He did not know what to say to that, and she seemed to interpret his silence as disapproval. ‘I know I am very lucky; I am always sensible of my good fortune. Edward could have married anyone.’ It sounded very much as though she was trying to persuade herself rather than him. With a slightly different emphasis, she might easily have said,Edward could have married anyone. Why did he have to choose me?
And then she turned her large, dark eyes on him, and said devastatingly, ‘Do you think your cousin is happy? With me, I mean.’
‘I am sure he must be,’ was all he could manage, and even that was an untruth.
‘That’s no answer, Mr Armstrong, when obviously, he isn’t. Forgive my frankness, but you seem very close to Edward, and I have no one else to ask. He has friends his own age, I know, like Lord Marchett, but I do not know if he would talk openly with them. I am sure many of them must disapprove of his marriage to me, the disparity in rank as well as age, which might check his confidences. You are family, though, and he always speaks of you with such affection, I thought he might have confided in you.’
Richard was glad that he was able to say with perfect truth that his cousin had not said one word in private to him that might not have been uttered to the Duchess’s face. He hadn’t spoken of affection either – in fact, he hadn’t spoken of her at all, not a word – but there was no need to say that. He could be tactful even if his cousin apparently could not.
‘What do you fear?’ he asked her bluntly. He’d rather not be having this conversation, but he was committed now.
She did not answer him directly. ‘I know he loved his late wife, and I cannot wonder that he still misses her.’
‘He certainly makes that plain enough. I can understand why it is hard for you.’
‘It should not be,’ she said resolutely, shaking her head, and his heart ached for her. ‘He was the soul of frankness when he offered for my hand. He told me of his enduring grief, and made no pretence of love. I pitied him, and appreciated his gentleness and directness, and, of course, the great honour that he did me.’
Good God,the poor girl,he thought.What a sad proposal it must have been.Especially if she had cherished hopes of romance, and what girl of seventeen does not?
‘Of course I accepted him. I know my duty to my family – my mother did not have to urge me in the slightest. I was quite content. But perhaps I did not fully realise…’ She broke off. ‘Oh, forget I spoke, please, Mr Armstrong. It was very wrong in me. I should not spill all my pathetic little secrets to you just because you are another young person in the house and seem sympathetic. It is just that I am not used to being so alone – I have always had my sisters about me, and we have such a busy, lively household at home, it is no wonder that my new life seems quiet to me sometimes. It is merely a matter of accustoming myself to it. This is my home now, and I am very lucky,’ she repeated, and the phrase sounded even less convincing even than it had before. ‘I shall be well served indeed if you go to my husband and tell him that I have been complaining without cause, like some spoiled brat.’ She did not ask him not to; she seemed resigned to the fact that he easily might. He wasn’t even sure she cared much.She really is deeply unhappy, he thought with sudden heat.Quite blue-devilled. Damn Edward for an inconsiderate old fool.
‘I promise I would not do that,’ he said, aware that his voice was a little unsteady, so great was his pity for her, and his regret. ‘Of course I will respect your confidence. I can see that you are far from content, and though it is none of my affair, I can also see that you have cause. But my cousin is the best of good fellows, and I am sure that, as you said, it is just a matter of learning to live with each other, which will take time. It cannot be easy for him, after so long…’ It was entirely inadequate comfort, he knew even as he said it. What did he know of married life, orphan vagabond that he was, and these serious and irrevocable matters that this girl not yet twenty was struggling with so earnestly? But he had to say something to console her.
‘I am prepared to learn, to adapt,’ she answered with suppressed passion, ‘but I wonder, is he?’
He was not obliged to find some reply to that, for with a sudden burst of movement, she was urging her horse on, and the dappled grey gelding, eager for his warm stable, responded with alacrity and carried her off down the slope at increasing speed, the dogs darting out to follow them, ears flying. Richard sat for a moment, watching her blue habit stream behind her across the beast’s flanks, and then his own mount’s restlessness became apparent and he hastened after her.
9
It was hard for Mr Armstrong to face his hosts across the dinner table, and grew harder as the days passed. The Duchess was plainly aware, since Edward’s vague manner towards her did not change in the slightest, that Richard had kept his promise of silence to her, though she said nothing of it to him. For his own part, Richard became increasingly conscious of the effort she was making to please her husband, or at least to conform to his unspoken expectations, and how bloody oblivious he was to all of it.
To give the man credit, he did not stand at all upon his dignity as a duke and never had, so that could not be why he was so blind. It wasn’t that he thought she should be grateful for her startling elevation and content with her lot; he just didn’t seem to be aware of his wife as a person with her own thoughts, feelings and interests, just like the dead wife he missed so much. It was an unnatural and lonely life for any woman, cooped up here in this big, empty barn of a house with a man who didn’t seem to notice her from one day to the next, and all the more so for a girl of eighteen whose childhood had been so very different, full of life and laughter and people who cared about her. Richard began to wonder uneasily how long it could go on without a disaster.
There was thick, chilling fog one afternoon, and – Edward having vanished into some private fastness as usual without explanation or excuse – Richard and his hostess were pacing the long picture gallery, surveying, for want of anything else to do, the portraits of previous Armstrongs, beginning in the Tudor era. It was mid-afternoon and the long green damask curtains were still open, but it was already growing dark; they’d brought candles with them. Spring seemed a long way off on days like this.
