Читать книгу A Rake's Guide to Seduction - Caroline Linden - Страница 11

June 1819

Tomorrow is my wedding day—at last! It seems a year at least since my dear betrothed husband-to-be went down on his knee and asked me to be his wife, although it has really been less than two months. I feel I am the luckiest girl in London, to be the bride of a gentleman of such manners, such charm, such dash! Many young ladies hoped for nothing more than a smile from him. And yet he chose me! So romantically, too. I feel I ought to record every detail of his courtship, to tell our children some day. That is in fact why Mama has given me this journal. She says a girl should have a place to save such happy memories, and I do long to. But oh—there is no time tonight! Suffice to say—for now—that no gentleman was ever more devoted than my beloved has been. He has quite spoiled me with his affection and regard, with poetry and flowers and such attentions as have made me the envy of every unmarried lady in London, and no doubt some of the married ladies as well! I cannot wait for everyone to see my gown. It is surely the most beautiful gown ever made, of blue French silk with seed pearls on the bodice and a great quantity of lace. I shall wear Mama’s lace mantua over my hair, and the loveliest satin slippers—they are cunningly embellished with glass beads in the design of the lilies I shall carry. I am certain my entire ensemble shall be copied all over England.

I must to bed—in a mere ten hours, I shall be Lady Andrew Bertram!

June 1819

It is so lovely to be married. We have journeyed to the Lake District for our wedding trip. Although Bertie is not much interested in the scenery for himself, he has squired me about so devotedly. When I got a blister on my foot, he swept me into his arms and carried me back to the inn! We have had lovely picnics and romantic strolls, and he has read poetry to me. It seems impossible, but I am more in love than ever.

July 1819

Our first night in our new home, Kenlington Abbey. It is nothing like Ainsley Park. It is much older and used to be a monastery. At first glance it’s a bit imposing and even intimidating, with none of the cheery comforts Mama has installed at Ainsley. Perhaps that is to be expected, though, as Bertie’s mother died when he was a child and there has been no mistress at Kenlington since. I confess, I am cowed at the thought of having charge of such a place, but I shall do my best.

Bertie told me some of the history as we traveled, although he admitted he was not a great scholar of family history, as his father is. Every Lansborough heir for three hundred years has been born at Kenlington. I shiver to think I shall be part of that history. And perhaps soon—dear Bertie has been so attentive, and we are only a month married!

August 1819

A dinner party this night, with all the local families of standing invited. Lord L. is very conscious of standing; he never introduced me but as “the duke of Exeter’s sister.” I suppose that is to show how advantageous the match is for Bertie, but I do wish he would stop. I long to meet new friends and wouldn’t want people to think me too proud.

(later)

An odd night. Of all the guests, only the Misses Blacke seemed particularly friendly. They are two spinster sisters who live near Keswick and are of great good humor and spirits. Squire and Lady Melton were also very kind, as were the other guests, but they were mostly of an age with Lord L. There were two single gentlemen as well, particular friends of Bertie’s. Bertie was in high spirits all evening and is still below with SirOwen Henry and Mr. William Cane. I had hoped to meet more young ladies, or really any ladies, but I suppose there will be many more opportunities. Jane Melvill has written twice already, and I miss her.

September 1819

A quiet evening at home. Bertie walked out this morning with Sir Owen and Mr. Cane to hunt. Lord L. discouraged me from going with them because he fears for my health, that as I am not accustomed to the northern weather, I may take cold. It is no secret Lord L. wishes for an heir as soon as Bertie and I can manage one. Bertie is his only child, and the last of the Lansborough line at the moment. On our wedding day, he kissed my forehead and asked only that I present him with a grandson before he dies. I am certainly trying my best, but I would still like to walk out from time to time, even if the weather is not as fine as in Kent.

September 1819

A wretched day. Bertie and I argued. I wished to walk into town today, as much for the exercise and fresh air as to explore Keswick. Bertie refused to accompany me, as he had already made plans to fish with Mr. Cane. Lord L. encouraged him to walk with me, as it is quite a long way and Lord L. was afraid I might become lost or not be up to the walk. He is still very solicitous of my health, but Kenlington is too dull for words. No one comes to call, and there are few assemblies. Even a country dance would lift my spirits.

