The Six Month Marriage (22 page)

‘Yes. I have made a good choice,’ he said softly. ‘And
it is generous of you to admit it.’

‘I hope that we may still be friends,’ she said with a
show of frankness. ‘We will have to meet each other at social gatherings and I
would not like there to be any awkwardness between us. I wish you well, Philip,
and hope you will wish me the same.’

He nodded. ‘I do.’

‘Then let us go and join the others. They will be
beginning to wonder where we are.’

She took his arm and, walking more briskly, they soon
caught up with Madeline and Miss Wilkes.

‘This has been a perfect break in our journey,’ said
Letitia. ‘It is so good to see friends. But now I believe we must be going. We
are to dine with the Rotherdales this evening and if we don’t leave soon we
will be late.’

They made their farewells, and before long Letitia’s
carriage was once more on its way.

‘Did you enjoy yourself with Miss Wilkes?’ asked Philip
genially as he went back inside with Madeline.

‘She was very pleasant,’ said Madeline politely.

‘Good.’

‘And – did you enjoy your time with Miss Bligh?’ she
asked nonchalantly.

‘Yes. Very much.’

‘Oh.’

Her voice held a hint of dejection.

Just for a moment he wondered whether he should tell her
that his understanding with Letitia was at an end but then he decided against
it. If he told her that he no longer wanted to marry Letitia then, given her
fear of marriage, she would feel vulnerable and may be afraid of becoming
trapped. He wanted her to love him as much as he loved her before revealing to
her the true nature of his feelings for her. When that time came he would tell
her his arrangement with Letitia was over, and not before.

Madeline
looked around Emma’s room, making sure that everything was ready. A vase of
fresh flowers stood on the dressing table; the windows were open, letting in
the balmy breeze; and the room was freshly cleaned and polished. All it needed
now was its occupant. And she should be arriving at any time.

Madeline was in the garden when Emma finally arrived. As
the young girl stepped out of the carriage Madeline caught her first glimpse of
her sister-in-law.

How good it would have been to welcome Emma to the house
if she had really been its mistress, its permanent mistress, she thought.
Having no family herself, Madeline was glad to find herself with a sister, even
if it was only for a few months, and went lightly down the steps to welcome
Emma.

Emma was a slight girl of sixteen years old; a
schoolgirl, but one who was just emerging from that phase of life. Her figure
was slim and delicate as yet, but it was just beginning to show signs of
curves. Even so, Madeline could quickly see why she had found Emma’s dresses so
tight and uncomfortable when she had borrowed them for a while in
London
!

As well as a slight figure, Emma had a good humoured
countenance and a pretty face, with dark hair tousled by the journey and bright
amber eyes. Her features were not as harsh as Philip’s, but still bore the
unmistakable
Rochdale
stamp.

‘Emma!’ Madeline greeted the young girl with open arms.

‘Madeline! How lovely to meet you at last! Oh, I knew I
should like you, and I do! I have been telling Philip we would get along all
the way from the inn. And was it not good of the Greys to bring me so far, for
I’m sure it was out of their way?’

Emma had been brought as far as the neighbouring town by
her friendly
Bath
neighbours,
the Greys, who had been going to visit relatives in the
Lake District
. They had been delighted to
bring the young girl most of the way in their carriage, and she had then been
collected by Philip from the nearest inn.

‘It was very kind of them,’ said Madeline, as she gave
Emma a hug.

Much of Madeline’s reserve had left her since meeting
Philip, and it now seemed natural to her to greet a new acquaintance, especially
one she knew so much about, with open arms, instead of with hesitancy and
suspicion.

‘Your room’s all ready for you,’ said Madeline as she
and Emma went into the house, closely followed by Philip. ‘Would you like to
rest after your journey?’

‘I am tired of resting,’ said Emma.

‘You’re looking a little pale,’ said Philip
protectively, as he took in Emma’s countenance with a brotherly eye.

‘Only because I have been cooped up inside for the past
two weeks with a cold, when really I only needed to be cooped up for two days.’
She turned to Madeline. ‘Everyone is so used to me being delicate they
will
fuss over me, and Philip is the same.’ Her sweet smile took any rancour out of
her words, and Madeline found herself sympathising with the girl.

‘Sometimes too much attention can be as bad as not
enough,’ she agreed.

‘You understand,’ cried Emma. She turned to Philip
mischievously. ‘You see, I told you she would!’

Philip laughed. ‘You, miss, are well on the way to
becoming a minx. However, if you promise to tell me if ever you feel unwell, I
promise not to fuss over you. You can ride in the grounds and swim in the river
to your heart’s content.’

Emma gave him an impulsive kiss and they all moved into
the drawing-room.

Madeline rang for tea, and whilst they drank and ate,
Emma regaled them with an account of her journey and her plans for her visit.
Apart from going to see everyone she knew on the estate she was longing to go
riding over the moors, and to climb her favourite trees, as well as hoping that
Madeline would take her round the fashionable shops in York. She was halfway
between a girl and a woman, and her interests – riding and tree climbing on the
one hand, and shopping and novels on the other – reflected the transition.

After an enjoyable tea the three of them took a stroll
in the grounds, with Philip giving one arm to Madeline and the other to Emma,
before returning to the house. Emma, tired after her journey and her exciting
day, bid Madeline and Philip a good night, whereupon Madeline and Philip repaired
to the drawing-room and companionably discussed the day’s events.

‘How delicate is Emma?’ asked Madeline, concerned to
know as much as she could about her sister-in law.

Philip thought. ‘As a child she always had something
wrong with her: mumps, measles, coughs, colds and sore throats. Everything a
child can have, Emma had.’

‘And now?’

Philip thought. ‘She still has the odd complaint, but I
think there is something in what she says – she does tend to be fussed over. If
she had not had so many childhood illnesses I would not now think of her as
delicate. Why do you ask?’