‘The family emerged from well-deserved obscurity about this time,’ he told her, eager to offer her what poor entertainment he could, ‘having somehow become part of Henry Tudor’s disreputable train in his exile abroad. Look at my illustrious ancestor, Thomas Armstrong. Did you ever see a more untrustworthy face in your life – can you not imagine him bilking a French innkeeper out of his due, or stealing coins from a church poor-box? Thomas came to England with the Tudor when he invaded, and was later rewarded for his years of loyalty with these lands. No doubt he could have told a tale or two about the seventh Henry’s wandering years on the Continent if he wished.’
The Duchess smiled and seemed diverted, but was, not unnaturally, most interested in the women’s portraits. There was nothing to be gleaned from the closed countenance of Thomas’s wife, the Lady Alys, who still kept her secrets, eyes modestly downcast and mouth pursed tight, head bundled up in a curiously unflattering headdress like a great square box. ‘She was a lady-in-waiting to Dame Margaret Beaufort, the King’s mother, which can’t have been enormously entertaining. Lots of sermons and very few parties, I should think, don’t you, ma’am? But the next couple of generations made up for it, as you can see.’
Viola stared, arrested by the magnificence of the first Duke of Winterflood, Edmund. He stood four-square and massive, much like his friend and contemporary the eighth Henry, and sported an enormous bushy black beard, and a hat that resembled nothing so much as a squashed velvet cushion. The parts of his garments that were not slashed to show rich silken linings were heavily encrusted with jewels of many colours. His codpiece, which neither Richard nor his companion referred to, was easily the size of a loaf of bread, and was studded with yet more jewels. His wife was dressed with equal opulence, bore just as many jewels, and must have experienced a great deal of difficulty in sitting down, her gown was so stiff with gold embroidery. Above them was emblazoned the Winterflood motto – then and now:Quod habeo teneo. What I have, I hold. It wasn’t a particularly comforting sentiment, and Richard wondered for the first time how hard it might be to live up to, for his cousin.
The current Duchess mused, ‘It’s hard to see them as ordinary people underneath all their finery; they are so concerned to show us their wealth and power, they scarcely look human. And yet aristocrats today laugh at those they are pleased to call cits, and call them vulgar. What could be more vulgar and ostentatious than this?’
He grinned in complete agreement. ‘We all came from nowhere once, and the Armstrongs comparatively recently; it’s just a matter of timing.’
‘I suppose those who came over with the Conqueror still look down on parvenu such as the Armstrong family, then. That’s comforting somehow to a complete nobody like me. But I’ve seen that ruby necklace before – the Duchess, the late Duchess, is wearing it in the Gainsborough portrait, I think. Strange that objects should endure, when the people who wore them so proudly are long dead.’
You are the Duchess, he thought,but it is no wonder that you don’t really seem to realise it. It must be so fatiguing, feeling like an interloper all the time.‘I can only think that it is yours now. Have you not seen it, and the other family jewels?’
She shrugged, seeming not terribly interested. ‘A few of them, but not that particular piece. I don’t really have occasion to wear such priceless treasures.’
Of course she did not, if they never went anywhere or entertained parties of guests. ‘Does Edward mean to take you to appear at Court as a married woman?’ he asked carefully. He didn’t know if she’d been presented on her come-out; he didn’t want to assume she hadn’t, though he knew that it was an extremely costly exercise and doing it for six daughters could bankrupt a family. ‘If so, you could wear it then if you wished, or some of the other historic pieces. Court presentation is an occasion for the grandest of jewels, especially for a duchess.’ The higher a family’s status, the more customary it was for them to show themselves to the King and Queen after a marriage or some other notable event. Surely Edward would go to Town for that, and stay for a while and let his wife have some amusement for a change. Throw her a ball, perhaps, to honour her. Dosomethingfor her to vary the monotony of her life and make her feel valued.
‘I don’t know. He hasn’t mentioned it,’ she said in a low tone, as if she could not help herself, ‘He doesn’t really… talk to me more than is necessary. Or than he feels necessary.’
‘I am sorry you are so lonely and unhappy. I wish I could help you in some way.’ He didn’t feel disloyal to his cousin, saying this openly to her; he was out of all patience with Edward by now, and would have to speak to him or hate himself for his cowardice, for all the good he expected it would do.
‘But you have helped me a great deal,’ she said with false brightness. ‘You talk to me, and I am very grateful for it. Before you came, I don’t think I’d spoken to anyone my own age, or nearly so, for weeks. Or anyone at all, really, apart from the servants, who are always so busy and discreet. The local ladies call on me sometimes, of course, and I on them – I know it is my duty to maintain contact, and Edward has made it clear that he wishes it. But they are all of them older than me, and very few of them have daughters my age. I don’t know what to say to them. They all talk about the late Duchess, too, in such a pointed way. They loved her, and tell me so at length. Recite her virtues. Tell me what I’ve done wrong, and how she would have done it better. You’d think I’d murdered her, the way they look at me. As if I everwanted…’