But Bertie would not accompany me. He said it would be rude to tell Mr. Cane he could not fish after all. Perhaps I ought to have been more considerate when he had already made an engagement, but I have no friends in the country to call on, and Bertie is perfectly aware that I spend most of my days at home. It did not seem such a terrible thing to ask of him. I am certain Marcus does not neglect Hannah so, nor David, Vivian.

Late September 1819

Bertie took me into town today to make up for not taking me the other day. We have rarely been alone together, and it was sucha long walk into town, one might have thought we had never spoken to each other in our lives! He confided to me that he does not much care for Cumberland, and that is why he has been so out of sorts. Cumberland, for all that it is beautiful in its own way, is a harsher land than Kent, and perhaps this explains Bertie’s restlessness of late. Still, we had a lovely walk and he even composed some poetry on the way, although very poor verse—so poor we laughed until our stomachs hurt.

In town we met a number of people. We stopped for tea with another newly married couple, a Mr. and Mrs. Winslow. Mr. Winslow, who has just been ordained, grew up in Keswick, and he and Bertie knew each other well. Mrs. Winslow was quite engaging as well, and I should like to know her better, but they are moving house to Mr. Winslow’s new parish in Derbyshire soon.

November 1819

A letter from Mama and one from Jane. I am becoming quite a correspondent of late! Mama has invited us to Ainsley Park for the New Year, but Lord L. does not wish us to go. He still hopes for an heir soon and has quite a dislike of travel. He said I may invite Mama to Kenlington next year, if I wish, and I suppose that must do.

Jane asks when we plan to journey to London again. Bertie is as pleased as I am about returning to London in the spring. It will be so splendid to attend balls and the theater together!

January 1820

I am very dismal today. We are not to spend the Season in London after all. Lord L. has developed a rheumatism and is confined to a chair. The doctor says he must not travel for several months. Lord L. said that he cannot do without us, and he does not want us to go to London. I was quite upset, not just from the loss of London’s entertainments but because I shall miss seeing Marcus and Hannah as well. Mama writes that Hannah will have a child before the year is out—I did not tell Bertie or Lord L. this, though. We still have no prospect of a child, despite diligent efforts.

I asked Bertie to ask his father again about the Season, buthe will not. I know he is unhappy, though, for he has gone to the pub in Keswick with Sir Owen and likely won’t be back before dawn.

February 1820

Oh, horror. After dinner, Lord L. asked me to read to him. His eyes are growing weaker, and he takes great pleasure in my voice, he tells me. I dutifully read for an hour, and then—I don’t know what came over me—I asked if we might go to London for the Season.

“No, my dear. I explained it to Bertie,” he told me. “Your life, and his, will be here. You must learn your roles as master and mistress. You are both needed here, and it will be good for Bertie to settle down a bit.”

“But Bertie had been in the habit of attending the Season,” I dared to say. “And what of Parliament?”

“Bertie needed to find a wife—and a fine job he did, too. When he is Lansborough, he will be in London for Parliament and you may travel to London every spring. With my poor health, I am unable to do as much as before, and Bertie must begin to take over Kenlington, which he cannot do from London. I hope it is not too distressing to you, my dear. Next year you will take the ton by storm, I am certain.”

He cannot go because he is in poor health, and he does not want Bertie and me to go, either. I do not think life at Kenlington is so very complicated that we must spend every day of the year studying it. Bertie shows no interest in the estate and spends as little time as possible here, despite Lord L.’s admonishments. If only Bertie would stay in at nights more! He is out until dawn nearly every day now. I think he is as bored as I, but he prefers to spend his time elsewhere. I believe we might amuse ourselves well enough together, but apart it is terribly quiet and lonely.

May 1820

A dreadful disappointment. We were to dine tonight at the Meltons’, but a fearsome rainstorm sprang up. Bertie declared he would go after all and not spend the night at home,even though his father begged him not to venture out. He persisted and went, but Lord L. and I stayed home, as it was quite fierce out.

I wonder that Bertie was so anxious to be out; he has not spent above ten days together here in the last month. His father’s health has begun to decline of late, and he worries about Bertie worse than ever. I do wish Bertie would make more of an effort to handle more of Kenlington business, and spare Lord L. so he might recover.