‘I just wondered whether I ought to be encouraging her
to be active over the next few weeks. I want to make sure I don’t encourage her
to do too much. On the other hand, I don’t want to mollycoddle her if there is
no need for it.’

‘You’ve taken to her, haven’t you?’ said Philip, evidently
pleased.

‘Yes,’ Madeline said.

‘And she’s taken to you. But as for her going riding or
swimming, I don’t think you need to stop her. Dr Williams is of the opinion
that fresh air and exercise will strengthen her constitution rather than weaken
it.’

Madeline nodded. ‘Good.’

‘But don’t feel you have to spend all your time with
her. Young girls can be tiresome.’

Madeline remembered that Letitia had said much the same
thing, but she did not agree. ‘I’m sure Emma could never be tiresome. I want to
spend my time with her. How else is she to be made to feel welcome? I want to
make sure she enjoys her stay with us. This is her home, after all.’

‘Is it, Madeline?’ He looked at her intently.

‘Of course.’ She looked surprised. ‘It’s only because
there has been no mistress here that she has been staying with her aunt.
Otherwise she would have been growing up here amongst her family and friends. I
am not criticising,’ she hastened to explain. ‘I know it wasn’t possible for
her to stay here whilst you were abroad, but things are different now.’

He leaned back in his shield-backed chair, so that the
front two feet of the chair left the floor. ‘If it was up to you, would she
live here always?’

‘She would have to finish her schooling,’ said Madeline
judiciously. ‘I don’t think it would be good for her to abandon it, and I’m
sure she wouldn’t want to. She seems to have many friends. But afterwards, yes,
of course. This is her home. It’s where she belongs.’

‘Even though you would have a young girl – soon turning
into a young woman – under your feet all day?’

‘I can’t see Emma getting under anyone’s feet. And as to
having a young girl – or a young woman – in the house, why shouldn’t I like it?’

‘Some women would think of it as competition,’ he said.

Madeline laughed. ‘How could I think of her as
competition? Emma is a young girl, whereas I am a married woma . . . ’ Her
voice trailed away as she realised she was a married woman for another few
months only.

‘And how are you liking it, being a married woman?’
asked Philip penetratingly, ignoring the trailing away of her voice.

Madeline swallowed. The joy had gone out of her
conversation. For a few minutes she had been carried away, and had forgotten
the true nature of her marriage to Philip, but now she was reminded of it. A
few weeks ago the idea that her marriage was temporary had filled her with a
feeling of security, but now it created a gaping hole at the heart of her. ‘I .
. . I like it very well,’ she said softly.

‘Do you, Madeline?’ he asked searchingly.

She nodded mutely.

‘Has it been what you expected it to be?’ he asked.

‘No. But then that is because it is only a temporary
marriage,’ she replied, remembering her mother’s warnings: fainter now, but
still there nonetheless.

‘Ah. So that’s what you think. You think it would be
different if this marriage was permanent?’

‘My mother . . . ’ she began hesitantly.

‘Yes?’ he asked.

She did not reply.

‘Your mother?’ he prompted.

‘My mother warned me –’

And then the door opened, and Emma walked in.

Philip gave an exclamation of impatience. ‘I thought you
were going to bed, young lady?’ he said.

‘I am,’ said Emma blithely. ‘I just forgot my book.’

She crossed the room to the window-seat, where she had
left her latest Gothic novel. Then she tripped over to Philip and kissed him on
the forehead.

‘Good night, my lord,’ she said, mischievously dropping
him a curtsey.

‘Good night, minx,’ said Philip with affectionate
exasperation.

‘Good night,’ she said to Madeline, kissing her on the
cheek.

‘Good night,’ said Madeline, glad to have been
interrupted. She was still unsure of herself; still unsure of her own feelings;
and still unsure of her mother’s warnings. Had those warnings really been
necessary? she wondered. Or had they been nothing more than the troubled words
of an unhappy woman who had been trapped in an unusually unhappy marriage?

She stood up, ‘I will see you upstairs,’ she said to
Emma.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Emma enthusiastically. ‘And you can tell
me if you have read
The Absentee
yet.’

Talking about Maria Edgeworth’s latest novel, the two
ladies left the room.

Summer
ended, and with it Emma’s visit. After she had gone, Madeline was surprised at
how much she missed her. The two of them had spent many enjoyable days shopping
and sightseeing, and had visited every family within ten miles, for Emma’s
lively and affectionate nature had prompted her to see all her friends in
Yorkshire
before returning to
Bath
. She had been reluctant to go, but
she had her education to complete, and besides, it would not be long before she
returned to the Manor.

As summer ended, autumn began, and Madeline found that
her duties underwent a subtle change. The day-to-day running of the Manor was
still the same, but she also now had to oversee the bottling of the fruit and
the making of jam, together with the other autumnal activities recounted in the
old Countess’s diaries.

Perhaps the most important of these was the business of
tending to the coughs and colds that were rife on the estate. October was misty
and November wet, so that many of the tenants suffered from minor complaints,
and some of them from more serious problems such as rheumatism, and she spent
much of her time doing what she could to alleviate their suffering. In this she
was guided not only by the old Countess’s diaries but also by Clarissa’s
practical advice.

Madeline was indebted to Clarissa for a number of
home-made remedies, and her first call on a wet and windy morning in November
was on Old Ned. The cottage had been repaired since she had first seen it in
the summer, and although the repairs were only a temporary measure, designed to
make the cottage habitable until a new one could be built, they had made a
difference. The cottage was no longer as damp, and the chimney drew better, so
that the fire was a respectable blaze. Despite being in pain with rheumatism
she found him lively and cheerful, as he always was on her visits.