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Chapter Ten
“How is Marion settling in?” Nathan asked as he and Simon set off on a walk around the grounds of Reading Estate.
“Well,” Simon said, enjoying the cool breeze in his hair and the crunch of the leaves under his boots. “She is already much beloved among the staff.”
It was true. Yesterday, Simon had overheard Mrs Bolton and Hughes when he walked past the kitchen.
“My Lady is the most affable of ladies, and so concerned and careful with doings of the house,” Mrs Bolton had said earnestly. “Why, I have never known a mistress so humble and present!”
Simon had found these words both pleasing but also saddening. He couldn’t help but feel a little angry on Stella’s behalf. Had she not been the best mistress? The best possible Countess of Reading? Had she not earned the respect and love of the household staff? However, he also knew the truth of the difference between Stella and Marion; Stella had been raised for society, but Marion had an intimate knowledge of life below stairs, so of course, she would have a unique insight into how to work well with the staff.
He knew he should be pleased that he had such a competent mistress governing the estate. He knew he should be grateful that the staff had taken to her so well and not seen her as an interloper trying to move high above her station, and he was. But he was also sad for Stella’s memory.
“You seem unhappy by this,” Nathan said, interrupting Simon’s rolling thoughts as they strolled through the woodland garden to the waterfall and creek. “Does she not please you?”
“She does,” Simon admitted. “She is kind and thoughtful, and she has the ability to bring a sense of calm and peace to any situation.”
“And yet it does not make you happy?”
Simon sighed impatiently, gazing at the tumbling water and the ducks that bobbed on the surface there. Did it make him happy? He couldn’t deny that it was pleasant having her presence in the house. He noticed little things in a way he had not before—how she ordered fresh flowers that were beautifully scented for the dining table, how she made sure that the fire in the library was burning well in the afternoon and the coffee was hot when he went in for his daily read. He had forgotten the little touches of life that were so pleasing when a woman was in charge of a house.
“I…appreciate having the lady’s touch around,” Simon said finally.
“But do you not enjoy her company?” Nathan pressed as the two walked over the ornamental bridge and rested their hands on the red-painted wood.
“I do not have much of it, if I am honest,” Simon confessed, staring out over the running water. “We drift past one another most days.”
“How can that be possible?” Nathan queried.
Simon sighed, shrugging helplessly. “We see one another for meals. I enjoy having someone to eat breakfast or dinner with.”
“Is that it?” Nathan asked incredulously.
“Mainly.”
Simon didn’t mention how they sometimes read together in their parlour in the evening, and how he found that eminently relaxing. If he was being truly honest with himself, deep in his bones, he knew that he did feel better in himself with Marion in his company. She was a quiet, thoughtful individual who considered every word she spoke.
In the mornings, Simon had got into the habit of sharing items from the newspaper whilst they ate their eggs and drank their coffee, and he was pleased that Marion felt able to share her opinions in response. In the evening, he liked to ask about her day, which often included management of the house and the estate tenants.
Marion had picked up several habits of a mistress of a grand house easily; she visited tenants who were on their sick beds, bringing food parcels, and she met daily with Mrs Bolton about the running of the house. She also took an avid interest in the cultivation of the walled gardens. She would often ask his advice, gently, on matters she had encountered of which she had no knowledge, such as how the tenants’ rent was collected and who had lived on the grounds the longest.
He liked to help her learn more about the estate and enjoyed her interest. He couldn’t deny that he sometimes found himself longing for her presence in the long stretch of the day between breakfast and dinner, when he knew his new wife was busying herself around the estate.
But every time he felt that, he couldn’t help but admonish himself. How could he call himself loyal to Stella if he was so eager to be in Marion’s company?
“What is on your mind, my friend?” Nathan asked softly.
Simon looked up, realising that his unconscious footsteps had been guiding them to the small abbey on the estate, now used as the family chapel and the resting place of the Burfields.
“I can show you,” Simon said heavily, pushing open the metal gate and entering the small graveyard with themausoleum beside the chapel. Stella had been buried outside, since Simon knew how much she had loved the fresh air and trees. He had thought, in his overwrought state of grief, that from her final resting place she should be able to see the vista of the parkland and hills, and had planted lily of the valley over her grave. It was not in season, but the fine green stalks were poking through the damp earth.
Simon bent down before the marble gravestone, wiping it with his gloved hand and pulling away the sticking knot weed from the base. Then, sighing, he looked down at the words.
Lady Stella Burfield, Countess of Reading. “I thank my God upon every remembrance of thee.”
“You are…preoccupied by her?” Nathan asked, standing respectfully beside his friend.
“How could I not be?” Simon asked dully, laying a hand upon the cold stone. “If there was any thought that bringing a new wife into the house might deter my love for her, it was foolish.”