May 1820

Bertie has not returned from the Meltons’ these four days. He sent word that a party of guests from Oxfordshire was also detained, and as they were excellent company he found it gratifying to stay.

It is rather disappointing that my company is not so desirable to him.

June 1820

Bertie came home in high spirits. He is never so happy as in the company of good friends. His father, however, has taken very ill, and there was quite a row.

I have always tried to be as comforting and loyal after Bertie argues with his father, but in this, I confess, his father has a good point. Bertie ought to spend more time at Kenlington, not less. Bertie thought I was disloyal for saying so. Is it not my place to speak my mind? I had thought we could speak freely to each other, but Bertie seemed to resent it.

August 1820

A letter from Mama today. She writes of Marcus’s newborn son, who will be christened Thomas. Lord L. expressed joy and bade me send his felicitations, but afterward he appeared tired and sad, and retired early. Bertie said I ought not to have told his father. When I said I should like to make a visit to see the child and the rest of the family, Bertie said it would only stir up trouble with his father, and perhaps he is right. I do not wish to bring any more despair upon Lord L., who longs sodesperately for a grandson. Bertie said I may write Hannah and Marcus, and send a gift.

I do hope we shall attend the Season in London next year.

December 1820

A quiet Christmastide at Kenlington. Mama was to come, but a bad cold kept her home until the roads were too dangerous to travel.

She hints in her letter at my condition. No doubt she wonders why a year and a half of marriage has produced no child. I cannot tell her the answer, that Bertie would rather spend his evenings drinking at the Black Bull in Keswick than doing anything with me. I fear his father’s constant prodding and prompting about an heir has given Bertie a disgust of the whole business. So long as his father tries to push him into my bed, Bertie runs the other way—leaving me to tell his father every month that I am not expecting. Until we have a child, Lord L. will keep at Bertie, and Bertie will seek other society so long as his father hounds him. What a dreadful muddle.

Bertie does not shun me altogether; it is a bit worrisome that we have not been blessed. Perhaps a child would revive Bertie’s devotion, as well as give me something to fill the hours of the day.

February 1821

Mama sent me a packet of all the latest fashions. She wonders why we aren’t to be in London this year again. I have replied to her that Lord L. is in poor health and needs my care. That is not completely untrue, but not completely true, either. The truth is that Bertie will not even ask his father’s permission, and without it, we have no funds for a Season.

I am not certain I would enjoy the Season in any event. I fear I’ve grown unfashionably quiet and dull, although I have improved my needlework and read a large number of books.

March 1821

After luncheon today, Lord L. summoned me to his chambers. He gave me a magnificent set of jewels, almost fit to rivalthe Exeter pearls. They were Bertie’s mother’s, he explained, and should be mine now.

I thanked him and left. I believe Lord L. begins to feel his mortality, and meant well, but I came back to my room in a dismal mood. I have no place to wear such jewels, here in the wilds of Cumberland.

April 1821

Mama asks if she might make a visit. I have cowardly told her no. She will bring news of Marcus’s son, and that can only grieve Lord L. and annoy Bertie. It seems most things I propose annoy Bertie now, or are not interesting to him.

Before we married, Bertie swore he loved me above all others and that he would adore me forever. Either we disagree on what adoration means, or forever is far shorter than I expected.

May 1821

Jane Melvill is engaged to be married—to David’s old friend Mr. Percy! At first her letter did not name him but only said we would nearly be sisters, her husband was such good friends with my brother. For a moment I thought she meant Mr. Hamilton, for all that she and every other young lady in London was in awe of him. The thought did not please me, I confess with shame. Jane is perfectly lovely, but she would never truly understand Mr. Hamilton.

Her news has made me think of him for the first time in months. Bertie would not be pleased, but I do miss the way Mr. Hamilton was so easy about my teasing. I never laughed so much as with him.

July 1821

Lord L. continues unwell. His poor health unsettles Bertie, who is almost never at home now. We have hardly traded two words this fortnight. I don’t know what to say to my husband anymore. At home he is quiet and moody. In company he is charming and merry. I cannot fathom how I never noticed that before.

