
Marion wondered if this was all that their marriage would be. Awkward conversations and unsaid feelings. She didn’t know how it could possibly be fine, but she didn’t have much choice but to trust him. There was no going back now.
* * *
“You shall have to remind me, my dear, as to the providence of your parents. I know so little of them.”
Marion swallowed her sip of coffee, feeling it swirl bitterly in her stomach at the words of the Dowager Countess. She had barely been able to eat a bite of the beautiful dinner she had arranged for the occasion, as her mother-in-law had taken every opportunity to needle her with difficult questions. Still, Marion had been endeavouring to display grace and poise in the face of her mother-in-law’s scrutiny. She took a deep breath.
“I would be happy to tell you anything you wish to know.” Marion took another sip.
“I understand your mother was the Countess of Brixton’s nursemaid,” the Dowager Countess said, eyeing her beadily over the top of her coffee. “Is it…a family profession?”
Mrs Bolton had quietly made a few recommendations on how to interact with her, and Marion brought them to mind.
“The Dowager Countess is a woman of remarkable strength, and she only respects those who reflect strength back to her.”
“My mother was her governess, My Lady.” Marion tried to sound like she wasn’t offended by the Dowager Countess’s words. “She was a great friend of the Countess of Brixton’s mother, and then, when she died, my mother raised both myself and the Countess alongside one another.”
“I see.” The Dowager Countess looked disgruntled at Marion’s clear, careful answer. “Though I suppose a French governess can never be a true replacement for a mother, or a lady of standing.”
Marion bristled at the insinuation that her mother had somehow been unsuitable to raise Eleanor. Her mother had loved Eleanor dearly, more dearly than Eleanor’s own father had ever been capable of!
Marion kept her thoughts to herself and answered calmly.“Of course not,” Marion said. “Mamanwould never try to replace Eleanor’s mother. We were both raised to honour her memory.Mamanloved her dearly. I remember,” Marion couldn’t help but smile at the memory, “on Eleanor’s birthday’s,Mamanwould always give her a handkerchief of her mother’s, which had been gifted toMamanupon the lady’s death. It was a way for us all to remember her, and for Eleanor to feel loved.”
“How special,” Simon commented quietly, smiling at Marion generously. “Your mother was clearly a woman of genuine heart.”
Marion was grateful for his kind smile and looks, and she could tell that he was pleased with the story. Perhaps the idea of honouring a loved one so consistently appealed to him. Marion felt a tug of disappointment that she tried to ignore. It did her no good to envy his devotion to his dead wife.
“And she was French?” the Dowager Countess asked, trying to interrupt the shared, sweet look between the couple. Marion couldn’t help but take a sharp intake of breath at the way she said the wordFrench.Luckily, Simon seemed to think it was time to jump in.
“Yes, Mother. Marion speaks French fluently,” Simon said, sipping his coffee lightly. “We have a French lady’s maid for her here at the house.”
“You do?” The Dowager Countess’s eyebrows raised skywards and she glared at Marion suspiciously, as if offended that she had taken such liberties. “You sent for a French maid for yourself?”
Before Marion could answer, Simon said lightly,“No, Mother, I sent for her. As a wedding gift.”
The Dowager Countess pursed her lips as if frustrated that her son was standing up for his new wife, but Marion steadied her shoulders and remembered Mrs Bolton’s words. She had to prove to her mother-in-law that she was strong enough to hold her own.
“I was very grateful for Simon’s generous gesture,” Marion said, “and for the organisation of the household staff. They are a well-oiled machine.”
“Well, yes,” the Dowager Countess said. “The Earldom of Reading has been providing work and stability for this community for hundreds of years. For as long as there have been Burfields there have been Hugheses in the position of butler. This community relies on our strength and virtue. A scandal is a threat to hundreds.”
Marion knew that she was referring to Simon’s choice of her for a bride. She glanced at Simon, but his eyes were in his coffee, clearly unable to think of anything that would deter his mother from this course of thinking. Marion knew that it was up to her to change the Dowager Countess’s opinion. If she didn’t try, then Marion knew she would never respect her as the lady of the house.