August 1821

Bertie leaves tomorrow for York. It is a shooting party for the gentlemen, at Mr. Cane’s hunting lodge. Lord L. is not pleased. I overheard them shouting at each other for almost an hour last evening. Lord L. wants Bertie to undertake the management of Kenlington, but Bertie does not wish to. When I asked him why he didn’t have more interest in his future estate, he said he would have years to deal with those worries when his father was dead, and why should he sacrifice his youth as well? He is seven-and-twenty; when my father died and left Exeter to Marcus, my brother was only twenty-three. I don’t recall ever hearing him complain about “those worries.”

For my impertinent question, Bertie called me a scold and said I should work more embroidery. I wanted to throw the hoop at his head.

August 1821

A letter from Bertie today, asking for funds. I am to ask Lord L. to send the money at once. At first I feared Bertie was in danger or injured, but surely his friends would come to his aid in that event. I wonder what the trouble can be?

August 1821

Lord L. does not wish to send the money, and I hope he does not! After dinner I overheard two maids gossiping. One said she had learned from the messenger who brought Bertie’s message that the money is to hush up a scandal over a girl in York. Bertie trifled with her, it seems! It would make me very happy if he were forced to stay in York and suffer the consequences of his actions.

But I suppose that would leave the poor girl with nothing, and that wouldn’t be fair. No doubt she, like others, was blinded by Bertie’s charm and manner.

September 1821

Bertie returned from York today. He was in good spirits and greeted me and his father with great affection. I did not believeit for a moment. As soon as we were alone I asked if it were true, about the girl in York, and he upbraided me for not being more civil. He said not one word of denial.

I feel as though the scales have fallen from my eyes. This is how Bertie has always been: charming and dashing when there is an audience to impress, and selfish and arrogant otherwise. I have made a terrible mistake and do not know how to repair it.

September 1821

Bertie and I have not spoken in a week. He feels I am over-reacting by scolding him for his behavior in York. I am at a loss as to how I could have been so blind to Bertie’s true character. Not only has he not denied or rebutted the accusation of impropriety, he declares I am a shrew for speaking of it. As if it is wrong for me to want my husband to come home to me!

October 1821

Two letters from Mama this month. I don’t know how to reply. I cannot bear for her to know how things stand between Bertie and me. She was so pleased to see me marry for love, and how it has turned out now. It would break her heart if she knew. I don’t know how much longer I can deceive her, though. If she should visit, she would know at once everything is wrong.

February 1822

Lord L. has recovered some of his health. The weather has been very mild of late, and I persuaded him to walk with me in the garden every day. He vows it has done him a world of good. He is so improved, he declared we might attend the Season this year. I believe it was meant as a gift to me, after the way Bertie behaved last fall.

I waited up to tell Bertie the news, but he returned from the Black Bull very late, soaking wet and in a foul temper, and so drunk he didn’t know what I said. He has begun drinking more than is healthy of late, but I dare not tell him this. All my suggestions are met with indignation or scorn. I hold out fainthope that time in greater society will improve things between us, but I do not know if we shall ever feel affection for each other as we once did.

February 1822

Bertie is ill. I sat by him last night, but he was so cross I snapped at him. Then he growled at me to go away, and so I did. It is not fair to make the maids stay with him, though, so I shall try again tonight. It is no doubt a wife’s duty to sit by him, but I must say it is not the most pleasant duty.

Lord L. is not pleased. He said he had hoped marriage and responsibility at Kenlington would make Bertie more sober and dependable, but it has not happened. I’m not certain if he blames me or not. I have certainly become more sober.

Perhaps I am a disloyal wife for such thoughts, but it is hard to pity a man of nearly thirty years who cares for no one’s comfort and amusement but his own.

March 1822

Bertie died this morning.

Acute pneumonia, the physician said.

Lord L. is devastated.

March 1822

Bertie was laid to rest in the Lansborough crypt this day. Lord L. wept in silent grief all day. He is the last of the Bertrams, now Bertie’s gone without an heir. Lord L. looks a dozen years older than a fortnight ago.

Everyone has left me in peace, supposing me to be grief-stricken. Perhaps I am. I don’t know. I feel no pain, no agony, no loss. I sit and stare at nothing, wondering why I feel so hollow.

I do not think I shall keep this journal any longer. I fear my thoughts are not worthy of recording.